Pirate Blood. Eugenio Pochini

interior was covered with metal plates, a protective device which should avoid accidents. The room was lit by a single, small shielded lantern, hanging from the ceiling by a curved hook. The barrels had been placed carefully on both sides. A soldier was snoring deeply at the bottom.

      He was walking on tiptoe. It all happened suddenly: he shut the soldier’s mouth by a hand, while he drove the knife into his throat by the other one. The victim opened his eyes wide and started kicking. The blade went still deeper, cutting his trachea and larynx. It then found something harder, probably a bone. The guard made a single gurgling sound, then he bent his head aside.

      “Excellent”, he stated, taking the knife out. He wiped it quickly on his jacket and started bustling about his sack. He took almost ten sticks out, tied together by a long and thin fuse. He placed them carefully on the floor. He was smiling.

      Two golden teeth shone evil in the dim light of the lamp.

      ***

      Johnny was astonished when he found out that Avery wanted to carry out his task that night. Bartolomeu had tried to talk it over with him, but he hadn’t succeeded.

      “The weather is on our side”, the old man stated, hearing a faraway thunder, followed by the rain pouring down a bit later. “There will be nobody to bother us and the ground will be softer and easier to dig.”

      So they decided to go.

      The Portuguese was going to cover the boy till he came back; if Anne suspected them, that would be the end of it all.

      “Be careful”, he whispered. “For God’s sake.”

      They didn’t meet anyone, as the old man had foreseen. Johnny was happy about it. The idea of being discovered was making him nervous.

      They passed by a row of houses till they went down a deserted street. The last part of it made a sudden bent to the left; they could see the cemetery on the other side, beyond a stream crossed by a bridge.

      “The time of truth has come”, Avery said, walking stoically over the bridge. “Hurry up! We’ve got a job to do.”

      An iron fence stood in front of them, bounding the cemetery borders. The gate had been broken, so they could go in easily. Some rough wooden crosses were standing along a path winding to a chapel, which had been built in the austere style which made the colons famous.

      Avery pointed his finger at the building. “We must get inside.”

      “Pirates are usually thrown into common graves”, the boy stated in a whisper.

      “You’re right, but I have something to do before.”

      They got to the small temple. A Latin sentence had been cut above the door. Johnny stopped for a moment, sheltering his forehead from the rain and trying to understand those words. The old man interrupted him, asking Johnny to follow him. The door gave a hellish creaking and they walked on in absolute darkness. After a while, a flame burst through the dark.

      “Hold this one, brat.” Avery handed a torch to him. He put the lighter and the firestone back, then he leant over some piled up coffins. He took out a sheet made of sail cloth. “I brought all the tools we need to dig. I knew they would be safe here.”

      Johnny saw two barrels coming out of the sheet. “The only problem will be finding the pirate’s grave out.”

      “Don’t worry. The governor wanted the dead man to be buried in a single grave. I could find it almost at once.”

      “I didn’t know he was so generous.”

      The other man shook his head and loaded the bulky tools on his shoulders. “He did it just to show himself merciful, after what had happened. What’s more, he wanted to save his face. There is nothing generous in it.”

      After they had gone out, they walked through a scanty wood standing close to the chapel. The air seemed made of lead while they walked among the tangled branches and roots; it was heavy, loaded with gloomy omens. A bit farther, the ground slightly sloped down and the green disappeared. The crosses had disappeared too, giving place to some simple tombstones planted on the ground.

      “There it is!” Avery suddenly stopped, pointing at a grave not far from them.

      They started fumbling about it, without wasting any more time talking. It was a hard job; the ground was a cold and granular mud and they got stuck into the mire till ankle length. The digging work took a very long time. After a while, Avery had to stop. He was panting hard.

      “Go on”, he said, sitting down on the muddy edge of the grave.

      The boy went on. The more he drove the spade into the ground, the more his heart beat fast. After a while, his hands started hurting too. He tried not to give up. That absurd excitement he was feeling, was pushing him to go on. Then he stopped. The spade wasn’t digging the ground anymore. It was making a rasping sound, like claws scratching greedily underground. That image made him freeze: what if the dead man came out of his grave and dragged Johnny away with him?

      “I’m going on now”, Avery said providentially. He took out from under the sheet a tool looking like a metal pole. One of its ends was sharp and slightly bending.

      Johnny couldn’t ask for more and climbed out of the grave, sitting down on its edge, next to the torch stuck into the ground to light the place: the wet wood was going to burn just for a short time more. They had to hurry up.

      The old man went down again, being careful not to slip. When he got to the bottom, he turned the ground over, till the rough boards of the coffin came out. He bent down, testing their thickness by his fingertips. He was probably weighing the question up, or paying Wynne homage. When he looked satisfied, he opened his legs wide, drove his boots on both sides of the grave and stuck the pole between the boards, then he started undermining them. The cracking wood made a horrible sound: it was like the noise of broken bones. The cover was torn up bit by bit, till the corpse came out.

      He was stiff, lying in the coffin, his arms were pressing his hips and his neck was bending. His long hair was dirty with mud and came down in a shapeless pulp, covering a side of his face. His skin was drawn like old paper, his muscles and sinews stood out from underneath. His fingers were true claws.

      When Johnny saw them, he felt a new sense of terror. They were the same he might have heard while he was digging. He was still thinking about that noise, when he had to turn his head the other side. An unbearable stench overwhelmed him, the unmistakable acid smell of putrefaction. He tried hard not to throw out: his intestine was in a mess, as if someone was stirring it by a stick.

      Avery gave a start as well. He lifted his collar to protect his face.

      “How are you doing, my friend?”, he asked after a while, turning to Wynne. His voice was nasal, almost funny in such a context.

      As an answer, the pirate’s jaw started to move in the middle of his ruffled hair, as if he was trying hard to speak.

      Johnny opened his eyes wide. Oh my God! He is still alive…

      No sound came out of his mouth, but a rat did instead. At first its tail peeped out, then the jaw opened in a wide yawn and the animal walked back on his small paws. It took some steps back, heedless of the human beings. It darted its black eyes around, clearly stunned and annoyed since he had to leave its den, then he disappeared into a hole at the bottom of the coffin, were the wood had got rotten.

      The old man didn’t bat an eye. That wasn’t the same for Johnny.

      “What are we going to do?”, he asked. The small stick into his belly had turned into a beam. He feared that Avery would ask him to get back there.

      On the contrary, he kept silent, rubbing his hand on his rough chin and wondering. His grey wisps had fallen by the sides of his face and the rain was streaming down his bold head.

      “Give me the torch, before it goes out”, he suddenly ordered.

      Johnny did what he was asking him. He could see Avery catching the