Life in The Shipwreck swims along pretty much as it always has. Fifty fathoms down, fully loved up, kicking with the fishes. Listen close, my bullies, she comes on the thirteenth bell:
1...
Israel Hands, ex-first-mate to Captain Edward Teach AKA Blackbeard, is on the Jacuzzi deck, splayed like a starfish in the tub, riding on the bubbles. The shanty he is humming is ‘High Barbaree’. His sunglasses are by Armani.
2...
‘What’s up, Israel?’ says Vincent Gambi, entering portside in a black velour catsuit. ‘Wanna hit the tables?’ He swings an imaginary paddle.
Israel grins, showing crooked teeth.
3...
Outside in the vast and pitchy black, a deep bass throb shivers the timbers. Octopi count the watches from the crow’s nest, their translucent flesh pulsing to the beat.
4...
Up in the captain’s crib, the Kidd is thumbing through old copies of Playboy, plotting a course through that ocean of faded flesh as if it were a chart.
‘There’s the spot,’ he says, and puts his finger on it.
5...
Down in the hold all the old ghosts curl through the water like smoke, mixing it up. The resultant vibe is Ectodisco.
6...
Vincent Gambi checks his backhand and squints at the black disc of the porthole. A tiny white shape dances in its centre, getting bigger.
‘Closer now,’ he says, pulling down the blind.
7...
Anne Bonney dreams of waking one day to find all this has been a bad dream. ’Til then she chills in the galley, rubbing gunpowder into the skulls of her dead lovers.
‘Oh yeah, this is the real good sugar,’ she informs them.
8...
The vibrations fatten, masking a deeper noise. The captain stands and salutes his reflection in the rippling mirror. He is tempted to wink.
9...
‹bartholomew roberts› is a memory. He hangs about the earholes and i-pods of the others, nuzzling for access.
‘Remember me?’ he mews softly.
10...
The rotten hull is shore-leave neon, lit up with freaky phosphor fish. One by one they peel off and flee the sunken ship. They smell a big fish coming.
11...
Israel closes his eyes and sees the grinning phiz of his old captain, drinking grog with his beard on fire. He is mouthing something, but the flames evaporate his words.
‘Aye aye,’ says Israel.
12...
The lookout flips his patch and plugs a scope into the socket. The spyglass shows absolutely nothing, however many miles in whichever direction, closing fast.
The timbers creak as the ship holds its breath. Life down here is always like this. But if you hang out with the brotherhood, there is one thing you should do.
Now check your watch.