Authors: Neil Jackson
Then I stumbled over something. It was
like a pillow. A pillow for one of those soft creatures called
women. It was shaped like the sun. Actually it
was
the sun. The sun caught in the sun
trap. There was no blood. Where was the blood? The sun was
unharmed. It was just caught in a trap, netted in a web that
snagged its rays, stopped them radiating. That’s why it had gone
dark. My beard was furious.
“
What’s the big idea?” I said.
“
It’s one of those humane sun traps,” the
barman said.
“
What do you mean?” I said.
“
There are no spikes or blades, nothing to
hurt the sun. I trap it every evening because I like a bit of night
around here, then I release it safely back into the wild before
dawn.”
“
Where’s the manly cruelty in that?” I
said.
“
Ain’t any, not a jot,” he
said.
“
You sissy,” I said.
“
Get the hell out of my bar,” he
said.
I picked up my hat. I picked up my shotgun. I picked
up my fishing rod. I picked up my matador’s sword. I picked up my
beard. I picked up my prejudices. I picked up my understatement. I
picked up my wineskin. I picked up my ambulance drivers’ licence. I
picked up my misogyny. I picked up my homophobia. I picked up my
tequila. I picked up my short sentences. I picked up my repetition.
I picked up my egotism. Then I left the bar and picked up my
pace.
I walked off into an ending no more clever or
satisfying than the rest of this story. But I’ll still get praise
for it.
CELESTE
Neil Jackson
Scotland 1895.
The blue March sky cast almost no
reflection on the still calm of Loch Muick as the waters sparkled
and shimmered in the sunlight. Across the expanse, the sound of
distant gulls mingled with the squeaky cries of the nesting
whinchats and the gentle chugging of a small motor that powered the
fishing-smack of the estate manager, as it bobbed gently on the
slight swell toward the jetty.
Three well-dressed gentlemen stood on one of the banks as
another stood looking; watching the three and the surrounding area
for anything
untoward.
A large fishing rod was drawn back and
then whipped forward at pace.
‘
Plip.’
A small, orange coloured float
disturbed the surface.
“
A fine cast, Your Royal
Highness.”
“
You can dispense with the
formality, Dr. Watson, George will be fine. We are well out of
earshot of the staff...and my parents.”
Watson tried his best to appear
unflustered but struggled to find a suitable retort.
“
Thank
you...Your...sir.”
“
George.”
“
George...yes.”
Prince George smiled at the man’s mild
discomfort. It was not the first time that his almost juvenile
prank had been used, and away from the prying eyes of his father’s
staff, not the last. He turned toward the one among them who
remained silent, with eyes fixed on the float, Sherlock
Holmes.
“
Mr. Holmes, is this to your
liking?”
“
The view is something to
behold. The gentle sound of the water breaking on the bank and the
wind murmuring through the tall reeds are things to be wondered at
and grateful for.”
“
Very poetic, but I sense
that fishing is not a pastime of yours. I cannot tempt you one last
time to join me?”
“
I saw a bind of salmon
being brought in by one of your staff, early this morning. Fish
like these are too beautiful to be caught only once and served with
a slice of lemon and vegetables of the day.”
“
I understand your feeling,
but we are the only ones here and there are no thronging masses to
drain the loch of your beautiful fish.”
“
For now, sir...for
now.”
Watson gave a cough to indicate his
disapproval. It did not go unnoticed by Prince George who gave
another wry smile.
“
As you mention food, I
noticed that you did not touch your breakfast.”
“
Holmes doesn’t eat when he
needs to concentrate. Total abstinence. Just iron will to keep him
going. Foolish if you ask me.”
“
Is this true,
Holmes?”
“
In part. There are times
when one is not hungry and this morning was one of those times. If
you could alert your kitchen staff as to no slight.”
“
Like you, Mr. Holmes, I’m a
watcher of people. In the role that my life has dictated, one has
to be. To be aware of the nuances of many peoples and of their
customs.”
Prince George handed his rod to
Watson.
“
Dr. Watson. Would you be so
kind? I wish to share something with Mr. Holmes.”
“
What, but I...”
Watson was not given any time to refuse
or question his royal host.
“
My footman, Newman, will
attend you, should you need anything,” The prince raised his head
toward the large gentleman with the stern look standing about
twenty yards away. A reciprocal nod was returned by the former
soldier, who was now more bodyguard than footman. Fetching and
carrying were more for the serving staff, not for one whose life
was now dedicated to protecting an heir to the throne. “Newman is a
skilled angler...so he is your man.”
“
Thank you...sir.” The look
on the physician’s face did not hide his mild annoyance at being
kept away from the conversation.
“
Mr. Holmes, let us
stroll.”
The world’s greatest detective and an
heir to the throne, the distinguished and the eminent, walked
within the grounds of Balmoral, both wearing the garb of thought in
their expression but only one carried with him a mystery
everlastingly impenetrable...until now.
“
What I’m about to tell you
requires your utmost discretion, above and beyond your normal level
of professionalism, Mr. Holmes...of course I know you will have to
inform the good doctor. There is no record or log of what I’m about
to relate and I hope that it can help you to uncovering the truth
to a long held mystery.”
“
You know my credentials,
sir...and I am not one who desires the limelight...just answers to
questions.”
“
There is a small fishing
port on the west coast, Mallaig. I want you to travel there and
examine something for me.”
