The Legend of the Black Monk

by Nigel Cubbage

‘Blimey! Just missed a real soaking,’ said Rupert, looking up at racing black clouds.

  The change in the weather had the effect of making the interior of the chapel somewhat gloomy. Rupert took out the code book, peering up at the window.

  ‘Hmm, bit tricky to make out some of those at the top.’

  ‘You need to get a bit higher up. You can probably see better from the pulpit.’

  Laura pointed. Rupert looked a little hesitant.

  ‘Is that the done thing? I’m an atheist. Oh well, seeing as there’s no-one around.’ He climbed the few short steps and put his code book down, looking up at the window.

  A mischievous grin came over his face. He clasped the edge of the pulpit.

  ‘Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today –’

  ‘Stop it, you clown! Don’t be disrespectful just because you don’t believe in it! What if Jimmy Hendricks comes in?’

  ‘Okay, okay! So, what did Kraus say? Something about Saladin’s nemesis, where to look and the Napoleonic style. Sir Lytton, we assume, is Saladin’s nemesis. He is pointing to … well, you might say the monastery! If so, we deduce that the monastery is an important location and we assume it is Druid’s Rock. The flags … here, you’d better write everything down as I say it, or Rebecca will only get cross. Now, what do the flags say?’

  For what seemed like an eternity to Laura, he said nothing, alternating his gaze between the window and the code book. Eventually, her patience snapped. ‘Well? What does it say? Come on!’

  Rupert frowned.

  ‘Well, I may not have got this right … certainly don’t understand. It’s all letters and numbers. … SX119979

  ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘I have no idea.’

  ‘Is it a car registration or something?’

  ‘Bit odd for that.’

  ‘Look, you’d better take the photos and get off to the monastery.’

  Laura’s phone bleeped in her pocket.

  ‘It’s Becks. She’s had a message from Von Krankl saying all is quiet and no sign of Daedalus since you went.’

  ‘Best get back quick then. Looks like we’ve been lucky.’

  * * *

  In the gathering gloom, the wreck of the Johann Sebastian Bach was a huge, imposing presence, towering above the small cruiser. Drew steered alongside and throttled right back to bring the boat to a halt. Above them, gulls and other seabirds swooped and circled around the masts and superstructure, which clearly served them well for nesting and roosting. The clouds were closing in and there was a fresh and distinct chill to the wind.

  Drew threw Rebecca a rope, feeling the first drop of rain. ‘Best crack on to beat this weather. Here, make that fast to the bottom of the ladder.’ A metal ladder extended right down from the deck of the vessel. Rebecca did as she was asked and eyed the ladder apprehensively.

  ‘It’s the only way up,’ said Drew, reading her thoughts.

  ‘It’s not a problem,’ retorted Rebecca, a little too quickly. ‘After you.’

  ‘No, milady. Captain always last to leave his ship.’

  ‘And just who put you in charge?’ said Rebecca, grasping the ladder with both hands.

  ‘You did when you rang me up the other week and asked me down to be, and I quote, in charge of boats,’ smiled Drew, sweetly.

  Rebecca scowled, took a deep breath and started to climb, telling herself not to look down. Her feet made a comforting ringing noise on the metal rungs and it was not long before she was hauling herself between the bulwarks and onto the deck. She turned and looked back, immediately wishing she had not, seeing the churning sea now way below. Drew arrived right behind her and they paused to take stock. The rain began to fall heavily.

  ‘Did Von Krankl say where on this ship to find him?’ Drew looked around. On board, the vessel was much larger than expected. ‘The geezer isn’t going to be expecting us and he might not be too keen on being discovered.’

  ‘Hadn’t thought of that,’ said Rebecca, pursing her lips. ‘I don’t think he said anything to Rupert about where the bloke would be. When we were out here before though, I swear I saw something in one of the portholes by the bridge.’ She pointed up. Drew shrugged.

  ‘As good a place as any to start.’

  They each took a side of the deck, hunching up against the driving rain and making for the bridge, looking for signs that somebody had been on board. In running aground, the ship had listed to about 20 degrees, such that it was often necessary to hold on to avoid slipping.

