A Lucifer Box Novel Series 3 Books Set Collection by Mark Gatiss

Author:Mark Gatiss [Gatiss, Mark]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: caper, Humor, Mystery, spy, Detective
Publisher: Simon & Schuster UK
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Poor old Lucifer has always been a rotten sailor, and waking in a fug of engine fumes, I greeted the new day with a dry heave, swung my legs off the bunk and sat up, coughing like a consumptive. I needed some fresh air sharpish.

Tottering into the culottes, I made my way across to the door and stumbled into the corridor beyond but that stank of oil and provided scant relief. As the Stiffkey plunged through the sea, I swayed towards the stairwell, only to walk, face-first, into the massive aproned chest of what could only be the ship’s cook.

I took an involuntary step backwards and looked up at all six foot six of the brute. Built like the proverbial brick garderobe, this mulatto’s ears were bright with silver rings and one hand–in appropriately piratical fashion–was replaced by what looked like a tin-opener.

‘So sorry,’ I bleated. ‘Just…just on my way to the deck.’

Sweat rolled in great glistening beads over his bricklike brow. He made no move to stand aside.

‘Not feeling too bright,’ I managed, putting on my best silly-ass voice again in order to defuse any potentially violent urges he might have. ‘So if you’d just let me pass…’

A strange guttural croak was his only answer.

Then, rather unexpectedly, he drew out a tin from the ruddily stained pocket of his apron, proceeded to spear it with the end of his harpoon-hand and, with astonishing delicacy, to open it up. Within a very few moments, he was scooping out pinkish meat–corned beef by the look–and stuffing it into his mouth. I shuddered briefly at the sight of his tongue. It had evidently been sliced clean off long ago, and the remains clacked about over the wet meat like some ghastly earthworm.

He croaked again, glared down at me in an openly challenging fashion and held the sharp end of his harpoon close to my perspiring face.

‘Bullfrog!’

The cry was unexpected as it was welcome. The cabin boy from the previous night came running down the pitching corridor. In the queasy light I could still make out little of his face but I grew suddenly alert at the very noticeable protuberances in the rough fabric of his sweater. The very noticeable and breast-shaped protuberances.

‘I am Aggie,’ said the cabin ‘boy’, with great gravity. ‘Do not mind Bullfrog. He is harmless. Welcome to the Stiffkey.’

She was duskily skinned, petite and devilishly exotic, her coal-black hair cut into a manageable crop under the cap. Her eyes were like polished jet and there was the light of another race in their depths. She set up a rather pleasant little fluttering in my churning innards.

‘Isn’t it meant to be unlucky?’ I ventured.

‘Sir?’

‘Girls on ships?’

‘They do not think of me as a girl,’ she said, again with a kind of uncalled-for seriousness. ‘So I do not either.’

Aggie’s voice had a vaguely Indian inflection. Despite feeling as sick as a dog I attempted a ravishing smile. ‘What a silly way of thinking. I’m sure if we become acquainted, I should like very much to think of you as a girl.

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