"Kydd" - читать интересную книгу автора (Stockwin Julian)

CHAPTER 6

The raft was complete: two spare stuns’l booms connected a pair of main hatch gratings, supported by an empty cask at each end. Each man lashed himself on twice, once under the arms and again around the waist. Bowyer himself checked Kydd’s lashings, with Doud and Wong attending to themselves.

The boatswain looked dubious as he personally secured the streaming line and attended to the hoisting out of raft and men. It was a vertiginous experience, buffeted by the wind blast while suspended from the main yard tackle, then swaying perilously above the violent seas before dropping toward the maelstrom. Kydd wondered wildly why he had volunteered, but he knew that he would always stand by Bowyer.

They neared the hissing seas and suddenly a large wave shot upward toward them and they were sent spluttering and choking into the sea. Bowyer threw the hooked block clear and they spun crazily until the line paid out by the team on the fo’c’sle took up.

There was little difference at the sea surface between solid water and flying spume, and Kydd choked and swallowed seawater helplessly until he thought to hold his head downwind. The sea felt almost warm in contrast to the wind-chilled air, but it was impossible to see anything of the larger picture. Spreadeagled on the grating, he felt the raft following the shape of the waves exactly; angling steeply up the fore side of the wave coming from behind, becoming briefly buried in its foaming crest before sliding at less of an angle down the other side. It went on insanely, riding the seas like a piece of debris, hurtling up and down on the waves but always on top like a cork and never overcome.

With a jerk the line tautened and Kydd rubbed his eyes to see the bulking mass of the merchant vessel very close. A rope slapped across his back. He grabbed it and found a bowline-on-a-bight already formed at the end, through which he put his head and arms before fumbling at his lashings.

He was pulled up, bumping on the weatherworn old sides as he reached the top, before being hauled in bodily, falling on Doud, who was crawling out of the way.

There were only two men on deck, both in old oilskins. They had gray, exhausted faces and moved slowly. “Lieutenant James Warren, His Majesty’s Ship Duke William.” Warren’s words were carried away by the wind.

One of the men gestured to the single companionway in the center of the flush deck, and they descended to a tiny cabin flat. “In here,” he said, in a hoarse croak.

They entered the small stern cabin, which was in disorder. “Lost our foremast a day ago, takin’ in water fast, and -”

“Yes. Then you are?” Warren broke in.

“Charles Kelsey, master o’ the Lady of Penarth, five days out o’ Barry bound for Lisbon with jute,” he said.

“What can we do for you, Captain?” Warren asked.

Exhausted, Kelsey gestured to the other man to speak. “Took your damn time coming, didn’t you?” the man said bitterly.

“Sir?” Warren’s jaw took a hard line.

“All the same, you King’s men, always -”

“That’s enough, Mr. Scully!” the older man said sharply. He turned to Warren. “We’ve had a hard time of it since we lost the foremast. Please forgive the mate his manners.” He glared at Scully and resumed, his voice strengthening. “We’re shorthanded, you understand. Main need right now is help at the pumps.”

Warren nodded at Bowyer, who touched his forehead. Scully grudgingly led the way. The pump was abaft the main hatch on the upper deck, slightly protected from the storm blast by a weather cloth spread in the shrouds, but open to the green seas, which regularly poured over the bow. Scully stumped off.

A single seaman was at the pump, which was much like a village pump with a handle to work up and down. The man swung listlessly at his task. No water emerged from the standpipe.

Bowyer took it in with a glance. “Rose box in the bilges is choked,” he said. “Show me, would you, mate?” he said to the man.

There was no answer. The man went on pumping mechanically, up and down.

“Chum, we need to find the pump well,” Bowyer said more loudly. He pulled the man clear, but the sailor stared about him in bewilderment. His hands remained extended, claw-like.

“The pump box, mate!”

They reeled off forward into the sleeting spray and down a companionway.

When Bowyer returned his face was grim. “Cleared it usin’ the limber chain, so you can get started. Tom goes first, Ned spells ’im in an hour.”

He glanced aft. “No use expectin’ help – they’re all below, betwaddled to the gills an’ right out’ve it. They left their mate to do all the pumpin’.”

Doud shrugged. “If you have ter go, not a bad way, is it? Yer wouldn’t know anythin’ about it.”

