“This be Dead Man's Chest, look'ee, where two may come but only one goes hence,” said he. “If ye want life, a' must fight for it, t'other against each.”
“Suppose we won't fight?” asked Blood brightly.
“Why, then, bully, we bury you alive, right delicate,” purred Black Bilbo, as he made dainty play wi' lace kerchief. “Does it like thee better – to stifle, ha, to suffocate i' shifting, slithering, choking sand, head down wi' feet a-waggle, most comical to see? If so—”
“All right, you've made your point,” said Blood hastily, and Avery curled contemptuous lip. “You'll fight, renegade,” quo' he, “and die better death than thou deservest, on decent steel.”
“Attaboy!” croaked Firebeard, and leered at Blood. “He don't like you, matey. Vindictive, he is.”
“We leave a boat, a puncheon o' water, and a loaded pistol for the survivor – if there is one, and he can get loose,” said Rackham. “Goliath – put the hoods on 'em!”
And before our boys knew well what portended, tarred sacks had been slipped over their head and made fast about their necks, so that they stood in musty darkness, armed but helpless, while the pirates fell about with cruel delight at their predicament.
“You can't see, but you can hear the bells,” said Rack-ham. “And remember – no hitting on the break, no talking in the clinches, no butting, and may the more meritorious contestant emerge victorious!”
Rough hands seized the two, as with raucous cries of “Roundabout, roundabout, roundabout mouse, up a bit, up a bit, in a wee house!” the pirates spun them to and fro and then released them to stagger blindly about the spit, their bells jingling. Almost simultaneously they pulled up, and stood listening for the sound of each other's bell; Avery's tinkled softly, and Blood immediately lunged, but since he was fifteen feet away and facing in the other direction, no business ensued. Then Avery made a sudden slash at empty air, and Blood, catching the jingle, rushed in his direction, but tripped and plunged headlong in the soft sand. Avery spun round and fell in his turn, and as they both scrambled up, by chance their blades met with rasp and slither, and they both lashed out at random, in opposite directions, thrashing about in the sand.
The pirates loved it, bawling with laughter and holding on to each other at the antics of their hapless prey. Even Black Sheba, concerned as she was for Avery, could not repress a smile as he came academically on guard, extended himself in a perfect lunge, and fell slap into the surf. Blood meanwhile was stumbling around, blaspheming horribly and tripping over one of the grave crosses. The callous ruffians egged them on and laid bets, but presently their sport was marred, for a sudden gust of wind ruffled the water, and there was general alarm as it was seen that the sea was getting up, while black clouds darkened the sky overhead. In a trice the pirates were into their boats and rowing for their ships, Sheba casting one last regretful glance where her dream man was sloshing about in the shallows, demanding in muffled tones that Blood should stand and fight like a man. Since Blood was twenty yards away, trying to use his hopelessly-swathed rapier hand to get his hood off, and having no luck, Avery was wasting his breath; it never occurred to our hero to try to remove his own hood, of course; that would have been cheating. Besides, the pirates had done their work too well.
Eventually they started prowling the spit in search of each other again, with mixed results. It was grim work, though – just put a bag over your head and try it. It's hot and stuffy, and the rustle of the material fills your ears, you can't see a thing, and somewhere close by a malevolent stinker is flailing about with three feet of razor-sharp steel. Not nice. And when you do hear his bells jingle, you haven't the foggiest notion where the sound is coming from. Twice they actually blundered into each other, and flailed away at random, without result; then Blood took to crawling on his stomach, the skunk, jabbing fiercely in the hope of hitting Avery in the ankle. But this proved most uncomfortable, so he gave it up, and thereby precipitated the crisis of their deadly blind man's buff.
“I'm just about sick of this!” he said, and added several horrid oaths. Muffled though they were, they came to Avery's finely-tuned ears, and he froze where he stood, waiting to catch the sound of the Irishman's next movement. Sure enough, there was the soft rustle as Blood climbed painfully to his feet, hoarse breathing somewhere to Avery's left, and more naughty words – swear away, rakehell, thought our Ben, t'will be your undoing. Very cautiously he turned, trying not to jingle, but as he slowly raised his hand for a desperate blind lunge the bell tinked softly, and Blood let out a yelp of panic and thrust out any old where. By sheer fluke his point ripped into Avery's hood, the Captain fell back blinded by the sudden light as the canvas was rent before his eyes, Blood's steel drove past within an inch of his face, and then Avery had sprung away, jerking his head to free it from the torn canvas.
