The Infiltrator (6)

The old ship had been repaired so many times that it no longer looked like a ship.

Its three masts were the first—and almost the only—things visible above the water when it patrolled the furious Caribbean seas like a Nazi submarine, after the hurricane named Beatriz had passed through.

Captain Gonzáles could smell it like a dog sniffing for ox shit.

He had lost faith in the mission.

The friar holding the compass had boarded first because he had lost faith in God.

The black ship, smeared with tar and covered in a crust of salt, left a rotten smell hanging in the air.

“Don’t you smell it?”

“You always say it’s close, and the men are already forming a giant union. They’ll throw you out of the helm soon.”

“Tell me something new, uncle. This would be my third lost galleon, if all those rumors are true.”

“Some say they saw the three masts and you deliberately turned south, straight into the storm...”

At last, the monk managed to say it.

Gonzáles did not answer.

“The dangerous thing about this ship, my friend, is not what you see from a distance. From a distance, you see the lookout in the crow’s nest, with a telescope chained to it. The damned pirate says it belongs to him, but that telescope belonged to the previous captain.”

He paused.

“The one I killed myself.”

The monk lowered the compass.

“That night, I was the only one who could hear his bell.”

“The bell?”

“They say it rings by itself. And that some nights it breaks loose and goes out to sea on its own.”

Lightning illuminated the three masts.

For an instant, they looked like four.

“The danger of that ship,” Gonzáles continued, “is below deck.”

THE LOWER HOLD

Officially, it is packed with tools and spare parts.

In reality, nobody knows what it contains.

The door has three locks.

The captain has one key.

The boatswain has another.

And the third...

Gonzáles pulled a chain from his chest.

Hanging from it was a tiny key, black with rust and so old it looked as though it had been torn from a grave.

“I heard footsteps down there.”

“And you went down?”

“I went down.”

“How far?”

“One level.”

“And then?”

“The damned ship threw me out.”

“How?”

“It submerged.”

The monk fell silent.

“Until it drowned everything alive.”

Gonzáles closed his fist around the key.

“That is my obsession. I only went down one of its levels.”

“They say one of the cannons on the port battery is pointed inward. Is that true?”

“Yes.”

“And why?”

“There is no way to fire it.”

“Then what is it there for?”

Gonzáles looked toward the deck.

“They say it points at the Bulk.”

The monk shuddered.

He did not know why that name, so specific and yet so generic at the same time, frightened him so much.

THE PRISON

“I never even got to see the captain’s private prison.”

“The prison?”

“It isn’t an ordinary jail. Only the most important people end up in that V.I.P.”

“What’s inside?”

“A table.”

“Nothing else?”

“There are no windows. It is below the waterline.”

“And the prisoners?”

Gonzáles took a long time to answer.

“When I asked, they told me they weren’t prisoners anymore.”

“Then what were they?”

“Memories.”

The monk did not ask again.

“Some say you’re obsessed with the ship, not with hunting the damned enemy captain.”

“They are right to think so.”

Gonzáles looked at the door.

“I saw an inscription.”

“What did it say?”

HERE YOUR NAME ENDS.

Beneath it was an arrow carved directly into the wood.

“Where did it point?”

“Down.”

A heavy thud echoed beneath their feet.

They both looked at the floor.

“When the ship rears up,” Gonzáles said, “all us humans become brothers, trying to survive it.”

He pulled out the little black key.

“In fact, Morgan himself gave me this while he was drowning.”

THE MACHINATIONS

“They say the power is in the Room of Machinations.”

“Where?”

“Behind a false wall.”

“And what’s inside?”

“Maps that change.”

“Bones used as dice.”

“Jars filled with unknown liquids.”

“Amulets.”

“Coins from vanished ships.”

“Nautical charts showing coasts that do not exist.”

“Covered mirrors.”

“Yes.”

“Symbols painted on the floor.”

“Candles that never seem to burn down.”

Gonzáles shook his head.

“Nonsense.”

“Then what is in there?”

“The ship itself is the amulet.”

He looked at the deck planks.

“And those who board it are the slaves.”

“Of the Bulk?”

“No.”

Gonzáles lowered his voice.

“The Bulk only talks, screams, and gives orders.”

“Then what is it?”

“Its mouth.”

The ship creaked.

Not the way ships creak.

The way bones creak.

“That damned pile of logs has a button that can kill the Bulk.”

“A button?”

“Yes.”

“Where?”

“Nobody knows.”

“And why do they want the Bulk?”

“Because it doesn’t die.”

Gonzáles smiled without joy.

“It feeds on the dead.”

THE SECRET ROOM

“The English pirates who survived say there is a secret room.”

“Where?”

“On the ship’s plans.”

“And physically?”

“It appears anywhere.”

“Does it have a lock?”

“No.”

“A doorknob?”

“Neither.”

“Then how do you get in?”

“That is what they refuse to tell.”

“What does it hold?”

“They said it was a treasure.”

Gonzáles shook his head.

“I say it holds something the damned ship doesn’t want anyone to find.”

Lightning.

Then another.

“HELP! HELP!”

The Englishmen’s screams seemed to come from the storm.

Gonzáles continued:

“When my ship was sinking into millions of splinters, they screamed that someone was coming for them.”

“Who?”

“They never said.”

“And what do you think is in there?”

“A museum of atrocities.”

Crowns.

Watches.

Jewels.

Swords.

Medals.

Rings.

Telescopes.

Compasses.

Letters.

Portraits.

Captains’ insignia.

Everything that had once belonged to someone who died.

