Free The Dead Men Stood Together by Chris Priestley Page A

his head and crashed it against the mast with such force that the whole crew flinched. The crossbow shattered into several pieces that scattered across the deck.
    The captain stared at the pieces for a moment, took a deep breath and sighed.
    ‘Fetch that barrel,’ he said.
    A barrel was grabbed and turned and rolled over towards my uncle and the group who held him. It was righted and set down beneath the noose.
    ‘Get him up,’ said the captain.
    ‘No!’ shouted my uncle. ‘You have no right!’
    ‘When the noose is round your neck,’ said the captain wearily, ignoring him, ‘I will kick the barrel away and I’ll do my best to kick it hard and quick so you might break your neck, but I can’t promise anything. Do you have any last words?’
    My uncle stared at the captain, his eyes twitching back and forth.
    ‘May you all rot in hell!’ he hissed.
    ‘I think we already are,’ said the captain. ‘Put a hood over his head. I don’t want to see his face when he chokes.’
    A bag was fetched and roughly hauled over my uncle’s face and muffled curses rang out from under it. The group holding him lifted up his legs and tried to get his feet on to the barrel, but he kicked the barrel over.
    ‘Tie his legs,’ said the captain. ‘If he kicks after that, then break them.’
    More rope was fetched and two men went about tying his ankles together. When they were finished, they tried again to get my uncle up on top of the righted barrel.
    But just as they were doing this, I noticed something incredible. It was so incredible that I did not even grasp at first the full meaning of what I was seeing. And I was not the only one.
    ‘Wait!’ shouted the captain, as the carpenter was about to kick the barrel away. ‘Look!’
    Many of us were already looking at the shadow of the noose swaying on the deck, and the shadow of my uncle beneath it. Every face was a portrait of amazement. The mist had gone!
    The sailors dropped my uncle to the deck and he scurried backwards on his backside until he reached the side of the ship.
    But we ignored him now entirely. We were all gazing at the wonderful view of open ocean and wide horizon, the cloud-flecked blue sky and bright sun.
    Every heart lifted at the sight. We forgot all about the albatross and all thoughts of executing its killer. We were too happy to let such terrible thoughts into our heads. We were free. Truly free. We had escaped the curse at last.
    It was like being blind for years and then having your sight given back in a second. It was some time before I remembered my uncle, who had shuffled away from his would-be killers and was huddled at the far end of the ship, the hood now only partially covering his face.
    The captain started to rally the crew to get to work and, taking a knife from a sheath on his waist, he walked over to my uncle and cut the ropes that bound his wrists and ankles.
    My uncle snatched the hood from his face and looked up at the captain and the other members of the crew who, like me, had started to wander across to where he lay.
    ‘Get up,’ said the captain. ‘No man shall harm you. If they do, they shall answer to me.’
    ‘Why?’ asked my uncle, looking suspiciously from face to face.
    ‘We are free of the mist,’ said the captain.
    My uncle peered up at the sky, blinking, clearly not having noticed until the captain pointed it out.
    ‘It is a day for celebration not killing. Be thankful.’
    ‘Be thankful?’ said my uncle. ‘You would have hanged me without a care. And now you –’
    ‘I’m sure I can find some men to toss you overboard if you want,’ said the captain. ‘Thank your lucky stars that we are in better spirits and keep your peace.’
    The captain turned away and started giving orders. The crew jumped to their tasks with an enthusiasm that spoke of their days of boredom and belied the weakness that they all felt through lack of food and discomfort.
    Eventually it was just me and my uncle. When his eyes met mine, I