Chapter 12.
Fish Guts

 

 

          Down the steps into the hold came a ghostly robed hand holding a lantern. The person holding the lantern could not be seen behind the light, but following, heads bowed and hands tied, moved a row of dark shapes.

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          Lord Wrinklebottom and Balderthump sank lower behind the barrels and peered out through the gaps between. The lantern holder walked towards the pile of crates nearer the bow and hung the lantern from a hook on the underside of the deck. The leader of the group waved for another helper to come forward. Two more captors kept the cowed slaves held tightly. Lord Wrinklebottom and Balderthump strained to see what was going on in the dim light.

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          The captors moved to one of the large crates and with a couple of sharp blows with a wooden mallet, removed some wedges and pushed open the entire front of the crate. With a wave of his hand the leader motioned for the slaves to be brought forward. One by one they were pushed roughly inside the crate.

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          “It must be huge inside,” whispered Lord Wrinklebottom.

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          “Probably not, m’lord,” whispered Balderthump in reply.

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          “The cretins!” growled Lord Wrinklebottom.

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          Balderthump simply nudged him to keep quiet.

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          Once the slaves were inside, the front of the crate was replaced and resealed with several heavy blows of the wooden mallet. A barrel was rolled into place in front of the crate as well. The leader looked around and spying the barrels Lord Wrinklebottom and Balderthump were hiding behind, gave an order to one of his men. Obediently, the man came across and tipping one barrel over on its side, rolled it to the front of the crate. He returned for another.

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          Lord Wrinklebottom and Balderthump froze. One more barrel and they would be exposed. The man placed his hands on the barrel in front of Lord Wrinklebottom and made to roll it over, but was interrupted by a grumpy word and a wave from the leader. He nodded and dropped the barrel back. Lord Wrinklebottom grunted in pain. “My foot, Balderthump! My foot!”

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          “What’s the matter with your foot, m’lord?” whispered Balderthump.

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          “The barrel! It’s on my toes!” he hissed between gritted teeth.

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          “The barrel? Why that’s terrible, m’lord! But we must be careful. You need to remain quiet until it is safe.”

Lord Wrinklebottom just grunted in agony.

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          Balderthump peered out again to see what was happening in the hold. The leader of the workers had retrieved the lantern and was leading his team back up onto the deck. Balderthump breathed a sigh of relief as he heard the patter of feet on the deck and sprang up to tip the heavy barrel to one side. Lord Wrinklebottom withdrew his toes from underneath.

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          “I’m sure my toes are crushed, Balderthump! These sandals may help us look the part, but they’re not half as good as a solid pair of brogues,” he moaned.

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          “No, indeed not, m’lord. A most unfortunate incident. Are you able to stand on it?”

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          Lord Wrinklebottom rubbed his sore toes and tried to stand up. “Agonising, Balderthump, simply agonising,” he moaned. “I need to rest up a little before I can be sure.” He slumped on a pile of sacks and lifted his sore foot up onto another barrel. “There, that may help. I think perhaps a toe massage would be an excellent restorative, Balderthump.”

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          “Of course, m’lord.” Balderthump took the bruised foot in his hand and began to gently massage the toes.

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          “I made it about another twenty in that group, m’lord,” whispered Balderthump as he worked on the sore toes.

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          “Ah!” gasped Lord Wrinklebottom in pain. “Yes, yes, about twenty,” he agreed through clenched teeth. “I’ve a good mind to go and break them out of that crate right this very minute, if I could walk.”

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          “Please, relax, m’lord. I’m sure you will be recovered shortly.”

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          “Yes, yes, I am feeling a little better, thank you Balderthump.”

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          “Doing so may well help those inside,” continued Balderthump, feeling about in the darkness, trying to help Lord Wrinklebottom replace the sandal on his sore foot, “but I fear it would give the game away far too early, m’lord.”

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          “Yes, yes, I suppose you’re right,” grumbled Lord Wrinklebottom. “Poor souls. Nobody deserves to be treated like this.”

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          Balderthump simply nodded in the dark. “How is that now, m’lord?”

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          Lord Wrinklebottom stood and carefully tested his foot. “Yes, yes, I think I am able to walk.” He hobbled towards the crate of slaves. “I’m going to at least take a closer look.”

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          “It may be better, m’lord, if we were to take this opportunity to leave the boat. Now we know what’s going on and …” He was interrupted by a loud crash on the deck above. They froze and turned towards the steps. Another crash followed, then another and another. Each one reverberated through the wooden hull.

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          “What on earth is that, Balderthump? Go and see, there’s a good chap.”

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          “Of course, m’lord.” Balderthump made to move towards the steps when voices floated down from the deck above and a light appeared at the top of the steps. Three men came down, each holding a lantern and carrying a heavy bags of tools which they dropped on the floor of the hold. Each hung their lantern on a hook and returned up the steps. They reappeared shortly with several long pieces of timber. Lord Wrinklebottom and Balderthump of course, were back crouched rather uncomfortably behind the barrels.

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          “What on earth is going on?” whispered Lord Wrinklebottom.

