Greenbeard (9781935259220) (5 page)

Blue Peter got up and checked the taproom and front bar for potential eavesdroppers and sat back down, nodding for Bulbous Bill to continue.

“The man Denzil has spoke with his
brujo
pal,” Bulbous Bill said in a low voice, his fellow-buccaneers leaning forward to listen. “It would seem that them sorcerers are just as fond o' a golden coin as anybody else, so he was willin' to pass along anything he might hear. Trouble is, he's only heard of a fleet carryin' crockery. Seems to me that crockery is hardly worth our effort to plunder, but yez may think otherwise.”

“Hmm, crockery,” mused Blue Peter. “It has a ready market, that cannot be denied. It is not of great intrinsic value, though, even if it is fine porcelain from far Cathay, embellished with blue-painted scenes of that mysterious land. Bulky and breakable, too. Not the easiest of loot to plunder and transport.”

“Tell me, Bill,” said Captain Sylvestre de Greybagges slowly, “did your friend Denzil actually say ‘crockery'? Did he use that precise word?”

“Why, no, Cap'n,” said Bulbous Bill. “He said it were plates.”

Captain Greybagges looked at Bulbous Bill for several seconds, then he began
to laugh. He laughed until his face turned red, he laughed until he had a coughing fit and Blue Peter had to pound him on the back. His three lieutenants stared at him in amazement. At last he gained control of himself, blowing his nose on a black silk handkerchief pulled from his sleeve. He shook his head, still grinning, and put a finger to his lips.

“Oh, Bill! But you are a caution, and no mistake!” He gestured for them to lean closer to him and whispered “It is surely the Spanish Plate Fleet. Plate meaning silver, from the Spanish
plata
. Oh, my! This is a great good fortune indeed!”

The Captain's three lieutenants stared at him open-mouthed, then, as the meaning of his words came clear to them, their open mouths curved into great smiles. Great wolfish piratical smiles.

“Oh deary me!” whispered Blue Peter, “I am ashamed that I did not spot that. Plate, of course, from the Spanish
plata
, meaning silver, from the Greek
plato
, meaning wide. Obvious when one sees it.”

“How come wide gets to mean silver? Look'ee.” said Israel Feet in a hoarse voice, his throat still burning from the pepper.

“It is because the minting of coins involves taking little lumps of silver and bashing them flat with a hammer. Thus they are made wide, and the word has come to mean all silver in Spanish when once it meant just coinage.” said Blue Peter. “The silver of the Plate Fleet will be mainly in ingots, though, each one weighing sixteen and one-half pounds. I've seen them before, and they are a very cheery sight to a gentleman of fortune, a very cheery sight indeed. The Spanish Plate Fleet sails once a year and takes the whole year's production of silver from the Spanish Americas to King Carlos's treasurehouse in Bilbao. That is a large quantity of silver by any standards.”

The four freebooters considered this in silence for several minutes, occasionally sipping their mugs of ale and staring into space.

“Tell me, Bill,” said Captain Greybagges at last, “did your pal tell you the times of the sailin' and the routes that the fleet may take?”

“Nope, but he did say that the fleet will be anchorin' overnight in Nombre Dios Bay on the third of next month.”

The Captain favoured Bulbous Bill with a smile and a nod. He reached inside his black coat and brought out a small book. A Jolly Roger and the words
Ye Lett's Pirate's Diary
were tooled in gold on its black leather binding. Captain Greybagges
thumbed through the diary.

“Well, shiver me timbers, here is luck!” he exclaimed. “That night is a night of no moon. It's just before the autumn storms, too, so there's a good chance there will be an overcast sky. A moonless clouded night, and the silver fleet will be anchored over the bones of Sir Francis Drake, who was buried at sea in Nombre Dios Bay, stitched into his hammock betwixt two cannonballs, it is said. These are indeed good omens, me hearties!”

The buccaneers sat back and grinned at each other, the prospect of plundering a vast pile of silver bars warming their piratical hearts like pints of hot rum-toddy.

