The Monster Hunter (3 page)

His musings were interrupted by the approach of the warehouse foreman. He was very thin and well dressed, although he wore a worn green apron to protect his clothes. His features were friendly, although his facial hair had been trimmed in a way that made his face almost triangular in shape. His eyes were hidden behind simple wire-framed glasses. He glanced at a shipping list in his hand and counted the crates before stopping with his pen resting on Ben's head.

‘And what is this?' he said with a theatrical humour to his voice that gave Ben the impression only the man himself got the joke.

‘This is supercargo,' said the driver, with a heavily accented voice. ‘You have received conformation, I am assured of this.'

The triangular-faced man bristled as if he was not used to being spoken to in such a way by an underling. ‘I was assuming that you also received our reply that we have no room for supercargo.'

The two men looked at the boy for a long time as the cart was emptied of crates behind them. It was the driver who spoke first. ‘I have unloaded – he is your problem now.' And without stopping to listen to the triangular man's protests, which were many, he remounted his cart and drove off through the crowds.

Ben looked up at the man beside him, who sighed heavily
and without looking down at the boy headed back towards the warehouse gates. He paused only once when he realised the boy was not following

‘Come on then – we need to find you a boat,' he said tiredly, beckoning Ben to follow.

The man's office was small and one wall was completely lined from floor to ceiling with tiny square drawers all carefully labelled with the names of different tea plantations. His desk was the loveliest piece of carved ebony and all that sat upon it was a giant ledger and a delicate bone-china tea set. The room was a nice escape from the smells and bustle of the dock. There was a distinct smell of wood and cinnamon.

The triangular-faced man sat quietly reading the ledger, the large window behind him turning his stooped form into a shadow where the reflected light of his glasses gave him round friendly eyes preventing the shadow from appearing sinister. Ben's eyes were drawn to the view beyond the window as the masts of ships drifted by, sails billowing as they took to the ocean or jostled for space in the port. The larger steamships were being pulled from the dock by smaller boats and gave Ben the impression of small children trying to tug a reluctant father away from the tavern and home for lunch.

‘There's a slow boat leaving tomorrow. It needs a galley lad.' The shadow seemed to move as if Ben was now the greater object of attention rather than the shipping ledger. ‘Can you peel a potato?'

Ben focused back on the shadow, not really seeing the figure before him but assuming fingers were steepled before the
triangular face to make the speaker appear more educated than the tanned boy before him, he nodded.

‘Do you speak, lad?' the shadow asked, a note of concern edging into the well educated voice, thick with the accent of northern England.

‘Not much,' Ben replied smartly, wanting to be as honest as he could. He didn't mind the triangle-faced man's hesitation - he was just doing his job, and getting a young boy to England was a departure from the crates of tea he was more used to shipping across the waves. Ben had liked the idea of being supercargo – or, to the untrained ear, a passenger on a goods ship - but he was more than happy to work his passage if it got him to England.

The shadow sat back and almost disappeared among the deeper shadow of the high-backed chair. ‘Well, I suppose that's more of an advantage than a drawback,' was the response from the shadow. The pause seemed infinite as considerations were made. ‘Right, young man, tomorrow at noon, when the tide is full you will be sailing on board the
Hallowe'en
under the command of Captain Dante. He will expect you on board at first light I've no doubt, and you are scheduled to arrive in Devon in six months' time, weather permitting, in the port of Salcombe. From there you will need to make your own way to Kent. The moment in port and disembarked you will no longer be the responsibility of the First Tea Company but you will receive a wage for your time on board and you can use this to get yourself to your destination.' The disembodied voice stopped talking and the triangle-faced man leant forward into the light. There was the sound of a pen scratching and then an envelope was pushed across the table with the name ‘Captain William Dante' scrawled on the front.

‘Now, I'm a busy man, so I can't afford to spend any more
time on you. Run along.' The pen tapped the envelope, prompting Ben to reach forward and take it before standing and pulling his kit bag on to his shoulder. With a polite smile and a quiet ‘Thank you, Sir,' he left the office.

