Skulls & Crossbones

by Andi Marquette

  "You're right," Riya said, lowering her voice. "I just don't like being taken for a fool." She poked at the sad box of provisions. "And there clearly isn't enough water here for two."

  "No. And I don't know what we'll do about the toilet. The catheter he'd brought was disgusting."

  Pradeep finished sealing the crate and growled through the flimsy wood. "Shut up in there. I'm going to load you up, and if Bala hears you twittering, he'll gut you like a fish."

  "Love to see him try," Riya whispered, and winked at Sambita.

  Sambita heard the truck sputter into life. It jerked forward, and the crate creaked around them like an ancient galleon as Pradeep drove up to the dock.

  "Don't worry about the water," Riya said. "I'm not going to be in here for long."

  "But the journey takes six days."

  "Not for me. Soon as we're away from the village, I'm out of this cursed casket."

  "But they'll see you. What about the captain?"

  Riya unzipped her bag and in the feeble light bleeding through the cracks in the timber, Sambita glimpsed the blade of a cutlass and the barrel of a pistol. "Their money or their lives."

  Sambita gaped. She'd never seen a gun, other than in the hands of a policeman. She opened her mouth to speak, but at that moment, the truck's engine died. She held her breath as Pradeep greeted the man she assumed was Bala. The captain's voice was high-pitched and sibilant, reminding Sambita of the time she had heard two vultures fighting over the body of a wild dog. The truck rocked as the two men climbed into the back and began to drag the crate out into the sunlight. The sickly reek of body odour drifted through the wood, adding another layer to the eye-burning atmosphere inside. Several tense minutes passed as the crate was bumped around and finally hoisted onto the deck. Sambita wrapped her arms tightly around her shins, frowning in the febrile darkness. Was Riya really going to rob the boat? Had she only stowed away as a means to get on board and catch the crew unaware? Or maybe she was just joking. There was certainly a sparkle of mischief in the woman's demeanour. But, if so, why the cutlass and the pistol?

  Eventually, the trawler's engines roared into life, and Sambita felt the swell of the river as the boat embarked. It sounded like the small crew had gone to the cabin at the front—Pradeep, Bala, and another man—their voices barely audible above the churning engines and the abrasive shriek of hungry gulls.

  "Riya?"

  "Yes. It's true. It's what I do."

  "But . . . but what about me?"

  "What about you?"

  "I'll be caught, you'll expose the whole thing. Please don't do this to me. I can't go back to my husband, he'll kill me."

  "Really?"

  "I'm not exaggerating. Please. This cost me a fortune!"

  "I'll get you your money back."

  "Can't you just rob another boat?"

  "No. We're not the only illegal cargo on this trip. Our friendly captain exports heroin. Seems odd that he can't stomach refugees, but I suppose every criminal has their comfort zone."

  Sambita closed her eyes as Pradeep's hollow promises rang through her brain: a safe and comfortable journey, the paperwork and assistance in starting a new life. It all sounded so easy. Now, she was wedged in a filthy crate with an armed pirate and about to be embroiled in a battle on a drug trafficker's trawler. She almost wished she was back at home with Kamal. Almost, but not quite. "Please, Riya. Don't do this."

  "There's a fortune in drugs and hard cash on board. I'm sorry you've got caught up in it, but that's Pradeep's fault, not mine. Don't worry. I can put you in touch with someone who'll do a much better job than he ever could with his rancid crate and the empty bilge he talks."

  The engine whined high as the boat picked up speed, powering through the water.

  "Are you going to kill the crew?"

  "Of course not, unless I don't have a choice. I usually just tie them up or, if we're close enough to land, make them jump overboard. I'm not a monster."

  "You've done this many times before?"

  Riya chuckled. "Once or twice. An American magazine even dubbed me the Brahmapur Buccaneer. A lazy tag, but it made me laugh. I've just never stowed away before. Thought I'd give it a try. The last time I tried to board as a passenger, somebody recognised me and I almost got arrested." She reached into her bag and took out the cutlass and pistol, checking them over and placing them by her feet.

  "Why the cutlass?" Sambita asked. "It seems a bit redundant."

  "It's visual, more than anything. Not many people have been shot, but everyone can relate to the pain of a sharpened blade—" Riya paused, tilting her head. "Listen."