“
Examine?”
“
A brigantine. A half-brig
to be correct.”
“
And what is it that you want
examined?
I am a seasoned traveller,
Your Highness...but my knowledge of ships, save for their ability
to transport goods and people, is limited. But I do know that to
keep a brigantine, 100 feet in length, is not something that can be
kept quiet on any level.”
The Prince’s tone changed. More
thoughtful. Fearful.
“
When I was a lieutenant serving on the Dreadnought, I was the
target of many japes and tomfoolery based on an incident that
occurred on July 11th, 1881 when I was assigned to the
Bacchante.
Early that
morning, a ship appeared of the port bow, where the
Officer-of-the-Watch, myself and a number of other able seamen all
saw it. A ship that glowed this strange, red light. A mist shrouded
its entire being, yet no weather conditions that would contribute
to the formation of a fog were in evidence.”
“
The Flying Dutchman
.” Holmes
interjected.
“
The same. You’re not
surprised?”
“
As you say, your sighting is a matter of record.
The Tourmaline
and
Cleopatra
that sailed to
your starboard, if I recall the incident correctly, also logged the
sighting.”
“
Very good, Holmes. If only
it was that incident that needed investigation, though you would be
the right man for that task. No, the task I would like you to
consider, concerns a much darker piece of naval
mystique.”
“
I’m intrigued to say the least. The lore surrounding
the
Dutchman
, I
feel is based on fable more than anything physical.”
“
This one is very physical. The
Celeste
.”
The name was enough to stop Holmes in
his tracks. Instinctively he reached out to the Royal Heir’s
forearm.
“
You have the
Mary Celeste
?”
“
I see the name has piqued
your interest.”
Both men looked at Holmes’ hand. Holmes
loosed his grip.
“
My apologies.”
“
We can’t put you in the
Tower for having passion and an inquiring mind, Mr.
Holmes.”
The two men continued their walk.
Holmes’ mind now began to formulate a path of questioning, as he
recalled every detail that his almost photographic memory could
muster.
“
I was led to believe that
she had been sunk off the island of Haiti by her last owner, one GC
Parker, if I recall my details correctly.”
“
Mr. Parker was arrested and
sent to prison to await his trial. But ‘died’ before he could come
to court.”
“
But the brigantine was set
alight and sunk as part of the fraud. How can you be sure that you
have the Celeste?”
“
Because it was a group of
my own people that arranged for a sleight of hand.”
“
A fraud of your own, so to
speak?”
“
I prefer to call it ‘a
wilful campaign of misinformation.’ The insurance companies were
covered financially. The legal documents filed to withstand any and
all scrutiny.”
“
The burning
wreck?”
“
Mr. Holmes, a brigantine is
easy to come by. Many owners are willing to scupper a boat with
only few months left of its life and no commercial
value.”
“
GC Parker?”
“
Alive and well. A new
identity...and a small business to keep him occupied. But he is
being watched closely. I had a hand-picked group of men,
trustworthy fellows all, deliver her to her present resting place.
Took them the best part of two months.”
“
Two months? Why such a long
time?”
“
We had to tow her...no one
would crew her. Superstition runs rife among mariners, of which I
am sure you are aware.”
“
But
the
question remains. Why bring it to a small port, almost hide it
away?”
“
You’re aware of her
history, Mr. Holmes. There are many that would like to see that
ship taken out into the middle of any ocean and sunk to the
bottom.”
“
That I don’t doubt, but why
all the mystery. What is it that you need from the solving of this
mystery?”
“
An explanation! September 21st, 1883. I was on the bridge of
the
HMS Alexandra
with the Captain and First Mate. A midshipman, wet behind the
ears but learning fast – just about to be promoted to
sub-lieutenant. My reports were always regarded as good reading by
my superior officers. Clear. Concise. Detailed. But you’ll find no
record of the events that transpired on that night,” The Prince
stopped and turned to look at Holmes to address him face to face.
“Mr. Holmes. I am not a man given to flights of fancy. I could
almost be described as boring, preferring the company of my stamp
collection to that of other people. But this is one of life’s
events that I cannot come to terms with.”
“
I can see by the look in
your eyes that this troubles you somewhat.”
“
We were about eighty miles
west of the Azores. A storm, nothing to concern any reasonably able
seaman, had just passed us by – we caught the edge of it. It was
then that the mizzen look-out shouted that there was something
approaching off to starboard, slightly astern of us. Within what
seemed a matter of few minutes, this ship appeared from, almost out
of, nowhere. Nothing save for a light mist.”
“
Another
Dutchman
?”
“
No, the
Celeste
.”
“
But I
thought...”
“
Please, just let me
continue for a moment more.”
Questions seeking answers, pounded on
the skull of the detective as adrenalin now replaced any need that
his body craved for food.
Prince George looked out over the
waters for a moment to gather his thoughts, then continued with
what Holmes was beginning to think was just another fanciful sea
yarn.
“
Despite our hails, we
received no reply. No signals. Nothing. We drew alongside and
tethered to her while a boarding party was organised.”
The Prince took out a solid silver
cigarette case and on opening, offered it to Holmes.
“
No, thank you, I prefer the
pipe. Do you mind?”
“
By all means.”
Prince George lit one of the cigarettes
and inhaled deeply as Holmes began to fill a small pocket pipe with
a wad of tobacco from a leather pouch.