by John
Charlie’s face lit up. “You believe me? I knew if anyone would it would be you, HH. So will you help?”
I’d already realised this was about to become our next adventure. On the face of it, Charlie’s story made no sense at all, unless you believed in ghosts, which I for one did not – not then, anyway. And what about that weird tentacle thing he’d mentioned? Was there some kind of monster on the ghostly ship – assuming the ship existed at all? I was already thinking about how nasty all that could turn out to be, and how dangerous, but I could see that Charlie was desperate, and Henry had that determined look that said he was about to go hunting for something, and that it was probably going to involve pirates, ghostly or not. And quite possibly treasure as well.
Henry stood up and walked over to the photo of the Spinnaker.
“Where’s the yacht now?” he asked.
“I think Mr Trueblood said he was going to dock her in the harbour at Nassau.”
“Then we need to go down there and take a look around,” said Henry.
Charlie jumped up from his bed. “Can I come?” he asked, his eyes alight.
“Well, I guess you’ll have to ask Jack,” Henry said.
Charlie’s face fell. “He’ll never say yes. He thinks I have ‘an overactive imagination’– that I made up what I saw because I was so upset. But I didn’t, I swear!”
“We believe you, don’t we, Dolf?” said Henry.
I nodded. Privately I wasn’t at all sure, but it was clear that Charlie Stevens needed to hear that we believed his story. Six months is a long time to keep faith. Without friends it must have been almost impossible.
Henry stood up and flicked back his floppy hair. “We’ll find your parents, Charlie,” he said seriously.
Charlie managed a small smile. “Thank you. You’re my last hope.”
“Let’s go and talk to Cousin Jack,” Henry said, winking at me. “You stay here, Charlie, and I’ll see if I can persuade him to let you come along.”
TALES OF HAUNTED SEAS
Cousin Jack made it clear he wasn’t going to let Charlie go anywhere – especially not with us and especially not to the Caribbean. When Henry told him that he intended to go and look for Mr and Mrs Stevens I thought Jack was literally going to explode.
“I’ve never heard of anything so ridiculous,” he said. “Just because your guardians give you more licence than is good for you, Hunter, doesn’t mean I’m going to do the same with Charles. In the first place you won’t find anything, because there’s nothing to find. And in the second I don’t want all this raked up again. Charles has been through enough and I have told him that he has to accept the fact that his parents are gone for good. The last thing he needs is to go gallivanting around the Caribbean in search of some imaginary ship!”
Henry was far too wise to argue. He just smiled his toothy grin and shook Mr Bligh’s hand. “I expect you’re right, sir,” he said politely.
Now I know that when Henry Hunter smiles like that, and calls an adult ‘sir’ it means he’s already planning to do exactly what he likes, regardless of their opinion; but Charlie’s Cousin Jack didn’t know him as well as me. He huffed and puffed a bit and muttered things like: “I should think so too.” Then he suddenly seemed to relent.
“Look, lads,” he said, not shouting this time. “All I want is what’s best for Charles. As long as he’s here with me I know he’s safe. It takes time to get over this kind of thing and I don’t want him to get his hopes up for nothing.”
“We understand, don’t we, Dolf?” said Henry in his most serious voice. “If it’s OK with you, sir, I’ll just go and say goodbye to Charlie, then we’ll be on our way and leave you in peace.”
Henry slipped away for a few moments, leaving me staring uncomfortably at Mr Bligh’s shoes.
When HH returned, Cousin Jack ushered us out to the car. As we were getting in he put a hand on Henry’s shoulder. “I only want what’s best for Charles,” he said again. “If you want to visit again sometime I’m sure it will help.”
As we drove away from the house I looked back and saw Charlie standing forlornly at one of the windows. He half-raised a hand to wave at us – then seemed to forget and let it fall to his side again.
“Er… what did you tell Charlie?” I asked.