  Rebecca reached the bridge and clambered up a steep metal staircase. She emerged onto a narrow walkway round the central wheelhouse. Its elevated position gave a good view of the entire boat and towards the shore.

  ‘McOwan! Here!’ Rebecca hurried round to the far side where Drew was looking through an open doorway.

  ‘Somebody has been here. Look! Sleeping bag, cushions, books, half-eaten apple.

  They’ve been sleeping rough in the wheelhouse.’

  Rebecca looked around. ‘Any sign of him?’

  Just then they heard footsteps coming up a metal staircase from a passageway inside the boat. Drew hissed at Rebecca and they quickly scrambled behind a panel of instruments.

  The footsteps grew louder. They held their breath. Rebecca looked down anxiously at a gradually widening pool of rainwater dripping off her. A monk walked into the wheelhouse.

  Chapter 26

  A Corpse of Mistaken Identity

  The heavy rain had stopped when Rupert and Laura emerged through the door of the Smugglers’ Chapel and crossed the lush green graveyard towards the path to the manor. Through the dripping trees the sunshine was trying its best to break through, sparkling briefly on the waves out to sea.

  ‘Ah, there you are!’

  They turned to see a perspiring James Hendricks running along the path from the lych gate. Rupert swallowed a smile, wondering if running was perhaps a rather too athletic description of the energetic shuffle by which the old vicar was making progress.

  ‘News and a package for Rebecca from Grendel!’ panted Hendricks, coming to a sudden stop and leaning against an obliging gravestone. He opened his mouth to speak, instead panted loudly and paused to examine the inscription. ‘Apologies, Hermione Morwenstow, for leaning on you like this but I am not used to sprinting.’

  Rupert had to look away quickly, strangling a laugh. Hendricks did not notice.

  ‘Grendel B has … looked at the bones … and is of the opinion that they are those of a very tall man … phewoo-eee! … Would that square with being … the redoubtable Kapitan?’ He wiped a drop of sweat from his brow and looked inquiringly at Rupert and Laura.

  Laura frowned. ‘Well … not really. In that picture of the crew, Von Krankl said the tall man was Himmel.’

  ‘Did he?’ said Rupert, his eyes widening.

  ‘The Nazi?’ said Hendricks. ‘Good Lord! Surely our dear old chapel hasn’t been harbouring a Nazi? How … ooh, dear. All are equal in his eyes, but I think one or two of my parishioners might have something to say about it.’

  Laura said, ‘Becks thought it was all a bit odd, didn’t she? Kraus being buried in his uniform, ten years after the war was over. Now, if it was Himmel, why was he left there in Kraus’ uniform? Makes even less sense.’

  ‘Because he was left there by Kraus?’ suggested Rupert.

  ‘Think about it. For one thing, we assumed it was Kraus because of the uniform. What if Kraus was trying to cover his escape by making it look as if he was dead? To throw the Komrades off the scent.’

  ‘So if the bones are Himmel, what happened to him?’

  ‘And what happened to Kraus?’

  ‘Anyway,’ said Hendricks, ‘here is the package Grendel said was for Rebecca. He says there is some interesting stuff relating to the Trevellyans.’

  * * *

  Rebecca found herself gripping Drew’s fingers like a vice. Slowly, inexorably, the shrouded figure turned towards them. The hood was too far forward to see t
he face.

  ‘Who are you?’ ventured Drew, doing his best to extricate his fingers. The figure remained silent. After a few seconds, a bony hand came up and pushed back the hood to reveal a grey-haired old man. This was no ghost then, Rebecca thought to herself, relieved. The old man’s other hand toyed with what looked like a small gold button.

  ‘I don’t know you. Who are you and why are you here?’ The old man ignored Drew’s question. His voice was strong and accentless. English.

  ‘Von Krankl sent us.’ Rebecca’s instincts told her to hide nothing. ‘We brought you food.’

  The old man nodded slowly, studying her closely. ‘And why did he not bring it himself?’

  ‘He is being held prisoner at the monastery.’

  The old man raised his eyebrows a fraction. ‘I see … Well, you have brought it for him. Now you may go.’

  ‘Hold on just a minute. We took quite a risk coming here. I think you owe us some sort of explanation.’ Drew did his best to hide growing irritation.

