Solomon Key

Chapter 16

Beneath gray skies, Maddock and Bones navigated the sparse crowd outside the Museum of London Docklands. Housed in a Georgian-era sugar warehouse located on the Isle of Dogs in the Canary Wharf area of London, the museum told the history of the River Thames and the growth of London’s Docklands. Outside the sprawling brick building, Maddock paused, letting the damp breeze from the nearby river ruffle his hair.

“Let me guess,” Bones said, shrugging up his leather jacket against the unseasonably cool weather, “you’re still thinking about that chick you hooked up with. Word of advice — move on. I guarantee you she already has.”

Maddock couldn’t help but wince. He liked Kendra, though he doubted he’d ever see her again. In any case, she wasn’t what was on his mind. “That’s not it. I just admire London’s history. I mean, it was founded by the Romans and some of their structures are still standing almost two thousand years later. I wish we had things that old in America.”

“Maddock,” Bones began, “one of these days I’m going to teach you about these things called Indian mounds.”

Maddock laughed. “Okay, a few mounds are as old as structures like London Wall, but point taken.”

“Don’t spoil this for me with one of your lectures,” Bones said. “Just let me be right for once. Besides, don’t we have an appointment?”

“That we do.” Maddock checked his watch. “We ought to be right on time.”

They passed a statue of a man in Colonial garb, holding a roll of paper and gazing out in the direction of the Thames.

“Robert Milligan,” Bones read. “They ought to call this place Milligan’s Island.”

Maddock groaned, shook his head, and led the way forward. Up ahead, a white sign marked Museum of London Docklands hung above the entrance. Inside, a map listed the museum’s various exhibits, including the London Sugar and Slavery, Sailor Town, First Port of Empire, Warehouse of the World, and many more.

“Dude, you’re not going to make me wander through all of these, are you?” Bones asked.

“We’ll see. You’re interested in ships and the sea, aren’t you?”

“I’m interested in the chicks in bikinis who line the seashores. The rest of it I can take or leave.”

They made their way quickly through the exhibits, pausing once for Bones to admire a mummified cat and rat. Maddock took in the sights as they walked. The museum was filled with artifacts related to sailing, shipping, warehousing, even whaling.

“You think the ring ended up here?” Bones said in a low voice, stealing a glance at a display devoted to the gibbets from which the corpses of pirates were hung in iron cages after their execution.

“I don’t know. That’s one of the things I plan on asking.” Maddock looked up and flashed a friendly smile as a tall, thin man of middle years hurried to greet them.

“You must be Misters Maddock and Bonebrake,” he said, shaking their hands in turn. “I recognized you by Mister Bonebrake’s description. I’m Gareth Brent.”

“Pleasure to meet you. I’m Dane, but most people call me Maddock. You can call him Bones.”

“Very good.” Gareth was only an inch or two shorter than Bones, but he looked up at him and squinted as if trying to see something at a great distance. Then he gave his head a shake and invited them to follow him to a nearby break room. He poured three cups of coffee, grimaced when Maddock and Bones said they preferred theirs black, then sat down and got to business. “How may I help you?”

“We’re researching a pirate named Israel Hands,” Maddock said. “I understand you’re the man to whom we should speak.”

Gareth’s eyebrows flitted up. He ran a hand through his unkempt, sandy hair, and slowly shook his head. “I didn’t realize I was considered an expert on Mister Hands.”

“You’re the closest thing we’ve been able to find,” Bones said. “There’s not a lot of information about him out there, and the chapter you wrote a few years back was pretty thorough.”

Gareth again squinted at Bones, a small frown furrowing his brow. Bones cocked his head and Gareth hurried on. “Forgive me. I know I keep giving you odd looks, but I believe I’ve seen you before.”

“They have cigar store Indians in England?”

Gareth shook his head, dead serious. “A Native American of your size is hard to forget. It was a few years ago, in Kensington Gardens. You proposed to a…um…woman.”

Bones’ cheeks turned scarlet. “That didn’t work out,” he said.

Maddock swallowed his laughter and took a sip of coffee. On that particular occasion, he had needed a diversion, and Bones had achieved it by proposing to their mutual friend, Kaylin Maxwell. Of course, Bones’ sense of humor being what it was, he’d included in the proposal the inaccurate detail that Kaylin was transgender.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Gareth said. “For what it’s worth, I thought that was very progressive of you.”

“Thanks,” Bones said. “A hot chick is a hot chick, you know.”

“About Israel Hands,” Maddock prompted.

“Oh, yes.” Gareth took a drink, his overly large Adam’s apple bobbing. “That particular book was the pet project of a friend of mine. He asked me to contribute a chapter about a lesser-known pirate, and I chose Israel Hands.”

“What can you tell us about him?”

“Well, let’s see.” Gareth rubbed his hands together, warming to his tale. “Though some people only know the name Israel Hands from the character in Treasure Island, he is a historical figure. He was known to some as Basilica Hands, was the sailing Master on board Queen Anne’s Revenge, Edward Teach’s flagship. Teach, of course, being better known as Blackbeard.”

“What was Hands like? What kind of guy was he?” Bones asked.

