Powerful waves crashed against the rocks in a relentless roar of foam, wind and spray. The Horns of Lucifer – small, craggy, uninhabited islands a short distance off the coast of Cornwall – were a graveyard for ships and mariners. More than thirty vessels had come to grief over the centuries, smashed against the razor-like rocks that lurked just below the surface, their crews lost forever to the deep.
It was now the turn of a little launch to struggle perilously against these treacherous waters. In the wheelhouse its pilot was fighting desperately to avoid wrecking the vessel on the jagged talons that ringed the base of the huge bulk of rock known as the Claw.
Spray whipped against the boat, covering the windscreen for a few seconds until the wipers managed to clear it again. With a powerful pull on the wheel, he cranked the throttle wide open and gritted his teeth. Swerving violently, its engine roaring, the craft lurched towards the rocks. It seemed impossible to avoid smashing the small wooden vessel to smithereens but somehow he managed to ride the tow and steer the boat through a narrow cleft between the giant talons. The inexorable pull of the tide sucked the boat through into a tiny sheltered bay.
Now the sudden calm of the water was startling and the pilot had to throttle back hard as the boat leapt forward. He slowed and brought the boat alongside a low rocky shelf. Flipping a couple of fenders over the side to protect the craft from damage, he looped a rope around a rock and tied her up, before slipping ashore.
The man seemed to know exactly where he was going. He clambered up the rocks and into the opening of a cave into the cliff. He reached inside his coat and pulled out a long flashlight. The powerful beam lit the way into a deep cavern, casting mysterious, dancing shadows on the walls.
A while later, the man re-emerged, a rope now tied around his waist and all his effort and strength directed to dragging a battered-looking casket. Its weight caused him to pause at the opening of the cave to wipe sweat from his face before sinking to the floor to catch his breath. He looked up at the now darkening sky and checked his watch.
With a short sigh and puff of his cheeks he was on his feet again and gripping on the rope. Now he had to guide its movement from above, using all his strength to pay out the rope slowly enough so that the heavy chest did not slide out of control into the water.
It was slow, painful progress but eventually he succeeded in manoeuvring the chest over the side and into the stern of the boat.
He jumped in after it and began to examine it closely. It was sealed and airtight. He was unable to open it, due to a padlock which held firm against his efforts to wrench it open.
He muttered, shaking his head. ‘I’ll have to take a look on dry land.’
Moments later, he was guiding the small boat back through the narrow gap between the Claw’s talons and throttled hard to take her clear of the surging waves and back into the calmer water. He paused and leaned back to wipe his brow again, closing his eyes.
Gathering himself once more, he steered the boat a short distance from the rocks, using an instrument to take up position very carefully before he threw his anchor over the side.
He was shocked to his senses by the sudden crack of a rifle shot and turned sharply around to see another boat only a few yards away.
On its deck stood the man who had fired the shot, rifle still raised to his shoulder and pointing directly at him. He was clad in a monk’s brown cassock.
‘That was a warning,’ shouted the monk in a cold, clipped voice. ‘The next one will not miss. Hands up.’
‘You!’ hissed the first man, clenching and unclenching his fists, scowling. He slowly raised his arms, narrowing his eyes at the monk who now brought his boat alongside, the rifle still trained on him. ‘Tie this on,’ said the monk, throwing him a rope.
He made the rope fast, stepping backwards as the monk came aboard, still aiming his rifle at him and stopping next to the chest. He glanced quickly at it before resuming an icy stare.
‘Most interesting. Open it, please.’
He bent down and gripped the edge of the casket.
Without warning, he grasped it and heaved it overboard. With a splash it disappeared. The monk’s eyes blazed with anger.
‘What are you? … That was rather foolish, mein Kapitan…’