Bowyer’s look was scathing. “That’s as may be. Better ter go down fightin’ is my way.” He looked at the tangle of splintered wreckage forward and flexed his arms. “Let’s be started – we gotta get sail on ’er afore dark.”

Kydd saw Duke William sail off into the smoking seas, disappearing into the white murk and leaving them on their own.

It was not until after night had closed in on the struggling vessel that the fore topsail yard had been seized upright to the stump of the foremast, and stayed to the empty fore-chains. By the wildly jerking light of three lanthorns the storm jib was hoisted as a trysail. It held, and with the mainsail a goosewing there was balance at last. Not only that, but a semblance of control was possible, for with the course braced up sharp and the jury trysail taut and drawing, it was possible for the ship to lie to, taking the seas regularly on the shoulder of her bow. The waves ceased to flood the decks and there was a noticeable increase of liveliness in response, helped by the steady pumping that was clearing the deadweight of water from within her.

In a huddle under the bulwarks, Warren gave his orders. They would be divided into larboard and starboard deck watches in the usual way, Bowyer and Kydd in the larbowlines and on for the first watch. Warren himself would stand both watches while the master and mate recovered from their exhaustion. “And listen to what I say now,” Warren said, looking at them grimly. “The hold is not to be entered. I will take it as a serious breach of discipline if it is.” They stared at him. “I have given my word to the master that this will be so, and any man that makes me break my word will rue it. No doubt you’ll discover in any event, this vessel carries a cargo of bonded whisky under the jute.”

Doud caught Kydd’s eye. Warren noticed and continued, “Therefore any man who is found in the hold will instantly earn himself at the least a striped back. Do I make myself clear?”

Bowyer nodded, and the others conformed.

He broke into a smile. “Well done, men, I’ll see that your efforts are properly brought to attention when we rejoin Duke William. Larb’d watch, turn to, the rest, try to get your head down in the forrard cuddy.”

“Aye, sir. Any chance of some clacker?” Bowyer asked.

During the night the gale was fading and the Lady of Penarth was swooping energetically, glad to be spared. Even before the weak sun tentatively appeared above the horizon the master emerged from the companionway. He shuffled forward to check the jury rig, then went below without a word.

“Haven’t seen Hellfire Jack on deck this morning a-tall,” Doud said.

“As long as he sends up breakfast I’m sharp set!” said Kydd, patting his stomach. He was sitting on deck next to Bowyer.

Wong didn’t say anything, but continued to whittle at a piece of white bone with a small but sharp blade.

“Often wonder what goes through that heathen’s headpiece a-times, I really do,” Doud said. “Never a sound – you’d think ’e pays for talkin’ by the word! That right, Wong?”

The dark eyes lifted; the careful knifework suspended momentarily. “What to say?” Wong said, in his curious voice, then resumed carving.

“Where do yer come from?” Doud asked.

Wong laid down his work with a sigh. “China, Kwangchow south part,” he said.

“What’s yer dad do?”

“Dead.”

“Sorry to hear that, Wongy, didn’t know.”

“Not sorry – he no good.” He picked up his scrimshaw and carried on with it.

The freshness of the dawn seemed unwelcome to the men below, who stumbled bleary-eyed on deck, scruffy and seedy. The Navy men stared. They were a sorry-looking crew – dirty, scrofulous and scrawny. They resembled wharf rats more than sailors.

“If they’re seamen then I’m a Dutchman,” said Doud.

“’Oo in ’ell are you?” one said, looking a-squint at Doud.

“They got strange rats aboard this hooker,” said Doud to Kydd. “They’re speakin’.”

“Yes – t’ look at ’em they must’ve just come topsides for a breather straight fr’m the bilges,” Kydd replied.

Doud regarded them dispassionately. “Strange, that. Always thought rats left a sinkin’ ship. This lot seems to have left it a bit late fer that.”

The first man advanced, ingratiating, shifting his battered tricorne hat from hand to hand. “Now look’ee here, me name’s Yates – deck ’ands, we is. Where d’ye come from, I asks yer?”

Kydd replied, “We’re from Duke William – King’s ship. Saw y’ distress guns and -”

“And we saved yer skins, is what ’e’s a-sayin’ of,” Doud continued, his contempt plain.

The contrast could hardly be more obvious: Doud, a prime man-o’-war’s man, strong and confident in his blue shirt and white trousers, and these three, in ragged shore clothes and repulsively unclean.

