Worse Things Happen at Sea!

by Alan Snow

  He was cold and hungry, and his bottom had a painful groove in it.

  chapter 24

  THE BIG SECRET

  Fingle had had enough of watching life from up in the rigging. He was cold and hungry, and his bottom had a painful groove in it where he’d been sitting on a rope. Giving himself up to the crew couldn’t be much worse. So he climbed down and presented himself to Bert and a couple of the larger pirates.

  “What shall we do with this sneak? He’s the one that almost got Arthur caught. Shall I rough him up?” Bert was straining at the leash.

  “We’ll have none of that.” Willbury had appeared with Arthur by his side. “I think he might answer a few questions, though.”

  “What do you want to know?” asked the disheveled Fingle.

  “Some information about Black Jollop, this trip, and what Snatcher is up to with the doctor.”

  “I ain’t telling you nothin’.”

  “When did you last eat?”

  “Days ago . . . ,” said Fingle as he held his shrunken stomach.

  “Bert, could you bring me a fresh bacon sandwich?”

  “Is that for me?” asked the hopeful Fingle.

  “It might be, but then again, I might fancy it, or perhaps Bert would.”

  “Yup! I fancy a bacon sandwich, all right. A nice thick one with loads of ketchup and butter.”

  There was an odd empty gurgling sound from Fingle’s stomach.

  Bert smiled slyly at hearing the noise. “As I remember, there is only enough bacon left for one really good sandwich. I do feel quite peckish, but bacon makes such good fishing bait. Maybe we should just throw it over the side instead?”

  “Stop it! This is cruel and unusual punishment, this is! Blooming torture!”

  “To you it may be torture, but to me it is just a sandwich. I can take it or leave it. Actually, I don’t know if I fancy one, really—maybe I’ll just throw it over the side.”

  “Stop it! This is cruel and unusual punishment, this is!”

  “You’re mad, and cruel!” Fingle looked very worried. “What do you want to know?”

  The retired lawyer stood and took hold of his lapels.

  “I want to know about the Black Jollop. Are the effects permanent?”

  “As far as I know,” stuttered Fingle.

  “And why would Archibald Snatcher be behind a scheme to hand out free medicine to the people of Ratbridge?”

  Fingle started to twitch nervously. “It’s more than my life’s worth to tell yer.”

  The sandwich arrived, and Fingle’s eyes fell upon it.

  Willbury took the sandwich and sniffed it. “Very nice. Finest Gloucester Old Spot, I think?”

  “Finest Gloucester Old Spot, I think?”

  “Correct, Mr. Nibble. The bread is just out of the oven, and I think they’ve used unsalted Danish butter,” Bert added.

  The saliva was starting to run down Fingle’s chin.

  “You can’t do this to me. I—I—I . . . If I tells yer, yer promise me yer won’t put me back with Snatcher?”

  “If you don’t tell me what I want to know, I will put you back with him. And I might just thank you in front of him for telling me about the Black Jollop even if you haven’t.”

  Fingle went white.

  “Whereas if you tell me everything, I just might let you have a couple of rounds of fat juicy bacon sandwiches.”

  “What do you want to know?”

  “So, the Black Jollop?”

  “It’s poison.”

  Everybody but Fingle looked shocked. “Can I have a bite now?”

  “No, not yet. What on earth do you mean ‘it’s poison’? We’ve all seen it cure people!”

  “Well, it does cure things. Loads of things. But there’s a downside.”

  “What downside?” snapped Willbury.

  “It has effects. Right interesting ones. And I ain’t telling you more until I get a bite.”

  “Very well.” Willbury held out the sandwich, and two large pirates holding Fingle let him lean forward to take a bite.

  “Tell me more or that will be the last of the sandwich you taste.”

  Fingle quickly swallowed and spoke again.

