Forgotten Fragrance (8 page)

‘No one's changing cabins. The berths will stay the way they are.'

‘Then Capt'n, you've made your choice. You're goin' down below in the hold. Keep you out of harm's way.'

Christian eyed the crew knowing he'd be foolish to make a move; one against this crew wouldn't cut it. The hold was his best option. It would give him time to plan his next move.

Henk flicked his pistol at Christian. ‘Take yourself down there. Catz, Bristol. Go with him. Throw him in the forehold and make sure it's fastened tight.'

Stepping up to the wheel Henk elbowed him aside. Bristol's hands clamped down on Christian's arms and dragged him along the deck to the hatchway. With Bristol's pistol digging in his ribs Christian slipped down the ladder and into the claustrophobic confines of the small hold below the galley.

‘Bristol.'

‘Capt'n.'

‘There's no need to tie me up. There's nowhere I can go.'

‘Goin' to tie you up. It's what Henk said. Give us your wrists.'

For a moment Christian debated the idea of resisting, taking Bristol out and returning to the deck to challenge the crew. The wily sailor was onto him in a moment. Pain shot through him as Bristol wrenched his arm up his back and pulled him close. ‘Don't even think about it otherwise I'm going to have to knock you out,' he hissed into his ear.

The butt of the pistol grazed his head.

‘Come on man, think about it. If I'm knocked senseless how's it going to look when the port authorities demand to see me. Do you want to go down for mutiny? It's a hanging offence.'

‘You get down there and keep quiet. I'm tying you up to make sure. I'll leave you the lamp.'

Christian flexed his muscles as the rope tightened around his wrists, hoping to allow for some slack, enough to give him something to work with. Then he'd attract the attention of one of the blackbirds on the other side of the bulkhead. If he could get Henk up on deck one-on-one he'd have a better chance of bringing the rest of the crew around.

Crouching inside the hatch Charlotte's eyes acclimatised to the darkness. The sleeping bodies of the girls, curled together two to a hammock, were swaying with the motion of the ship. When she'd squatted down underneath the stepladder she'd thought the crew would spot her, maybe even cry out, but they'd all been focussed on Henk and his bid for control. Each of Henk's foul threats and the crew's belligerence terrified her. Once Christian was dragged away it had gone quiet.

The stinking pirate, Henk, bullied every member of the crew; they all suffered from his harsh tongue and flying backhanders yet he wielded considerable power amongst them. Why, she couldn't fathom. Forced to choose between their captain and Henk they followed more from fear or the desire for money than any sense of commitment.

Straining her ears to pick up any sounds to indicate Christian's fate absorbed her, and when cool thin fingers covered her mouth she lurched away and slammed her head against the bulkhead.

‘Sssh! Be calm.'

Sick and dizzy from the stabbing pain in her skull, Charlotte turned and gazed into Mina's bright eyes. She lifted Mina's hand from her mouth.

‘Mina!' she whispered, relief coursing through her.

Clasping her hand Mina tugged her down the ladder. She followed, crouching low, taking care not to crash her head again. Mina led her into the centre of the hold. The hammocks swung empty and an array of dark faces peered at her in the gloom.

‘This way.' Mina crooked her finger.

Charlotte followed her past the hammocks and the rusty cage that so recently had been the girls' prison, into the deep recesses of the hold. Rows of barrels lay roped together, creating a barrier around the hull. She ran her fingers along them until Mina grabbed her hand once more and led her into a narrow walkway. Turning to one side she squeezed after Mina into the tapered space and edged her way to the hull. Rancid oil and damp seawater coated her tongue and tendrils of fear clutched at her stomach. They were below the waterline.

For an eternity she followed Mina, edging around the curved timbers in the all-enveloping darkness until Mina stopped and reached for her hand once more. Raising it she ran it against the bulkhead until Charlotte's fingers recognised the cold metal of a latch.

‘He's there,' Mina hissed, knocking lightly against the wall. ‘We heard them. Throw him in. Tie him up.'

‘How could you tell?'

‘We hear shouting.'

‘Knock.'

In unison Mina and Charlotte rapped on the damp timbers then pressed their ears close.