“We’re thankful, t’be sure,” Yates said, wheedling, looking from one to the other and furtively licking his lips.

“No bloody wonder the barky clewed up in trouble if they only ’ad these fer crew,” Doud said contemptuously. He remembered Warren’s threat. “Hey, you, what’s this that yer carries a fat cargo o’ whisky?” he said.

There was a defensive hesitation. “Ah – that’s right, we ’as a load.”

Doud winked at Kydd. “That’s all I want ter know,” he said.

The deckhands were as useless in practice as their appearance suggested when a yard was crossed on the jury mast.

“Prime!” said Bowyer, easing his back gratefully. “Now we’ll stretch a bit o’ square canvas an’ we’ll be able to set a course.” It was a great satisfaction to ease carefully around and start riding the rollers eastward, heading for the noon rendezvous position that Duke William’s master had written out for Warren.

A change was evident also in Kelsey, who now paced the deck with a confidence that put a spring in his step. He stopped at where the Navy men were working at the foremast. “You men, I have to thank you for your work,” he told them. “But for that we surely would not have survived.” Nothing was said, but each found some task needing extra concentration. “I’d just have to say…” he went on, but hesitated. “God bless you.”

“Well, Ned mate, should be back aboard soon,” Kydd said to Doud that afternoon.

Doud was trying to put a whipping on a ragged brace end. “An’ none too soon, mate. Never seen such a rat’s nest – all twice-laid stuff, canvas yer can see through. This hooker’s fer the knacker’s yard it seems to me.” He pursed his lips in disgust. “Missin’ me tot, and that’s the truth. You’d think that with a clinking great cargo o’ liquor they’d could stove one in b’ accident, after what we done fer them.”

He glanced about, then leaned forward. “So, Tom, me old mate, when you has the watch tonight, you may see a little rabbit pop down the fore hatch, which in course yer won’t notice.” He allowed Kydd to glimpse a sizable gimlet in his pocket.

“I got a thirst on’ll stun an ox – but I’ll not ferget me friends.” He grinned and continued at his work.

At dusk, Bowyer was at the wheel and Kydd on deck with him. Warren had gone below for supper with Kelsey, those off watch were in the cuddy for their supper and all was peaceful.

A figure appeared at the break of the fo’c’sle. Bowyer grunted, but Kydd smiled and whispered, “Ned going after a wet.”

“Yer mean -”

“He’s goin’ to tap off some whisky,” Kydd said.

“That’s broachin’ cargo – a hangin’ matter,” Bowyer growled.

Kydd’s smile faded. “Says they’re an ungrateful crew, not seein’ us right after riskin’ our lives, and so he’s goin’ t’ even things up!”

“Still no reason ter break into cargo – Warren finds out, ’e’s a gone goose. An’ we’re ’avin’ no part of it – are we?” He looked straight at Kydd.

“You’re in the right of it, Joe,” Kydd admitted. “Ned’s a bit too forward for his own good a-times.”

Doud silently dropped out of sight down the hooded companionway to the hold.

Darkness clamped in, but an unexpected moon broke through the scurrying clouds for the first time, accentuating the whiteness of the foam crests and glittering in the inky troughs. It was strange to have the seas so close, a few feet away after Duke William’s thirty or more.

Doud cautiously emerged on deck, but instead of returning to the cuddy he hurried aft toward them.

“Ned?”

“Yes, mate.”

“Well?”

“Well, I stand well flammed. In truth, I didn’t catch so much as a whiff o’ whisky, so help me.”

Lieutenant Warren’s appearance on deck put an end to the conversation. He peered at the binnacle and up at the vigorously drawing single sail, then concluded with a cautious pace around the decks. “Quiet watch?” he asked.

“Aye, sir,” Bowyer answered stolidly.

“Should be up with Duke William at noon tomorrow,” Warren said.

“Sir.” Bowyer was not given to idle chat with officers.

“Notice anything unusual, Bowyer? Master seems uneasy about something.”

“No, sir.”

“Very well. You’ll be relieved at midnight. Any worries, I’ll be below. Goodnight.”

With a last sniff at the weather he left.

“Good hand, is he,” Doud said. “Others would have us squarin’ off all the time, ’n’ on our knees on deck and such. Hope he gets his step – deserves better’n the Royal Billy.”

“Why didn’t you get y’r taste o’ whisky?” Kydd asked.