  ‘I owe you nothing … other than gratitude for the food, of course. Please forgive my abruptness but there is no reason for you to stay any longer.’

  ‘Won’t you at least tell us who you are?’

  ‘No.’ His face was impassive.

  ‘You’re not a real monk, or why would you be hiding here rather than in the monastery? Why are you pretending to be one?’ Rebecca was eyeing the old man with a strange look.

  ‘I need to remain anonymous.’

  ‘Was it you at the Chapel, pretending you were the Black Monk’s ghost?’

  The old man’s manner relaxed for a moment. ‘Young lady, I … know who you are and that you are far from stupid. You know by now there are forces at work that will stop at nothing. There are things which, if I tell you, put you in very grave danger. Please ask me no more questions. I am not being obstructive. On the contrary, I wish to guarantee your safety.’

  Rebecca’s eye was drawn to the man’s hands. He now held the small gold object between his index finger and thumb. With a double-take, she recognised the Nazi swastika inlaid into the top.

  ‘If you wish to guarantee the safety of all of us, leave now. Your being here is risky. Tell nobody you have seen me, you understand?’

  Drew and Rebecca nodded. ‘And you will just stay here?’

  ‘For now, yes. I have all I need here, and food, thanks to you.’

  * * *

  Back on board, the late afternoon light was fading fast. The engine fired up and they set off, the wreck fading into the gloom behind them. Ahead, the rugged cliffs were darkening into an impenetrable purple- black. Rebecca sat down frowning. Drew looked across from the steering wheel, expecting her to speak but she remained silent, looking distractedly at the water and the dark silhouette of the coastline.

  Drew’s eyes narrowed. He slowed the boat right down. ‘What do we have here?’

  Up ahead, the outline of a boat materialised. It did not appear to be moving and there were no lights showing. ‘Curious.’

  Drew brought them alongside, cut the engine and grabbed a line, looping it around a hook on the other boat to lash them together. He leapt aboard and disappeared. After a few seconds, he was back, a puzzled look on his face.

  ‘Silent Sorrow in Empty Boats.’

  ‘Eh?’ Rebecca gave him a look.

  ‘Genesis.’

  ‘The Bible?’

  ‘No, seventies prog-rock group.’

  ‘About the same vintage then,’ said Rebecca drily.

  ‘Nobody about,’ said Drew, jumping back on board and untying the rope. ‘Anchored but empty.’

  ‘Like the Marie Celeste,’ said Rebecca. ‘I wonder where the crew is.’

  ‘Do you want to hang about and see if anyone turns up?’

  ‘Nope,’ she responded flatly. ‘We need to get back to the others.’

  Drew hit the throttle and they surged forwards. Minutes later, they were approaching the end of the point when they saw the lights of another boat, this time with the crew clearly visible moving about.

  ‘What are they up to?’ Drew narrowed his eyes. He switched off their lights and throttled right down, until the engine could barely be heard. ‘Not sure I want to alert them to our being here.’

  From a short way off, they watched as the figures on board the other boat pulled what looked like a lobster pot out of the water, pored over it and then lowered it carefully back again.

  ‘They are just out fishing, aren’t they?’ said Rebecca.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Drew sounded wary. ‘They aren’t catching much if they are. It looked more like they put something in that pot.’

  The other boat’s engine suddenly powered up and it sped away across the bay.

  ‘Shall we?’ asked Rebecca. Drew nodded. He took them over to the small orange marker buoy where the other boat had just been. He reached under the seat at the side of the cruiser and pulled out a long pole with a hook on it. Then he leaned over the side and hauled on the orange buoy and the line until it emerged clear of the water. Rebecca helped him pull it over the side and the pot landed on the deck.

  In the centre of the pot was a triangular lump of plastic, lit up and flashing and emitting a high pitched, regular beep. ‘Now what do you suppose that is?’ asked Rebecca. ‘It sure ain’t a lobster!’

  ‘Some sort of signal being sent out … but why under the water?’

  ‘Sonar?’ said Rebecca. ‘Who would be using sonar?’

  * * *

  The view of Druid’s Rock from the cliff path was dramatic. Laura paused to catch her breath and looked across at the old monastery on its island, rising out of the jagged cliffs as if from the depths of the sea itself. Gulls cried plaintively as they swooped to and from inaccessible ledges. Down below, the sea surged against the rocks. The walls of the old monastery were grey and forbidding, broken only in places by small windows and slits.

