The Cruise

by Anthony Hulse

  Break-off groups had begun to increase, and whispering groups eyed the vulnerable victims of this ill-fated voyage. First Officer Ingle had noticed this and had issued arms to those of his crew who were still loyal to him. This itself was a risk, given that Ingle did not completely trust every man.

  Ben and Natasha took their usual places in the Garden Lounge and ate a piece of cake. Again the piggish eyes of the Quinn’s watched carefully, and waited for any crumbs that may fall to the ground. Ben and Natasha sipped a mouthful of their remaining wine and replaced the cork.

  A loud retching sound could be heard from the other side of the room. Someone else had tried the blooms and shrubs that adorned the lounge.

  Ben broke the silence. “We’re going to have to make a decision. We won’t survive much longer, and I don’t hold out much hope for the lifeboats.”

  Joe swilled a mouthful of rum around his dry gums. “What do you have in mind, Ben?”

  “I foresee a whole lot of trouble soon. Groups are forming. It’s a dangerous development. The more desperate they are, the more dangerous they become.”

  “What are you getting at?” asked Sarah.

  “We must remain alert at all times. Some of these vultures will stop at nothing to steal your rations. I propose that we stay together at all times. We sleep here. It’ll be safer.”

  Ross nodded his agreement. “That sounds sensible. That still doesn’t solve our problem concerning food and drink?”

  Ben eyed up one suspicious group. “It’s only a matter of time before attention is drawn towards the food in the galley. Everyone knows half of it is edible. Desperate people will start taking chances.”

  “You’re not suggesting we gamble our lives on the food are you?”

  “No, not all of it. You see, I’ve been thinking. When we were chasing the rats, the cheese was not poisoned.”

  “Rats?” quizzed Danny.

  “Never, mind, it’s a long story.”

  Ross spoke up. “Maybe you were lucky, Ben. Some of the cheese could be poisoned.”

  “Perhaps, but it must be worth a chance. I can remember where I got the batch of cheese from.”

  “Who would take such a chance?” asked Cheryl.

  Ben looked forlornly towards his wife. “I will.”

  “No!” screamed Natasha, which attracted attention from other groups. She lowered her voice. “Ben, we can wait. We still have some rations left.”

  “A biscuit each and some rum. No, Nat, it has to be done.”

  Natasha wept. “Why you? You don’t owe anyone anything.”

  Ben sighed deeply. “It’s possible that I may have already taken arsenic.”

  “Explain yourself,” demanded Joe.

  “These hallucinations I’m having. They could be down to arsenic.”

  “Joe contested the suggestion. “But, you cannot be sure. You‘re not medically qualified to suggest such a thing. I agree with Natasha. We should wait.”

  “No. I’ve reached my decision.”

  “We’re all behind you, Ben,” enthused Norman.

  “What if the cheese is good? It could start a riot.”

  Ben responded. “No, Ross. I’ll do it secretly. If the cheese is good, I’ll get in touch with Ingle. He can then distribute it equally.”

  “Hold on. Call me stupid,” offered Danny, “but if you’re somehow immune to the arsenic, then what would be the point of you tasting it? It could still be poisoned.”

  “Danny has a point. It has to be someone else,” proposed Ross.

  “I’ll do it,” said Joe. “After all, I’ve taken magic mushrooms before and survived.”

  “Well, that’s settled,” decided Norman Quinn, who rubbed his hands together. “Joe it is.”

  ******

  The desperate group waited outside the galley, their plan in turmoil. Between them and the food was a solid oak door. First Officer Ingle had taken the precaution to lock it, and there was no chance of forcing it open, even if they were of able body, which they definitely were not.

  “Well, I guess it’s back to the drawing board,” sighed Joe.

  Jackson the purser looked on as Norman tried with all his might to force open the door. “Just what the hell is going on here? Mr Ingle’s orders were that nobody was to enter the galley. He felt it best to lock up the food, knowing that the temptation would be too great for some. It appears his words were justified.”