The triangle-faced man stood up and went to the window, cleaning his glasses as he went. He placed them back on his nose and waited patiently until the boy appeared out on the street a helpful gateman in tow pointing directions to where the
Hallowe'en
lay at anchor. The triangle-faced man sighed. He had seen so many youngsters board the tea clippers over the last couple of years and he always wondered whether any ever made it to their destinations. Soon the boy was lost in the crowd and with thoughts of a job well done the triangle-faced man went back to his desk and, picking up a small bell, rang for his afternoon tea.

It would be a while before the sun set and a cold night before the sun rose again, but young Ben was determined to find the ship on which he was to sail. As he followed the directions given by the gatemen, he pushed through the crowds until before him stood the
Hallowe'en
. The ship was magnificent in the young boy's eyes. It sat low in the water as its hold was already rich with cargo; its three masts stood straight and proud, canvas sails folded neatly, for tomorrow on the high tide she would sail. Ben felt the thrill of romantic adventure at being a part of the crew of a tea clipper and he smiled happily, rocking on his heels, as thoughts of Sinbad began dancing through his head.

‘Are you looking for me?' shouted a gruff voice.

Ben turned to be faced by a man limping towards him. He
was possibly in his sixties and his beard was grey and tightly cropped, his face was weathered and wrinkled, and one eye was closed as if squinting.

‘It's just that you're staring at my boat and, unless you're planning on buying it – which I doubt – you're looking for me.'

‘I'm early, Sir,' said Ben, finding his voice after so many long months of silence.

‘Early for what, boy, or is that your name? I knew an Early once … He was a rum cove and I didn't rightly trust him.' The Captain became thoughtful and his words drifted off.

‘No, Sir, my name is Ben. I'm your new galley boy but I'm not due until tomorrow,' said Ben happily, handing the envelope over.

The Captain was snapped from his thoughts and focused his squinting eyes upon the youth before him as he took the envelope, opened it briskly and read.

‘Well, young Ben, seems you're on a one-way trip to Blighty. You can dispense with calling me Sir. I'm your employer now and you shall call me Captain Dante as is fitting for a crew member. I dare say you have no place to stay this evening, so you can erect a hammock in the galley. It won't be a comfortable journey – the sea is already turning – and it won't be a quick one neither.' Captain Dante started to limp back up the gangplank. ‘But it will be full of good cheer, fine songs and hard work that'll toughen those scrawny arms of yours. Come on board, Master Gaul – your adventure awaits.'

And with these words Benjamin Jackson Gaul boarded the tea clipper
Hallowe'en
and said goodbye to the port of Colombo and fair Ceylon as a new chapter of his life unfolded.

The Long Journey

I
t would be fair to say that, for the first few days, most sailors would have found the voyage calm, but it still took Ben a good week to find his sea legs. He wasn't sick as he had always had a good constitution and he ate only what he needed to feed his hunger. The ship was a moving platform, however, and the sudden lifts or dips would have him, landlubber that he was, stumbling around and grabbing for support. It earned him the nickname of ‘Master Fall' among some of the younger, less friendly crew members. Captain Dante was very against bullying on his ship as he felt it led to insubordination, so, if he ever caught the name being bandied about, his fury against the offending sailor was swift. It didn't stop the bullying, however, but simply drove it below decks, making Ben careful to watch who he was left alone with.

Ben, in fact, made no friends at all on the journey, though he did have allies he would spend time with. The ship's cook was Samuel Silver, who swore blind that Long John Silver of
Treasure
Island
fame was named after him, after he had cooked a special meal for the ailing Mr Stevenson who had taken passage on a boat he was cook upon – the meal having settled the author's stomach he had promised to immortalise Silver in print and the proud cook now carried a copy of the book about with him at all times. Ben was never sure whether there was any truth to the tale but he liked that Able Seaman Silver, ship's cook, was more than happy to lend the book out to any who wanted to read it. Every chance Ben had, his nose was in a book, as it allowed him to spend time alone in his own world. The books he brought from Ceylon were comforting, as he always heard his mother's voice as he read them. The swashbuckling tale of Stevenson's pirates, however, he read in his own voice, giving the characters accents and personalities beyond what was written on the page. There were no monsters in the book, if you looked beyond the men, and so Ben enjoyed it purely for the fun of a good tale.