“Well, that’s the damnedest thing. I tapped three kegs, ’n’ they were all full right enough – wi’ sand!”

“You went to the right ones?”

“O’ course! If I can’t tell a cask o’ spirits by the feel, I been wastin’ me time ashore.”

“Maybe some was carried as a ballast?”

“Nah – I was careful to choose three separate ones. The whole lot’ll have to be the same.”

They lapsed into silence. Forward the jury rig creaked constantly as it worked with the ship’s roll.

“Makes no sense. If the Cap’n wanted ter bam the merchant by landin’ the spirits fer his own ’n’ switchin’ sand in place of it, you’d think that ’e’d be smoked at t’other end.”

Bowyer frowned as he braced at the wheel. Kydd perceived his disquiet at the way things were developing.

“Whoever does get his ’ands on two ’undred barrels o’ whisky is goin’ to end up with a pile o’ guineas yer couldn’t jump over.” Doud unconsciously licked his lips.

“Doesn’t explain th’ sand,” Kydd said.

There was a murmur from Bowyer.

“What was that, Joe?”

“Well, mean ter say -”

“Come on, spit it out, mate!” Doud urged.

“Er, don’t like ter say it, but there is one reason I c’n think of.”

“Yeah?”

Bowyer looked intently at the weather leech of the mainsail. “Could be this is a coffin ship, mates.”

“It – what?” Kydd said.

“Not sayin’ as it is, but there’s them a’longshore who would send sailors to sea in a barky that ain’t meant to make port. Then they collects on the ing-surance when she don’t arrive.”

“The sand?” Doud challenged.

“Yer can’t see it? Whoever sets it up gets valuable whisky on the ship’s papers so ’e can claim fer it as well, but ’e lands it for ’imself and loads aboard -”

Doud nodded. “Yeah, got a feelin’ yer could be right. Stands ter reason.”

Kydd shivered. The moonlit sea had somehow lost its exuberance.

“Poor buggers. But fer us they’d be shakin’ hands with Davy Jones himself b’ now.”

Bowyer looked sorrowfully at Doud. “You are a simpleton, Ned, me old shipmate. Now think on this – they can’t risk the barky makin’ port, not with them kegs o’ sand, they got ter make sure.”

Nobody spoke. “They have ter be sure she goes to the bottom, ’n’ that means that the skipper must be in on it. It’s him what knows what’s in the papers, nobody else.”

Kydd couldn’t believe that the tired old man would commit such cold-blooded murder. “But he’d go down as well – you saw how rough it was!”

“No, Tom, that there blow was not in the plan, no one could get away in a boat in that. What he needs ter do later is one night stove in the bottom, or somethin’, and make off with the only boat. No witnesses, see?”

Doud whistled. “Then we need to tell Warren quick-smart – he’ll know what to do.”

“So who went down into the hold to find this sand? Agin his strict orders? You?”

The odd-looking sail forward shivered and flapped until Bowyer realized and paid off a spoke or two at the helm.

“Damn it, we have t’ do something,” Kydd shouted.

“What did ye say?” It was Scully, emerging from the after hatchway. He moved up and stood before them, legs apart and thumbs in his belt. “So all the King’s men are on deck, are they? What’s yer trouble, then – vittles not to yer liking? Or should I tickle yer with a rope’s end ter make yer feel at home?” The moonlight threw his face into strong contrast.

Doud started up, but seemed to remember something and subsided.

“Take the hellum, Ned,” Bowyer said, and handed over the wheel to a puzzled Doud before confronting Scully. “Now, Mr. Scully – sir. We found out somethin’ about yer vessel, and we’re vexed to know how ter handle it.”

Scully tensed. “Yeah?”

“Well, it’s like this. We know yer shipped a cargo o’ whisky, ’n’ – well, let me put it this a-way.” He scratched his head to find the words. “Seems it ain’t all it seems. See, we checked up on it, bored a little hole, like, ’n’ all there was was sand. No spirits, jus’ sand.”

Scully stepped back. “Yer found just sand?” he said, in a dangerous voice.

Bowyer shrugged. “So I hates to inform yer – but it seems a good chance that yer cap’n is goin’ to scuttle the barky ’n’ claim the ing-surance.”

“Who have yer told?” said Scully, after a moment’s pause.