  Norman pleaded. “Mr Jackson. It’s our belief that the cheese may be edible. Ben ate some of it and he’s still alive.”

  The purser pondered. “Can you imagine what would happen if we opened that door? We would have a riot on our hands.”

  Joe confronted the officer. “Listen, Jackson; I’m prepared to sample the cheese. It could save a lot of lives.”

  “I’ll put it to Mr Ingle, but I don’t hold out much hope. He’s adamant that nobody touches the food.”

  Ben interrupted. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Mr Jackson, but the passengers are becoming desperate. You’ll have a full-scale riot on your hands very soon. It’s only a matter of time before they demand to be let into the galley. We’re merely trying to defuse the situation. If the cheese is good, it will buy you more time.”

  “Like I said, I’ll put it to Mr Ingle.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t wait too long. People are starving.”

  Jackson hurried on his way and the group once more retreated to the Garden Lounge.

  Lord and Lady Braithwaite occupied one of the tables. They sucked slowly on one of their biscuits. Lord Braithwaite lifted his forlorn eyes towards the intruders. “Mr Duncan, is it not? You seem to be a rational man. How would you assess the situation? How long can we survive without food and water?”

  “Not for much longer I’m afraid. The weaker we get, the more helpless we will be. We’re hoping Mr Ingle comes to his senses and consents to our proposal.”

  “Proposal? May I ask what you intend to do?”

  “Joe here is prepared to taste the cheese from the galley. We believe it to be edible.”

  “You must be a very brave man, Joe, but may I make a suggestion?”

  “By all means, Lord Braithwaite.”

  “Let me taste the food?”

  “Out of the question,” protested Joe.

  “No, hear me out. My wife and I took this cruise as a sort of sending off for me. You see, I’ve only months, maybe weeks to live. I have terminal cancer.”

  The tears streamed down Lady Braithwaite’s sombre face.

  Her husband held her hand and continued. “You see, I am a dying man anyway. I’ll taste the food.”

  Joe protested. “I’m sorry, my Lord, but it’s already been decided.”

  “Joe, you have the rest of your life to look forward to; besides, I’ll be doing it for Melissa.” He looked into his wife's eyes and they embraced. “Please, I implore you to let me taste the food. I’m begging you.”

  Ben was suspicious. “You sure don’t look ill… Ok, Lord Braithwaite, if Ingle agrees, then we’ll consent to your proposal.”

  ******

  First Officer Ingle posted armed guards in the corridor that led to the galley. It was decided that the men would accompany Lord Braithwaite to the galley, whilst the women, including Lady Braithwaite would wait in the Garden Lounge. The dying man and his wife had said their goodbyes. They had embraced and kissed, but they retained their dignity.

  Ingle opened the large oak door and they approached the food supply. The eyes of each of the men ogled the food and drink. Each of them was tempted by the fare, and absolute willpower was needed not to risk tasting the food. Ben pointed to the batch of cheese where he had taken the rat’s bait. Lord Braithwaite shook each hand before he faced the supply of cheese.

  He picked up a knife and cut off a slice. He hesitated before he inserted it in his mouth. He chewed for what seemed an eternity, before he clutched his throat and fell to the ground. Dr Waverley, who himself was fatigued and feeble, comforted him, as the watc
hing spectators saw their last hopes evaporate. Dr Waverley held Lord Braithwaite’s head as he vomited and clutched his aching stomach. The doctor gave him a sedative, but to no effect. Father Rattigan administered his last rites, as the life ebbed away from Lord Braithwaite.

  Norman Quinn made a dash for the food and was firmly held back by Ben and Ross. He began to scream hysterically, and his stubby fingers grasped at thin air.

  Lord Braithwaite was carried to the sick bay and the group once more retreated to the Garden Lounge.

  Lady Braithwaite examined their sad faces and mouthed. “No, no, no.”

  The other women comforted her, when she asked, “Where is he? I want to see my husband.”

  Father Rattigan escorted her to the sick bay, where she sat with her dying husband.

  “The food and drink must be disposed of,” ordered First Officer Ingle. “We cannot risk another life.”