Behind him Blood was whirling about, lashing in all directions with futile bellows of “I can see you! Stop trying to hide, it won't do you a bit of good!” and finally losing his balance yet again. Avery waited until his opponent's frenzy had subsided, and then said quietly:
“Blood … it is I who can see you. I can kill you when I please.”
Blood leaped like a nervous ferret, away from his voice, and stood panting, his bagged head a-twitch this way and that. “Pull the other one,” he said at last. “That's a right sneaky public-school gambit, that is. Ye want me to believe you, an' beg for mercy, and give my position away. Well, it won't work, me bucko, for devil a word will I say, and ye can go jump in the ocean with your dirty, underhand—”
Avery slapped him hard across the bottom with the flat of his blade, and Blood yelped and sat down.
“Now d'you believe me?” said Avery. “That's my point, at your throat.” And he touched Blood lightly beneath the Adam's apple. The Irishman started, and then he seemed to go limp as he sat in the sand.
“What d'ye want me to do then – congratulate you?” he said wearily. “Go on – get it over with.” He sighed heavily. “So it ends here. Aye, well; if I've lived dirty I can die clean. Make it quick.”
Well, he wouldn't fool you or me, but the crafty rascal knew that in Avery he was dealing with Simon Pureheart, and that there wasn't a dog's chance that the other would take advantage of him, especially if he sounded game and penitent simultaneously. And sure enough, Avery was impressed. Cad though Blood might be, he was evidently prepared to take his medicine like a man; the chiselled visage of our hero quivered slightly, and softened like toasting marshmallow. He could no more have smitten his helpless foe than he could have wiped his nose on his sleeve; it just wasn't in him. He sighed in his turn, and did the decent thing – he cut Blood's left hand free, and a moment later the Colonel was tearing off his hood and regarding Avery with an uneasy, wolfish grin. For Avery, with his left arm still bound, would be hopelessly unbalanced if Blood chose to renew the combat. But before the Colonel could make up his mind, the Captain had turned to him a back on which confidence and imperturbability, and just a hint of disdain, were writ large.
“And now,” said Avery coolly, “you may release me in turn.”
“May I now?” said Blood, and his grin became wicked. “Ye're mighty trusting. What's to stop me running you through for the soft-hearted fool ye are?”
“Don't talk rot,” said Avery briskly. “I am the hero, and my survival is essential. You don't suppose that you can stab me in the back on page 111, surely? The ludicrous notion!” And he laughed lightly.
“Couldn't I, though?” said Blood, with sinister softness, and for a moment Avery's blood ran cold. “Oh, it would be unconventional, I grant you – but it would be interesting, and by God, haven't ye been asking for it, just? I'm not so sure,” he went on, laying his point gently in the small of Avery's back, “that your survival's all that necessary.”
“And who else, pray, is capable of rescuing Lady Vanity and bringing those pirate villains to condign punishment?” inquired Avery impatiently. “Come, sir, make haste.”
“Well, I might make a stab at rescuing the delectable lady meself, now,” mused the rascally Colonel. “She'd be grateful, devil a doubt, and so would her old Dad -and he's a warm man, they say. I might find meself a cosy little billet—”
“Lady Vanity wouldn't look at you,” snapped Avery. “For one thing, you're a bounder, and for another – you lack attraction. Your hair is receding, and I happen to know that she considers you pathetically old.”
“Old?” squawked Blood. “I'm twenty-nine, damn your skin! Well, thirty … three. Anyway, I don't bloody well have to rescue the choosy little bitch—”
“You wouldn't know how. And I advise you to refer to her with respect.”
“ – she can rot in some randy rajah's harem for all I care. I'll do all right on my own!”
