Edge of Indigo

by Mark Walker

  The quavering beam of Sergeant Bellows’ torch revealed a ring of glowing skulls, surrounding another gigantic glowing skull directly in their path.

  Bellows managed a stuttering, “G–great–galloping–golly–whoppers!” And then, in the deathly silence that followed, they heard in the darkness before them a scraping and scuffling! He quickly doused his torch, and they stood huddled in front of the glowing skulls. A faint breath of chill air reached them, crawling up the children’s spines.

  Suddenly, a light shone from the center of the giant skull, hitting them full on, blinding them momentarily. They stood rooted with shock, until they heard a familiar Scottish burr, “Well, well, whom do we have here? Sergeant Bellows, children, what on earth are you doing? And how the devil did you get here?” asked Riggs, as he and Kendra Danes stepped out of the skull.

  Sheepishly, Sergeant Bellows explained how the children had come upon the hidden map, the secret path, and the sign with the faded Fancy Anne. The children were relieved at finding their friends but filled with excitement.

  “Well, Sergeant, it looks as though you’ve run into a similar surprise to the one we’ve just had.” Riggs filled him in on the trick skeleton, as he began to examine the latest strange find. Intrigued, he ran his light over the scene, which consisted of skulls, splashed with luminous paint set on various ledges in the rock walls, with three suspended from a wire. The giant skull was painted on a black heavy canvas that looked to be part of a ship’s sail, slit down the middle and tacked to a piece of wood wedged into the rock.

  Riggs said, “Obviously another trick to keep unwanted company out, so we’re on the right trail so far. Let’s see what the map has to say.” Then Riggs examined Fred Bellows’ sketch of the map in detail, but it was clear because of the lateness of the hour their investigation would have to be cut short.

  But there was just time enough left for a short exploratory run.

  They entered the main tunnel again, but immediately came upon a series of four or five catacomb-like caves branching off around it. Beginning to explore each in turn, they soon made a gruesome discovery: the pit filled with bones.

  “It may not be the grave of the Sea Ghost, but it’s a grave all right.” They all shuddered at the number of skulls and bones, and their thoughts filled with images of the many unfortunate slaves who had died digging the tunnel.

  “So, the legend is true…” murmured Kendra Danes.

  “Partly at least, or so it appears,” answered Riggs, “this must be the spot marked by the skull and crossbones on the map.”

  Sergeant Bellows flashed his light around, finding markings on the cave walls. They were old and appeared to be marked in charcoal or scratched into the cavern wall. Some were tiny drawings and pictures, hieroglyphics, and symbols of some sort. “Great galloping…” started Sergeant Bellows. “Look! They’ve notched off all the dead, sir. Just look at how many!”

  It was startling to see row after row of marks, knowing each meant a separate soul, who might have perished down in these caves all those years ago.

  They were starting to wander round the chamber, when the edge of Riggs’s torchlight caught a small round hole between the ground and the side of the cave. With its smooth edges and surface, it looked to Jen like a perfect slide. She shouted out, “Wait, wait! Look! It’s a slide!” and dragged her brother and sister back to the spot, grabbing at the torch. “Look! Let’s try it!” She pointed wildly. But then she slipped, sat right down on her bum, and disappeared down the hole.

  Fortunately, it was shallow and damp, so she slid easily down a short length of shaft before landing gently on her feet. “Whoo,” she said in wide-eyed shock. Michael and Mandy looked down into the hole and little Jen looked up at them giggling with naughty glee, her squeaks echoing about the cave.

  “Oh, bother! Jen!” exclaimed her sister, “You, silly monster, just what have you gone and gotten yourself into now?”

  Riggs, Bellows, and Kendra Danes quickly came to where the children were examining the hole, which was barely a meter wide. “Oh dear,” sighed Riggs. “All right, wee lass, we’ll get you out.” He shone his torch down into the shaft. “Here,” he said handing it down to the little girl, who took it and turned the torch on her surroundings. “What do you see?” called Riggs, his voice giving off a slight echo just as Jen’s had.

  “Just a wall of rocks,” she answered. Before anyone could stop him, Michael had plunged down the opening. “Oh, my dear brother!” groaned Mandy. Landing, Michael had snatched back the torch from his sister and played it over a manmade wall of rocks. “She’s right, Inspector,” he said somewhat shakily.

