Chapter 9
Grand Cayman
This was fantastic. I never
thought I would be so excited at the sight of
Hell. It confirmed that my drawing was based on
this very same island. I was impatient to examine
the map but Bob was making his calculations with
ruler and dividers so I walked up to the forepeak
to check on Faustus and Caliban. “Bugger
off,” said Faustus, then “Pieces of
eight, pieces of eight”. He seemed to have
survived in good spirits. Caliban tweaked my hair
and scampered down the gangway.
When Bob reappeared on deck I
almost knocked him over in my haste to get down
below. “Woa Mo,” he said. “That’s
a fine thing. Are you trying to avoid me or something?”
“Sorry Bob, caught short,”
I said.
Back at the chart table I rummaged
beneath my waterproofs and pulled out the folded
piece of paper. It was getting quite tatty now.
“Yes,” I shouted. There it was, the
curve of the bay, the part marked Conch Point,
and there was Rum Point. It fitted my map exactly.
Pat had heard me.
“Quiet,” said Pat
who had stayed at the chart table. “Have
you found it?”
“Here, look. Tell Badger.”
“Tell Badger what?”
said a small voice. “What are you up to?”
It was Vince.
“Don’t tell him,”
said Pat.
“Tell me,” said Vince.
“Tell me or I’ll tell my dad and I’ll
tell him you’ve been keeping secrets.”
It called for a snap decision. So I told him about
the map and the treasure.
“Real treasure? Cor. Will
we be able to dig it up?”
Up to that point I hadn’t
given this question any thought. I didn’t
really want any treasure, I told myself and yet….
We had come all this way, discovered all these
things. How could we not? Anyway I wasn’t
Timor, I was Molly Anne Johnson, treasure hunter
and mistress of the seas.
“We could be famous,”
said Vince. “We’d be on telly.”
“No Vince, no. It’s
not going to be like that. If you want to be part
of this then you must keep quiet about it. It’s
our secret. Yours and mine and Pat’s and
Badger’s. No-one else’s; not the grown-ups;
not even Timor. Especially not Timor. And don’t
breath a word of this to Prospero.”
“And if I do?” he
asked timidly.
“Then your sniggly goes overboard.”
Vince was standing at the prow
clutching his sniggly to his chest as we put in
to George Town, the capital of Grand Cayman that
afternoon. I must admit I was disappointed. It
looked to be a busy a holiday resort. There were
jet ski boats on the water and people paragliding
and water skiing. The seven mile long beach on
the west side of the island was crowded with very
large holiday hotels, all vying for the best bit
of beach. Uncle Bob said we would sleep on the
boat. Prospero went missing as soon as we docked.
So did Timor. They moght have vanished. No-one
saw them depart. I called the Grants boys around
me. We clambered in to the forepeak to ensure
that we would not be overheard. Using the ropes
and sail bags as a nest for our meeting we spoke
in hushed tones. “We have to find this place:
Rum Point. We have to get there before Prospero,”
I said
“This is silly,”
scoffed Badger. “You have a little scrap
of paper copied from something in a museum. It
doesn’t mention treasure. It has a little
cross. Do you want me to believe that’s
the famous ‘X marks the spot’? Even
if all you’re supposing is true, then Prospero
or Timor, we don’t know who, has the other
half of the map or other bits of it. Those bits
must matter somehow, though we’re even speculating
about that. We know diddly squat about their maps.
Have any of you seen them?”
Pat had had enough. “Shut
up and let’s get some shovels,” he
said decisively.
“OK,” said Badger.
Mum, dad and Bob were sunning
themselves in the cockpit, sharing a bottle of
wine as each of us in turn poked our heads through
the hatch. I asked mum and dad if we could explore
the town.
“Don’t go far,”
said mum. “We’ll be eating here at
seven.”
As we walked along the quay,
four abreast, trying to look as nonchalant as
possible, we hung our heads whispering together
conspiratorially. That would give us four hours.
We quickly shared out the jobs. I went to buy
some shovels and Pat hired two red motor scooters.
“Technically,” said Pat, after wheeling
the scooters round the back of the shop, “we
shouldn’t have these. I think I qualify
but you certainly don’t.” Mum would
have gone hairless had she known. “I’ll
take Vince on mine. Who’s going to ride
yours?” Badger stepped forward until I grabbed
his arm, spinning him to one side. We began to
argue about who would drive. “Stop this
now,” said Pat, reaching for a quarter piece.