  Raised voices rumbled from the cabin, apparently a disagreement over money. Pradeep was almost shouting, drowning out the raspy, shrill voice of Bala. The third man was attempting to calm the situation, but a pane of glass shattered, and the men started to bellow in rage. It seemed a full-blown fight had broken out.

  Riya pulled a crowbar from her bag. "It's a little earlier than I'd planned on making an entrance, but I might as well take advantage of the distraction. Want to help?" She offered Sambita the cutlass. Sambita shook her head, horrified at the suggestion.

  Riya jammed the crowbar up beneath the lid of the crate and jimmied it

  up, her veined muscles bulging in the gloom. The flimsy wood splintered and within a couple of seconds, Sambita was shielding her eyes from the glaring sun.

  "Showtime!" Riya said with a grin and sprang out of the crate toward the front of the boat. Sambita stood up to see Riya bouncing across the crates and barrels like a goat. Inside the small cabin, Pradeep and Bala—a tall, wiry man with a hook nose and no chin—were locked together against one of the windows, throwing wild punches while the third man unsuccessfully attempted to pry them apart.

  Riya jumped on a small crate close to the open cabin door as another of the windows was smashed by a clumsy strike, glass tinkling on the deck. Brandishing her weapons, she drew in breath and yelled, "Hello, boys!" The brawl stopped immediately, and the three men blinked up at the startling sight of the armed young woman, her legs astride, the sun gleaming on her mahogany skin, kurta billowing in the warm breeze. Despite her fear, Sambita smiled.

  "Hands in the air and step outside. Try anything foolish, and I'll shoot you in the face."

  The three men shuffled out onto the deck and lined up before their nemesis. Pradeep was bleeding from his nose, and Bala's white kurta was ripped from the neck to the waist, spattered with crimson. They were furious, panting from their exertions and exuding the dangerous air of cornered animals. The third crew member, a much younger man with a ponytail and a waistcoat the same kudzu-blue as Riya's kurta, didn't look like trouble. He had paled, and Sambita guessed he was just some innocent kid and as much out of his depth as she was herself.

  She glanced over her shoulder and saw that the market village was already far behind them. The river widened steadily as they approached the ocean, its verdant banks thick with swaying grass and banana trees, dotted with the occasional fishing hut. There were certainly no witnesses. She decided to stay where she was, standing in their crate toward the rear of the boat. This was Riya's territory, and she'd only get in the way.

  Pradeep was the first of the men to speak. "Riya. What in the name of Shiva are you doing?"

  "Don't you dare bring the gods into this, you conniving, hypocritical son of a pit viper."

  He scowled, touching his bloody nose and wincing as Riya continued. "Just in case any of you are struggling to keep up, I'm the Brahmapur Buccaneer. On your knees, dogs!"

  Bala's eyes narrowed at the revelation. He was clearly aware of the local legend, and Sambita detected a misogynistic malevolence that was immediately familiar from her endless years with Kamal. Riya had obviously noticed, too—she kept the gun trained on the lanky captain as the three of them sank to the deck.

  "I'm sure you can all guess what happens next. You first, Pradeep. You owe me a refund anyway."

  Gritting his teeth, Pradeep to
ok a fat wallet from his pocket and tossed it onto the crate at Riya's feet.

  "Is our forty thousand in there?"

  "No. I don't have it with me."

  "Bala will have to lend you some. Now, sit down against the cabin, put your hands on your head and don't even whimper without asking for permission."

  Pradeep slumped back against the wall, licking blood from his lips and staring down at his feet in humiliation.

  "Your turn, Bala. I want your money and the heroin. Every last bit. If you try and pull a weapon, you won't get the chance to fire it." She cocked the pistol. "Clear?"

  "You'll hang for this, bitch."

  "Perhaps, but the way you're going, you won't be alive to enjoy it." She wagged the pistol. "Money and drugs, now. And no sudden moves." Bala stood up and stepped carefully around to a fixed storage chest against the back wall of the cabin, the kind that normally held life jackets and equipment. He took out a key and fiddled with the padlock. Keeping the pistol on him, Riya pointed the curved blade of the cutlass at the third man kneeling before her. "Who are you?"

  "Jay."

  "Okay, Jay. Stop the boat."

  As Jay rose meekly to his feet and scuttled back inside the cabin, Sambita saw Bala remove the padlock and hoist the lid of the chest. He hunched low to reach inside, then quickly straightened up, turning back toward Riya. He had a gun in his fist.

