SS Glasgow Castle 14 Chapter Fourteen

"I'm doing a bit of personal research," I said. "It's not a big deal. I just wondered whether you could look for something for me on the web. I haven't got an account with an internet service provider."

"No problem," said Tad. He seemed to be in high spirits. In fact, as soon as I saw him, it was evident that I was dealing with a new, improved, longer-lasting Tad. He was wearing brand new jeans, a suspiciously crisp cream s.h.i.+rt, and even smelled of good aftershave. In response to my inquiring sneer, he told me he'd received a couple of nice checks from people naive enough to give him work. This was good; it made him more receptive towards granting favors to his poor, disadvantaged, clueless former partner who didn't even have an internet connection.

Tad took a swig of beer and switched the computer on.

"Hey," I said, "Sorry to bother you with this."

"Who says I'm bothered?" The modem emitted a series of melodious peeps, then tw.a.n.ged ominously.

"What am I supposed to be looking for?" I'd been thinking about that one all the way to Tad's place - over half an hour - so my answer was smooth and crisp.

"Two guys: Jan Hansen, J-N, and James Avery. I've found out that one of my great-greats was quite a character."

"That might be difficult," Tad said, typing swiftly. "Didn't you tell me that Hansens were a dime a dozen in Scandinavia?"

"That's why I'd like to additionally check out this James Avery. Family lore has it they were very close pals. Fellow naval officers and so on. And there's a specific time frame: we're looking at the first half of the eighteenth century."

"Okay. Anything else?"

"As a matter of fact, yes. See whether you come across any mentions of a Royal Navy frigate called the 'Swallow'. Same time frame."

"This won't be easy. There must've been hundreds of s.h.i.+ps called the Swallow." That's what I really liked about Tad and all the other writers I'd been forced to work with: they specialize in making encouraging cracks like that.

"You really don't have to do this right this moment." My tone implied that, nonetheless, he should get it done the very next moment. Tad heard it loud and clear; after all, he'd heard it a hundred times in the three years we'd spent gainfully working together.

Tad nodded, and got down to work. I sat down and watched his face as he clicked and typed, typed and clicked, while I wished I'd taken the trouble to learn how to use a computer. After a while, Tad said:

"Wow. A link to some sort of a pirate fan club. The Brotherhood of the Coast, they call themselves. Sounds like a beach b.u.m trade union."

The hair on my neck bristled: hadn't Kross told me that the mutineers intended to turn the "Swallow" into a pirate s.h.i.+p? Tad took his time, clicking languidly and emitting interested grunts and generally being extremely irritating.

"Found something?" I said finally.

"This is far out. The greatest pirate treasure of all times. Hey, you on a treasure hunt or something? May I join?" I ignored him; I was busy swiftly moving my chair alongside his.

"What's this?" I said, jabbing an aggressive finger at the screen, just as if he'd written a particularly silly headline, and he obediently started explaining:

"This guy is answering a query about the circ.u.mstances surrounding the death of Bartholomew Roberts - a guy that robbed hundreds of s.h.i.+ps. Seems his loot has never been found."

"Oh, just shut up and scroll to the beginning," I said. Tad sighed in that special martyred way of his, but did as I asked, and I read:

"The frigate 'Swallow', under Chaloner Ogle, ended Bartholomew Roberts' pirate career on the 10th of February, 1722, in a sea battle off the Gold Coast (today's Ghana)." Ghana!

"Seventeen twenty-two?" I said. "What the f.u.c.k is this?"

"You said eighteenth century."

"I said... Oh f.u.c.k it. So I did. But you know I always mislabel the eighteen hundreds as the eighteenth century."

Tad shrugged, and asked:

"Shall I exit this?"

I almost said yes. Then it hit me like the proverbial thunderbolt: what if Kross had lied - a little? Changed the date, a few names - Greenbottle's book? f.u.c.k, that could be faked. And I still hadn't actually seen that famous book.
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"I wouldn't mind reading all of this," I said. "It's interesting." Tad scrolled down the text, and I read:

"Ogle had a lot of luck: Roberts commanded a fleet of three s.h.i.+ps, which had split up right before the engagement. Even then, the 'Royal Fortune', with forty guns and a hundred and sixty men aboard, could have proven to be a bit more than a frigate could handle.

"The 'Swallow' opened fire with two salvos of grapeshot, intended to sweep the deck and rigging of the pirate crew. Roberts was on deck of the 'Royal Fortune'; according to Daniel Defoe's second-hand account, he 'made a gallant Figure, being dressed in a rich crimson Damask Waistcoat and Breeches, a red Feather in his Hat, a Gold Chain round his Neck, with a Diamond Cross hanging to it, a Sword in his Hand, and Two Pair of Pistols hanging at the End of a Silk Sling (according to the Fas.h.i.+on of the Pyrates;) and is said to have given his Orders with Boldness, and Spirit.'

"Defoe writes that a piece of shrapnel from the second salvo struck Roberts in the throat, killing him instantly. The pirate crew panicked and surrendered, though not before they 'threw him overboard, with his Arms and Ornaments on, according to the repeated Request he made in his Life-time.'

"The marines boarding the 'Royal Fortune' found two thousand pounds of gold dust in her holds. They didn't find any of the precious stones and jewelry Roberts had stolen over the preceding forty months, to say nothing of gold and silver coinage. AFAIK, the value of that treasure is estimated at between twenty and forty million pounds sterling. That makes it the richest pirate h.o.a.rd in existence - somewhere.

"See also Idiotboy's earlier thread about Long Ben Avery. Defoe insists that he'd been swindled by accomplices who handled the conversion of his jewels into cash, but there is a persistent rumor that the bulk of the treasure he'd stolen from the Grand Moghul of India is hidden somewhere off the East African coast, most probably Madagascar."

"Avery!" I exclaimed before I could help it. I added quickly:

"What does AFAIK mean?"

"As far as I know. Yes, Avery and 'Swallow' - two matches. That's why this page came up. But your Avery was a James, right? And no mention of Jan Hansen. What I'm gonna do, I'll post a few queries and check on them in a couple of days. That do you? And hey - what's all this about?"

"Oh, just family folklore," I said. "I visited my folks the other day and the old man told me this story."

"Your old man told you a story? I thought he was practically mute."

"He had a few drinks," I said. Lies are like c.o.c.kroaches; you start with a couple and they just keep multiplying forever.

"That reminds me," said Tad, rising from his seat and picking up his empty bottle. I said:

"Tad. Do you have any coffee?"