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”Captain’s Log”
‘Captain's log. Shipdate 25th April, 1926. We are nearing the Catlipoca system, having left the industrial mining world of Granton a few weeks before. Even at third-class-passenger-peddling speed 6, the trip seems to have taken forever. Of the 15 passengers I took on at Granton, only 6 are left alive. And one of those is to die before sunset today. We are to murder this man on suspicion of him being a member of the Mafia. But. At. What. Cost? We may be wrong. We may be right. Perhaps both. Maybe neither. Ponsonby complaining about me hogging duvet. Have threatened so send him back to France.’
The captain puts down his pen, leans back in his chair and gives a sigh. From the distance comes the lone beat of a drum, a rhythmic boom that gets steadily louder. For a time he listens to the sound, then sighs again.
A knock sounds.
“Yes, Ponsonby?”
“The lynching mob is approaching, sir.”
“They have a drum I hear.”
“Oh indeed, sir. They have also tried to emphasise the gravity of the situation by wearing black masks and placing the condemned in a rattling cart.”
“Dash it!” swears the captain. “I hope they know what they’re doing. If they have the wrong man, I’ll-“
“The boat is waiting, sir.”
“Let’s go.”
”The Killing”
“Ladies and Gentlemen,” intones the captain, standing on the poop deck before the assembled crowd. “We are gathered here today to witness the death of the villainous monster, grant. In keeping with the nature of his last victim, it is decided that another famous scene of piracy is to be enacted, that of walking the plank.”
Then the captain turns to stare hard at the accused. “Whilst you have been charged by this lynch mob, I wish you to fully understand that if by some miracle you escape our- sorry, their judgement, and should make it back to dry land and decide to engage in a campaign of bloody vengeance against each of the survivors, you would do well to remember that my hand was forced, and that I have always given generously to pizza-men and ice-cream vendors and have a weak heart and an allergy to being murdered. May God have mercy upon your black soul.”
And with that, the bound and gagged form of Grant is lifted from the cart and marched to the plank that projects from the edge of the ship.
For a moment there is a brief pause, a heartbeat frozen in time. The wind howls through the funnels of the ship like some frenzied laugh, whilst a crewman passes amongst the crowd handing out free balloons.
Then a cry goes up, and a long pole is produced from the crowd and used to prod the condemned unfortunate. There is a muffled cry, then a splash, then silence.
The search of grant’s cabin is both short and fruitful, for within a few minutes you have discovered the proof you require. Excitedly informing Ponsonby, the man races to the other end of the ship, where the captain was preparing his post-execution affairs.
“Sir!”
Tezcatlipoca turns, one foot still resting firmly in the life-raft. “What?”
“That will not be necessary, sir. We have found the proof we need.”
The captain glances behind Ponsonby, then down to the raft, then back at his butler. “You mean-?”
“Yes, sir. Grant was Mafia, sir.”
“The last one?”
“The last one, sir.”
“Thank Christ. Come on. Let’s go have a drink.”
”Welcome!”
Two days later the SS Substandard pulls serenely into the tropical port of Catlipoca, its mighty engines falling into silence as the exhausted third-class passengers are unchained and allowed to disembark.
You gather at the top of the gangplank, waiting for your final address whilst snatching glances of the verdant paradise which lies a few meters away.
“Ladies and Gentlemen,” says the captain. “I would – on behalf of the scrap merchants who own the old girl – like to thank you for sailing aboard the SS Substandard. It has been an arduous voyage, some might say difficult, but I feel that through my compelling leadership and superbly cool head in the midst of danger we have succeeded in-“
A polite cough.
“-in, er, in-“
“They’ve gone, sir.”
“What?”
“The lure of such a paradise, coupled no doubt with your distinct lack of oratory skills, resulted in them leaving the ship almost before you’d finished the first sentence, sir.”
“Of all the nerve!”
“It’s for the best, sir. Shall we?”
The captain pauses for a moment, then a smile grows over his skinless face. “And you’re sure we can get the keel taken off here?”
“Oh indeed, sir. For a cut, I don’t think removing the merchandise will be particularly difficult.”
“And no chance of the Granton mafia-“
“None, sir. And if they had traced you, sir, one of the many virtues of Catlipoca is it’s non-compliance with international law. And since you had the crew and passengers kill the mafia who had made it onto the ship, the chance of them attacking you to get their merchandise back in slim. You are, in short sir, quite safe.”
“You know, Ponsonby, you really do work wonders.”
“I endeavour to give satisfaction, sir.” |
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