by Perrin Briar
He pulled back the hammer of his pistol, took aim at the old man’s head, and pulled the trigger. Larson was knocked bodily to one side, his small shriveled form striking the deck.
Stoneheart by name, stone heart by nature. Bryan had to remind himself there was a reason men attained such reputations. It was with dark deeds and steel cold nerves. This was the true Stoneheart. Callous, cruel, a sadist.
The men on their knees stared with grim intensity at the lifeless body spilled across their deck, at what until recently had been a friend, and likely Skipper, of their little trawler.
“Listen up,” Stoneheart said. “This is your first and only warning. Never come into our waters again. Do so, and you will not live to tell the tale. Am I understood?”
The men nodded in acceptance. Stoneheart tucked his pistol in his pants and turned to his men.
“Get Larson’s body on the Celeste,” he said.
“Let us take his body,” one of the fishermen said. “Please. He deserves a proper burial.”
“He will get a proper burial,” Stoneheart said, “in the belly of every one of my men.”
The fishermen’s eyes boggled. Stoneheart’s men picked up the limp old man’s body and carried it across the planks to the deck of the Mary Celeste.
The hooks were released, the planks withdrawn, and the Celeste peeled away from the trawler. The fishermen aboard got to their feet and hoisted their sails.
Bryan glared hard at Stoneheart as he passed, catching his eye.
“What’s the matter?” Stoneheart said. “Surprised at the behavior of a pirate?”
Bryan’s instinct was to turn away, to avert his gaze, but he didn’t. The captain made a hacking ‘Ha!’ laugh, before returning to his quarters.
Bryan was filled with dread, with utter hopelessness at their situation. The worn flimsy hand of Larson seemed to beckon him as the crew carried his body below deck. Bryan was filled with a dark feeling of premonition, and for ten minutes he couldn’t speak, and dwelled on their situation.
He pulled Zoe to one side.
“We have to get off this boat,” he said.
“We will,” Zoe said. “When we get to New London.”
“We’re not going to New London,” Bryan said. “I’m quite certain of it.”
“What do you mean?” Zoe said. “The captain said he would take us there.”
“Do you honestly trust the word of a man who does the kind of thing we just witnessed?” Bryan said.
“No,” Zoe said. “Of course not. But I trust Jim.”
“So would I,” Bryan said. “But how much can we trust someone whose master won’t allow him to breathe a word of the truth to us?”
A pair of pirates passed them. Bryan pulled Zoe closer to the railing.
“Then what do you suggest we do?” Zoe said.
“We wait till we’re within sight of land, then when it’s dark we’ll steal one of their ship’s boats,” Bryan said. “We’ll get ourselves onto the land and make our way to New London.”
“But we’re safe here,” Zoe said.
“For as long as Aaron’s stories continue to entertain Stoneheart,” Bryan said. “And as soon as he tires of them, we’ll share the same fate as the old fisherman. Life has no value to Stoneheart. Only pain.”
11
SKINNY PULLED on the ropes, bringing the flag down. He could still only use one arm, the other still hanging from his neck in a dirty rag sling. Removing the flag proved an even more difficult challenge. If it was anyone else, Bryan might have felt sorry for him and leant a hand, but he decided to leave Skinny alone. He’d brought this on himself.
Skinny proceeded to fold the Jolly Roger, taking care to do so, and then took a new flag out of a shiny ornate box. This one was pristine, with not a blemish on it, and for a split second, having caught the colors, Bryan double took, thinking it was the old Star Spangled banner, but as Skinny hoisted the flag up, the wind caught it, making it flutter, revealing Bryan’s mistake. It was the British Union Jack.
A strange transformation came over the crew. Every few minutes there was another member no longer sporting their usual dirty rags, but a smart uniform. But you could not change the nature of a man with a superficial change of clothing. More than one man reached behind and scratched his buttocks.
“These underpants scratch something awful,” Earl said. “I don’t know how any man in His Majesty’s army is supposed to fight in this getup.”
