Tales of Terror from the Black Ship Read Online Free PDF Page B

Harper!
    It was offensive, and in spite of the fact that none of the crew could possibly know why the cat stared at him so, Tom still vowed that he would not tolerate it. When the opportunity arose, Pitch would join his friend Harper at the bottom of the sea.
    The cat seemed to register this change in Tom and, though Tom would still turn to find the animal staring at him from some vantage point or other, as soon as he made the slightest move towards him, the cat would speed away as if the Devil himself was at his tail. Tom had even found the beast peering out of the drain hole through which he had kicked Harper’s severed hand. He had come close to doing the same to the wretched cat, but Pitch was too quick for him again.
    Tom determined to bide his time. Eventually the cat would let down his guard and Tom would come across him napping on a coil of rope, as he was often wont to do, and then he would see to the animal once and for all. Once. And. For. All.
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    Later that same week Tom was on deck, lost in these thoughts of how he would do for the cat, when he noticed that the captain and two of the crew were in a huddle near the rail where he had sent Harper to his watery death.
    The fear that he was about to be found out hit Tom with such violence that he could barely breathe in that instant and his throat felt as if Harper’s ghost had risen up from the deep and gripped him round the neck.
    With all his remaining strength Tom approached the captain and the others, sidling towards them so as not to arouse their suspicions. He was disturbed to see that one of the crew was pointing to a nick in the rail, and heard the other say that there was a hatchet missing that had been nearby and this looked for all the world like it had struck the rail.
    ‘And is that blood there?’ asked the captain, pointing to the decking under the rail.
    ‘Aye, sir. Blood, sir,’ said the sailor, crouching down and peering at it.
    ‘There’s been some evil afoot,’ said the captain slowly. ‘Say naught for now, mind you, but keep your eyes and ears open.’
    Tom cursed himself for a fool. He had cleaned the blood from the rail but had not thought to look at the deck. In any case, it being so dark, he had seen nothing.
    But then, of course, he had been distracted by that damn animal too. Had it not been for the cat, he should have thought more clearly. Curse that creature! But it was too soon to panic.
    What did they know? Tom thought to himself. They knew nothing. So a hatchet had gone missing and there might be blood on the deck. Harper could have done all that himself. Who knew what a drunk might do? He might have hurt himself and taken the hatchet with him when he fell or jumped. Anything was possible.
    And even if they could say it was murder, which they could not – not with any certainty – then they manifestly could not say who the murderer was, not with any kind of hanging-proof.
    Harper had had more enemies than Judas, as every man aboard knew, and had barely been missed since his disappearance, let alone mourned. In fact the whole ship knew that Tom alone received kind words from Harper. Tom was the least likely of all to kill him, or so it must seem.
    There was no reason to suspect him of anything. It mattered not one jot that the cat seemed fascinated by the scene of the crime – he was not about to speak to anyone. Just the day before, Tom had seen him scrabbling over the side of the ship at that spot and clambering about on the rigging below, where the ropes were fixed to the hull. If only the hated beast had fallen overboard! But the stinking flea-bag could stare at Tom as much as he liked – that meant nothing. Nothing!
    As if on cue, Tom turned to see Pitch sitting looking at him with his smug and knowing expression, and Tom lashed out with the mop, almost, but not quite, hitting him.
    ‘What have you got against the cat?’ said Captain Fairlight, suddenly appearing at his side.
    ‘Against the cat, sir?’ said Tom a