  “I agree, Mr Ingle,” said Ben. “It should be done tonight. If we’re seen, it’ll cause a riot.”

  “I’ll see to it. My men will throw it overboard.”

  Ben whispered. “We’ll help you, Mr Ingle, all except Norman that is. He’s too much of a risk.”

  Ingle accepted the offer. “Meet me at the galley at two' o'clock this morning. Everyone should be asleep by then.”

  Natasha spoke softly to the grieving Lady Braithwaite. “Your husband was a very brave man. At least now he’ll no longer suffer.”

  The sobbing woman looked up. “Suffer? My husband has not suffered a day’s illness in his life.”

  ******

  A long human chain was formed from the galley to the upper deck. The food and drink was passed along the line and disposed of in the sea. The operation went successfully, until the loud splashing woke Wells. He looked through the bars of his cell window to see the disposal of the food take place. He screamed at the top of his voice and the chain ceased to function.

  First Officer Ingle cocked his ear. “Where is that shouting coming from?”

  “I’ll take a look, Mr Ingle,” said Jackson.

  Wells was joined in his yelling by his two bodyguards.

  Jackson and a group of armed sailors searched for the source of the clamour. The cell door was unlocked and the culprits were gagged, but it was too late. The racket had alerted the other passengers.

  Through the dense fog, Ben and his companions noticed that a mob had converged on the deck. Ingle ordered his men to form a line, guns at the ready. Clarke, the troublemaker from the lower deck had appointed himself the leader of the ever-increasing mob. There was now forty or fifty of them, who stared hostilely towards Ingle.

  “What is the meaning of this, Ingle? Are you trying to kill us all?” snarled Clarke, as he eyed the food, some of which was strewn on the deck.

  “We’re disposing of the poisoned food and drink. It’s for your own good.”

  Clarke approached, his manic eyes bloodshot. “Do you know what I think? I think you were taking the good food and were then leaving in the lifeboats. What do you take us for, Ingle?”

  “You’re very much mistaken. You’re paranoid. The lifeboats are still in place if you care to look. As I’ve already told you, we were disposing of the poisoned food and drink.”

  “I for one don’t trust you. You’ve already deprived us of chocolate and valuable drink, and for what?”

  The mob screamed and voiced their anger.

  Ingle pointed towards the mob. “If you don’t withdraw, Clarke, we’ll be forced to open fire on you.”

  Ben looked across at Ingle. He spoke quietly. “You can’t be serious, surely. It’ll be cold-blooded murder.”

  “If you do not like it, Duncan, return to your cabin.”

  Ben peered through the swirling fog at the bridge. He could just make out someone watching them. “Davenport,” he muttered.

  Ben’s attention was averted back to the matter in hand, as the mob charged at them. Some of the sailors fired their weapons, and several of the attackers fell to the deck. A great scuffle was underway. Bottles, wood, and anything they could get their hands on were being used as weapons. Several of the pack foraged on the deck for food and filled their empty stomachs. The results of the melee were horrendous. Numerous passengers rolled about on the deck, the poison having taken effect. Others had been shot, and the crimson blood now stained the deck.

  More sailors arrived on the upper deck and order was restored. Clarke, the instigator of the riot lay on the bloody deck, a bullet between his eyes. The deck was now crowded with bemused spectators. The proposed adventure had turned into a blood bath. The dead bodies were lowered into the Mediterranean Sea, along with the remaining food and drink.

  Ben touched his forehead. A huge gash above his left eyebrow was his reward for his assistance. Joe had received a bloody nose for his efforts; the others minor scrapes and cuts.

  Ben confronted Ingle, whose face was ashen, as the shock now registered. “You were out of order, Ingle. You shot down those men in cold blood.”

  The trembling first officer stared wildly. “What choice did I have, Duncan? They would have torn us in two.”

  The din of the poisoned passengers was loud. Dr Waverley and his medics tried in vain to comfort them. The sound of retching filled the morning air, and the scene resembled a battlefield.

  “Please go back to bed. It’s all over,” yelled a distraught First Officer Ingle.