“Without me to rescue you from your present predicament?” Avery's shoulders were a picture of contempt, and the back of his neck radiated amused scorn. “You don't know where you are; I do. You can't sail a small boat across shark-infested, trackless seas; I can. You aren't fighting fit, disciplined, intrepid, and (decently) resourceful; I am. Now get on with cutting me loose -I'm getting pins and needles.”
It was gall and wormwood to that knavish soul, and Blood cursed quite a bit, but of course he had to give in in the end. For one thing, he wasn't really rotter enough to stab a helpless man – like Captain Hook, he had his own warped ideas of good form, and he realised that it would be the height of poor taste. Also, he had considerable doubts about his ability even to row a small boat, let alone navigate it. So, with the best grace he could muster, he cut Avery free, and once they had got the bandages off their respective sword-hands, Avery reviewed the situation. Far off, on the horizon, the pirate ships were disappearing under the stormy sky; they might be, he remarked regretfully, beyond immediate pursuit.
“And they can stay that way for Mrs Blood's favourite child!” snapped the Colonel. “We're well rid o' them. That Sheba!” And he shuddered at the thought.
“But they're not rid of me,” said Avery quietly, and Blood read in the intrepid set of his chin, the hard calm of his clear grey eyes, the stern purpose of his clear brow, the resolute tension of his knees, and the implacable poise of his armpits, a grim determination which was awesome. “Those knaves have filched away mine honour quite. So much is clear from the words of that diabolical black female – Rooke thinks I turned stool-pigeon over the Madagascar crown, and that I betrayed his daughter, don't ask me how. I must clear my name, and that means rescuing Lady Vanity ere shame and horror befall her, and getting back every piece of that sambo's tiara. To that end, I, Benjamin Avery, R.N., hereby dedicate myself. I'm going after those scoundrels single-handed, and by George they won't know what's hit them.” And he strode down to the small boat on the shore.
Blood cried out in alarm. “You're barmy! You're going to go solo after the whole Coast Brotherhood? Hold on, son; listen to your uncle.” And he laid a restraining hand on Avery's impassioned wrist. “Look, we've got the boat – an' you being a dab hand, we can get to some fairly civilised port. Right? Well, I hate to remind you, but Lady Vanity's probably up to her pretty ears in shame and horror already, and anyway you don't know where they've sent her. Basra, Goa, who knows? As for the crown, what are insurance companies for? Dammit, it's in six bits – you can't hope to find 'em all, let alone recover them! I mean, try asking that bloody Firebeard! Or that supercharged Eartha Kitt! Jayzus! Now, let's you and me just take it easy -”
“Faugh!” cried Avery. “These are the counsels of a poltroon!”
“Dam' right they are,” agreed Blood warmly. “And I'll tell ye something else – they work.”
“Stand aside, sir,” said Avery grimly, and started rummaging through the boat. His seaman's eye assured him that she was seaworthy, and that, as Rackham had said, she contained a keg of water and a loaded pistol. Little enough, but sufficient for such as our intrepid captain. But what was this? – under the stern seat, a small box, which on being opened proved to contain a compass, Baedekers for the Barbary Coast, Indies, and Spanish Main, Good Food Guide, tooth-brush, nail scissors, ship's biscuit, great store o' boucanned beef, flask of Pimm's No 1, bandages and iodine, credit cards, and a bar of Sunlight soap. Pinned to them was a note in a sultry, smouldering hand, and Avery's eyes narrowed as he read:
Oh Blind, Oh Foolish, Oh Beloved,
I hope you are keeping well, and that the weather continues fine. I write these lines – and enclose them wi' store o' necessities for your voyage – in the confident hope that you will easily master the creature Blood (whose death, as I trust, was slow and painful, tho' not as choicely anguished as I would ha' contrived, given the leisure), and that your valour, god-like intelligence, and other super-duper qualities will bring ye to a safe haven wi' all despatch. Give up all hope of succouring that finishing-school milksop Vanity; she is beyond all aid, and lost to you forever, and good riddance. 'Tis my belief she pads her bra, but no more o' that; she is kaput, so forget it.