“Let us enjoy this moment,” said Captain Sylvestre de Greybagges, “but let us not become complaisant. The treasure is vast, but it is not yet in our hands, shipmates. There is much plotting and planning to do if we are to take possession of this great fortune. To be sure, the King of Spain does not really need it, he has much wealth already, and he would only waste that fine silver paying Irish mercenary soldiers to keep Flanders in the Catholic faith. The quickest way of turning the Dutch Protestant is to tell them they must be Catholic, of course, but I wander from my point. The Plate Fleet will be at anchor in a secluded bay on the darkest of nights, thinking themselves safe because nobody knows that they are there. By careful planning we can take each ship in turn by stealth alone, and thus we need involve nobody else. We shall need no partners to ensure the success of this venture. No partners to share the booty. No partners to gossip and yakkity-yak, either, and that is important. The only ones who knows about this are us four - Bill's mate Denzil and his witch-doctor both thinks the fleet carries crockery - so let us keep it strictly to ourselves until we are at sea. Look miserable, too. No grinning, no laughing, no dancing of jigs. Keep our good fortune hidden to yourselves alone until we are at sea again. If we does this venture right then we are in clover. Blue Peter will be able to raid the slave-masters of Virginny and Kentuck until he is satisfied that they are contrite, and pay for the expeditions out of his small change without thought of profit.”

“You jest, Captain, because you have never endured the pain and humiliation of slavery. I may very well do just what you suggest solely for the sheer vengeful joy of it,” said Blue Peter, a wicked smile revealing his pointed teeth.

“As I say, Peter, we must first take possession of this great bounty. That must be foremost in our minds from now on. If we thinks too much of the spendin' of the loot we will not be thinking enough about the plunderin' of it. I meself could
easily waste hours thinkin' about how a certain jumped-up Welshman's nose will be put properly out of joint, but I will forego that pleasure until the silver bars are safe in my hands. Well, then, let us drink a draught o' rum to toast this venture,” said Captain Sylvestre de Greybagges, “then return to the barky and gets ourselves an early night, shipmates, for it is now my intention to sail on the mornin' tide.”

T
he frigate
Ark de Triomphe
slowed as the foremast jacks cast off the sheets and the wind spilled from the sails. The night was as black as Indian ink. No moon. No stars. Two dim glimmers of red light showed from the loom of the land to the west, where the pirates had mounted lanterns in the jungle two days earlier as navigation beacons. The lanterns had four-gallon oil reservoirs to burn for a week, and were shielded with black-painted canvas so that they were only visible from a particular bearing. When both lanterns were to be seen the
Ark de Triomphe
was in position for the raid on the fleet, with Nombre Dios Bay to the north just around a concealing point of land.

“Let go the anchor!” hissed Bulbous Bill Bucephalus, and the anchor was slid into the water slowly and carefully, without making a noise.

Captain Sylvestre de Greybagges was clad entirely in black, even more black than was his normal custom. His beard was wrapped in black cloth, his head was covered with a black knitted cap and his face was blackened with soot. In the dim light from the dark lantern by the wheel only his pale grey eyes were easily seen. There was a low mutter of voices and a soft splash as the skiff was lowered over the side by black-clad pirates.

“Less of the chatter, ye swabs!” hissed Captain Greybagges. He turned to Bulbous Bill Bucephalus and spoke softly. “I shall make me reconnaissance quick as I can, but I cannot hurry. Maybe half an hour. Maybe an hour. Keep the men at readiness until I return, then we'll go quickly. Try and keep the swabs from talking or making a row. If I am gone more than three hours, or iffen you hears a shot, then I will have been taken. In that event make sail at once, Bill, and no argument, for this venture requires complete surprise and without it you too will be taken.”

Bulbous Bill nodded, and Captain Greybagges climbed over the side. The skiff was difficult to find in the dark by the side of the frigate, for it had been painted black. The Captain found it with his foot and climbed in. The oars were also painted black and muffled with black rags tied around the blades. Blue Peter Ceteshwayoo and Israel Feet looked down from the ship's rail, but the Captain was almost invisible in the moonless starless night. They heard a soft splashing and sensed rather than saw him row away towards the headland.

The night was black as pitch and silent, occasionally a bird's call could be clearly heard from the jungle by the shore. A seaman by the compass-binnacle coughed. Bulbous Bill reached across and grabbed him by the ear.

“Iffen yez coughs again, cully, I shall quiet yez by a-squeezin' yer throat,” he whispered.