  “It’s the cheese lust. It comes on those what ’ave taken the Jollop.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “A desire for cheese, a mad craving. The cheese lust!”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes. Old Snatcher has been working on it for years. He found some old book of cheese fables in his collection and started researching it. He found more and more stories about some plant that had wonderful effects on illnesses but cursed those that it cured with the cheese lust. So he got hold of some of this plant and set about his experiments. He was dosing up all kinds of animals with stuff, and most of them went bonkers. But his favorite was the dogs. Once he dosed them up, they made the best cheese hounds, but right vicious. We had to keep them muzzled. They would do anything for a whiff of cheese. Then a while ago, he had a bit of a run-in with you lot, and he had to start out again. He had the bright idea that if he could get everybody to take the stuff, there would be so much demand for cheese that it would have to be decriminalized and he would get rich in the cheese trade again.”

  “Once he dosed them up, they made the best cheese hounds, but right vicious.”

  “And the spa was just a way to get people to take this evil substance?”

  “You got it right. Now give me the sandwich!”

  “Just one last thing. Are we off to collect more of this plant he needs, then?”

  “Yes, it only grows on one island on the whole planet.”

  Willbury threw the sandwich on the floor in disgust. “Let him have it.”

  Fingle’s guard released him, and the man fell upon the sandwich. In a trice it was gone.

  “What shall we do with him now?”

  “Lock him in the bilges.”

  Fingle was taken off, and those that remained stood in silence. Snatcher had again proved himself the most evil of men.

  “I suggest we turn the ship about right away,” said Willbury. “We cannot countenance delivering more of this evil substance to our fair country.”

  “Hear! Hear!”

  Then it struck Arthur. HIS GRANDFATHER HAD BEEN POISONED!

  “Grandfather! What are we going to do? He’s been poisoned! We have to cure him!”

  “I’m not sure what we can do.” The realization of what they had just learned was sinking in, and the group looked miserable.

  “There may not be a cure,” Arthur muttered. “Then what?”

  “Ask Snatcher?” said Kipper, who had joined them. “We have got him in a bit of a corner.”

  “I doubt he is going to help us with this. But we can try.”

  “What else can we do?” said Willbury.

  “I’ve a few ideas,” Bert added darkly.

  They trooped up to the stern and used the stick to knock on the window of the cabin below. A very sleepy face looked out through the window.

  “What is it?”

  “We want to speak to Snatcher.”

  “I’ll go and get him.”

  Snatcher appeared. “What do you want now?”

  Willbury looked down in contempt. “We know what you have been up to with your Black Jollop.”

  Snatcher looked startled. “How? You been spying through walls?”

  “Never you mind. We know everything. Your poisoning of the ill, the cheese lust, and how you intended to start up the cheese trade again.”

  “Blooming Henry! You do know it all.” Then a dark look crossed his face. “It was that Fingle. I’ll have ’im.”

  “Never mind that. We need you to help us cure everybody.”

  “You must be joking. Even if I end up back in prison, when I get out, the demand for cheese will still be so high, it will be easy to get it legalized again. That Jollop is permanent. That is the beauty of it. So many have taken the cure that using my cheese knowledge and
contacts, I will become the richest man in the land.”

  “It was that Fingle. I’ll have ’im.”

  Marjorie spoke. “You are disgusting!”

  Snatcher just laughed.

  “And there is no cure for the cheese lust?”

  “NO!” Snatcher scoffed.

  All the windows of the captain’s cabin were now open and filled with heads.

  “You will never profit by this. I will make sure that you and that doctor of yours will never get out of prison.”

  “Even if I have to live out my days in jail, just the thought of that cheesy desire will be enough to keep me going,” snapped Snatcher. “It’s a very sweet revenge for what Ratbridge has done to me.”

  “You’re mad!” said Willbury, and Snatcher rolled his eyes.

  Marjorie noticed that the doctor had been watching all that had been going on and seemed to be trying to catch her attention without being noticed by Snatcher.