  “Can more of us fit down there?” called Riggs.

  “Oh yes, there’s plenty of room.”

  “Sergeant, if you would please take the lead,” indicated Riggs, and Sergeant Bellows, complied, gingerly setting his vast bulk onto the slide. He made it down without getting stuck and raised his great hands to assist the others down.

  “Shall we, ladies?” Riggs helped them through the opening, down the short tunnel, and into the waiting arms of Sergeant Bellows. He followed, finding himself in a small chamber that was tall enough to stand in, and opposite the crumbling wall of stones. At the top, several rocks were dislodged and crumbling, leaving a gaping hole, and Riggs stood on his tiptoes directing the torch inside. He turned grimly. “There’s something here we should all take a look at.”

  He handed his torch to Kendra, and she and Bellows held their torches on the spot. Riggs began carefully removing rocks one at a time, soon forming a safe opening. The light from the torches played over the floor, and the children and Kendra Danes gasped as it found a pair of dust-covered boots. Even Riggs gritted his teeth as the light moved upwards to reveal cobwebs hanging from a tarnished cutlass that lay point down between the tumbled bones and pile of old clothes, dusty and white with years of decay, a coat with long tails, and shreds of what had once been a shirt. Then, the light found the grinning skull sitting disjointedly atop them, a large rat peering, leering at them from behind it.

  Jen and Mandy shrieked simultaneously, Michael gave a “Yuck,” and Kendra Danes a “Yikes.” The rat scurried away, and in his haste dislodged a small cloud of dust and decay from the crumpled frayed tri-corn hat that still rested on the head.

  “Children, I think you may have found it—the actual grave of the Sea Ghost!” Riggs moved closer, examining the remains with his own torch. His light ran up the pile from bottom to top, and it reached the skull, a spider emerged briefly from behind one of the eyes then disappeared. “It’s as if they sat him here on a throne—just like a king. Well. Not much good it does the poor old bloke now.”

  Bellows shook his head sadly: “Great good golly-whoppers, sir! Me, oh my, the poor old soul hasn’t had a square meal in two hundred years—it’s no wonder he’s no skin and all bones. Great galloping golly-whoppers!” he said again in awe.

  Riggs stood momentarily in awe, then said to the children, “Do you wee nippers know what you’ve done? You’ve solved a mystery that’s eluded no telling how many people for nearly two hundred years!”

  Rather than elation, a cold and clammy feeling suddenly swept over them in the chill of the cave, and their thoughts turned to the lateness of the hour, and the creeping night outside. They scrambled gratefully back out through the hole (though this turned out to be rather a feat for Sergeant Bellows) and assembled in the little chamber of rock and loam. One of the torches was beginning to dim, the battery starting to fail. Riggs huddled them together, his face hard and serious in the torchlight.

  Riggs asked, “Now, remember carefully: Did you leave the birdcage covered, or uncovered? This is very important. Fred?” Bellows thought briefly and answered, “Covered, sir. I’m sure of it.” They all agreed, including little Jen, that the cage had been covered.

  “Brilliant! That’s very important. You see, perhaps our friends won’t notice the map’s been found, and that will give us more time to discover just wh
at they’re up to.

  “Right. We must be getting back, as it’ll already be getting dark. Now, not a word of what we’ve found. To anybody. We still have more investigations to make before we have this case solved.” They made their way from the gravesite and left the caves through the opening at the Howling Rock. Then, they showed Riggs the shortcut cliff path, along which they traveled back with great care to the Roundhouse Inn.

  9

  THAT NIGHT THE ATMOSPEHERE OF THE INN, whether it was the barometric pressure, or the curious nature of circumstances, combined with the personalities of the inn’s current occupants that caused the thus said atmosphere to be charged with tension. And if the atmosphere inside was charged, then outdoors it was literally expressed in the cracks and streaks of lightning traversing the purple bloated sky, portending things to come. All day the Potters and the Phipps sisters had kept careful tabs on the weather, listening to the wireless, monitoring the BBC and the Met. Reports, that all said that the great storm would soon be upon them. Gale warnings would be issued at the earliest prediction for those areas up and down the coast where it would strike. Less than twenty-four hours to go now, before the squalls began.

