Command a King's Ship (29 page)

He waited while they checked their weapons. His chain of command. Ship or shore, it made no difference to them.

Carwithen said, “I hope they've a drop to drink when we gets t'other side.”

Bolitho noticed that hardly anybody smiled at his remark. Carwithen was known as a hard man, given to physical violence if challenged. Good at his work, according to the master, but little beyond it. How different from Fowlar, Bolitho thought.

“Lead your party to the left, Mr. Davy, but allow the marines to set the pace.” He looked at Armitage. “You keep with me.”

He saw a marine waving from a high ledge, indicating the path up the first section of cliff.

It was strange how sailors always hated the actual moment of leaving the sea behind. Like having a line attached to your belt, dragging you back. Bolitho eased the sword further around his hip and reached out for the nearest handhold. Smoothed away by timeless weather. Stained with droppings from a million sea-birds. No wonder ships avoided the place.

As he moved carefully up the fallen boulders he felt a small pressure against his thigh, the watch she had given him in Madras. He thought suddenly of that moment when she had offered him far more. And he had taken it without even a smallest hesitation. How soft, how alive she had felt in his arms.

He grimaced as his fingers slipped in a pile of fresh drop- pings. And how quickly circumstances could change, he thought grimly.

The passage across the small islet was to prove harder and more exhausting than anyone could have expected. From the moment they topped the first cliff and the sun engulfed them in its searing glare, they realised they must climb immediately into a treacherous gully before they could begin scaling the next part. And so it went on, until they were finally tramping across an almost circular de- pression which Bolitho guessed was the central part of the islet. It held the heat and shielded them from any sea-breeze, and their progress was further delayed by the clinging carpet of filth which covered the depression from side to side.

Allday gasped, “Will we rest up once we get to the far side, Captain?” Like the others, his legs and arms were caked with muck, and his face masked in a fine film of dust. “I am as dry as a hangman's eye!”

Bolitho refrained from looking at his watch again. He could tell from the sun's angle that it was late afternoon. It was taking too long.

He peered across to the other side of the unsheltered de- pression, seeing Davy's straggling line of men, the marine sharp- shooters walking like hunters through a cloud of pale dust, their muskets over their shoulders.

He replied, “Yes. But we must go carefully with the water ration.”

It was like being on top of the world, the curving sides of the depression hiding everything but the sun and open sky. One of the long, slanting shadows behind him faltered and then sprawled in the inches-deep bird droppings, and without turning he knew it was Armitage.

He heard a seaman say hoarsely, “Give us yer 'and! Gawd, you do look a sight, beggin' yer pardon, sir!”

Poor Armitage. Bolitho kept his gaze fixed on the pale breeches of the marine directly ahead of him, his body smoking in haze and dust. There were rocks beyond the marine, probably marking the end of the depression. They could take a rest. Find brief shelter while they regained their senses.

He turned and sought out the seaman who had helped Armitage to his feet. “Can you raise the breath to carry a message to the scouts ahead, Lincoln?”

The man bobbed his head. Small and wiry, his face was disfig- ured by a terrible scar from some past battle, or in a tavern brawl. A surgeon had made a bad job of it, and his mouth was drawn up at one side in a permanent, lopsided grin.

“Aye, sir.” The man shaded his eyes.

“Tell them to halt at those rocks.”

He saw Lincoln hurry ahead of the column, his tattered trousers flapping and stirring up more choking dust.

It took another hour to reach those rocks, and Bolitho had the impression he was taking two paces backwards for every one he advanced.

Davy's party arrived amongst the tall rocks almost at the same time, and while the men threw themselves down into the small patches of shade, gasping and wheezing like sick animals, Bolitho called the lieutenant aside and said, “We will take a look.” He saw Davy nod wearily, his hair bleached so much that it was like corn in the sunlight.

They found a marine on the far side of the rocks, his eyes slitted with professional interest as he stared at the gently sloping hillside which continued without a break towards the sea. And there, cradled inside the narrowest sweep of the islet, the “whale's tail,” was the schooner.

She was so close inshore that for an instant longer Bolitho imagined she had been driven aground in the storm. Then he saw the drifting smoke from a fire on the beach, heard the muffled tap of hammers, and guessed her crew were carrying out repairs. They might even have had the schooner careened to put right some damage to her bilge or keel, but at first glance she looked well enough now.

Tiny figures moved about her deck, and there were several more on the beach and scattered amongst the rocks. The heaviest part of their work was apparently completed.

Davy said, “They're looking in rock pools, sir. After shellfish or the like.”

Bolitho asked, “How many, d'you reckon?”

Davy frowned. “Two dozen, at guess.”

Bolitho fell silent. It was a long way down the hillside, and no cover at all. His own men would be seen long before they could get to grips. He bit his lip, wondering if the schooner intended to wait another day, or longer.

Carwithen had joined them and said hoarsely, “They'm not ready to quit yet, sir.” He was whispering, as if the schooner's crew were a few feet away. “They've got their boats hauled well up the beach.”

Davy shrugged. “I expect they feel very safe.”

Bolitho took a small glass and trained it carefully between the rocks. One false move, and the sunlight would throw a reflection from the telescope which would be seen for miles.

A lookout. There must be at least one on the shore. A man so placed that he could watch over the tiny cove and see everything but the far side of the island where
Undine
now lay at anchor. He smiled grimly. It was hardly surprising they had found no sentries when they had landed when he thought of their exhausting trek from the beach.

He stiffened, seeing a small movement on a ridge, almost in line with the motionless schooner. He adjusted the glass very slowly. A white, floppy hat, the darker blob of a face underneath.

