Authors: Chris Mould

The Silver Casket (8 page)

BOOK: The Silver Casket

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The Coming of the Angel

There was to be no sleep that night on board the Rusty Blade. Nor would there be sleep on any other pirate vessel. The ships were now heading frantically toward the north side of the island where the Rusty Blade was lying, its Yellow Jack now missing that young Buggles had removed it to put his plan into place. Of course, no one who rushed toward
it could have predicted that on board a deadly disease awaited. As the Ibis lay sleepily in its hiding place, its presence made the fever boil.

Stanley and Daisy were now making toward the gypsy camp. The campfire glowed in the darkness and they scrambled across the moor toward the orange light.

Greta sat waiting for them. She had seen them coming through the crystal ball.

Bartley greeted them first. “It is good to see you both. You are most welcome,” he said. “We are readying ourselves in case we are needed.”

Stanley saw that the travelers were making weapons, practicing the art of swordsmanship and close combat. He felt heartened by the fact that he wasn't the only one preparing.

“Quickly, now. Come and see what is happening,” beckoned Greta.

She ran her hands over her crystal ball and looked hard through the whirling white mist.

“Look how they fight among themselves,” she grinned. Stanley and Daisy could see nothing in the glass ball, and so they were forced to hang on Greta's every word.

“All the ships are closing in on the Rusty Blade. The Ibis draws them near. As they close in, the pirates are growing desperate to reach the Ibis. Not only are the ships attacking those around them, the shipmates are also turning on one another.

“This is indeed a plan made in heaven, children, and I watched you put it into place. Well done. You are braver than most,” Greta said warmly.

“I couldn't have done it if you hadn't explained the purpose of the Yellow Jack,” said Stanley, smiling.

Drinks arrived, and they sat in comfort for a while. Finally, Stanley and Daisy decided that they must return to the Hall to get some sleep.

The seabed changed beneath the feet of Angel Cuzco. It went from fine white sand to rocks here and there, and then suddenly it was nothing but pebbles and fine shale. Up ahead the water grew shallow, and eventually the golden-white mane of hair that hung from his skull showed itself on the surface. His emerald
green eyes stared out from the shallow surf, and he kept on marching at the same pace until his soaking-wet skeletal form had emerged fully from the ocean waves.

After Stanley and Daisy had left, Greta saw something in the glass ball that would have forced her to keep the children in the camp.

She saw the deathly figure of Angel Cuzco. He was walking across the harbor of Crampton Rock, heading for the moor. His emerald eyes grew greener, for he felt the Ibis so strongly he would have sworn it beat like a heart inside him.

His passion for the Ibis turned into anger as he drew closer. If anything had stood in his way, he would have torn it to pieces.

Greta called for Bartley and Phinn to run and guard the children.

Stanley and Daisy were still making their way across the moor, unaware of this. Up ahead, two small green lights were approaching across the plain. Stanley thought of all sorts of things it could be. A werewolf. The pirates. It could be anything â¦ but as they drew nearer they saw a scarlet-coated, white-haired shape descending on them.

Bartley was running up behind. “Stop!” he cried.

It was too late. Angel Cuzco was right before them.

But the children were nothing to him. He simply walked right through them. As he did so, a force knocked them to the ground, leaving them breathless.

Bartley and Phinn showed their battleworn hands and prepared for the scarlet phantom. The Angel swiped at Bartley with
his sword, and using the elbow of the same arm he forced a blow under Phinn's chin. Phinn dropped to the floor but stood straight back up again. Bartley placed a hard right hand into Cuzco's ribs and the bones smashed into pieces. But the spirit had a distinct advantage: he felt no pain.

Stanley and Daisy by now had gotten back on their feet and they joined in. Daisy jumped on Angel's back and yanked his hair. Stanley threw a battery of punches but none of them landed anywhere near Angel.

Then Cuzco dropped his sword and, using both hands with supernatural speed, he grabbed Phinn and Bartley by the hair and pulled their heads together. Crack. They fell to the ground.

Cuzco picked up his blade and tucked it into his belt. Then he turned to the Stanley and Daisy.

