Seeking the Mythical Future Read Online Free Page B

boy: ‘Can you handle a flintlock?’
    â€˜I think so. Yes, sir.’
    â€˜Good lad. Mr Swann, break out the arms locker in my cabin, two flintlocks apiece. We must check this before it erupts into open mutiny.’ As he spoke the first rays of morning light began to streak the southern sky. The ocean was a dark sluggish mass of purple under the fading stars. Once again it was going to be a day of stifling heat and humidity, the slack breeze barely filling the yellow sails.
    The Second Mate returned with the flintlock pistols, loaded and primed, and Kristiensen led the way down the companion ladder and across the deck. There was no sound from below. The Summarian and his fellow conspirators were moving with the stealth and cunning of bilge rats, down there in the creaking passageways and shadowed cabins. For such a big man Kristiensen was light as a cat on his feet, creeping down the ladders below decks with Mr Swann close behind and the boy nervously bringing up the rear. Approaching the cabin they heard (‘Ssshhhh!’ Kristiensen said) the muffled sound of voices; and then all at once, in the near blackness, very close to them, something moved – what Kristiensen instantly took to be the look-out posted by the Summarian – and raised his pistol, cocked the hammer, and shot Mr Standish straight through thehead. The young man gave no cry, made no sound, but fell immediately to the floor, all life extinguished from his body. The lead ball had split his skull in two like a pomegranate and the contents were stuck to the walls and bulkhead.
    Kristiensen stepped over the remains and rapped with the butt of his pistol on the cabin door. There was no sound or movement from within. He gestured to the Second Mate and the boy to take up positions on either side of the door and then called out:
    â€˜This is the Captain. No harm will befall you if you lay down your arms and open the door. But ifƒ you resist I shall slaughter you to a man, without hesitation or mercy. You know I am a man of my word.’
    There was a movement behind the door, and then: ‘You are forgetting, Captain, that we have the hostage.’ It was, unmistakably, the wheedling nasal croak of the Summarian.
    â€˜The stranger means nothing to me.’ Kristiensen replied. ‘It is the safety of the ship which is my chief concern.’ He winked at Mr Swann. ‘Will you obey the order or shall I use force?’
    â€˜One moment, Captain.’
    There came the sound of rapid, muttered conversation and the occasional oath or two, then eventually the Summarian’s: ‘The game is not worth the candle. We have your word? Is it a bargain that we shall receive no punishment?’
    Kristiensen smiled but his voice was without humour. ‘Absolutely. You have my word.’
    A bolt was drawn back and the door opened to reveal, in the dim yellow light of a smoking oil-lamp, the slitted wary eyes of the Summarian peering from an olive countenance and behind him the fearful expression of three members of the crew – all four holding an assortment of weapons and semi-poised in the shadows, prepared to fight if need be, yet none of them so keen as to make a premature move.
    Beyond them, glowing like a pale ghostly incubus, Kristiensen could see the figure of the stranger in the bunk; the Captain stared and it was all he could manage not to utter a cry of amazement: the stranger’s eyes were open and he appeared to be fully conscious. And even as Kristiensen watched, thestranger’s hands gripped the sides of the bunk and he began to rise up into a vertical position, whereupon the Summarian and his fellow conspirators, following the Captain’s gaze, dropped their weapons and fell to their knees, a babble of craven supplication and incoherent fear on their lips.
    *
    The day, as Kristiensen had expected, was heavy and lethargic. The barque moved fitfully through the low waves, occasionally throwing up a