In chains, I shrugged as best as I could. "Didn't see any blowing Eddinray, sorry."
Harmony wore a wide grin, and as Eddinray opened his mouth to further protest the result, the blood froze through our veins at a horrific scream coming from decks above — it was the very last sound a man could possibly make.
Silence followed, and in the gloomy light of a lantern, we surveyed the stern expressions of each other. There was stillness upstairs too — no scuffing heels on wood, no outraged cries or frantic scramble for aid. There was absolutely nothing.
32. The Captain's Table
Harmony and Eddinray discussed the scream and came to wild conclusions — an octopus attack, another mutiny, or perhaps a gigantic wave washing men overboard. I had an inkling too, but kept it to myself for the time being.
We where fast asleep when a wash of freezing water woke us. Bludgeon roused me several times this way, and although unlikely, I somehow expected to find him here now. It wasn't Bludgeon in the hold of Bounty, but a seedy old man showing the unsightly effects of scurvy. "Name's McCoy,” he said, his Glaswegian accent similar to my father's. "Captain requests the company of two at his table. Only two so decide amongst yerselves!"
"We heard a scream?" I said.
"And ye'll hear mare if ye don't get a move on! Hasty now, the meat's gettin' cold!"
"Meat?" said Eddinray, perking up. "Real food?"
All of my friends could do with a meal inside them, but I felt my presence at this gathering was essential. They agreed. "Kat,” I added. "I'd like you to come with me."
"Oh no!" growled McCoy, jabbing a finger into my chest. "The killer stays where he is! Captain's orders!"
"I'll go Daniel,” offered Harmony. "If that's alright with Godwin?"
Eddinray slunk. "You're going to leave me alone? With Kat?"
"Angel goes!" snapped McCoy, unlocking our chains then kicking us upright with his scrawny legs.
"Bring me some chicken!" begged Eddinray. "Rabbit! Orangutan! Anything!"
We had no time to respond, for McCoy ushered us up the steps at the end of a dirty cutlass, locking the door behind to leave an awkward air between Kat and Eddinray.
"My belly aches so!" the knight complained. "I could eat a skunk, an honest to goodness skunk! And not the clean end! Are you not hungry samurai?"
"Not even a tad famished? A teeny part peckish?"
"Quite right Kat! I agree with you on that score! Why daydream of steaming steaks and lovely foaming beers? The subject is simply too torturous to bear! At least we have some quality time together, there is your silver lining; indeed, this is a capital opportunity to iron out the creases in our differences!"
"No talking,” Kat said, with a wiry mouth and wrinkly eyes. "Ever."
Eddinray huffed, dismissing Kat's objections. "Believe it or not samurai, but I'm actually delighted not to be attending the captain's party. Danny has to plea for your pardon whilst Harmony, despite jesting about my arms, has the weakest I've yet seen on a woman thus badly needs the sustenance. They will learn much for us; yes; but alas, the banquet will be the lesser for my absence…"
Kat frowned, feeling the return of a migraine added with the constant buzzing of Eddinray in his ear, whose eyebrow curved as an idea came to him. "I've been keen to ask a question of you samurai; just the one then I'll hush."
"What?" roared Kat. "What? What?"
Shocked, Eddinray's head seemed to recoil like a turtle into his armor. "Now, there's no need for hostility! I certainly wouldn't ask if it weren't important!"
Resignation melted over Kat's features — he could not ignore or kill this insect, so he would have to indulge it. "What," he sighed, "is your question?"
"The question is this: Did you see that cheating angel whiff into my eyes? Any blowing at all?"
With nothing good to say, the sore Kat appeared to wilt in his chains.
***
The deteriorated Scotsman guided us both through a cramped and bleakly lit corridor, the smell of potent piss coming from this sailor's motheaten garments.
Holding onto walls to counter the seas motion, we passed ladders to the upper deck and a ghostly room full of empty hammocks. A rat scuttled past our heels, and McCoy cursed his luck for failing to snatch it. Finally, we reached a plain door at the end of the corridor, and followed the unpleasant Scot in.
The blaring light of candles hit me first, about a dozen positioned in the centre of a dinner table; the wax of these candles was dark in color, comprised of compacted animal fat, which gave the room a pungent fragrance and sickly pink vapour. The table displayed two silver platters of what looked like old chicken, dimpled with sweat and surrounded by goblets of grog. Seated around the dinner table were the remaining sailors of Bounty, including John Hallet. However, most of the chairs here lay vacant.
Hallet acknowledged my presence directly and I his. I then observed McCoy take his place between the two seamen who'd assaulted Kat above deck; overall there were five sailors in this boxed room, the most prominent of them took his place at the far end of the dinner table. A moping presence away from candle light, I could make out his broad shoulders and the outline of a three quarter hat on his head. This was Bounty's Commander and God: Captain Fletcher Christian. "Ship's company!" that man hoarsely announced. "On feet!"
All duly rose then waited for us guests to take our seats. Harmony and I sat opposite each other with Midshipman Hallet next to me. Seated beside the piss stinking McCoy, the angel's body language screamed anxiety from across the table. All made themselves comfortable in their chairs, but Captain Christian remained standing at the far end, aiming his index finger at Harmony as she prepared to give thanks. "There'll be no grace before or after this meal,” he said, his voice like scraping nails down a blackboard. "We men are grateful to no English King or Heavenly God, but only to the mouths that feed us — ourselves!"
He now sat, and hungry men speared their knives and forks into platters. Clearly insulted, Harmony said nothing but could not disguise her offence to the food — this yellow meat lined with fat and swimming in its own juices.
"It's nice to meet you Captain Christian,” I said, over the sound of tingling cutlery.
"And you lad!" he replied, heartily. "And you. Eat then. Eat."
"It is a pleasure to be dining with a captain,” added Harmony, refusing to touch the delicacy under her nose. "What…an honor it is."
She watched a fork full of meat disappear into Christian's unseen mouth. Slowly he chewed, and politely he spoke. "Names? Tell me your names?"
"My name is Daniel Fox."
"Harmony," she gulped, nauseous. "Valour."
"Sure enough Mr. Hallet!" Christian chortled. "Sure enough! Never have I seen an odder cast of characters."
"And what," I asked him, manoeuvring my plate aside; "are your plans for this cast?"
"Only the samurai's fate has been decided lad,” he said. “I have one less hand aboard my ship; a strong worker was Williams, despite his nature, and your man is responsible for his passing. He's accountable and will be hung first light — what light there be."
"He was defending himself!" argued Harmony. "Harshly perhaps but that is his way. We need him!"
"You need him?" pried the shadowy Christian, "As I needed Williams? We may be pirates here lass, but we still maintain law and order. There's a murderer in my hold, and it's life for a life aboard this ship."
Stuffed cheeked sailors concurred with their captain, who concluded — "His neck stretches tomorrow. I will hear no more on the matter."
Hallet apologetically glanced at me. "Captain?" he said, diplomatically; "a man with the samurai's talent for…destruction, could come in handy, most especially in our current predicament. And besides, haven't we seen enough bloodshed on this voyage, sir?"