“There's a lookout on that ridge. The one with the rock pools directly below it.”

Carwithen said, “Easy. From the sea, no, but I could take him from behind with no trouble at all.” He sounded brutally eager.

The crash of a shot made them crouch lower, while from be- hind Bolitho heard the sudden clatter of weapons as his men dived for cover.

Something white and flapping fell from the sky and lay quite still on the beach. The searching sailors from the schooner paid very little attention as one of their number walked over to it and picked it up.

Carwithen, said, “One of 'em's shot a booby. They make fair eatin' if you've nothin' better.”

The marine said, “Then 'e must be a bloody good shot, sir.”

Bolitho looked at him. His own thought exactly. It would make a frontal assault virtually fatal for all of them.

He said, “I'll send a message back to the ship. We must wait until dark.” To the marine he added, “Take this glass, but keep it well shielded.” No need to add a warning or a threat. The marine had just proved he could think as well as shoot.

They found the others relaxed again amidst the rocks, and Allday said, “Take a drink, Captain.” He held out a flask. “Tastes like bilge water.”

Bolitho scribbled on his pad and handed it to one of the seamen. “Take it back to the beach and give it to the petty officer there.” He saw the despair on his face and added gently, “You need not return. You will have earned a rest by the time you reach
Undine.
”

He heard another shot, muffled this time by the rocks, but it was followed by a different sound, a soft thud.

Carwithen was on his feet in a second. “'Nother bird, sir!”

Bolitho followed him to where they had left the marine. He was staring with amazement at the big booby which had dropped almost at his feet, wings outspread, its breast clotted with bright blood.

Davy said harshly, “Now, how in the name of hell did—”

But Bolitho held up his hand, freezing them all to silence.

Faintly at first, and then more insistently, he heard the scrape and clatter of loose stones as someone hurried up the hillside to collect the dead sea-bird.

He looked round swiftly. You could not hide thirty men amongst these few rocks. He saw Allday signalling everyone to remain quite still, saw the anxiety in Armitage's eyes as he stared transfixed at the last barrier where the sea's edge shone against the sky and rocks like the top of a great dam.

The sounds were much louder, and Bolitho could hear the man's heavy gasps as he struggled up the last part of the hill.

Nobody moved, and he saw the marine staring at his musket which was two feet away from his fingers. The slightest sound and they were done for.

It was then Carwithen acted. He was closest to the rock bar- rier, and with barely a sound he reached out and gathered up the dead bird, holding it just a few inches below the top of the nearest rock. His free hand he held under his short blue coat, and Bolitho could see his fingers moving beneath the cloth, trying to free something, while all the time his eyes were fixed unblinkingly on the bird.

It seemed to take an eternity before anything else happened. When it did, it was all too fast to follow.

The man's dark face gaping down at them, his eyes flicking from the bird to Carwithen even as he groped forward to retrieve his prize. The master's mate dropped the booby, the movement so swift that the man was thrown off balance, his hand groping at his belt and the gleaming butt of a pistol.

Carwithen murmured, “Not so, my pretty one!” It was said quietly, almost gently.

Then the other hand came out of his coat, a boarding axe twisting in his fingers as he brought the rearmost end, with its short, savage barb, hard down in the man's neck. With a great heave he gaffed him bodily over the rocks, withdrawing the axe, turning it again just as swiftly before hacking him full across the throat with its blade.

Armitage fell against the marine, whimpering and retching, blood spurting over his legs as the axe jerked free, hesitated and cut down again.

Bolitho seized Carwithen's arm, seeing the axe quivering above the bulging eyes and that great gaping wound. He could feel the pent-up hatred and madness in his biceps, the effort to shake him away and drive the axe again and again into the choking, bub- bling thing at his feet.

“Easy!
Enough,
damn you!”

There was another terrible silence while they stared at each other or at the corpse which was sprawled across the dead booby.

Carwithen whispered hoarsely, “That bugger'll never raise hell again!”

Bolitho forced himself to examine the victim. Probably Javanese. Dressed in little better than rags, but the pistol was in- scribed with the crest of the East India Company.

He heard Carwithen say, “Took it off some poor sailor, the bastard!”

Nobody looked at him.

Bolitho knelt by the rocks and studied the beach with the glass. Carwithen had acted quickly and efficiently. But he had enjoyed it. Relished it.

He watched the distant lookout in his rocky ledge, the small figures still searching aimlessly amongst the pools.

He said quietly, “They saw nothing.”

Davy looked at the sobbing midshipman and asked quietly, “Will this change things for us, sir?”

Bolitho shook his head. “Only when this man is missed by his companions.” He looked at the slanting shadows from the rocks. “So we must bide our time and hope for darkness to come.”

He saw Carwithen wiping his boarding-axe on some cloth he had just cut from the dead man's smock. His face was devoid of anything but satisfaction.

Davy gestured to the others. “Take this thing away and cover it with stones.” He swallowed hard. “I'll not forget this day in a hurry.”

Bolitho gripped the midshipman's shoulder and pulled him away from the rocks. “Listen, Mr. Armitage.” He shook him roughly, seeing the youth's eyes as he stared at the red smudge left by the corpse. “Get a grip on yourself! I know it was a foul thing to witness, but you are not here today as a mere onlooker, d'you un- derstand?” He shook him again, hating to see the pain and the revulsion in his eyes. “You are one of my officers, and our people will have to look to you!”

Armitage nodded dazedly. “Y-yes, sir. I'll try to—” He retched again.

Bolitho added gently, “I'm sure you will.” He saw Allday watching him over the midshipman's quivering shoulders, the al- most imperceptible shake of his head. “Now be off with you, and check that my message has been sent.”