  "Riya!" she yelled, but the woman was already moving. Rather than firing the pistol, she flung the cutlass with the speed of a striking cobra. It spun across the deck with an electric buzz and thudded into Bala's chest. He squealed and jerked, the gun flying from his hand, over the side and into the water. He staggered back toward the edge of the boat. Pradeep leapt to his feet, but Riya levelled the pistol at his face. "Don't even think about it, fat boy."

  The boat's engine cut off as Bala lolled against the gunwale, goggling at the cutlass embedded in his torso, the white fabric of his kurta rapidly turning an arterial red. He wrapped his trembling fingers around the slippery handle and tugged it out with a wet crunch. It clattered to the deck, and he stared at Riya for a moment, blood drooling from his lips, his outrage still simmering through a grimace of pain and dread, before he toppled backward. He hit the water with a meaty splash.

  The boat slowed as Jay reappeared at the cabin door, peering out like a startled shrew.

  "Thanks, Jay. I'm glad somebody can follow simple orders. Can you swim?"

  He nodded.

  "Off you go, then. You should reach the shore in about ten minutes."

  Jay didn't need telling twice. He hurried to the side of the boat and dived without hesitation, following the corpse of his captain into the water. Pradeep suddenly sprang for Riya, fast for his size. Sambita tensed, expecting to hear the crack of the pistol, but the gun remained silent. Pradeep tackled Riya, driving his shoulder into her stomach and they tumbled off the crate into a struggling heap.

  "No!" Sambita scrambled out of the crate, her sari ripping on the wood, and staggered around the crates toward the fracas. The pair wrestled violently, grasping and punching, and Sambita looked desperately around the clutter of the deck for the gun, but it was nowhere to be seen. Pradeep managed to roll over on top of Riya, pinning her down with his bulk and spitting venomous words in her face. If Sambita didn't do something right now, the Brahmapur Buccaneer would be dead. She sprinted across the deck and grabbed the bloody cutlass, but it squeaked from her fingers like a bar of oily soap. Cursing, she bent and grasped it again, more carefully this time, and turned back to the fight just in time to see Pradeep rise to his feet, heave Riya up like a sack of loose bones, and fling her overboard.

  He turned to face Sambita, panting hard, and she clutched the wobbling cutlass in both hands.

  "Put that down, you stupid girl. You're going to get yourself killed."

  Even though she was armed, Sambita couldn't stop her treacherous body from quaking. She couldn't think, teetering on the precipice of panic, heart thudding sharply in her neck. "You owe me some money," she said, at a loss for what else to say, alarmed by the shrill, alien sound of her own voice. Pradeep laughed, a low and nasty cackle, and pointed at the nearby crate. "There's my wallet. Help yourself."

  Sambita made the mistake of glancing where it lay, and Pradeep seized the moment, reaching for her throat. She cried out and swung the cutlass wildly, more on impulse than homicidal intention, but missed, almost falling over with the momentum. Mercifully, Pradeep had lurched sideways to avoid the sweeping blade and lost his balance too, tangling his ankles around a loose coil of rope and thudding down onto his hands and knees. For a moment, Sambita had the opportunity to bury the cutlass in the back of his thick, hairy neck, but she hesitated. The survival adrenaline that fizzed through her veins couldn't quite quench the years of patriarchy and the morality of her gentle soul. She wasn't an executioner, not even capable of murder in self-defence. Instead, she brought the stout handle of the cutlass down on the top of his head with a satisfying thud.

  Pradeep shrugged off the blow and rose to his feet, towering above her as the boat drifted to a halt, idling gently on the flow of the river. In that moment, he resembled Kamal—the vicious desire, the pure, slighted rage. Maybe Sambita would regret holding back when she'd had the chance to finish him. Being armed was pointless if she couldn't bring herself to use the weapon. What would Riya do?

  She would know that the only victor of this encounter would be the aggressor. It was cat and mouse. A moment of nightmarish unreality descended as Sambita stepped forward, swinging the cutlass back and forth in a wide arc, forcing Pradeep back toward the edge of the boat.