“We can only speculate. The fact that he was a pirate, and voluntarily served under Teach, suggests he wasn’t the nicest bloke.”

“But he gave evidence against Teach’s friends at trial, didn’t he?” Maddock asked.

“He did. Of course, that could be due to the fact that Teach once shot him in the knee for no reason other than to demonstrate his authority over the crew.”

“Ouch.” Bones absently rubbed his own knee.

“Indeed. Teach was actually trying to shoot another crew member but missed. When Hands asked Teach why he was trying to shoot a member of his crew, Teach said it was important that he kill one of them now and again, lest they forget who he was.” Gareth grimaced. “Hands had served him faithfully up to that point. His first historical mention comes when Teach captures a ship called Adventure and gives Hands its command. Later, when Queen Anne’s Revenge ran aground on a sandbar and could not be kedged…”

“Kedged?” Bones prompted.

“It’s an old sailing term,” Maddock said. “It means to haul a vessel using a line attached to a sea anchor or a fixed object.”

“Of course you knew that.” Bones rolled his eyes.

Grinning, Gareth continued with his story. “Unable to free his ship, Teach took command of Adventure. He took all his treasure and half of his crew, which was all Adventure could carry. He marooned the rest.”

“Such a nice guy,” Bones said.

“Afterward, Teach briefly attempted to change his ways, at least on the surface. He purchased a house in the town of Bath, North Carolina, married a local girl, and purchased a pardon from the governor. But he couldn’t resist the pirate’s life. Hands and the remaining crew maintained a camp on Ocracoke Island, from which they would periodically conduct raids on shipping. Teach took part in many of these, and he regularly hosted visiting pirates, such as Charles Vane and Jack Rackham on the island. On those occasions he would throw massive parties, orgies really.”

Bones sat up straight. “You know, maybe I judged him too quickly.”

Gareth ignored him. “At some point, Hands was shot in the knee. Accounts vary, but the most reliable says that he retired to Bath to recuperate from his wounds. But he was eventually caught up in the same pirate raids in which Teach was beheaded and his crew killed or captured. He was taken to Williamsburg to stand trial, but at the eleventh hour he agreed to testify for the state in exchange for a pardon. His testimony resulted in the convictions of a number of corrupt government officials — those who had enabled Teach over the years.”

“I suppose he was the only man close enough to Teach to be able to give that kind of evidence,” Maddock mused, “but why wait until the very last minute to accept it? What changed?”

Gareth shrugged. “Some say stubbornness, other say it was misplaced loyalty to Teach.”

“The dude who shot him,” Bone said flatly.

“I discovered one account of the incident that claims Teach knew his crew’s days were numbered, and that he shot Hands so he would be forced to retire, in hopes that would save him from the hangman’s noose.”

Bones turned to Maddock. “Just so we’re clear, if you ever want me to retire, just say so. Don’t shoot me in the knee.”

“Knee? I’d aim about a foot-and-a-half higher.”

Bones shifted in his chair. “Dude, that’s not even funny.” He shot a quick glance at Gareth, who sat patiently, hands folded. “Sorry.”

“It’s all right. I give tours to schoolchildren, so I’m accustomed to interruptions.” He stared at Bones from beneath hooded lids, then burst out laughing. “Please forgive me. The two of you were trading insults, so I thought a rejoinder of my own would not go amiss.”

“It’s cool,” Bones said. “I get compared to a school kid every day. Maddock gets the same comparison, but only because of the size of his package.”

Gareth frowned. “Package? Oh, tackle!” He laughed again. “I must admit, you two are quite the pair. But returning to the subject at hand, I think the other so-called experts are wrong about Hands. At least, in respect to his reasons for turning state’s evidence.” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “I believe Israel Hands experienced a powerful religious conversion while in jail. His life after he left America proves that.”

“I thought he came to London and became a beggar,” Maddock said.

“I believe he took a voluntary vow of poverty, like a monk. He spent his time in and around St. Paul’s Cathedral. He attended worship services and spent the time in between wandering the docks, sharing his faith with the sailors he met there. At least, those who would give him the time of day.”

Maddock nodded thoughtfully. Having a ring belonging to King Solomon fall into one’s hands could certainly lead to a religious conversion. “Anything else you can tell us about his later life? Any family? Bequests?”

“None. He formed a strong friendship with an Anglican priest, who counseled him in spiritual matters. Hands often claimed he talked to ghosts. Likely he was haunted by the memories of those he killed during his days as a buccaneer.”

“What happened to him? Do you know where his grave is?”

“No one knows for certain, but I uncovered a rumor that the priest who had befriended him arranged for him to be buried somewhere beneath the cathedral.”

Maddock’s heart raced. “Any idea where? Or if it’s even true?”

“I can’t say, but no less than Sir Haggard himself believed it was.”

Maddock’s breath caught in his chest. It couldn’t be!

“Who did you say?”

“Sir Henry Rider Haggard. According to my research, he took quite an interest in Israel Hands. It’s odd, though. He didn’t write about pirates. He’s best known for…”

There was no need for Gareth to finish his sentence. Maddock and Bones did it for him.

“King Solomon’s Mines.”