‘Fifteen men on a dead man’s chest. Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of
rum’ sang the tramp, beating a pound coin on an old tankard as Clara walked
passed. A gust of wind blew across the docks, and even though the tramp was
behind her, she could still feel his gaze. She stopped and turned, and saw just
four teeth emerge from a gaping black hole of a mouth surrounded by a grey
beard. She walked back and the hole closed, but a humming of the tramp’s song
continued.
‘Ahoy there shipmate’ she said as she approached, fishing in
her pocket for a coin. ‘What can you tell me about that place?’
‘Ooh, there’s nowt to see in there for a nice lass like you,
just a few broken bottles and an old sailor’s home.’
‘Well, I’ve been hearing stories about boats in the night’,
opening her palm to show a pound coin. ‘I loves a good sea-fearing tale.’
‘Aye, boats in the night. There’s many a vessel that still
sails through these parts.’
‘But I’m after one ship in particular.’
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