“THE BAD MOTHER.”

The name came out of Gonzáles like a prayer.

“What?”

“The Bad Mother.”

“Don’t invoke her.”

“THE BAD MOTHER.”

A gigantic wave slammed into the deck.

The men fell.

The third time Gonzáles tried to say it, the wave carried away six sailors.

The men decided to act.

They arrested him.

THE CONFINED CAPTAIN

Gonzáles felt more at peace in the room where they locked him up.

He was forbidden, under penalty of death, from invoking the beast.

The men had regained their sanity.

They planned to return home.

But not a single star could be seen.

And constantly, they had to go down and ask for directions.

The cabin boy guarding him suddenly asked:

“Is it true, Captain, that the Bulk only eats captains?”

Gonzáles burst out laughing.

“False.”

“Then what does it eat?”

“I saw the Bulk eat four drowned men.”

“Four?”

“Only two were actual captains.”

“And the others?”

“Pirates commanding a ship.”

The cabin boy swallowed hard.

“And why does it distinguish between them?”

“It doesn’t.”

“Then?”

“It doesn’t care.”

Gonzáles leaned his face toward the bars.

“The Bulk hates the ship as much as I do.”

Silence.

“That’s why I want to throw myself headfirst into it.”

Two warning knocks sounded behind the door.

BANG. BANG.

It was time to change the subject.

But everyone was obsessed with some aspect of that shapeless ship.

Gonzáles continued softly, almost whispering into his ear:

“The Bulk spared me.”

The cabin boy moved closer.

“It spared you?”

“I could even say it saved me.”

“From what?”

“Only the Bulk knows its passages.”

A pause.

“Its secrets.”

“The names of the dead.”

“The routes.”

“The orders.”

“The superstitions.”

“The hiding places.”

Gonzáles breathed slowly.

“And it has one terrible characteristic.”

“What?”

“It always says the opposite.”

“Opposite of what?”

“Everything.”

If the captain shouts:

“ALL TO STARBOARD!”

The Bulk answers in his exact same voice:

“ALL TO PORT!”

And the people who fear it...

only listen to the Bulk.

If the captain shouts:

“CANNONS READY!”

The Bulk screams:

“DO NOT FIRE!”

If the captain, desperate, screams:

“LOWER THE SAILS!”

The Bulk answers:

“RAISE THEM!”

Gonzáles closed his eyes.

“And some-times...”

He stopped.

“...it’s ri-ght.”

THE FAT MAN

“And does the Bulk have an enemy?”

“Yes.”

“What is his name?”

“The Fat Man.”

“Is he on the ship?”

“He never boards.”

“Then where is he?”

“He swims beside it.”

“Swims?”

“Always.”

“And does he speak?”

Gonzáles imitated the sound.

“Hhhh... hhhhh... HhHhH!”

The cabin boy went pale.

The door opened.

The captain chosen to relieve Gonzáles entered.

“We want to leave.”

Gonzáles looked at him.

“The gunpowder is wet. We’re going home. Your wife is waiting for you.”

Then he looked at the cabin boy.

“And Lina is thinking about her little girl.”

The cabin boy froze.

The chosen captain stepped closer.

“I’m going to tell you one secret, captain to captain.”

Gonzáles smiled.

“The Fat Man eats Bulks.”

The captain lost all color.

“And what if he finds us?”

“What do you advise we do when we board it?”

Gonzáles looked toward the ceiling.

“Search for the ship’s throat.”

“The throat?”

“Nobody sleeps there.”

“...”

“Nobody eats there.”

“...”

“And nobody can cross it alone, no matter how much money is bet.”

The captain listened without moving.

“It is the darkest place on the ship.”

“Where is it?”

“Between the witchcraft room and the women’s prison.”

“The whorehouse?”

“That one.”

Gonzáles smiled.

“Because they say that when the ship is completely dark, you can hear the old captain walking inside the walls.”

BANG.

Something sounded in the distance.

Then:

CRAAACK.

The main mast exploded.

The men ran.

Gonzáles looked at the new captain.

“Now there will be two captains.”

“What do you mean?”

“You will say the opposite of what makes sense.”

He smiled.

“And I will say what common sense commands.”

THREE DAYS LATER

The natives of Santa Catalina found the remains of another shipwreck.

Among millions of splinters, they found Captain Gonzáles unconscious.

He was clutching something.

A bundle.

Disgusting.

Stinking.

Wet.

Heavy.

Nobody wanted to touch it.

But Gonzáles would not let go.

The pirates had to revive him mouth to mouth.

When he opened his eyes, the first thing he asked was:

“Where is the Victorioso María?”

The pirates looked at one another.

They thought he was talking about corsairs.

Gonzáles was talking about marines.

Jack leaned over him.

“Captain...”

Gonzáles tried to sit up.

“Where are my men?”

“Your men?”

“Where is my ship?”

Jack pointed toward the ruins.

“That’s what’s left.”

Gonzáles looked around.

There was no ship.

No masts.

No sails.

No crew.

Only sand, broken wood, and the sea.

And the Bulk.

Jack put a hand on his shoulder.

“Easy.”

Gonzáles looked at the object he was still clutching.

Jack smiled.

“The Bulk can build you a ship out of three palm trees.”

Gonzáles stopped breathing.

Because behind Jack, on the beach, there were three palm trees.

And between them...

something black.

Very far away.

Too far away to be a ship.

But the first thing that appeared above the horizon were three masts.

The Bulk opened one eye.

And whispered:

“All to port.”