“That we’re going to find out what happened to his parents,” answered Henry. He looked about as serious as I’d ever seen him; then he turned and grinned at me. “Pack for warmer shores, Dolf. We’re off to the Caribbean! And the best thing is we’re going to find out a lot about pirates on the way… ”
The flight from London Heathrow to the Bahamas was a long one, and during that time Henry made sure that it was me who found out a lot about pirates. Though, after raiding the Hunter Learjet’s seriously well-stocked kitchen (chocolate éclairs and lemon tarts, if I remember right), I struggled to keep awake in my comfortable seat as Henry shared ‘a few facts’ about pirates.
“Pirates weren’t jolly buccaneers like most people think,” said Henry, waving a book containing lots of colour pictures of salty sea-dogs with roguish gleams in their eyes and a fair scattering of peg-legs and parrots. “They were lowlife scum of the earth – they preyed on the weak and stole everything they could to get rich and drunk on rum every day—”
“They sound like a great bunch,” I put in.
“There were some good things about them. Not all of them were cruel villains – they had laws on board their ships, which were a bit like floating countries, each with their own rules, strictly dividing up the spoils, giving payments to men who got wounded in battle, and so on.” Henry leaned forward and jabbed a finger at me. “Did you know, Dolf, they would get different payments for the loss of an eye, a finger, a leg or an arm?”
I shook my head, wondering if any of them hurt themselves in order to make a quid or two.
“Believe me there were plenty of opportunities to get injured,” continued Henry, as if he’d read my mind. “Apart from having to survive the terrible conditions on board – no fresh food, no way to get clean, and as for the toilets… ” He shuddered. “It was likely they’d get hit by a flying cannonball, or spiked with splinters when one hit the side of the ship. Those could finish you off pretty nastily.”
“So most pirates were a bunch of smelly, unwashed killers, who couldn’t expect to live very long?” I said.
“Their life expectancy was anything up to six months, but sometimes a lot less. It’s safe to say most of them ended up in Davy Jones’s Locker.”
“Davy who’s what now?” I enquired, baffled.
“Davy Jones. No one is really sure who he was. Some say he was a real sailor who drowned and became a kind of sea demon. Whatever the truth, pirates used his name for the place you went if you died at sea.”
“So when were these pirates around?”
It turned out to be the worst question I could have asked. It set Henry off talking about what he called the ‘Golden Age of Piracy’, from the middle of the seventeenth century to the middle of the eighteenth century, and how after that there was such a big push to stamp out pirates that their numbers dwindled until they’d finally all but died off.
By this point I couldn’t keep my eyes open.
“But you know,” Henry said, as I felt myself drifting off, “there are still pirates today. You must have seen in the news those rich people’s yachts that get captured and their owners held to ransom.”
That woke me up a bit.
“Do you think that’s what happened to Charlie’s parents?”
“It’s the most obvious answer. But I’m not sure how it could tie in with what Charlie saw.”
“You mean the ghost ship?”
“Yes,” said Henry. “There are plenty of stories about pirate ghosts… some of them could easily be true… ”
“Ghosts! You mean you believe in them now?”
“It’s not that I actually believe,” said Henry. “But until I see one, I can’t say I don’t. After all, we
didn’t always know that vampires existed, did we – until we met Bella Dracul?”
He was right – as usual.
Henry pulled out a large leather-bound book from the stack he’d brought along. It had a long title – something like Ghostly Pirates and Apparitions on the Barbary Coast.
“There are loads of different stories,” Henry said. “Ghostly pirates who come ashore in search of treasure they buried while they were alive, or who’re guarding their hoard from the living. There’s a bunch that are supposed to be the ghostly crew commanded by Captain Kidd, one of the most infamous pirates. It’s said he buried loads of his treasure before the law caught up with him, and people have been looking for it ever since. But every now and then the ghosts of his crew come ashore and chase would-be treasure-hunters away.”
I digested this for a minute or two. “So you’re saying that what Charlie saw was real and that it was ghosts that took his parents?”
“I’m just saying it could be,” answered Henry cheerfully. “That explanation’s a lot more fun than modern pirates.”