The fun, however, ended when, one evening, Silver asked the boy to read the book to him. He admitted that he was not a learned man and words confused him so. Ben was happy to read the book, in chapters, aloud of an evening, after they had finished work, and was happy; too, to see how Silver enjoyed the many voices Ben gave to the characters. When it turned out, however, that the Silver of the book was not actually the hero but the villain, the real Silver, who had been listening nightly with glowing pride, actually spluttered out his cocoa and flew into an ungodly rage. He tore the book from Ben's young hands and scoured the pages he could make no sense of, before throwing it out into the sea, never to be seen again. Then, grabbing a jug of rum, he went off to fume on deck, loudly cursing Robert Louis Stevenson's name to the waves and beyond.

Ben was tidying the galley when Captain Dante appeared, demanding to know why his normally sober cook was a drunken wreck of a man hurling precious carrots at seagulls.

‘I was reading
Treasure Island
to him, Captain,' said Ben carefully, as he scrubbed the floor clean of the spilt cocoa, trying hard not to look into the Captain's squinting eyes.

‘Damn it, lad! Do you not know the power of words? We're at sea – you don't introduce anything you can't control while surrounded by water.' Captain Dante limped over to a barrel of preserving salt and sat down hard. He never stood for long on account of a wound on his leg that had never healed properly. ‘That man has carried a copy of that book with him for close on three years, since its publication, and not once has it been read to him. Do you not think in that time I wouldn't have perhaps read the man's book myself and seen how it cast his name in a far from favourable light?'

Ben hung his head. He had long known that Silver was the villain but he had not thought once how that might affect the mind of a man who believed himself to have been immortalised as a hero.

‘Listen, boy,' continued Dante ‘I know you mean well and I can see you're a hard worker but you just don't get people, and those who don't get people should avoid them. That's why I came to sea – you get to keep your crowds small, bite off bits when you're ready to deal with them. Take your time to get to know folks, Master Gaul, don't just rush in and think their minds work like yours; you'll always be disappointed when they don't.' Dante stood and walked to the door, reaching in his pocket as he went. ‘You'll be down a book I'm guessing.' And with this
he took a book from his pocket and threw it on to Ben's hammock, which bounced under the considerable weight. ‘That should keep you out of my crew's way for a while; it's about a chap called Gulliver who goes on lots of sea journeys. It gets me through the long nights. You can return it when you're done.' He paused. ‘Don't go reading it to Silver. I'd like to keep it out of the ocean if that's OK with you.' With this, Captain Dante limped off to calm his drunken cook, leaving Ben to clear up the remaining mess and look forward to reading the new story.

The incident, however, had longer consequences. It was certainly not Ben's fault that his reading of the book had ruined Silver's life; there was always a question over the truth of Silver's story anyway. Silver, though, turned even more to the drink after finding out about his villainous namesake, whereas previously he had spent his free time telling others of his literary fame. The drinking affected his cooking and this in turn affected the mood of the crew. Ben had never really been an eater so he still felt quite happy, but the other crew members were starting to get smaller portions or meals that were practically inedible; in one instance, a meal even caused several seamen to fall sick.

One day while Ben was lying in his hammock in the galley doing some long overdue reading, the door opened and in came one of the crew, a young seaman by the name of Dawson. Dawson was around fifteen but had been at sea for four years now, making him tough and sinewy to look at. He had a salt- and wind-weathered skin, and this, together with an unfortunate skin condition, made him look rough and scaly and had saddled him with the nickname of Gator. Fortunately, it was a name he loved and it had prompted him to get a large alligator tattoo across his back, where the creature curled almost into an S-shape and appeared to be clinging on to the skin itself.

Gator Dawson moved silently across the galley to the crates and started rummaging among the food stocks, driven by his hunger to find more than the slop he was now being served by Silver. He must have thought himself alone because the act of stealing food on a travelling ship was a crime worse than any other, as you were taking from the mouth of all on board.

The crates contained mainly onion and potatoes now and held little interest for the hungry scavenger so he turned his attention to the hanging meats. All the meats and cheeses were hung from hooks as a way of preserving them from damp. Gator unhooked a sausage the size of his forearm and took an almighty bite.

