“Are you talking about the Devil’s Triangle?”
“Rumours travel fast, Bart.”
“That’s all nonsense”, the latter tried to belittle it.
“That place really exists!” Avery’s look exuded a palpable… and threatening certainty. “Even the most naïve freshwater sailor knows that legend. But I can assure you that it exists.”
“Stop it!”
“What if I told you a story?”
The Portuguese mumbled some words, without committing himself.
“Fine.” Avery poured some more liquor into his glass. His knotty fingers were shaking evidently and some trickles of rum finally slipped down the neck of the bottle. “It all started some years ago. I landed on an island near Antigua with the crew I had joined. We laid at anchor there for several days, trying to understand where we had got.”
“The Anthill’s archipelago is famous for having islands which don’t appear on nautical maps”, Bartolomeu explained.
“I know”, the other man replied, in a condescending voice. “What none of us could have imagined, was that the place was inhabited by some local tribes.”
“Which ones?”
“The Kalinagos.”
Bartolomeu felt puzzled for a few moments. He then shook his head slowly, as if that story wasn’t persuading him completely.
“The death eaters?”, he asked.
“Exactly”, Avery answered. His smile was askew. That memory was evidently amusing him. Or it made him nervous. Difficult to say. “Let me go on.” He swallowed the second glass of rum and filled a third one. “Our captain decided to send an expedition to explore the island. We waited for days, uselessly. So he decided to go himself, together with some other men. Wynne and myself included. The crew was nervous, even if nobody dared discuss his orders. We left the launches on the beach and walked through the forest.”
“You found the Kaliganos there”, Bartolomeu stated.
“They found us, actually”, the old man specified gloomily. “They caught us just like they had done with our mates. I could never forget what I saw. They are beasts, with no mercy at all.” He gulped down the rum again, letting it drop along his chin and neck. “They cut up their victims when they are still alive, with an incredible fierceness.”
Bartolomeu’s attitude was changing. Unlike his interlocutor, he had hardly sipped his rum. He was laying his arms on the table at the moment, his fingers crossed so tight as to let his white knuckles out.
“Anyway”, Avery went on, “our captain was able to be received by the shaman. We could avoid death, but at a very high price.”
Hidden behind the counter, Johnny started trembling. That matter was really turning interesting. Terribly interesting.
Avery on his side hesitated, pouring some more drink into his glass.
“The captain made an agreement with him”, he explained slowly. “So the man told him about the existence of a great treasure, hidden on an island lying north-east of the Bahamas. He even showed him an ancient drawing cut on a clay tablet. The location of the island seems to be the same area where the Devil’s Triangle is supposed to be.”
“What was the agreement about?”
“The captain had to commit himself to find the treasure. He could keep everything he wanted for himself. In return, he had to bring back an amulet to the shaman.”
“An amulet?”
Avery nodded. “Yes. A jade amulet.”
“Why?”, Bartolomeu insisted.
“No idea. He just told him and the men he trusted the most. We were left outside the hut. I got to know later that, thanks to that amulet, he had promised the captain that he would have what he had lost in the past back.” He stopped to think about it. “I wonder what he was referring to.”
“And then?”
“As soon as the shaman told him, he accepted. He marked both of them with a tattoo, to seal the agreement. He then added that, if one of them didn’t keep to the agreement, that mark would bring him to death.”
“Superstitions”, the Portuguese got to the point.
“Think just as you wish, Bart”, Avery insisted. “I know what I witnessed! And that takes me back to Emmanuel Wynne. But I’m going to explain it later.” He gave out a hollow moan, as if that memories were still tormenting him. “I can swear on my own life that the captain went crazy after that experience. Some men decided to mutiny. They were thirty, included myself. The captain obviously didn’t take it well, so he left us on a deserted islet, east of Portorico, with just a bottle of rum for each of us and no food. After a few weeks, he came back to rescue us. Only fifteen men had survived.”
Bartolomeu gasped, with a grimace of amazement. He slapped his forehead, like someone who has just remembered something important. “You want me to believe that…”
“Exactly”, Avery said in advance, showing a very deep uneasiness. “I was on board the Queen Anne’s Revenge, at Blackbeard’s orders.”
Johnny jumped back in amazement: he instinctively laid both his hands on the floor, forgetting the fact that he was holding a jug in one. He lost his balance badly and bumped once more against the bottles rack. The impact was very strong that time. A fit of pain hit his shoulders. The bottles clinked. One even came out of its place, smashing to smithereens on the floor. Slivers of glass were shining everywhere.
The old man started on his chair. “What was that?”
“A mouse”, Bartolomeu replied, walking to the source of that noise. “A very big one.”
The boy was paralyzed, his eyes grew dull and his pupils dilated. He could hear his own heart hammering crazy. His heartbeats were resounding painfully in his ears, like a hammer’s clangour, so that the Portuguese’s footsteps seemed to come from a far-away, unknown world.
I must do something”, he thought. I must get away from here. Immediately!
Unfortunately, panic got the upper hand over him. It was like being stuck in quicksand: the more he struggled, the more he sank. Finally Bartolomeu’s threatening shade fell over him.
“What are you doing here, brat?”, he inquired.
Johnny smiled with a blank stare.
He understood he had got into trouble.
***
The two pirates made him sit down bodily between them. The candles flickered for a moment, moved by an invisible wind, and made the outlines of the big room slightly distorted.
“We have a stowaway here”, Avery giggled.
“How long have you been hiding there?” Bartolomeu sat down again. The fatherly feeling which he had shown at the beginning of their conversation had disappeared from his attitude. There was only resentment now.
“I swear I didn’t want to, Bart…”, the boy stammered. He was trembling all over.
The Portuguese hit the table with a punch. “I don’t give a damn to your excuses! I asked you how long have you been hiding there. Answer me!”
“Looking at him is enough to understand that he heard everything”, the old man stated. He crisped his lips, uncovering his gums. “But I know a way to make him speak.” After those words, he took a big knife from under his clothes and waved it in front of Johnny.
The boy stopped breathing in a moment. The blade was swinging strangely slowly, cold and merciless.