I wasn’t sure I’d call either option fun. I rolled my eyes and asked, “So how do we start looking for them? I mean, the Caribbean isn’t exactly small.”
Henry looked thoughtful. “To be honest, Dolf, I’m not sure. I guess we’ll start with this Captain Nathan Trueblood and the Spinnaker and see where that takes us.”
ABOARD THE SPINNAKER
We landed at Grantley Adams International Airport on the island of Barbados and were met at the terminal by a driver Henry had arranged, a tall Rastafarian named George Peacock, who wore super-long dreads in his hair and a permanently cheerful expression. He drove us to our glass-fronted, posh-looking hotel in Bridgetown and left us to unpack. HH and I had adjoining rooms and after I had spent the first half-hour eating the free chocolate chip cookies, checking out the TV stations and trying out a shoot-’em-up on the online games console I knocked on Henry’s door.
I wasn’t really surprised to find that he hadn’t even started to unpack, but was sitting in the middle of the room surrounded by books and sea-charts.
“There you are, Dolf,” he said absently. “George got us these. I’ve been mugging up on the history of the place and working out the course the Spinnaker took on the day Charlie’s parents disappeared.”
He pointed to a large chart spread out on the carpet. It was covered in pencil lines – the course of the Spinnaker, I guessed.
“This,” he nodded at a large red circle, “is where the boat was when Charlie’s parents disappeared.” It wasn’t far from the scattering of islands that dotted the sea around Barbados.
“I asked George to call the harbourmaster and make some enquiries while you were busy blowing things up.” (That’s Henry – I can never keep anything from him.) “He found out that the Spinnaker is still moored in the harbour here. Did you know that ‘spinnaker’ is the name for a kind of sail used on racing ships to make them faster and more manoeuvrable?” (I didn’t.) “Anyway, I got him to pull a few strings and we’re allowed to go aboard and check her out. We can be there in half an hour.”
I knew that ‘pulling a few strings’ probably meant that the mighty name of Hunter had been waved about a bit, and marvelled at just how powerful his family were. Since one of Henry’s uncles runs the second-largest electronics company in the world, and the other seems to be regularly consulted by presidents and prime ministers about a whole range of things, I suppose it’s not surprising. But I found it strange they didn’t seem to notice or care what Henry got up to. Maybe they’re too busy. Or maybe they just aren’t interested. Your guess is as good as mine…
A short time later, George was driving us through the noisy, colourful streets of Bridgetown. People milled around everywhere, yelling cheerfully at each other while cars honked their horns and drivers waved at people they knew. The air coming in through the window was lovely and warm and I wished I’d changed into my shorts.
When we reached the port we thanked George and stepped out onto the dock. It thronged with visitors. I heard so many different languages being spoken I was completely confused (I’m not great at any of the subjects our teachers as St Grim’s think are important, especially languages – which is partly why I love the excuse to get out of lessons by accompanying Henry on his adventures). Unsurprisingly, though, Henry was listening intently, spinning slowly around as he took in everything.
Close up, the Spinnaker was even more amazing than in Charlie’s photo. I don’t know if you’ve ever been on board a luxury yacht, but let me tell you, they’re pretty incredible. Henry told me it was 120-feet long, and it was dotted with spotlights, everything gleaming as if it had just been washed and polished (it probably had). Inside, there were two massive rooms that looked like hotel lobbies, with huge soft chairs and sofas, a separate TV and billiards room, a heated swimming pool (assuming you didn’t fancy going in the sea) and even a movie theatre!
Of course, we weren’t looking for that kind of stuff, but I couldn’t help noticing details – and to be honest there wasn’t much else to see, at least nothing that could tell us anything about Charlie’s parents’ disappearance.
The crew were polite but distant. You could tell they’d been told to be nice to us – but it definitely stopped there. When Henry asked a couple of questions about the trip that the Stevenses had taken six months ago, all he got was a couple of shrugs. Finally, the guy who had introduced himself as Thomas, the first mate, said: “Captain Trueblood comes aboard in one hour. He’ll tell you whatever you need to know. Please make yourselves comfortable meanwhile.”