  When he saw that Marjorie had seen him, he clearly mouthed “I can help.” She turned and led the group away from the rail.

  “I think the doctor wants to talk to us. He was signaling to me when Willbury was talking to Snatcher.”

  “Wants to save his own skin.”

  “Maybe, but why would he be signaling to me?” Marjorie wondered.

  “Let’s find out. Ask him.”

  “Don’t do that. If he’s down there, and turns on Snatcher, Snatcher will do him in. No. We have to get him out somehow.”

  “How do we do that?” asked Kipper.

  “He’s a doctor, isn’t he. Tell Snatcher that someone is ill and needs a doctor,” suggested Arthur.

  “Brilliant idea.”

  They returned to the rail.

  “We want a favor from you.”

  “Do you really!” Snatcher retorted with a laugh.

  “Yes. We need a doctor. One of the crew has got a very large boil.”

  “I am glad to hear it. Why should I help you lot?”

  “I might go a little easier on you in court if you show some compassion,” answered Willbury.

  Snatcher weighed up the situation. “Very well. You are welcome to him. Fat lot of good it will do you. He is useless as a doctor. When I found him, he was reduced to working as a receptionist at a vet’s.”

  The crew lowered a rope and hauled up the doctor. As soon as he was over the rail, he spoke.

  “There isn’t a real boil, is there? I can’t stand them. They make me go funny just looking at them.”

  “No. No. Why were you trying to get my attention?”

  The doctor looked round at Willbury. “If I can help you, will you drop charges against me?”

  Willbury looked distrustful. “It would have to be some very real help, and I still might not be able to promise you anything. But remember, if you don’t, it could be life in clink!”

  “Well, I think there might be a cure for the cheese lust.”

  “There isn’t a real boil, is there?”

  “In my spare time I’d do hair-related experiments.”

  chapter 25

  THE DOCTOR’S STORY

  “I didn’t start out with the intention of being a crook. My father was a doctor, as was his father before him, and my mother had her heart set on me being one as well. I started my medical training in Edinburgh, and at first it went very well. Then I fell in with what I can only call “a bad set.”

  “I’d developed an interest in hair and everything about it. The chemical composition of different colors, the way it grew, how to make it grow, everything! I still find it fascinating. In my spare time I’d do hair-related experiments, and slowly my experiments took over my life. I stopped attending lectures and seldom went out apart from to the barbers to collect sweepings. I became more and more obsessed with male early-onset baldness. I knew if I could understand it, I might be able to find a cure, and that would make my name and fortune.

  “In the early autumn of my third year I discovered certain chemical changes in the scalps and hair of those becoming rapidly bald, and I knew I was on to something. But there was a problem. I needed hair samples, and I needed them from the very men who least liked giving it up. Those going prematurely bald!

  “In my desperation I turned to drink, and one night in a bar I met two very unsavory characters. I fell into conversation with them and told them about my work. Strangely they seemed very interested, and after a few more drinks said they might be able to help me with my studies. I asked how, as they both had a very full head of hair, and they told me it was better not to ask. Before I left, I gave them my card and thought nothing more of it.

  “Then a few days later, there was a knock at my door. I was surprised, but as the rent wasn’t due, I answered it. Before me were the men I’d met in the bar.

  “I wasn’t sure why they had come to visit me, and not having had a drink, they seemed even less appealing. I asked them what they wanted, and they told me they had something for me.”

  “What was it?” asked Arthur.

  “Fresh hair from a balding man! They produced a small folded piece of newspaper and unwrapped it to reveal a pile of fine ginger hair. Now, I’ve not mentioned this, but ginger hair is the highest in the chemicals I was seeking, so my delight was intense and I offered to pay the men well. The men then said that the hair was a free sample, and more could be provided whenever I wanted. With that, they left their cards and were gone.”

  Willbury had raised a hand. “Sir, let me ask you their names?”