Time passed slowly. After a seeming infinity had passed there was a soft thud as the seaman at the binnacle turned the hour-glass. One hour. Bulbous Bill, Blue Peter and Israel Feet said nothing, waiting by the rail in the silent darkness.

Another infinity of time passed. Another soft thud. Two hours. Blue Peter shifted himself uneasily. The three buccaneers glanced at each other, but still said nothing.

Blue Peter walked to the binnacle and looked at the hour-glass; the third hour was nearly passed. Suddenly Israel Feet hissed and pointed. Neither Blue Peter or Bulbous Bill could see anything at first, but they began to hear a rhythmic splashing, then a faint white blur became visible in the darkness. As the blur came nearer it resolved into a naked man rowing. A little nearer and they could see it was the Captain, the great tattoo of bat-winged Satan upon his back. He was pulling on the oars of the skiff like a man possessed, the little craft almost leaping out of the water with each heave of his broad shoulders. When the skiff came to the ship Captain Greybagges dropped the oars, stood up, turned and hurled himself onto the side. He scrambled up the tumblehome of the wooden planks like a great white spider, his eyes and mouth like three black holes in his face in the dim light of the dark lantern. He stood on the deck completely naked, shivering as though with the ague, and his three lieutenants stared at him in shock. The Captain took a step forward and seized Bulbous Bill by the arm.

“Make all sail now. Waste no time. Cut the anchor loose and go. Now!” he hissed. His pale grey eyes bulged from his head and his face was etched with dark lines from some awful horror. Slowly his eyes rolled up under his eyelids and his knees buckled. He would have collapsed onto the deck but Blue Peter slid a mighty arm around his shoulders to support him, then the other arm under his legs as he fell backwards and lifted the Captain and carried him like a baby down to the Great Cabin.

Blue Peter carefully laid the Captain into his hanging bunk and wrapped blankets around his shivering body. The Captain's eyes were open again but they
seemed sightless, as though he stared into a different world. By the dim light of the single candle Blue Peter could see the Captain's lips moving soundlessly as though in prayer. Captain Sylvestre de Greybagges looked older, as though he had been gone several years and not three hours. From overhead came the tramping of feet on the deck as the frigate made sail, then the ship heeled as it caught the wind to flee from Nombre Dios Bay.

Blue Peter sat by the Captain all through that long night. Several times he tried to give the Captain water to drink, but it just dribbled out of his lips. The Captain said not a word, and his eyes still seemed to stare into some other place. As he watched the Captain's face Blue Peter became convinced, to his great unease, that the Captain had aged several years. His face was more lined, different somehow.

The worst horror, though, waited for dawn, for as the sun rose and clear light streamed through the tall stern windows into the Great Cabin he saw that the Captain's long beard was no longer the bright yellow of Spanish gold but had become
green
. As green as spring grass.

Blue Peter Ceteshwayoo nursed Captain Sylvestre de Greybagges with great tenderness as the
Ark de Triomphe
sailed dolorously back to Porte de Recailles, unburdened by silver ingots, its commander shocked into catatonia. On the second day he managed to get the Captain to eat. Bulbous Bill Bucephalus made a special burgoo, seething milk with a strip of cinnamon bark before pouring it onto the oatmeal, sweetening the burgoo with honey and a mashed roasted banana as it simmered. Blue Peter held the Captain with an arm round his shoulders and spooned the burgoo into his mouth as though he were a child. Bulbous Bill then made a medicinal grog. He put a double handful of camomile flowers, a handful of African rooibosch leaves and two teaspoons of poppyseed into a pot with water and set it to simmer. He melted a large lump of butter in another pot, waited for it to foam and added a cup of brown Demerara sugar, stirring it rapidly with a wooden spoon. He added the herb infusion to the caramelised sugar and butter a little at a time, straining it through a cloth and stirring continuously. Then he
added rum, a very special dark rum that he had been keeping in his seaman's chest, a black syrupy rum of great strength that has only ever been drunk by pirates, and which has not been made since the time of Captain Flint. Blue Peter lifted the Captain and held a mug of the grog to his lips. The Captain drank the mugfull. Then another. Then a third, and then his tormented grey eyes closed at last and he slept.