We had no trouble doing that, and very pleasant it was, listening to the lapping of the waves and basking on the deck in the warm afternoon sun. A steward brought us Coca-Colas in glasses full of ice and decorated with those little paper umbrella things. This is the life, I thought, as I tuned out Henry’s chatter about the relative speeds achieved by yachts of this kind and the tonnage of the other craft moored in the harbour.
Just as I was beginning to drift off, Henry leaned across and poked me in the ribs. “Dolf, I think Captain Trueblood is here.”
Reluctantly I prized myself out of the comfortable lounger and followed Henry to the deck rail. From there we got our first look at the owner of the Spinnaker.
Captain Trueblood was tall and muscular and had the kind of good looks that my sister (her name is Evangeline, though she understandably prefers Angie) likes to swoon over. His hair was carefully styled to look casual and he wore a lightweight cream suit and a naval-style cap with gold piping round the brim.
Catching sight of Henry and me staring down at him, Captain Trueblood stopped for a moment. For just a second I thought a look of annoyance flashed across his face, but then he waved cheerfully and bounded up the gangplank.
“Nathan Trueblood!” he boomed, stretching forth a large, well-manicured hand. “You must be Mr Hunter and Mr Pringle – Charles’s friends.”
While I was still getting used to be addressed as ‘Mr’, Henry took the proffered hand and shook it vigorously.
“Such a sad business, Timothy and Grace going missing like that,” said Captain Trueblood. “And from my boat. I almost feel responsible…”
“We want to help Charlie find out what happened, if we can,” Henry explained.
“So you’ve come all the way from England to find out about ‘the ghost ship’?” The way he said this, with raised eyebrows and a knowing wink, made it clear he thought the whole idea was total madness.
“That’s one line of enquiry,” Henry said rather ambiguously.
Captain Trueblood smiled. “Well, I hope you’ll stay and have supper with us,” he said. “The chef is cooking up something rather delicious with lobster tonight, I believe.” He waved an arm around at the boat. “And do feel free to look around as much as you want. Maybe you’ll find a clue to what happened…”
He gave us another knowing look, and it was at that moment that I decided I didn’t really like Ca
ptain Nathan Trueblood. Henry, however, didn’t seem put off. He thanked him politely and accepted the invitation to supper. We watched the captain stride off towards the bridge.
“He obviously thinks we’re crazy,” I said.
“Does he?” Henry ran a hand through his floppy hair. “I was just thinking he knows a lot more than he’s letting on. Being on this boat is still the best way we have of finding out the truth about what happened to Charlie’s parents. Trust me, Dolf – we’ll have a great time.”
WHISPERS IN THE NIGHT
Trust me, Dolf – we’ll have a great time! I don’t think Henry could have been more wrong.
Supper aboard the Spinnaker with Captain Trueblood ranks pretty highly on the list of the worst nights of my life. (OK – I suppose you could say dining with a 1,000-year-old mummy wasn’t brilliant either, but that’s another story.)
First there was the fact that neither of us was really dressed for a posh dinner aboard a luxury yacht – not even Henry, though he did produce a tie from somewhere – and Captain Trueblood made it clear that it was an occasion by dressing for dinner in an elegant evening suit – bow tie and all.
Then there was the ‘something with lobster’ that Captain Trueblood had mentioned the chef cooking. It turned out to be a whole lobster, still in its shell and with stalked eyes that I’ll swear looked at me reproachfully the whole time until I pushed them with my fork so they looked away. It was one of the only times I have dreaded eating a meal.
If you’ve ever been tempted to eat a fresh lobster, let me tell you now – don’t. Apart from the fact that it looks weird, how on earth are you supposed to get into it? I had no idea I was meant to use the thing like a pair of nutcrackers that was lying on the table by my plate. Henry knew, of course, as did the captain, but they both waited just long enough for me to try and break the shell using a knife and fork, which resulted in a lot of strong-smelling fish juice squirting out all over me!