  “They produced a small folded piece of newspaper and unwrapped it to reveal a pile of fine ginger hair.”

  The doctor looked ashamed. “Their names, sir, were Broadwood and Widger.”

  “I thought they might be.”

  Arthur was astonished that Willbury knew the names of the men and was about to ask how, but Willbury signaled to him to stay quiet and allow the doctor to continue his story.

  “I was very thankful for this supply of new hair, and it proved to be the best sample I had ever analyzed. But soon it was gone in the flurry of experiments that it allowed. So I went to see Mr. Broadwood. I found him at home in a small but luxurious house not too far from the center of the city. When he saw me at the door, he pulled me in quickly and then offered me tea.

  “‘I suppose you need more hair?’ he asked.

  “I admitted that this was indeed why I’d come and asked if he could supply me again. He replied that he could, but this time there would be a cost. Fourteen groats was the sum. A huge amount in those days, but I had my allowance from my parents, so I agreed.

  “A few days later, the hair arrived and again it was of beautiful quality. I worked for several days, and again the hair was used up. So again I visited Broadwood.

  “Over the next few weeks I spent more than two hundred groats, just on hair. But what hair! My experiments were starting to bear fruit, and then . . . it happened.

  “Needing more hair, I set off late one evening to collect another batch from Broadwood. As I left his house, I can only have walked a few yards when I suddenly felt a hand on my collar.

  “‘I am arresting you under the 1738 Trading in Illegally Gathered Scalps and Toenail Act.’

  “Oh, the shame of it! I was being arrested by members of the Edinburgh hair robbery squad. Deep down I knew that the hair I had been using must have been collected illegally, but I had swept those thoughts away with the wonder of my scientific experiments.

  “I was being arrested by members of the Edinburgh hair robbery squad.”

  “So yes, you guessed correctly, Mr. Nibble. Broadwood and Widger, the infamous hair robbers, had been my suppliers. They would go out at night, find drunken balding men, offer them spiked drinks, and then when the men passed out, shave off their last remaining hair.

  “They got twenty years and transportation, while my family got me a very good lawyer, and I got off with a ten, groat fine and barring from the medical profession. After the trial my family cut off my allowance and disowne
d me. So I moved south and hid myself in the ‘job’ that Snatcher mentioned. A receptionist at a vet’s practice. That is where he found me.”

  “What on earth was Snatcher doing going to a vet’s?” asked Arthur.

  “He turned up and asked if we had any spare animals. Thinking he was after something as a pet, I told him that the animals we had were mostly ill or very old. To my surprise, this seemed to be exactly what he wanted. Then I asked him what type of animal he wanted, and he said everything we had. At the vet’s we always like to give homes to animals if we can, so I offered to find out what we had and told him I could run them round to him later.

  “When I turned up with the animals, my interest was raised when I saw much of the same equipment I had been using in my own experiment. I asked him about his work, and we talked for hours about complex organic molecules and such things. Around midnight I made to leave and he asked me if I wanted a job. With no hesitation I said yes, and the next day I started to help him with his work.”

  “What were you doing?” asked Marjorie.

  “Each day plants in parcels from around the world would turn up, and we would crush them up and analyze them. He told me he was trying to find a fabled plant whose extract could cure almost all ills but which also had some very interesting side effects.”

  “We would crush them up and analyze them.”

  “Who sent the plants?”

  “Snatcher placed ads in botanical magazines right across the world. Thousands of samples came in, but most had no healing effect at all.”

  “How did you know?”

  “We tested them on animals, usually with no effect . . . or at least no positive effect. But one day a package arrived with the seeds of a tree from the rainforests of some Pacific island. They were not like any I’d seen before, and when we tested them, we found they were rich in new chemical compounds. Snatcher made up some pills from the refined compounds and fed it to a tiny puppy. The puppy hadn’t been well, but very, very quickly—in fact, within a number of minutes—it was bright and breezy as anything.