“When I return from the ships I will hang you urchins from the gallows,” he promised. The Angel grinned a sickly smile and marched toward the north bay. Back inside Greta watched the progress of the Angel in her glass ball but now it clouded over. The whirling mist became a green fog, and she could see nothing.

The gypsy encampment was in a frenzy. They headed to the bay, not knowing what they would find.

The North Bay Battle

The Rusty Blade was surrounded. You could not have counted the number of black silhouettes of sails and flags that swayed in the wind, whirling in circles around the bay. Screaming and shouting filled the air. As the ships neared one another, cannonballs began hurtling through the darkness and clouds of gunpowder popped here and there in the night.

“Drive my ancient spirit unto the sacred bird. Deliver thy casket forged of silver. Prepare for the coming of the Angel, for he walks alone among the dead,” he recited to himself. Cuzco watched from the cliff top as the fleet descended on the Rusty Blade.

Some pirates jumped from their ships into the water and climbed up the sides. Others climbed across the rigging of their own ships and jumped down on to the deck. Many sat back and simply fired everything they had at everybody else. It was pure mayhem.

But on board the Rusty Blade, no one made any effort to defend the ship. No one moved at all. Scribbles Flanaghan, one of the deadliest pirates ever to sail the salty waters,
lay face down on the floor, loosely holding his last-ever drink of grog. Young Master Phipps had retired to his bed, never to make it out of his bedclothes again. Seafood Smith was slumped over a table with a plate of tentacles and seaweed sauce spilled down his shirt. And Doyle the Dentist, whose torturous treatment was the scourge of the seven seas, lay on his back with his best pair of pliers by his side.

Every one of the gruesome crew was dead, with yellow skin and slimy boils about their bodies. Their green tongues hung out like slabs of rancid meat and their eyeballs had turned black.

And now, the rest of the pirate fraternity climbed on boardâunknowingly about to encounter the deadly infection that burned at a thundering pace.

Out on the upper deck, the clash of phantom pirate enemies had begun. They swung awkwardly at each other with cudgels and blades and cursed each one another's names.

Very quickly their bodies became listless and weary. They were drawn to the Ibis, every one, but as they came near they were caught in Stanley's effortless trap. The fever boiled on their brows and the energy of the ancient Ibis spiraled it into a furious force.

There were hundreds of pirates, but soon their grubby corpses lay scattered across the decks. Some had died from the fever and some from the battle. And yet still more came.

Angel Cuzco appeared as if from nowhere. His long white hair and scarlet coat glowed in the darkness, and the lights of his emerald green eyes were enough to frighten the fiercest of men. He was forced into terrifying battle.

Stanley and Daisy had joined back up with the gypsies, and now the full force of the Crampton army stood in silhouette along the cliff top. They watched the north bay battle from the safety of the hills. Through the stinking, filthy, darkness, the pirates battled and searched for the treasure all night.

After hours of vicious pandemonium the pirates who were left grew distracted from the fight, drawn by the Ibis. Still they sweated at the brow and felt the slimy boils pop up on their skin. They did not notice the illness that grew upon them. They found themselves
almost hypnotized by the Ibis, as each and every one of them searched among the stones that lined the bottom of the Rusty Blade.

All except for Angel Cuzco, who stood staring hard at the pebbles, almost as if he could see right through them and then when he found the spot he would walk right over to it.

And that's exactly what he did.

He was strong, stronger than most. He did not feel a fever or a shaking in his limbs.

Stomping his way through the crowd of sickly pirates, he sank his hand deep down to where Stanley had laid the Ibis. He wrapped his bony joints around it and plucked it from its nest.

Then, without a moment's thought, he
stood up straight and climbed to the upper deck. The pirates that still littered the ship were on their knees. The fever was taking their lives quickly, and as they lay upon the deck their gruesome features rotted and only their stinking bones were left. It grew quiet as the noise of gunfire and the screams of war were banished by the silent grip of death.

The ships lay battered and broken on the rocks, and soon the evidence of their presence would be swallowed by the gulf waters.