“Well, this is our difficulty, see. Our officer told us he’d stripe our backs if we entered the hold, so yez understands, we can’t really tell him, like.”

Scully’s eyes flickered. “Yer did right to tell me, boys. Comes as a bit of a shock, our own skipper ’n’ all. Don’t you worry, cully, I’ll tell yer officer as it was me who found out.” He hesitated. “Yer did well, lads. I’ll go ’n’ tell ’im now, don’t you worry.”

They waited until Scully passed below.

“We keeps the deck, watch ’n’ watch,” Bowyer said firmly. “Ned, you go ’n’ rouse up Wong ’n’ tell him to lay aft here with us. Nobody’s goin’ to touch that boat.”

Doud added, “Fer once in me life I’m right pleased to ’ave an officer in th’ offing.”

It was Doud on the wheel when dawn broke; a clear, bracing dawn that saw the white-capped seas hurrying toward them under the strong breeze – exhilarating sailing weather.

“Well, I own I’m at a stand as to why Warren didn’t come up ter see us-not like him at all.” Doud’s frown deepened.

Bowyer opened an eye and considered. “Maybe he’s been gettin’ his swede down – he did put in double tides yesterday. I’ll go below ’n’ give him a shake, it bein’ dawn an’ all.”

Kydd stretched his aching limbs. He was not yet able to snatch sleep wherever he was like the other seamen and his muzzy mind needed prodding into life.

Bowyer returned looking grave. “He’s not in his cabin.”

Doud looked at him. “Got to be – ’ave you seen in the master’s cabin?”

“Yeah. Nobody seen ’im since last night. I’m gettin’ Mr. Scully.”

The mate came on deck promptly. “What’s the trouble?”

“Can’t seem to find Mr. Warren,” Bowyer said.

Scully frowned. “Seemed fine last night – told him o’ yer worries and he said he’d wait till first light an’ investigate. Didn’t seem fazed at all, he didn’t, just went back ter sleep.”

“Hadn’t we better go look fer him?” said Doud.

There was no very great number of places that would need searching in the small merchant ship, and it was not long before Scully came back with his men.

“Can’t find him,” he said, watching for reaction.

“Yer can’t find ’im?” Bowyer was incredulous. “A barky this big ’n’ yer can’t find ’im? ’E ’as to be somewhere!”

“No. We looked all over – ’e ain’t aboard.” He took on a set, dogged expression. The deckhands stood behind him, expressionless.

Bowyer glanced at the others. He spoke deliberately. “I think as how this c’n only be yer skipper. He knows Mr. Warren’s been tipped off and is goin’ to investigate this mornin’, ’n’ he thinks to get in first.”

“Them’s serious words,” the mate answered. “You’re saying as ’ow our cap’n is a murtherer!”

“Can’t help it,” Bowyer said gravely. “What do you think? ’E’s the only one keeps the ship’s papers, that right?”

“That’s right,” Scully said reluctantly.

“An’ ’e’s the one who sets the course ’n’ that – knows just where we’re bound.”

“Yes.”

“And last you saw of ’im last night was when he was a-restin’, not to be disturbed, I hear?”

“Well, yes.”

“We’ve been on deck all night, so it’s got ter be ’im.”

Scully considered this. “What you’re sayin’ is that I should take some sorta action.”

This time it was Bowyer who waited silently.

“Right, then – I will. There’s no sleep fer anyone until I do. I’m goin’ to take him in charge, suspicion o’ murther!”

“Don’t like this, mates!” Doud said, after Scully had left the deck. “Don’t like it a-tall. Not right, takin’ a ship from the Cap’n like that.”

“What else can he do?” Bowyer replied. “He’s right – none of us is goin’ to get much sleep until he’s in bilboes or somethin’.”

Kydd felt uneasy. “What I don’t get is how Kelsey sent Mr. Warren over th’ side without our hearin’ it.”

Doud answered in a low voice. “What I reckon, Tom, is that ’e thwacked Mr. Warren on the noggin from behind, ’n’ launched ’im out o’ the stern windows, like.”

“It’s over now, lads,” said Bowyer, “and ’ere’s Mr. Scully.”

Scully returned, with a satisfied look. “Right we are, mateys. ’E’s lashed to a chair in ’is cabin and’ll give us no more grief.” He stood astride and folded his arms. “We owes you a lot, you boys. Least we can do for yer is to stand yer watches. You get yer heads down and leave ’er to us.”