Zoe sidled up close to Bryan.
“What do you think is happening?” she said.
“I don’t know,” Bryan said. “We’re heading somewhere where they don’t want to be recognized as pirates, I suppose.”
And then it occurred to him.
“Remember those fishermen?” he said.
Zoe grimaced.
“How can I not?” she said.
“The pirates were angry because they came within the pirates’ jurisdiction,” Bryan said. “I guess we’re now heading into British waters.”
Hope sprung in Bryan’s chest. Perhaps Stoneheart was going to keep his word after all.
But if the family thought that meant the pirates would be landing soon, they were to be disappointed. It was another day of backbreaking labor before the Mary Celeste came across land. If Bryan hadn’t known better, he would have said the captain was deliberately keeping them out at sea. But there was no way to live at sea indefinitely.
Eventually you had to make for land to get the items required for survival. Without rum to blur their reality, the men began to grow restless. No matter how evil or disagreeable a captain was, he had to eventually give in to such demands, or else face mutiny.
The family stayed up late into the night figuring out plans for escape. Anything they attempted would likely be the first and only chance they would get. And so they planned and planned until each of them knew the plans inside out.
They considered consulting with Jim, as he knew the boat inside and out and could aid them no end in their escape. He had saved their lives twice, and was a good friend. But he owed them no fealty. He had shown his hand. His loyalty belonged to the captain, no matter how cruel he was, no matter how badly he treated his charge, no matter how unfair, Jim was always at his side.
Bryan had seen Jim’s type before: the undervalued assistant at his master’s beck and call day and night. It was a strange kind of relationship, difficult, though not infallible. Jim was to Stoneheart what Brute was to Caesar. But even Brute eventually became aware of the terrible power his good friend Caesar wielded. So too could Jim. But not yet.
They came to a landmass, much larger than the desert island they had previously found themselves. The land rounded either side and faded into the distance. It was decorated with thick tufts of trees and probably wasn’t even an island. And though the night was quickly closing in, there appeared to be no choking fog descending upon them.
A perfect place to hide a family.
The crew descended in one of the ship’s boats, heading onto the island to conduct their usual retrieval of hidden booze. Zoe locked eyes with Bryan, who shook his head. Now was not the time to attempt their escape. They would do so at night, while everyone else was asleep.
In another twist of luck during a game of Dead Man’s poker, Aaron discovered who would be on sentry duty in the crow’s nest.
Emanuel was the worst drunk amongst the deckhands, which was saying something. It was no secret he had a hidden stash, or perhaps several, somewhere aboard the Celeste. He often dipped into it, but no one could ever seem to stumble across Emanuel redhanded. During the night of the family’s planned escape, he would be boozing it up within the hidden confines of the crow’s nest.
The plan was set, and the conditions were as good as they could be.
The men came back from their scavenger mission after a short interlude with a large cache. They hauled the crate aboard the ship. It hit the deck hard, the glass bottles rattling inside.
“Be careful, you fools!”
Smithy said. “This is rum! Not your working girl of a wife! It needs to be treated with care and respect!”
“Who are you calling a working girl?” a crewman said, fists clenched tight.
The other crewmen descended on the crate, hardly even needing the crowbar to pry the lid up. They could have done as easily with their own fingers, splinters or no. They tossed the lid aside and reached into the crate, seizing a pair of bottles each.
“Easy fellas,” Jim said. “You know we need to ration it.”
“Screw the rations!” Peg Leg said. “We haven’t had a taste in days!”
“Then you ought to take it easy in any case,” Jim said. “Give it here, I’ll make sure you all get your fair share.”
The men grumbled and handed back their bottles.
“Roberts, is that a bottle in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?” Jim said.
“It’s just the way the good lord made me,” Robert said.
“No one gets a drop until we have all the bottles accounted for,” Jim said, putting the lid back on the crate.
“All right, all right,” Roberts said indignantly.