  ‘With a view like that, you’d think there might be a few big windows to enjoy it from,’ said Laura, shaking her head.

  ‘Not there to enjoy themselves, are they?’ said Rupert.

  ‘Lifetime of dedicated service, not leisure.’

  He suddenly let out a cry of annoyance. ‘Damn! The tide.’

  Laura looked at the sea, then back at him, not comprehending. Rupert pointed down at the sea between the island and the coastline. ‘When I came across, it was low tide. I walked over the rocks. Four feet of sea over them now.’

  ‘Ah!’

  They walked further along, Rupert seeking the narrowest point from which he might attempt to get back across. They scrambled lower until they reached rocks.

  Rupert stopped and sat down. He pointed across to the trees on the island.

  ‘That’s where to find the door. We’ll meet there. I’ll send a text from Von Krankl’s phone when we’re ready.’

  ‘But what are you going to do to get back across?’ asked Laura.

  ‘Well I had thought of swimming, I mean it’s not far … only about twenty metres and quite easy but if I get caught by Daedalus with soaking wet clothes, he is going to suspect something, isn’t he?’ Laura slipped the bag she had been carrying off her shoulder, emptied the contents out and stood up. ‘Strip!’ she said, looking at Rupert with a matter-of-fact expression on her face.

  Rupert started, his jaw dropping.

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘You heard …get ’em off.’

  ‘But’

  ‘No buts. Put your clothes in my bag, throw the bag across and then swim.’

  Rupert was still far from convinced. ‘Hang on, what if … what if I can’t throw that far?’

  ‘If you can’t, I can,’ said Laura. ‘Being the only girl among three brothers taught me a few things, not least throwing my brother Mark’s school bag up into a tree where he couldn’t reach it.’

  Rupert looked at Laura in surprise. ‘You did? … Well I … you might at least look the other way.’

  Laura smiled and turned he
r back as Rupert started to peel his jumper and shirt off.

  The smile left her face as a thought occurred. ‘How are we all going to be able to get across to keep an eye on this shipment? Do you know what time the tide is low?’

  ‘You’ll have to use the boat. The tide is on the way in still. Drew will be able to land it somewhere. If he can land us on the Horns of Lucifer, he can land anywhere.’

  There were a few seconds of silence. Laura waited for Rupert to speak when there was a splash followed quickly by a half-shout of agonized pain. She turned to see him bobbing up and down in the sea.

  ‘It’s bloody freezing!’ he shouted. ‘Go on then, chuck the bag over!’

  ‘Not so sure I can throw that far now,’ she teased. ‘Anyway, might be worth hanging on to it to watch you climb out the other side.’

  ‘Flamin’ ’eck! I’ll turn blue if I stay in here much longer! Throw it!’

  Laura stuffed his clothes into the bag, fastened it and swung it around her shoulders a couple of times, before flinging it as far as she could across the water. The bag landed in a bush a few feet up the far bank.

  ‘Blimey! You weren’t joking,’ shouted Rupert, splashing the final few metres. ‘And don’t stay to watch, besides, the monks may be watching. Get back to the others and get the boat. Time is ticking.’

  Laura smiled mischievously.

  * * *

  ‘So what’s your take on all this, oh great brain?’ Drew reclined in an old chair inside the boathouse next to Rebecca. On his other side sat Laura, who had been in the boathouse to meet them. Rebecca pursed her lips.

  ‘Something has been disturbed again, Campbell. Whether it’s to do with evil monks, U-boats, the Admiral, Nazis or the ghost of a dead pirate and his murdered lady … I don’t know. But there is something very strange here. This monk, Daedalus and his Komrades … are dangerous. John Sky scares me, too. I think I trust Von Krankl … we probably have no choice. And the gold … well it looks as if Kraus killed Himmel, probably ‘kill or be killed’. He tried to cover it up to throw the Komrades off the scent while he … well, we don’t know what happened next. He just disappears off the radar completely. So, Laura, in the meantime, Rupert is back inside and the window riddle was solved but is still a riddle?’