  "You're only making it worse for yourself," Pradeep said, the veins in his temple throbbing like worms. His enormous hands were curled into claws, but he held back, probably wary of the razor-sharp blade whispering through the air and aware that a mistimed lunge would effortlessly relieve him of several fingers. "You won't do it, you're not a killer. Just put the cutlass down, Sambita. There's no other way out of this mess. I won't hurt you, I promise." Of all the lies Pradeep had spun, that was surely the most transparent. It was him or her. This had gone too far to be resolved any other way. Sambita was at a loss. Where was Riya when she needed her? Maybe she'd been unconscious when Pradeep hurled her overboard, and had already drowned. Right on cue, there was splashing and a dull thud from the gunwale behind Pradeep as a mop of wet black hair and blue-clad shoulders rose above the ridge. Pradeep twisted around and lashed out, his fist connecting hard with the startled face, but it wasn't Riya. Jay had presumably realised that the balance of power had shifted on board and was climbing back up to help reclaim the trawler. He tumbled back down into the river with a squawk. Pradeep cursed.

  Sambita glimpsed Riya's pistol glinting in the shadows beside a barrel and bolted toward it. Pradeep whirled, but Sambita scooped up the gun before he could stop her. He stopped dead in his tracks.

  "So, you're going to shoot me now?" he said with a sneer. "I bet you've never even seen a gun before."

  Now that she had the gun, Sambita felt a cool control flow over her boiling, agitated nerves. It was a situation she had actually fantasised about, albeit with Kamal as the victim, but now it was upon her as reality. She had a gun. She had the power here, and she wasn't going to let Pradeep win it back, a determination exacerbated by his irritating and relentless scorn. She straightened her back and held up her head, brandishing the two weapons just as Riya had done atop the crate.

  "How hard can it be to pull a trigger?" she said, pleased that her voice was steady, almost serene.

  Before Pradeep could retort, Riya's face emerged over the side of the boat. She beamed. "I see you've got everything under control." She climbed onto the deck, her drenched kurta clinging to the lithe curves of her body. "Sorry about that. And good work, Sambita! I thought you'd be dead."

  "Are you okay?"

  "Fine," Riya said, although she had a few abrasions, including a nasty cut above her right eyebrow. She wrung out her po
nytail, then stooped and took a length of rope from the deck. "Okay, Pradeep. Turn around and put your hands behind your back."

  "You're dead. You're both dead," he mumbled, but he did as he was told. Riya deftly snaked the rope around his wrists several times, concluding with a bulbous, intricate knot.

  Once he was trussed, Sambita passed the pistol to Riya, more than happy for her expert colleague to take control. She'd stunned herself with that performance, but her authority was too unpractised, too fragile to trust. "Thanks," Riya said, lifting her sodden kurta and tucking the pistol into the waistband of her jeans. "You keep the cutlass." She touched Sambita's arm gently and smiled before the warmth turned to steel and she turned back to Pradeep.

  "So, where's the heroin? And the money? And I'm seriously bored with your attitude, so if you don't tell me right this second, I'm going to start hacking bits off ."

  Pradeep drew himself up, contemplating resistance, but appeared to realise the sincerity of Riya's threat. He sagged, and Sambita shivered with almost childish delight at how the tables had turned.

  "In there," he said. "Where Bala kept his gun."

  Riya went and collected her sports bag from their crate, picking up Sambita's satchel while she was there, before she returned to the storage chest and peered inside. "Wow. Bala was a really naughty boy." She took out several brown, plastic-wrapped wedges the size of bricks and loaded them into her bag. "Sambita? Go and put him in our crate."

  "Very clever," Pradeep muttered and Sambita raised the cutlass to his throat, nicking the flesh slightly. He winced, staring down at her in surprise. "One more word, I dare you," she whispered.

  Riya smiled as Sambita led the defeated brute back to the crate and gestured to the stinking interior with the cutlass. "What are you waiting for?"

  "Please," he said. "I'm claustrophobic, seriously. Don't make me get in there."

  It was a genuine plea, but Sambita wasn't going to crumble. "What are you complaining about? There's plenty of room. I was told this is a two-person crate."

  Pradeep heaved his body inside and lay down, closing his eyes as she hefted the lid back into place, jabbed a couple of loose nails into the discoloured frame and bashed them in with the handle of the cutlass. Pradeep began to kick at the wall of the crate, the wood slats loosening with each impact, and Sambita swung the cutlass, the blade punching through the wood close to where she knew Pradeep's head would be. He yelped in alarm. "One more kick, and I'll shove it into the river."