If he didn’t hand the bottle over, he would have lost it in any case, as well as a couple of fingers, the crew were so agitated.
The two men in charge of hauling the ship’s boat back up to the deck were making slow progress, the ship’s boat no more than a yard from the surface. Their attention was fixated almost entirely on the kerfuffle taking place on deck. The men licked their chapped lips in anticipation of their share of the rum as Jim began handing it out.
“We’ll take care of the ship’s boat,” Bryan said. “You go enjoy the rum.”
The crewmen looked from Bryan to the rum crate. The anticipation proved too much, and he all but threw the rope at Bryan, letting the ship’s boat slide back to the water’s surface.
Bryan wanted to do this for the simple reason it was good practice. Getting a feel for the weight and required pressure meant it would be all the easier when they did it for real. This was their dry run.
Zoe took hold of the twin rope, and together they hauled, pulling at the same rate, with the aim of bringing the ship’s boat level. They got it halfway up when Bryan felt they’d got the hang of it.
“Now lower it,” Bryan said.
This was the crucial practice they really needed—to lower it back down to the sea so they could make their escape.
“You’re meant to be bringing it up,” Jim said. “Not lowering it.”
Bryan’s heart leapt in his throat.
“The rope…” he said, searching for the second half of his sentence. “It got tangled in the pulley.”
Jim kept his eyes fastened on Bryan. Did he believe a word Bryan had said? Bryan couldn’t tell. Then Jim reached for the rope.
“When that happens, you need to pull on it sharply like this, and then let it drop again,” he said. “If it keeps getting stuck, then one of you needs to climb down into the ship’s boat and sort it out down there. But it appears my words are for nought. The rope isn’t stuck.”
“I managed to unstick it right before you arrived,” Bryan said lamely.
“That’s fortunate,” Jim said.
“Not fortunate,” Bryan said with a coy grin. “Just good old common sense.”
“The thing with sticky ropes is it’s easy for one rope to get tangled with another, more innocent one,” Jim said. “If you’re not careful, it can ruin the whole system.”
He turned his body ever so slightly. Bryan picked up on the movement and turned to look at what Jim was surreptitiously gesturing to. Aaron and Cassie were on the opposite side of the deck leaning over the side, pointing at something they found worthy of their attention.
“A rope is just a tool,” Jim said. “It has many uses, depending on what the user wishes to use it for. It can be used to haul up a ship’s boat, or it can be used for other, more nefarious, purposes.”
He curled the rope around and tied a slipknot, forming a noose.
“You have to be careful,” Jim said, leaning in close. “Some people are just a few strands thick, liable to snapping and breaking at any time. Am I being clear?”
Bryan nodded.
“Yeah,” he said, his voice barely registering as a croak. He cleared his throat and spoke again. “Yes. Very clear.”
Jim handed the rope back to Bryan so he and Zoe could continue hauling the ship’s boat up. They did, swinging the boat over and placing it gently on the deck. They curled the rope around the cleats.
“Do you think Jim is onto us?” Zoe said.
“I don’t know,” Bryan said. “He suspects something, but I don’t think he’ll tell anyone. He was warning us to be careful.”
“Do you still want to try tonight?” Zoe said.
“If we don’t, we’re dead anyway,” Bryan said. “Eventually the captain will get bored with Aaron’s stories, and where will that leave us? We’ll be deadweight, like the fishermen. To him, a human being is only useful if it serves a purpose. If it loses that purpose, it’s disposable.”
“But he won’t dispose of us if we attempt the escape and fail?” Zoe said.
“I hope we won’t have to find out,” Bryan said.
12
TONIGHT THE CAPTAIN was interested in Melville’s masterpiece Moby Dick. How he came to know of that particular tale, Aaron didn’t know. But he didn’t appear to be aware it was just that: a story.
He was principally concerned with the fateful sailor’s motivation, why he became so obsessed with the whale, why it was all he could think of, why he allowed it to eventually take his life.