He spun it in the air and slapped the coin down
on the back of his hand. “Heads or tails?”
“Heads,” said Badger.
“Heads it is.”
“Best out of three,”
I said.
Badger took the handlebars of
the second machine and straddled his legs across
as if he had been riding scooters all his life.
“Get on,” he said, in a kind of clipped
tone as if he was some kind of gang leader and
I was his moll. I was really peeved. He had led
me on. First, he’d been all lovey dovey,
then he’d made me feel sorry for him, then
he’d looked for a fight; he didn’t
even believe in treasure, and now he was driving
my scooter. He was driving it quite well it must
be said after a little jerkiness in the beginning.
I sat on the back with two long-handled shovels
under my arm, my long hair streaming in the wind,
like a jousting warrior going into battle with
the unknown.
We took the road eastwards past
the airport and the old fortress and passed through
a small community called Bodden Town on the south
coast road. This was a lush part of the island
with coconut groves and plantations. At a place
called Frank Sound, beyond the area marked by
my map fragment, we turned on to a road heading
towards the north coast, then turned left at the
coast road and on to Rum Point. The whole trip
covered about 25 miles. When we reached the point
I felt deflated. Apart from a restaurant and one
or two houses, a few rocks and a large expanse
of brilliant blue sea there was nothing.
“Well what did you expect,”
said Badger, “A large cross on the ground
where we could start digging.”
“I thought Prospero would
be here,” I said.
“He is,” said Pat.
Sitting on a bar stool, wearing the by now unmistakable
vest and red neckerchief was Prospero drinking
a rum punch through a straw. A little paper parasol
in day-glow green was sprouting from the top of
his glass. Behind the bar was a large tropical
fish tank containing dozens of reef fish in iridescent
colours.
Prospero held up his monocle
and looked us up and down. “You took your
time,” he said. “You about to do some
digging? Should make some big sand castles with
those spades Miss Mo.”
Vince, who never did seem to
grasp the gravity or confidentiality of what we
were doing, said: “These aren’t for
sand castles Prospero and you know it. They’re
for Blackbeard’s treasure and we’re
going to find it.”
“Oh go on, tell the whole
island, why don’t you.” I said.
Our appearance was already attracting
glances from a few of the tables spaced around
the bar and I could see the barman was cocking
his head as he pretended to be disinterestedly
drying a drinks’ glass with a tea towel.
Prospero called over to him: “Four lemonades
please,” he said, then slipped down from
his stool and motioned us over to a table in the
darkest and less popular corner of the bar away
from the sea.
There was an awkward silence
as we waited for the barman to appear with our
drinks and return to the bar.
Finally Prospero bent over the
table, looking at Vince. “I wouldn’t
be so confident Mr Vince,” he said. “You
see there’s a problem with this ‘ere
treasure.”
“What’s that?”
I said.
“You don’t know where
to find it.”
“And you do?”
“I have a good idea now.”
“You’ve seen my map?”
I said, glancing from side to side. The barman
had been distracted and was lost in conversation
with an attractive swimsuited woman stirring a
green plastic straw in her tall drink.
“Of course, Miss Mo.”
“How?”
“My friend Caliban,”
he said. “He’s the best pickpocket
on Bermuda. A natural. He came into your room
when you were on Roanoke.”
I banged my fist on the table.
That thieving little monkey. “So you know
the place. Why aren’t you digging? Are you
expecting us to dig for you?” said Badger.
“Well that’s a mighty
fine idea Mr Badger. But you doesn’t understand.
This isn’t the place to dig. Your map Miss
Mo, Miss Bonny, is the real thing, I’m sure
o’ that; and that gives you a cut. You’re
in the fraternity after all. If you wants to share
your bit with your friends that’s up to
you.”
“What fraternity?”
asked Pat. I reminded him of my “dream”
when we were anchored at Roanoke and repeated
the whole experience for Badger and Vince. “Ugh”
said Vince when he heard about the skull. “Does
that mean you’re a pirate now Mo?”
“How clever of you,”
said Prospero. “That’s exactly what
it means. Not only that, she’s a very special
pirate - one of Blackbeard’s band, the pirates
from Hell – and a lady pirate too.”
