Selena knew now that Flint was mad. But mad in his own special way.
Just as he'd promised, the door to his cabin was mended and herself locked in. But once the ship was properly under way, and the island out of sight, he'd let her out and welcomed her back on deck, and given her every kindly consideration, just like the first time she'd been brought aboard, and he called her "My dear" and "Madam" and "My Nubian princess".
She could see he wasn't the same man though, for he would fly into tempers as he'd never done before, and was highly dangerous when he did so — dangerous to the men, that is, not to her. She thought that perhaps this was because of the headaches he was suffering from the wound in his head, and which Mr Cowdray had had to close up again where Flint had popped the stitches. And perhaps he missed the parrot, although he never spoke of it.
Fortunately the crew were even more afraid of him now than they'd been before, since he was unpredictable, and old certainties had had to be thrown over the side. And this was just perfect as far as Selena was concerned. Indeed, she hoped that they sizzled and fried in fear of Flint, because it meant that they behaved themselves better towards her. There were no more hungry leers from the men, nor dirty words from the boys. It was all "Yes, Miss Selena" and "No, Miss Selena" and she could go where she liked on the ship and never worry.
Nor was Flint peeping through his holes in the cabin walls. Those, mysteriously, seemed to have been closed up — she'd long since found out where they all were. On the other hand, he'd taken to kissing her hand, and putting an arm round her waist whenever she stood beside him. This seemed to please him, and she suspected that it was a new alternative to his old games.
Beyond that, she had to face the fact that she was parted from John Silver, with no prospect of seeing him again. And that was bad. She could only wait, and watch for opportunity.
To encourage opportunity, she made a point of getting Flint to explain to her exactly how a pistol was loaded and fired, which he did with much amusement until — with daily practice — she learned the business so well that she could load without looking and could hit whatever she pointed at.
Chapter 54
Silver was getting about more easily. The carpenter had fixed a disc of wood round the bottom of his crutch so the staff stuck out an inch for use on firm ground, while the disc stopped it digging too far into sand, or the soft, boggy ground of the jungle or marshes. Now he was taking stock of the island, and was up on its highest point, for a good view. But the view wasn't good. Not at present. And neither was the air as fresh as usual, not with the hot sun and the present company.
"Who'd this be then?" said Silver, looking down at the bloated, maggot-wriggling corpse lying stretched out under a nutmeg tree. "Jimmie Cameron, wouldn't you say?"
"Aye, Cap'n," said Israel Hands. "And Franky Skillit's over there, with his arse as bald as his head and a pistol ball in his belly. It must be him, 'cos he's the only one of the lucky six as shaved his noggin."
The parrot squawked and rubbed its head against Silver's.
"Ah, my pretty," said Silver, and tickled its feathers, "you've seen a deal of wickedness in your time, ain't you now? And I don't doubt you could tell how these poor sailormen came to die." The parrot bobbed its head, and gently nipped Silver's ear. It had taken to him at once. Its wounds hadn't been serious. It had been tired mainly: tired in body and in spirit, that was all. In a couple of days it was flying again, and had hopped on to Silver's shoulder as if it were the natural thing to do. Silver was the one who'd been feeding it, after all.
"That makes four of 'em, Cap'n," said Israel Hands, "what with Peter Evans on the beach, and Iain Fraser over there — " he pointed towards Flint's great rock. "D'you think it was Flint what done for 'em?"
"Well it weren't their mothers!"
"And what about Rob Taylor and Henry Howard?"
"He'll have done for them too, somewhere… Ugh! It stinks up here. Come on, Mr Gunner, let's go below." He set off, and then stopped as a thought came to him.
"Israel, old shipmate," he said, "don't you wonder what'd have happened if you and Blind Pew and Sarney Sawyer had tipped me the black spot that night aboard Lion? Maybe you'd have made your peace with Flint and had a ship under your feet this very minute."
"No, Cap'n," said Israel Hands. "No/" He said it vehemently, as if he'd been accused of a foul deed. "We wasn't coming with no black spot! Not us, Cap'n! We was coming to say we was all with you. We'd talked it over, and we'd decided we should've voted with you on the burying of the goods. Flint gave the game away on the island when he said Walrus and Lion was each to fire into the other, should either try to go ashore. The bugger was setting us against one another! You was right all along, and we was come to say we was sorry."
"What?"
"Aye, Cap'n! There weren't a man aboard then, nor ain't there a man on this island now, as wouldn't follow wheresoever you lead, and I take my affy davy on it!"
John Silver had to take a hard grip on his emotions to avoid giving way like a woman. He closed his eyes and clenched his teeth.
He sighed, and rubbed his eyes, and smiled at Israel Hands. There was much to do in this vile place, for never doubt that Flint would be back, and back with plenty of men, just as soon as he could contrive. And there was still the awful fear for Selena, and the thought that he might not see her again. But Long John Silver could face up to that, as long as he had a good crew behind him.
He turned and led the way down the goat track. He was quick and nimble on stony ground like this, and he was head and shoulders taller than any other man. He wore his scorched blue coat with the big brass buttons, and under his hat was a red silk handkerchief bound round his head as a sweat- band. There were two pistols in his belt and a cutlass at his side, and the green parrot was perched firmly on his shoulder.
"Come on, Mr Hands," he said, "there's work to do!"
Afterword
I wrote Flint and Silver to resolve the questions that Robert Louis Stevenson left unanswered in Treasure Island, one of the best-loved classics of English literature, but one which delivers a story plucked out of history like a carriage from the middle of a train. Questions are begged from end to end of the book: How did Long John lose his leg? Where did he get the parrot? Who was the black woman that he married? Who was the hideous Captain Flint? And above all, the question of questions that surpasses all others: Why did the pirates bury their treasure?
This is a puzzle that bellowed and roared for explanation because the concept of buried treasure has so deeply penetrated our mythology that almost nobody sees a question there at all, despite the fact that there is a profound contradiction in the idea of pirates burying their treasure.
Burial means safe storage. It means planning for the future. But pirates had no future. They did not look forward to retirement in Eastbourne with a service flat, BUPA and a plasma TV. They lived fast and died young with the navies of at least three countries trying to catch them and hang them. So when they got hold of some money they blew it on sex, alcohol and gluttony, and then went out and got some more money, and so on and so on, until the hangman got hold of them.
Faced with these questions, and knowing that Robert Louis Stevenson was not going to answer them, I decided to do so on his behalf by writing a series of books about what happened before Treasure Island, and hoping that, if I did it well enough, he might forgive me should we meet in some other place.