Bowyer cocked his head. “Shouldn’t we be comin’ up with Duke William soon?”

Scully seemed evasive. “Well – yeah, we’re gettin’ to the rendezvous position, but don’t forget, it’s fer noon, so we has to stand off ’n’ on until she comes up. Anyways, you’re all free o’ work – ye’re passengers.”

It seemed natural to go forward to the fo’c’sle, where they arranged themselves to avoid the occasional spray bursts over the bow and took advantage of the tentative warmth of the morning sun. The sea was sparkling now, cheerful and exuberant, a royal blue in place of the previous gray, and with the seas coming from astern it was a comfortable lift, a heartbeat’s pause and then a gentle curtsy down.

Wong drew out his scrimshaw and began plying the blade. It was turning out to be a lissome naked Oriental girl, lying full length and seductively propped up on her elbow. Doud lay down and closed his eyes, while Bowyer took a length of line and began to instruct Kydd on the more arcane bends and hitches.

The morning wore on. It felt odd to have no duties but, then, it seemed neither did the crew, who appeared to be taking it easy aft with Scully.

“Wonder who they think is goin’ to set this hooker to rights for ’em?” Bowyer mused. “Won’t be Duke William – we done our bit. Strange.”

Kydd finished a carrick bend with his eyes obediently closed. In the dark of night there would be no convenient lights nearby. “That right, Joe?” he asked.

“She’s right, Tom. It’ll do fer now, mate.”

Stretching, Kydd turned to Bowyer. “Joe, we’ve got the Captain under key in his cabin, but even a poxy thief gets a chance to say his piece. What say we hear him out?”

Bowyer looked down. “Yes, mate, it sits a bit awkward with me as well. Why don’t you nip below ’n’ see what the bugger ’as to say for ’imself?”

Down the single companionway Kydd turned aft to enter the stern cabin.

“Yes, mate?”

It was Yates the deckhand, getting to his feet outside the door to the cabin. It was obvious he had been placed there.

Kydd was reluctant to tell Yates his reasons. “Mr. Scully here?” he asked.

“Er, yer might say yes. ’E’s sleepin’ in ’is cabin right now.” Kydd hesitated. “But ’e won’t thank ye for interruptin’-he’s put away two bottles this forenoon.”

“Thanks, mate, it can wait.” Kydd clattered back up the ladder and hurried back to Bowyer.

“Seems to me they did the right thing to guard ’im, ’e bein’ a murderer an’ all,” Bowyer said.

Kydd stood his ground. “I want t’ hear Kelsey without there’s anyone else about,” he said.

Bowyer smiled. “An’ how are you goin’ to do that? Gettin’ past Yates, I mean.”

“You sway me down on a line over the transom an’ I get in through th’ stern windows,” Kydd said promptly.

The smile disappeared. “That’s a risky business, cuffin. Is ’e worth it?”

“Let’s go,” Kydd said impatiently. They strolled to the poop as if on a pleasant walk. Only the man at the helm was on deck and he was facing forward.

Bowyer found a topping lift fall and used the end with a bowline as a stirrup to lower Kydd over the low sternwork. It was easy. One window was already open, and as he swung over he hooked his feet inside and Bowyer lowered him in.

The master was sitting lashed in his chair, gagged and with his chin on his chest. He looked up in astonishment as Kydd approached and loosened the rag. “Rogues!” he shouted. “Damned scurvy rascals!”

Kydd clamped a hand over Kelsey’s mouth but it was too late. A rattling of keys in the lock showed Yates was investigating.

“Er – into the side locker!” Kelsey said urgently, nodding toward the long built-in seat at the side of the cabin.

Kydd opened it and tumbled in, remembering to lower the lid quietly. It was stuffy and damp in the locker, odorous with the musty stink of age-old tarpaulins.

“Yes, I’m talking about you, Yates!” Kydd could hear Kelsey plainly. “Take my ship away from me like this – I know your lay, Yates, you and Scully both.”

A meaty smack sounded. “Clap a stopper on it, old man. You don’t give no orders any more.”

“You’ll regret this!”

“Save yer breath, cully, yer’ll need it later. ’Ere, this’ll stop yer yattering!”

There was no sound for a short while and then the door slammed. Kydd waited for a little while, then climbed out. Once more he loosened the cloth gag. Bending close, he said quietly, “Is it right the ship’s goin’ to be done away with for th’ insurance?”