  It was almost dark when Riggs, Bellows, Kendra Danes and the children returned from their explorations. Doris Potter greeted them outside the inn. She fussed over the exhausted children, and she and Kendra Danes took them inside to make ready for dinner. Riggs and Bellows stayed behind where they held a whispered conference.

  Just then, high upon the cliff, the rumble of the motorcycle could be heard, its headlight shining the way as it came down the zigzag path. There was a roar from across the bridge as Shayne ffellows gunned the motorcycle, Delia clinging fiercely to the sidecar. With hardly any room to spare on either side, the cycle set out over the planks of the bridge, the wheels thumping, a flock of gulls scattering in their wake. He pulled the bike right up against the shelter of the Roundhouse, where he dismounted without helping Delia out of the sidecar. They exchanged some words, whereupon Delia hurried inside. Shayne ffellows hung about distractedly and Riggs turned to him. “Something on your mind Mr. ffellows?” he asked.

  The artist ambled over to them with head hung low, his hands thrust deep into his pockets. “Inspector. Sergeant. I, er, I just, er, just wanted to apologize for acting such a fool this afternoon. It’s just with all this excitement… I can’t seem to… well… to get myself together. My nerves and all. Look. I’m really sorry.” There was sincerity in his voice and he shyly offered his hand to both men, who accepted it.

  “All forgiven I’m sure Mr. ffellows. Your apology is accepted,” said Riggs. Bellows clapped him on the back, saying, “Think nothing of it, lad. Now how about looking after that young lady of yours—a prize catch I’d say.” And he ushered him inside. Riggs thoughtfully watched the door close. Bellows came back outside, and the policemen continued their discussion.

  Inside the warmth of the inn, the atmosphere (as aforementioned) was severely strained, with almost everyone snippish and unnerved; even the warmth of the great fireplace seemed chilled by the tension of the room’s occupants.

  The pirates were up later than usual, and it was nearly time for the Potters to serve dinner to the other guests. Their behavior had become increasingly rude as they became steadily more intoxicated on their diet of liquor, their game of cards disintegrating into angry oaths and swearing. They spoke in harsh whispers and grabbed at each other’s coats and collars. The subject of their immediate concern was that parts of the treasure were disappearing. Each suspected or blamed the other for the missing items. When their whispers became too loud, the Captain had to shush them, and when that failed, he would wallop them up the side of the head. Then there was Maynard Gee.

  Ever since Kendra Danes had come to the inn, he had mooned after her, making no real secret of his thoughts. And, tonight was no different. Every once and awhile he would whisper to one or all of the pirates, gesticulating wildly toward her, as they laughed. And his leers did not go unnoticed by Kelly Riggs or Sergeant Bellows. Most of the others were still preoccupied with the approaching storm.

  Despite his apology, Shayne ffellows continued to be moody, losing himself in his sketchbook. Even the best wiles of Delia left him unaffected. Tom Melville was glued to the wireless, switching wavelengths between the BBC and the Met. Reports. The Phipps sisters were unusually quiet, their patter dampened by the somber mood of the inn. The smells and clattering from the kitchen combined with the static of the radio formed a strange discordant undercurrent to the scene. A low rumbling came from the pirates as they carried on in the front of the room.

  Everyone sat down to their places at the great table waiting for their dinner. The only signs of cheer were with the children, who were immersed in whispering to each other about their adventures, until the pirates, who were now fighting outright, and calling each other names, loudly interrupted them.

  “Tug-Tater!”

  “Deedle-Bum!”

  “Blowhard!”

  “Ingrate!”

  “Barnacle Breath!”

  “Lily–livered, land–lubbin’ leach!”

  “Nance!”

  “Pance!”

  “Whul, buoy-boy!”

  Smuggleguts roared with laughter.

  Digger Graves and Cutty Shark came to blows, Mr. Graves planting his meaty fist into the golden smile of Mr. Shark, who let out a grunt, and ceased smiling as he (more due to the liquor than the blow) slumped down in a chair. Mr. Gee giggled, hopping up and down, egging him on, but Mr. Shark was momentarily stunned and immobilized.

  Maynard Gee stopped hopping, a crafty scowl on his usually unintelligent face, whipped out his dagger, and crouched into a fighting stance.

