Rib Bone Jack: The Spareson Spies by John Williamson

Author:John Williamson [Williamson, John]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2018-01-31T17:00:00+00:00

“We don’t need caves,” said Jack, reassuringly. “Not when we have these.” Jack began to roll over one of the boats, positioning it so it was at a forty-five-degree angle, resting against one of the grassy banks.

“Well, that’s me sorted. Not sure where the rest of you are going to sleep,” said Weaverton, only half joking.

“Why don’t you do that… and we’ll organise you a Viking burial,” snarled Stokes, who was attempting to make fire with a broken file and a lump of flint from the tinder box. It had taken a direct threat, to silence Weaverton, for the time being at least. Stokes had truly had enough of Weaverton’s constant niggling. Now they were cut off from civilisation and any form of authority, Weaverton realised it was just possible that he could go the same way as Hathers, at the hands of any one of his six companions.

By the time darkness was truly upon them, they had two upturned boats, providing comparatively warm sleeping conditions for them all. Positioned in the open, between the boats was a large camp fire, which they were huddled around like waterlogged rats, there clothes still being damp from the boat trip.

Through the evening they talked, mainly about their homes, their great estates, women, and servant girls. Jack said little, realising they would probably not be interested or impressed by his world. But he listened. It fascinated him to listen to their vivid descriptions of what was to him an alien world.

The tales of the things they owned, and place they had been were amazing, but he expected that. As they talked, passing round a bottle of whiskey, smuggled aboard the boat by Peter Scoulter, he heard a unique side to them. They seemed to forget he was there at all, or at least they forgot his background. They spoke firstly of fine ladies, cherished flowers to be placed upon a pedestal and worshipped. Tales of long courtships, often arranged by their parents. But then the stories shifted to servant girls and a more sinister attitude. Tales of fumbles in darkened rooms, the poor creatures in question being treated as items of property, to do with as they wish, without fear of the consequences. It seemed to Jack that there were three sexes in their world; gentlemen, ladies and servant girls. Working class men being classified as livestock! Jack had often heard the stories of ‘goings on,’ but he had only ever heard it in the form of fisherman’s gossip, normally blaming the loose morals of the woman in question.

Jack waited, expecting Weaverton to take the opportunity to cast a jibe about his background, but it never came. It seemed that Weaverton was feeling decidedly uncomfortable; isolated on an island and surrounded by people who were rapidly growing to hate him. Stokes’ thinly vailed threat to burn him alive in one of the boats, seemed to provide the cherry on the cake, rendering him silent.

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