Aaron didn’t have all the answers, and was too tired to think. At such times he fell back on Stoneheart’s intellect to answer his own questions, sometimes even asking him directly: “What do you think?”
Stoneheart sat in silence for some time before speaking.
“Obsession is a young man’s game,” he said. “Or perhaps just a fool’s. It takes its toll, stripping away everything you are, until you’re left a shell of your former self.”
He turned to look at the map on the wall, peering at the blank half of the world.
Eventually, the same signs of lethargy and exhaustion came over Stoneheart. His eyes drooped, his words came slow and slurred, his movements uncertain. There was no food in front of him this time, and he simply laid his face on the dining table, shut his eyes, and snored.
Aaron got up, moving away from his chair, not bothering to push it under the table in case it made a sound. He started when he saw Jim standing before him.
“You made me jump!” Aaron said.
“Sorry,” Jim said, not sounding sorry in the slightest. “Can you give me a hand with the captain?”
Jim had never asked for assistance before. It would delay Aaron’s return to their quarters, where his family was waiting for him.
Aaron for one wasn’t all that thrilled about leaving. Despite their surly nature and countenance, the crew were not bad people. They’d just been dealt a series of bad hands in life. They never complained about them, save in their darkest moments at the bottom of a bottle. There was no coming back once you had passed a certain point.
Many of the men aboard had been kidnapped, fed booze until they could hardly walk, and then carried to the Celeste. When they awoke, they were miles at sea, forced to serve their term until they landed at their home port again, and that often took years. In the interim, the men grew accustomed to their forced imprisonment, their families becoming nothing but cloudy memories.
And when they did return to their home ports, they didn’t even seek out their families, for fear they had also forgotten about them in turn, perhaps moving on with a new man in the home, new children in front of the hearth. The world turned and the Mary Celeste sailed.
There was little that could be done about it now. The world had forgotten them, and they had in turn forgotten the world.
“What was Stoneheart talking about, with obsessio
n earlier?” Aaron said in a whisper.
“The treasure,” Jim said. “Tales of Stoneheart’s obsession with finding it are as old as Stoneheart himself. He searched the pirate half of the world, searching every inch with his own eyes, but he never found it. He’s convinced it must be on the British side, but despite everything he’s tried, he can’t get his hands on a copy of the British map. Maybe the treasure doesn’t even exist at all.”
Aaron put his head under one of the captain’s arms and immediately regretted it, the body odour strong and overpowering. He held his breath and braced the captain’s weight as Jim lifted the captain’s other arm. Together they carried him over to the bed.
They left him with his legs hanging over the side. Jim removed his shoes and picked up a thin blanket, draping it over Stoneheart.
“He sure is a heavy sleeper,” Aaron said. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone sleep this deep before. Except maybe my aunt. But then, she was in a coma at the time.”
“He never used to sleep like this,” Jim said. “He would wake upon hearing a pin drop, a pistol you didn’t even know he had in his hand, aimed at you before you could blink.”
Jim slapped the captain across the face. Aaron flinched, fearful he would have to tell the captain bedtime stories again.
“Now it takes him longer and longer to wake up,” Jim said. “I think one of these days he won’t wake up at all. He seems to prefer his dreams to the real world. The men think he just gets himself blind drunk every night, but in truth he hardly touches the stuff.”
“Does he have a sleep disorder?” Aaron said.
“I don’t know,” Jim said. “It could be something else, something more serious. The crew can’t know about it. If they did, they would descend on him like a pack of wolves.”
“It’s dog eat dog here,” Aaron said.
Jim frowned.
“There are no dogs aboard,” he said.
“I know,” Aaron said. “It means… Never mind.”
“You speak funny,” Jim said.
“I hear that often,” Aaron said.
“Maybe if I spoke like you the captain would like my stories too,” Jim said. “That’s why I don’t want you to go. I don’t have your gift of storytelling. I can’t send the captain off to sleep.”