  Dinky Potter, his usual mild manner gone, was outraged. “Gentlemen! Please! I will not have this conduct in my house!” But the ruffians ignored him, and the sight of the dagger made him hold back. Riggs and Bellows both rose from their places warily, exchanging glances, as Mr. Gee began circling Mr. Graves, the deadly blade thrust forward. It was evident that he knew how to use it, as was known to Riggs and Bellows from their visit to Eel’s Cove. Mr. Graves reacted, even if with somewhat sluggish intensity. The combatants stumbled into a table, knocking it and some stools over. That was the final straw.

  “Lads!” shouted Kelly Riggs, “I think we’ve had enough of this foolishness.” He crossed to the front of the room, taking up his walking stick on the way. Plied with drink, Mr. Gee and Mr. Shark were champing at the bit for this chance to get at the inspector, whom they now closed in on from both sides. Using the head of his fox and hound-topped cane, Riggs lashed out quickly and struck the dagger out of the hand of an astonished Mr. Gee, striking at “the head of the snake.” Then, twirling his stick and reversing it, he popped Maynard Gee on the top of his frizzy head, sending him momentarily reeling. With Mr. Gee easily dispatched, Riggs turned his full attention to Digger Graves. The other man’s eyes were gleaming with hate, but slightly unfocused because of the alcohol. They circled each other warily, taking stock, and Riggs set his stick down slowly on a nearby table. This drew a grunt from Mr. Graves who moved in confidently now that the inspector was unarmed.

  It was over in almost an instant. Mr. Graves began telegraphing his overhand right when he still two steps away. As he threw it with all his weight behind it, Riggs stepped inside and blocked the blow, caught the arm, and using his hip and the momentum of the swing, easily flipped Mr. Graves over in a somersault that landed him hard. But the tattooed man came up quickly, lowering his head like a bull, charging at Riggs, who caught him by the neck under his arm. He drove his knee forward into Mr. Graves’ groin as he chopped down on a kidney. Mr. Graves grunted. Then Riggs caught his slack arm and again flipped him over his shoulder to the ground. This did the trick, and Digger Graves lay in a stunned heap against the foot of the stairs, the wind knocked out of him.

  “Hey, ye!” shouted Captain Smuggleguts, but Fred Bellows reached out one of his huge hand
s and placed it so firmly upon his shoulder that it quickly silenced him. Mr. Gee sat slumped in a chair, hands to his fuzzy head, his eyes a tad more unfocused than usual. Just coming around, Cutty Shark’s usually bright smile was missing, his jaw slack with astonishment, as he mumbled “Mon, whul-huh?” Now all the Captain could do was to shake his finger angrily, and sputter. The children cheered, the Potters looked relieved, Kendra beamed, and the Phipps’ were all a twitter. Mr. Melville laughed heartily. Even Shayne ffellows had come to life.

  Kelly Riggs spoke, “Now, wee laddies, I believe we’ve had enough games and roughhousing for one night. You’d best be on your way upstairs. Time for a shakedown, nighty-night, count the rats, or sharks, or whatever you do.” Riggs twinkled a lopsided smile around the room to ease the tension, “Oh, and it appears Mr. Graves has fallen. Perhaps you’d be good lads and help him up the stairs?” He picked up Maynard Gee’s fancy dagger and placed it on the bar. Then with hardly a grumble, the disorderly trio obeyed to a man and hauled Mr. Graves onto his feet. With a last sullen look by the Captain, they slunk up the stairs.

  Everyone applauded, and the children rushed to congratulate Riggs. Kendra Danes looked at him in thoughtful appraisal. With the ruffians gone, the tension lifted slightly, and they settled in to another tasty meal of fried Haddock, boiled potatoes with watercress and mushy peas served by the Potters. Riggs explained as they ate dinner:

  “It’s called jujitsu. Something I learned on a special training course in conjunction with our Secret Service. It was taught me by an amazing little chap named Moto; works for the Japanese Secret Service himself. Not much bigger than you, Michael, but he could throw a man as big as Sergeant Bellows just like tossing a leaf.” The children, especially Michael, were full of questions. “It’s all a matter of balance. Keeping yours, while throwing your opponent off theirs.”