“There,” I said to
the others, forgetting myself, “I told you
there were women pirates”
What was Prospero saying? He
didn’t seem as if he was in any rush. This
was the Caribbean after all. He sat back to take
a long draft from his straw, so much so that it
made that familiar sucking noise as it drained
the bottom of the glass. The sea, just a few yards
away was a brilliant turquoise in the late afternoon
sun. A man, wearing black and white striped bathing
trunks was snorkelling about ten yards off the
point. His bottom looked like a giant humbug.
He had a plastic bag of bread crumbs and was feeding
a shoal of fish underwater.
“That’s not good,”
tutted the barman as he brought fresh glasses
of lemonade. “The fish become dependent
on the hand outs and forget how to fend for themselves.
When the snorkellers don’t turn up some
of them will die.”
As the waiter went back to the
bar Prospero began to outline the story of Blackbeard,
just as I’d read it in my book. Maynard’s
ship, HMS Pearl, had tracked down Blackbeard’s
flagship, The Queen Anne’s Revenge, a 40-gun
French merchantman, to Ocracoke Inlet close to
its base. Blackbeard had been slain in a close
quarter fight on the deck of his ship. What perhaps
we had not known, said Prospero, was that Ocracoke
was only a few miles from Roanoke.
“And there’s people
in those parts who’s devoted to keeping
old Blackbeard’s memory alive. I went to
see one of ‘em when you were on Roanoke.
That’s where I got the special cup and where
you Miss Mo could have got your tattoo. No matter.
You’re still one of us.
“But there’s something
else you need to know and since you are one of
us I don’t sees why I shouldn’t tell
you. Blackbeard had a spectacular treasure, not
any old treasure. And this is where he hid it
- Grand Cayman. But old Blackbeard, he didn’t
trust no-one. He even shot his first mate, Israel
Hands, in the knee just for looking at him. He
drew a map, a little bit cleverer n’most
maps and tore it into three so’s no-one
could kill him for it. One bit - your bit Miss
Mo - was found under Blackbeard’s hat by
Maynard who kept the scrap for himself. I’ve
waited for that fragment some many years and knew
it would come to me eventually.
“Another bit - my bit -
came down to me through my father’s line.
It had been left in a casket under the Devil’s
Rock in Hell. Not the Hell you hear about in Church,”
he said pointing downwards. “But the place
they call Hell over there, on Grand Cayman. It’s
only a little place but it was a regular breeding
spot for pirates on account of the charm, or so
they say, that was put on the map by Blackbeard
to ward off all but genuine pirates. That’s
why I’m thinking you’re one of us
Miss Mo. You saw the map and you knew it for what
it was.
“The third bit came down
another way but my father got his hands on it
some years ago, I don’t know how. And then
he lost it. He never saw where it went but said
he’d never stop looking. He could be looking
still for all I know, though he’d be very
old now.
He paused a second and said:
“We’re all so old in our family, older
than you’d think.” The second drifted
by.
“Then if I didn’t
find out that my old brother had it. Our mother
had taken it from pappy and passed it to Timor.
I don’t think she knew what it was but when
she saw the rage my pappy was in when it went
missing she thought she would keep it hidden.
She’d seen the symbols on his shoulder and
the doubloon ring on his finger. Timor’s
bit is important because it has instructions.
Damn his eyes.”
Prospero’s face took on a far away look,
as if he was reliving some distant episode of
his life. A calypso was playing in the bar and
the barman was swaying to the beat as he poured
the swimsuited woman another drink. Prospero wiped
the sweat from his face with the back of his hand,
ordered another cocktail, glanced around again
to make sure he wasn’t overheard, and continued
his story.
“My father said he couldn’t
be precise about all the spots. He told me enough
to make me pretty sure of the area, but not as
sure as I am now with your cross. He should have
made a copy, damn him. Maybe he did. Anyway he
didn’t give one to me. But the other bit,
Prospero’s bit, is also important because
it has the exact spot, or at least the right area
because you has to work out the exact spot to
dig and for that you needs all three bits.”
I frowned. “But the cross
is on my map, and it’s right here.”
“No Miss Mo, the cross
just tells you where to stand, on the edge of
the point, then you has to look over to a cave
over there. You needs a very good telescope for
this and I just happen to have one.” Two
large white telescopes with tripods attached,
were propped against the bar. Prospero walked
over and picked one up, set it out on the edge
of the point, and sighted it with some care. “Now
you just look through that Miss Mo. What do you
see?”
“I see a big man with a
white top knot looking back towards me through
a set of binoculars.”
|