‘What are you doing?' said Ben from his bunk, fully aware of what Gator Dawson was about.

The sinewy youth turned, half choking on his snatched mouth of food as he tried to hide the stolen meat behind him – looking like the boy he really was and not the villain he pretended to be. This all changed when he caught sight of his accuser.

‘Well, well! If it isn't young Master Fall – skulking in the shadows with his nose in a book.' He took another defiant bite from the sausage. ‘What you gonna do, you little runt? Maybe run to Captain and tell him Gator's in the food stores or are you planning on telling people I'm a villain in your book and turning me to the bottle like you did with Silver?'

Gator's tone was menacing as if demanding an actual answer and, lost for words, Ben simply shrugged.

‘That's right, little half breed, you're not gonna say a word to anyone because Gator's got teeth and he likes to bite.' And with this he drew from its sheath a rather nasty-looking knife: its blade was serrated for sawing through thick rope and its bone handle had been carved to look like scales.

Ben felt himself swallow as Gator approached and watched in horror as the menacing figure ran the blade through the sausage, removed a jagged piece of meat and popped it between his crooked teeth, which for a moment looked as sharp as points.

Gator placed the blade against Ben's throat. ‘I wouldn't want to have to cut out your tongue and eat that instead,' he hissed into Ben's terrified face.

‘What's all this then?'

The voice of the Captain came as a surprise – the old man, for all that he was slowed by a limp, could certainly sneak up on you. Gator spun around, his limbs flailing as he tried to keep balance. First the giant sausage flew towards the Captain's face and then, as Dante swiftly put up his hand to deflect it, it was struck by the nasty serrated blade that followed in its wake. The vicious weapon cut deeply into the fleshy palm and the howl of the Captain's pain had Gator falling back on to his rump and scuttling backwards into a corner, cowering in fear.

Ben heard the choicest foul language his young ears had ever been witness to. Despite his fear, he rushed to the aid of the Captain, grabbing a discarded cheese cloth and a half-empty bottle of rum. However, before he could grab the Captain's hand so he could bind it and stop the flow of crimson blood, he was met with a striking backhand that felled him to the floor with a ringing in his ears and a stinging to his cheek.

As a very young boy Ben had witnessed a farmer tending to the leg of a wounded and blind bull elephant. It was laying waste to his crops but every opportunity the farmer took to approach, the elephant struck out with its trunk. Eventually, the farmer felt he had no choice but to call for his spear to end the elephant's life rather than save it. It was at this moment that Ben had started to sing, a song the soldiers would sing of home when
they were drinking heavily and smiles began to turn to frowns. The elephant calmed and no spear was needed that day. It did not wait for its leg to be bandaged but it retreated back into the jungle without further incident.

So Ben sat on the floor his face still throbbing and started to sing the song from that day, directly to the Captain.

At first, the Captain did not calm down but seemed to focus his squinting, bloodshot eyes on the cowering Gator, but then, suddenly, he turned to Ben and began to listen quietly, the anger clearing from his eyes.

‘Where did you learn that song?'

Ben stopped his singing. ‘The soldiers taught it to me; it was the only one I was allowed to sing to my mother.'

Captain Dante laughed. ‘I'm sure it was. I buried my Mary to that song.' His laughter stopped for a moment and allowed Ben to point at the forgotten hand.

‘Can I take care of your wound, Captain Dante? You're dripping blood all over my floor and Master Silver does like it to be clean despite what's said of him.'

Dante looked at his ruined left hand. ‘I think you can stop the bleed but I very much doubt that you'll save the fingers.'

The galley door burst open and two of the crew stood in its rectangle of light.

‘You all right, Captain?' asked a concerned voice as they watched the galley boy wrap the blooded hand tightly in a cloth.

‘Not especially, lads. I think I just lost my hand to a Gator; he's cowering in the corner. I think it best you take him to the brig until I calm down.'

The men bustled into the room and had soon bundled Dawson up the short flight of steps to the deck and away.

When the hand was bound the Captain snatched it away.
‘OK, that's enough fussing, boy. It'll mend.'