My heart and body yearn for thee, thou gorgeous beast, but I will not sue nor plead. My dark star tells me we shall meet again, “on another island, farther on”, as we o' the Brotherhood do say, and when that time comes, thou shalt be Sheba's, and she thine. Oh, pray it may be soon, soon, soon! You haunt my dreams, my skin prickles at thy imagined touch, my lips thirst for thee, I'm off my food, and if this goes on much longer I'll look an Absolute Wreck! Oh, fly to me, barracuda baby, that I may rain kisses on thee as I do on this insensate paper!
Yours sincerely,
Sheba the She-Wolf
x x x
“Well, how d'ye like that, the vindictive hussy!” said Blood, who had been kibitzing. “‘Creature Blood’, forsooth, and what did I ever do that she wants me took off painful-like?”
“I could almost pity her,” mused Avery, his marble brow clouded. “Poor, deluded savage, it may be that she is more misguided than evil – after all, who knows what her environment was like … under-privileged, wrong side of the tracks, no school lunches, parents divorced I shouldn't wonder. She may have had a cross nanny.” His perfectly-sculpted lips tightened. “But her conduct to my darling Vanity – ha! that I can never forgive her, never!”
“Well, she's done all right by you,” remarked Blood, eyeing the box of goodies. “God knows why, after the way ye spurned her in the orlop, an' her climbin' all over you. Tell me,” he went on curiously, “don't ye find her just the littlest teeny-weeny bit attractive? I mean, she's a human cobra, we all agree, but – physically, now? Doesn't she get through to you at all?”
Avery looked mildly surprised. “She may be comely enough, in a darkish way, I suppose, I had not marked it. She has a certain … how shall I put it? … a certain …”
“Baaahhhrrrooomph?” suggested Blood.
“… a certain bodily presence, I was about to say.” Avery shrugged. “And, as you say, she seemed eager to attract my notice. But then, all women do, I cannot think why.” He frowned, and crumpled the note, which Blood automatically trousered. “But it shall naught avail her. She goes into the slammer with the others, and to such retribution thereafter as her crimes deserve. Right – help me launch the boat.”
“Thou artn't still intent on thy rash design?” cried Blood in alarm. “All that codswallop about going after Murder Inc. single-handed, I mean – ye've thought better on't?”
“I have said, and I shall do,” replied Avery coldly. “But fear not for thine own precious skin, fellow – I crave not thy company, and if so be a convenient port lies in my way as I pursue these foul knaves, I shall happily be rid o' thee. Or you can stay here and wave your vest at passing ships.” And he busied himself about the boat.
“You're bananas!” roared Blood. “Not the full shilling! Harpic! Ye great English goon, you haven't a prayer. You can't take on that mob …” And for some reason, in a slightly lame voice, he added: “… alone.”
Avery glanced at him, and Blood leaned on the thwart, head down, and heaved a great sigh.
Then he looked up, as at a wilful child, and shook his head, with that sorry crooked Irish grin of his, and while he looked there seemed to be borne to them on the wind the soft strains of that stirring wild sea-march that you know of old, which signals the moment when the rogue, old in craft and knavery, says farewell against his better judgment to selfish sense and cynical reason, and casts his lot for the nonce with Honour and Gallant Enterprise – not from conviction, but because his bold, contrary spirit cannot resist the call of venture and romance, for what is life without them? So with the music growing in his ears, Colonel Blood shook his head again, as one who marvels at his own folly.
“Aye, me,” he sighed. “Look you, now – ye're a likely lad, Ben Avery, and a canny man of your hands, I'll give ye that, but damme, ye just haven't got the kind of sin and experience for the dirty work that lies ahead of you. What you need is the help and guidance of some bloody rascal who knows the wickedness of the world and who'll see ye safe through it, more or less – not out of the goodness of his black heart, because he hasn't any, and he'll play ye false now and then, devil a doubt, but just for the hell of it – and a share of the profits, if any. Well… what d'ye say?”
He stood waiting, while Avery regarded him steadily – not with any softening of those finely-chiselled features, not with a hint of a smile, but after a moment he nodded, and if you had seen him you would have liked him better than at any time so far. Whatever doubts he may have felt, he concealed them, and in that moment there was nothing priggish about Captain Avery.