Project:Current events/Gents and Ladies/Time to Ask for Help

Time to Ask for Help - Chapter 3

Petroni slung the limp man’s arm over his shoulder, swearing heartily and sweating heavily as he did so. He let the sailor drop to a makeshift bunk padded with soft reeds; fever was sure on the ailing man who now laid on the bed.

“Why me?” Petroni muttered. “I din’t get sick so this is my punishment?! Fetch them all, Petroni!”

First Mate Vincenzo had ordered the Crow’s Nest man to hire some camel owners and follow up on each of the reported sightings of the Bella Dama’s lost crewmen. He had noticed the surly reluctance of Petroni to follow orders lately but there was no other fit to do the job.

Earlier, Petroni had reported back to the ship in rugged condition after being sent out to look for the botanist. Miss Melanie had not been found but bits of her stuff and cryptic messages had been left behind…seemingly by the young botanist herself. Being sent right back out into the deserts of Egypt for days on end to haul back each of the sailors put Petroni in an escalatingly blacker mood.

During the storm at sea, almost all the sailors had been blown over the side or jumped off to hang onto some floating piece of supply. Most had been sure that the Bella Dama’s days had come to an end. But the captain and first mate’s expertise had guided the bucking wooden horse into the mouth of the great river of Egypt. The beautiful damsel ship had been saved.

Spluttering, exhausted men floated down the Nile until they hit at random spots along the shore. With a bit of rest each had gathered up what they could from the flotsam and started moving inland looking for water, food and signs of habitation. If they had lost their ship and leaders…eh, they would have to integrate as best they could into this dry country.

A few deserters were forcefully persuaded to return after gazing into Petroni’s cocked and loaded revolver.

“Heh, they din’t put up much of a fuss once I showed ‘em me Black Boomer,” Petroni chuckled with a wicked grin. He patted his revolver lovingly as he gave an embellished account of the last few sailors’ rescues to his superior.

‘The nasty little git doesn’t even care a bit for our sick men,’ the First Mate thought in anger. He felt like backhanding him over the ship rail, but controlled the impulse. They had too few healthy ones to help care for the ill.

It was well known that the more ports you spent time at, the more likely one was to develop the diseases of the body. Sailors always delighted in mingling with the pretty faces of the local residents. But there had not been the time for dallying since they had floundered onto land after the storm. Stories from each man were being threaded together as the sailors dragged in or were dragged in, some from afar.

“That’s it…Sir,” Petroni added the respectful pronoun as an afterthought. He knew he was pushing it but they were pushing him too hard. “We’s back to 28 strong…oh, pardon that, 27.” He winced and put a gnarly hand on his heart for a moment. Danny would be sincerely missed. Why couldn’t it a been that stupid wrong way Martin that up an’ died?! That one weren’t no asset.

“Dismissed, Mister! Report to the Chef, we’ll need much food to boost the stamina back into our men.” Captain Belzoni turned and looked out over the Nile from the bow of his ship, already forgetting the grumbling sailor.

His First Mate watched his friend, hoping that Allesandri would broach the subject. Muffled sounds of coughing was their background noise. They could not afford to lose more hands and hope to get back home, let alone make this a profitable venture. Surprisingly, the caravan men had transported back much of the supplies. But there was still the cost to be paid them and the Egyptians who brought in reports of their missing sailors. Locals were not always so cooperative…or so beautiful. Vincenzo’s smile disappeared when a particularly loud spell of hacking came to a crescendo.

“Captain!” Vincenzo abruptly woke the other man out of his pondering silence.

Belzoni inhaled slowly then looked away from the watery view out his window. The water always helped to calm him. “Mister?” he addressed his friend.

“We need help. Immediately! We haven’t a medic with us, so it is imperative that we find that French girl!” Vincenzo stated with urgency. Female or not, it had to be admitted that she knew more than any of them…medically speaking.

“Miss Melanie had told me that her main purpose in coming here was to study the flora, especially the herbs for curative powers,” the captain stated quietly, but his eyes were far away.

Vincenzo’s brows lowered as he waited. Something else was on his captain’s mind. He heard Carmello barking at Petroni not to spill the lamb broth. Minutes ticked past.

“Captain? I would like to take a couple of the men with me….” Vincenzo started to suggest but was interrupted by a hard rapping on the door to the captain’s cabin room.

“Sir, sir…” one of the sailors opened the door after being given permission to enter by Belzoni. “The priest fella, Nakhte, ‘e’s ‘ere, Sir, and begs talkin to ye, Sir!” A quick salute and then the sailor took a step sidewise to allow the short, old man inside.

Nakhte bowed respectfully. “Captain Belzoni, I believe I can show you the way.”

The old man’s Italian was flawless, as a stranger in a language could be when they learn as an adult. But it was also a mark of this religious man’s intelligence too. Allesandri appraised his appearance subtly before saying anything. Nakhte was a contemplative sort he had found and spoke only when necessary. His robes were different (and clean) than when he had last seen him on that stormy eve. Somehow, he knew the old man would make it alive back to his own country. Actually, it was unexpected that he returned to the ship willingly. Owing to the fact that he had originally been taken as a prisoner by his father years ago.

“And what path would you be speaking of, old man?” the captain asked.

“Why, to where the Mistress Melanie might be, of course, “ the priest gestured out the doorway to the ill laying around on the deck, clearly in distress. His hand disappeared back into the folds of his robe. Unnervingly, his blind eyes seemed to hold steady with the captain’s…

…almost as if the old man could 'see' inside his head the hidden concern burning inside of him. Allesandri hoped that little French botanist really was knowledgeable…and alive.

“Vincenzo, you and this priest will go immediately and locate the woman! Take another man and supplies with you. Describe to her the symptoms and see if she has any remedies she would recommend. Off now!” Captain Belzoni ordered.