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          “We shall see,” replied Balderthump. And see they did. The men were carpenters of a sort and while one man continued to carry pieces of wood down from the deck above, the others started work on building another large crate.

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          “Another crate for the remaining slaves, m’lord,” he whispered.

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          Lord Wrinklebottom just grunted. His foot was still very sore and he was tired from crouching so long.

When all the timber had been brought down from the deck, the three men worked quickly on the crate and the noise became deafening as they hammered pieces together. Balderthump nudged Lord Wrinklebottom while the hammering was at its loudest.

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          “Back here!” he almost shouted in Lord Wrinklebottom’s ear and dragged him quietly further into the shadows and behind a large pile of grain sacks. His timing was impeccable. No sooner were they settled behind the sacks when another dozen or so men arrived carrying smaller crates between them which they stacked around the big case being constructed by the carpenters. Soon the barrels Lord Wrinklebottom and Balderthump had been hiding behind were rolled across and added to the cargo being stacked around the new crate.

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          The work continued for some hours, during which Lord Wrinklebottom and Balderthump were seated as comfortably as possible on soft sacks of grain. Eventually, the crate was finished, and the workers picked up their tools and left.

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          “Perhaps time we left, m’lord,” whispered Balderthump and began to stand and stretch his tired limbs.

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          But no, another group of labourers appeared at the top of the steps, and for another hour or more, continued to load crates, sacks and barrels around and over the empty crate. Once, a labourer made towards the pile of sacks Lord Wrinklebottom and Balderthump were hiding behind, but was called back to assist with stacking heavy crates, just as he laid hands on the first sack.

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          “We’re going to be discovered soon, if we aren’t careful,” whispered Balderthump.

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          “Yes, but where can we go?”

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          “Nowhere,” agreed Balderthump, “we must wait and take our chances.”

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          “It is beginning to look rather reckless of you to have brought us in here, Balderthump. We may be trapped here all night.”

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          Balderthump ignored the unwarranted accusation. “We may be grateful if it is only for the night, m’lord.”

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          The stream of labourers carrying casks, sacks and crates slowed until at last there was silence. The hold was now more than half full, much of it stacked tightly to the underside of the top deck.

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          “Perhaps now we might be able to make our getaway,” prompted Lord Wrinklebottom.

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          “Indeed, m’lord, follow me.” He stepped out from behind the sacks and took several paces towards the steps when once again he heard voices and feet on the deck above. He froze. The light of a lantern glowed again from the top of the steps.

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          Balderthump dragged Lord Wrinklebottom bodily down behind the sacks again, just as the man holding the lantern set foot on the top of the steps. Lord Wrinklebottom made spluttering sounds from under his djellaba as he fought to untangle himself from the thick robe.

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          “Shh! m’lord,” whispered Balderthump and pressed Lord Wrinklebottom hard against the floor of the hold. Lord Wrinklebottom wriggled like a stranded fish.

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          “More slaves,” whispered Balderthump. Lord Wrinklebottom stopped wriggling, but still struggled to extricate his head from within the djellaba. Another group of slaves was pushed roughly inside the newly built crate through a tiny gap left in the cargo stacked around it. When they were all inside, the front of the case was nailed in place and the men returned to the deck. Lord Wrinklebottom and Balderthump sighed with relief.

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          “Now we must really go before it is too late, m’lord.”

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          Lord Wrinklebottom nodded and they made a run towards the steps. But again, too late! Labourers were already bringing in more crates, barrels and sacks from the dock to load into the hold. The steps were blocked. Balderthump searched frantically around for somewhere to hide.

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          “Under the stairs, m’lord,” he whispered and they both rolled into the small gap underneath the steps just as the first labourers came down them.

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          “Dash it, Balderthump, my djellaba is all wet!” hissed Lord Wrinklebottom in Balderthump’s ear.

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          “There does appear to be some excess moisture here, m’lord,” agreed Balderthump. “The odour is reminiscent of fish entrails.”

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          “Fish entrails!” Lord Wrinklebottom almost gagged. Fortunately, the labourers were making considerable noise stacking the crates and barrels.

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          “There go the sacks we were hiding behind,” whispered Balderthump as the men moved them to fill the odd spaces next to the boat’s curved hull. “We have been rather fortuitous in our movements this evening, m’lord.”

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          “Fortuitous?” grumbled Lord Wrinklebottom. “How can lying in fish guts be fortuitous.”

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          Balderthump ignored the complaint. By now the labourers were stacking crates in every space available.

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          “Great goldfish, Balderthump, they’re going to block us in!”

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          But it was too late. A sack of some kind was stuffed hard under the steps. Lord Wrinklebottom squeezed up even more tightly against Balderthump. Then another sack and another were pushed and kicked into place under the steps. Crates and barrels were soon stacked behind the sacks and in a matter of minutes, Balderthump and Lord Wrinklebottom lay trapped in the tiny space left under the steps. It was very tight, and very dark. The last labourer climbed back up the steps. The hatch at the top was shut with a crash. The sound of more nails being driven told them the hatch was being sealed rather permanently. Then silence.

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          “I say, Balderthump,” said Lord Wrinklebottom after some time. “We appear to be in somewhat of a predicament.”

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