Kelsey started, and stared at Kydd. “Not by me!” he said bitterly. “Open that drawer – you’ll see a letter from my wife in Lisbon expecting to meet me there.”

Kydd found the letter, which confirmed Kelsey’s story. “Is it true that you’re the only one touchin’ the ship’s papers?” Kydd asked him.

“Yes, that’s right enough. But you should know that in the merchant service it’s the mate that’s responsible for stowing the hold. He can stow what he likes there and nobody would be the wiser. And about Mr. Warren – I’m sorry to hear of it, and all I can say is it wasn’t me did for him, but you’ll admit I’d be damn foolish to risk you men on my neck if I’d already made up my mind to scuttle.”

Kydd nodded. At the window he signaled to Bowyer to lower the line, and stepped in the bowline stirrup. It was only a short distance up the transom and he quickly clambered back on to the poop.

At that moment Scully emerged from the companionway. “What in hell?” he shouted. Striding over, he confronted them.

“You’ve been talkin’ with Kelsey! You’re in it with him!”

Bowyer looked at Kydd, who said, “Yes, cully, I’ve been talkin’ – and got quite a different yarn to yours.”

Bowyer stared and Doud stood up. “What do yer mean, mate?” he asked.

“I saw a letter proves he meant to make Lisbon – and it’s always the mate who stows the hold.”

Scully bit his lip. “Yates!” he bawled. “Get the others and get up here!” He pulled a small pistol from his pocket and cocked it with his left hand. “Don’t any of yer move!”

Doud edged away to the shrouds as though in fear of the pistol while Bowyer still held Kydd’s bowline and stared into Scully’s eyes.

Kydd knew what he must do. “Bilge rat!” he yelled, and launched himself at Scully. The pistol swept round but Bowyer whipped his rope back, pulling Scully into its bight and off balance. Simultaneously Wong leaped forward and head-butted Scully, who went down with a gasp, the pistol discharging harmlessly over the sea.

It was no contest. Wong quickly pinioned Scully, who flopped helpless in his grasp.

“Joe!” warned Kydd. Up the companionway had come Yates and others, who took the situation in with a glance.

Yates produced a knife – not a seaman’s blade but a short curved weapon. The other men closed about him and it was plain that no quarter would be shown or asked. Other knives appeared.

The Navy men fell back while Yates moved forward, stopping at the mainmast bitts with its maze of ropes coming down and belayed around the pins on the frame.

With their backs to the bitts, Doud and Bowyer silently reached behind and each eased up a belaying pin, then both brought them forward and smacked them suggestively across their palms.

“You comin’, then?” said Doud to Yates, who now faltered, and looked at the others for support.

It was all Doud needed. Like lightning his hand flicked up his belaying pin, which spun crisply through the air and at Yates’s head. Yates screamed and clutched at his bloody face while the others turned and fled.

The man at the wheel was terrified but took no part in the fight, keeping the ship steadily on course in the same dogged way he had faithfully pumped.

It was a matter of moments to round up the others and free the master, who hurried on deck to confront his mate.

“We’re not going to get much outa Scully,” said Doud. He looked around. “Wong, me old shipmate, I think this ’ere Yates could do with a bath, don’t you?”

Wong nodded. He dragged Yates to the ship’s side, where the sea foamed a few feet down. In one casual move he bent, and seized Yates’s ankles and hurled him over the side, then left him suspended upside down inches above the waves.

Yates struggled and shouted, but Wong effortlessly held on to his skinny frame. Then he let the man descend. Yates saw the sea come closer and wriggled frantically, but his head dipped under.

Wong waited until he saw bubbles, then hoisted him back up. Yates panted and spluttered. Again Wong slowly let him descend. The struggles became frenzied. When the bubbles came again Wong set him roughly on deck and folded his arms.

It all spilled out: Scully had made an arrangement with the owners of the vessel unknown to the master whereby he and his four accomplices would sink the ship, then take to the only boat, ensuring there would be no witnesses. It was barratry, an insurance swindle, and would have succeeded but for the storm. The men lost no time in damning Scully as the man who had killed Warren, and also revealed that he had planned to complete the deed that night by eliminating those remaining.

The master breathed in deeply and took control. “I’ll fix our position and have you aboard your ship as soon as I can.”