The Gold

Report to Mr Kensington

To: The Hon William Kensington, MP

Care/Of: The Offices of the Royal Institute of Derelict Ship Recovery,

21 Oglethorpe Gardens, London

1st January, 1703 AD

I have concluded my investigation into the disappearance and subsequent rediscovery of the good ship Mary Jane. This comes at the end of a twenty-four month investigation period and a sixty month hunt for the ship itself. The lookout was the first to spot it. We were the first human beings to gaze upon her for approximately seven years. As the lookout was the first to spot her I recommend he be paid the reward for finding her.

Upon closer port-side inspection the ship was found crashed against a rock, with said rock punching a hole in the side, beaching it in its position. There were no obvious signs of damage that would be consistent with an attack. It is my recommendation that you do not report this as an attack by the Spanish, French, piracy, or any other nefarious group. Having gathered all the relevant information we could, we towed the ship back to a rural port so as to not create a stir; Then had her transported back to ship warehouse 2B for further inspection.

Upon on-foot inspection we noticed scorch marks and various scratches littering its curved deck. While it can not be determined whether or not these were before or after the grim fate that befell the vessel; we believe it is more appropriate to treat them as though they are related to the events that transpired. Besides the aforementioned findings, there is no reason to believe that a revolt, or any form of violence, had occurred.

Upon delving into the bowels of the ship a truly horrid smell engulfed us. It was not unlike the smell of a decomposing body swirling around with rotten, petrified eggs. I was the only one of us willing to go further and did so with my handkerchief wrapped firmly around my nose. As per the plans provided, the cargo room and the crew quarters were there and the framework was intact. The hole was punched into the crew room and, by some miracle I’m sure, the door to the cargo room was closed, allowing it to remain undamaged. The structural poles had rope markings on them indicating the presence of crew hammocks, which I am sure are at the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean. As soon as I opened the door to the cargo room the previously off-putting smell transformed into a truly horrid sense. Still I pressed on.

Remarkably, despite its seven years of weathering, the cargo it was to deliver was still on board, and all items from the manifest were accounted for. In addition to this there were a few items that we could not account for:

• A chess board with no pieces

• Three smoked and preserved crabs, shells removed

• Several pieces of metal, which we were later able reconstruct into a medieval-era sword

• A bejewelled golden egg of the kaiser, which was thought to be lost for two- hundred years

• Finally, what remains of a remarkably well-preserved corpse. I ascertained that to be the source of the foul odour.

Though it is ultimately your decision to make, I recommend we store the derelict and her contents on a permanent basis for future inspection. A ship of its abilities, and a trip of its insignificance, should have never befallen the fate it did and it stands that we should look further into it. Failing that, technologies of the future may well allow us to see what events truly transpired.

We lost two crewmembers during the mission: Jim Haxley and Arnold Haymaker. Those men’s families will be compensated as per our insurance policy, as well as receiving their family pensions.

I hope you find this report illuminating.

Regards, John “Captain” Lochte - Port of London Investigation Wing.

The Port of London, 1696

The Boston Harbour, about as far as you can go from the motherland on a lower-class income. If you spend all your money, that is. Speaking of which, one man was walking through the regular midday crowd that busied themselves at the port. Mixed stone and wood buildings on the portfront sold any and all services a seafaring captain could need for his ship. The man, a scruffy looking man of about 22 but with a beard that made him look 55, was speeding through the port. He walked with such purpose that people either dove out of his way or were shoulder checked away. He was clutching a crumpled up piece of paper and seemed to be checking each ship in the harbour.

Finally, holding the paper up to the final ship, the picture lined up with it perfectly. Even the angle was right. He sped up to the gangplank and saw the five men of varying shapes and kinds loading cargo onto the ship. It was just big enough for one curved deck and a single below-deck area that the crew were loading to. Unlike the crew, the ship was in pristine condition, as if it had just rolled off the construction yard.

“Who is the captain of this vessel?” he called out to the crew. For a few minutes, not a single man stopped what they were doing, or even acknowledged his existence. Eventually, the scrawny gentleman wearing an enormous tricorn hat finished pushing a heavy barrel with his foot into the bowels of the ship and walked over to the man.

“What do you want?” he asked.

The man leaned right to look at the strange, maroon coloured barrels of vastly different weights, “What’s in the barrels?”

“None of your business. If you want to say something, say it in the next five seconds or we’re done.”

The man stuttered out a few half-starts for the first few precious seconds. Then, like a thunderclap, a booming voice shouted out, “MAAAAAAAAATE!”

Both men on the gangplank looked up at the crow’s nest. A man, of similar beard stature to the man standing agape on the gangplank, stared at the two through his crinkled eyes. He hopped out of the nest and, hooking the pole in his arm, slid down and hit the ground like a ton of bricks. He, what could only be described as bounded, over to the gangplank and hooked his arm around Mate’s neck as tightly as he did the pole, “I see you met the welcome party,” he said before bursting out into fits of booming laughter.

Brian stood there dumbfounded as the portly gentleman stood there beaming at him, his cheeks as rosy as they could be, buried under layers of ratty black beard. “I’m the captain, call me captain. Here’s my mate, call him mate.”

Brian looked at Mate, “Really?”

“Captain’s orders. Additionally, if you’re only here to work because of the advertisement then names won’t be necessary,” Mate said.

“AHH,” Captain shouted, twisting Mate forward, “You’re here because of the ad.”

“Yes, I aligned the ad with the ship and found her a moment ago.”

Captain let go of Mate and pointed at him, “I told you it were a good idea! Only the best and brightest on my ship.”