  The cheerless, frail passengers made their way back to their berths, unsure what the dawn would bring.

  Chapter Twenty One

  Ben woke from his restless slumber, his mouth dry and his head sore. Natasha had applied a large sticking plaster to his brow. He picked up the bottle of rum and examined it. There was just enough possibly for two swigs each. He peered through the porthole and attempted to curb his excitement. The sky was clear. The fog, which had been the scourge of the Empress Medina for so long had at last lifted.

  “Nat, Nat, wake up,” he croaked.

  She sat up. Her once luscious lips were dry and cracked. Her normally immaculate red hair was dishevelled and dry, and her pretty blue eyes were full of sorrow. Ben looked her up and down and acknowledged that she did not have long to live. There would be a great void in his meaningless life if he lost Natasha. He felt so helpless when he beckoned her over to the porthole.

  “Look, Nat, the fog has lifted.”

  Others in the group had heard Ben and rose from their makeshift beds on the floor of the Garden Lounge. It was difficult to build up any enthusiasm as they stared at the clear sky. The Quinns’ suffered more than most, even though their excess fat gave them an obvious advantage. Wendy had not even bothered to rise. She just lay there, stared into nothingness and awaited the inevitable.

  “It can only be a matter of time. Surely we’ll be spotted now,” said Ross, half-heartedly, as he tried to raise moral amongst his companions.

  “I’m starving. I can’t go on much longer,” moaned Norman.

  “Look, you fat fuck! We’re all starving, so stop your whinging,” yelled Danny, his arm around the fragile Cindy.

  “But we have nothing left to eat or drink. You don’t understand.”

  “I understand all right. You and your pig of a wife wolfed down your rations and hoped to scrounge from us. I have no sympathy for either of you.”

  Ben attempted to diffuse the hostile encounter. “Leave it out, Danny. We’re all in this together. Bickering among each other won’t help.

  Cheryl sighed. “Come on, let’s go on the deck. We could do with some fresh air.”

  ******

  The bloodstains still adorned the deck, the vomit still present, and a strong stench carried to their nostrils in the gentle breeze. Neither the crew nor the passengers possessed the energy or the will power to bother cleaning up the evidence of the carnage.

  “Christ, you'd think Ingle would have gotten someone to clean the deck,” moaned Joe.

  Ben looked towards the bridge. He could make out First Officer Ingle and
Jackson scouring the horizon, the reflection of the sun glinting off their binoculars. Ben decided to join them.

  “Mr Ingle, I think I owe you an apology. You were probably correct in your decision to open fire. The consequences for us could have been dire.”

  “Duncan, have you ever commanded a ship before? Decisions have to be made; decisions that could determine life from death. I made such a decision, and I’m not proud of it.” He continued to search the horizon.

  Ben continued. “This morning on the deck, whilst the scuffle was taking place, I saw Davenport. He was standing where you’re standing now, Mr Ingle. He was watching us.”

  Ingle lowered his binoculars. “I think you must be mistaken. If Davenport was still aboard this ship, he would have been detected by now.”

  “Listen, Ingle, level with me. Who is Davenport?”

  “I thought he was a friend of yours. He invited you on this cruise, remember.”

  “Me and my travelling companions were told we had won a competition, the prize being a cruise around the Mediterranean. What we would like to know is what reality is and what is fantasy? You see, you’ve obviously sailed on many such cruises with Davenport. Why still play along with the deception? People even now are still playing out their roles. They’re still living in the twenties.”

  Ingle looked across at Purser Jackson, who listened in to the conversation and scowled quizzically. “Mr Duncan, I think that knock on your head has dulled your senses. There was no such competition. Mr Davenport himself related to me that he was taking his close friends on the cruise. Why, I even heard you and your friends stating that you worked for him.”

  Ben shook his head slowly. “That was one of the conditions, damn it! We were told to act out the roles of these 1920’s characters.”

  The first officer grinned. “Mr Duncan, you claimed that you may have taken arsenic. Perhaps, you’re correct.”