“Mr Flint,” said Stanley, “cannot we set these matters aside? We are faced with an unknown fever, and we seek your advice. So I beseech you to behave…” Stanley paused for effect “…to behave as a man should…who must soon face divine judgement.” The chaplain peered closely at Flint, trying to gauge the impact of his words. “So, what is this pestilence, sir? Speak if you know, for your mortal soul is at risk.”
Flint contemplated Dr Stanley.
Clever, he thought. Very clever. Then he turned to Baggot, a man for whom he had nothing but contempt. If he, Joe Flint, had been granted power over a man with hidden treasure, that man would have been put to merciless torture until he revealed its whereabouts. So he sneered at Baggot; for any man who denied himself these obvious means deserved to stay poor! Stanley, however, was clearly a different proposition; subtle means would be required with him.
“Dr Stanley,” said Flint, and lowered his eyes, “it is true that I myself am beyond hope…” He raised a weary hand, as if against life’s iniquitous burdens. “Evidence is contrived against me and, corrupt and mendacious as it is, nevertheless it proves too strong for truth to prevail!”
“Oh, shut up, you posturing hypocrite!” said Baggot. “Lying toad that you are!”
“Sir!” protested Stanley. “I beg that you allow me to conduct this interview.”
“Damned if I will!” said Baggot and turned to go.
“Gentlemen!” cried Flint. “I beg that you listen. I am a lost man, so take these words as dying declaration, and accord them the special credence that is their due…”
There was silence. Such was the power of Flint’s address that no man moved or spoke, not even Captain Baggot, while the two marines were goggling and even Dr Stanley was impressed.
“I offer truth for truth!” said Flint. “I shall tell you the source of this island fever. I shall give it to you freely. But in exchange I ask that you accept this blameless man –” he looked at Billy Bones – “as the innocent that he is.”
Stanley looked at Baggot. Baggot looked at Stanley. The two marines looked on. Baggot frowned.
“What about the treasure?” he said.
“Sir,” said Flint, “I swear on my soul, and in the name of that Almighty Being before whose throne I must soon present myself…that I know nothing of any treasure.”
“Oh bugger,” said Baggot, but quietly.
“And the pestilence?” said Stanley.
“It is caused by the island’s monkeys, sir,” said Flint.
“WHAT?” Baggot, Stanley and the marines spoke as one.
“The monkeys. Because of them, you dare not land on the island.”
“But we’ve got one aboard!” said Baggot. “Little Groggy.”
“Then kill him!” cried Flint. “And get to sea. You are in peril of your lives!”
“Oh Christ!” said Baggot.
“Sir!” protested Stanley.
“Sorry, Mr Chaplain…but, oh Christ!”
There was a pounding of feet as four men raced for the ladders and companionways that led to the light. Then there was a great shouting, and drums beating, and calling up of all hands, and the rattling, clattering, rumbling, squeaking of a great ship getting ready for sea, with capstans clanking, blocks humming, yards hauling aloft and the anchor cables coming aboard, dripping wet and shaking off their weed, to the stamping and chanting of the crew.
Down below, forgotten for the moment, Joe Flint and Billy Bones sat with one dim lantern between them, listening to the sounds that had defined their lives as long as they could remember.
“Why did you tell ‘em about the monkey?” said Billy Bones. “You brought him aboard on purpose, for to spread the fever!”
Flint smiled. “Indeed, Mr Bones. But now his work is done. He’s been aboard all three ships.”
“How d’you know that?”
Flint sighed. “Don’t you ever listen, Billy, to the men who come to feed us?”
“Oh.” Bones frowned. “But you didn’t tell ‘em it was smallpox the monkeys bring. And a special smallpox besides, that’s fearful worse than usual.”
“No. They’ll find that out soon enough…when it kills nine out of ten of them.”
“But some’ll be unharmed?”
“Yes. Those who’ve had it before and survived.”
“And you and me, Cap’n.”
“Yes. For you’ve had it, and I’m protected.”
“And will I be freed, now, for what you told that Parson?”
“I think so. The learned doctor believed me.”
“And then what’ll I do?”
Flint told him: in detail. Billy Bones pondered, asked a few more questions to be sure, and then the two sat quiet as the massive wooden hull began to move.
“Cap’n,” said Billy Bones, finally.
“What?”
“The goods, Cap’n. The gold…”
“Well?”
“They took all your papers and such, didn’t they?”
Flint smiled. “Did they?”
“So how’ll we…how’ll you…find the goods again, without charts and notes?”
“Billy, my Billy! Billy-my-little-chicken! You really must leave all such matters to me. Do you understand?”
Billy Bones gulped. The tone of Flint’s voice had barely changed but Billy Bones knew that this subject must not be raised again. He was immune to smallpox, but not to fear of Flint.
“You just do as you’ve been bid, Mr Bones. When the time comes.”
“Aye-aye, Cap’n,” said Billy Bones, for Livvy Rose had measured him with the precision of her father’s mathematical instruments, recognising that the faithful Billy was born to follow. And now he would follow Flint – even stripped of rank and bound in chains – and keep on following him to the ends of the earth. For Flint was Billy Bones’s chosen master.
Dinner time, 12th March 1753
Aboard Walrus
The Atlantic
All aboard who weren’t on watch gobbled down their dinners with knives, fingers and spoons, lounging among the guns on the maindeck in the sunshine, while Walrus bowled along under all plain sail. They cheered and raised their mugs, spluttering grog and food