‘He's not there.' A wave of crushing disappointment swamped Charlotte.

‘He is. We hear them.'

Frustrated beyond measure Charlotte threw caution aside, cupped her hands and pressed her mouth to the greasy timber. ‘Christian! Are you there?'

No answer.

With her knuckles clenched she rapped out a long-forgotten pattern from her childhood.
Ratta tat tat ratta
.

After an agonising pause the reply came:
Ratta tat tat ratta tat tat tat
.

Charlotte's heart leapt. ‘Christian?' The splintered timber grazed the skin of her cheek as she pressed closer.

‘Who is it?' His voice sounded strong and deep, unharmed. Her blood soared.

‘Charlotte.'

‘Are you in the hold with the blackbirds?'

‘Yes.' She cupped her hands against the groaning timbers.

‘There's a latch — see if you can open it.'

Together Charlotte and Mina ran their hands over the boards until they located the latch again. Straining against the swollen timber they pulled until it swung up and slipped forwards. Christian appeared in a pool of light and stepped through into the hold with a grin on his face and his hands outstretched.

‘Now untie me.'

‘What are you going to do?'

‘Untie me while we have some light.'

Charlotte's shaking fingers fumbled with the heavy ropes until Mina pushed her aside and, with a flash of her agile fingers, untied the knots and loosened his bonds.

‘Thank you. I need to get back on deck. Henk should be at the wheel by himself. It is my chance to get the ship back. Have you a knife or a pistol?'

‘A knife, a pistol? No, of course not.'

Christian lifted the hatch and replaced it, then turned into the darkness. ‘I have to get to the deck and get a weapon. Henk is armed. Surprise won't be enough.'

The cold touch of metal crossed Charlotte's palm and her fingers closed over a small curved blade. ‘Mina?'

‘Give it to him. He is the captain. He must take his boat from the Dutch pig.'

Charlotte held the knife out to Christian. His smile of gratitude twisted her belly. ‘Your concern for others is paying off.'

‘Christian, is this the best plan? Wouldn't it be better if I roused Marcus and together you could approach the crew, talk to them, reason with them?'

‘No. This is something I must do alone. Marcus is not the man for a fight.'

‘Does it have to be a fight? You may get hurt.' The hairs on the back of her neck stood up. Standing so close to him, sensing the rise and fall of his chest and almost hearing his heart beat sent a surge of familiarity sweeping through her. She'd been here before, felt these emotions before. The thought of him throwing himself in the face of such danger was more than she ever wanted to remember.

‘I must do this alone. It is my ship and my command. I must reclaim the
Zephyrus
or lose the crew. Henk is the ringleader. I can sail the ship without him but not without my crew.'

Stretching up onto her tiptoes she ran the palm of her hand down his cheek. What had possessed her? She pulled back, ashamed by the boldness of her touch.

‘I will take care, angel. Trust me.' He slipped into the shadows and made his way through the swaying hammocks to the hatch.

Christian's words hammered in Charlotte's head.

I will take care, angel. Trust me.

Only one person had ever called her angel — and he was long gone.

Moving stealthily to the ladder at the bottom of the hatch again she stood shoulder to shoulder with Mina, straining for any sound above deck. Her fingers rested on the third rung, drumming the long-forgotten pattern until her heart stuttered and a tiny cry escaped her parched lips.

Mina's hand reached for hers. ‘Be patient and wait. He is a strong man, that man of yours. He will be safe.'

‘He is not my man. He's…' Oh, good heavens…how she wished he were.

A gut-wrenching curse pierced the silence. Charlotte gathered her skirts and scuttled up the ladder.

Christian clamped his arm around Henk's thick neck and reefed his head back, cutting off his curse. ‘Don't even try to move,' he spat, ‘this knife's sharp enough to cut your balls off in one swipe.' He rammed his knee below Henk's flabby buttocks, as a terse reminder he knew where to look. Henk's body sagged. Hiking his knee higher into Henk's back, Christian pinned him against the wheel and leant over his shoulder. With exaggerated precision he ran the razor-sharp tip of the curved blade down Henk's cheek. Blood blossomed forming a long, thin trail down his face.

‘Turn around slowly and show me your lying eyes.' Christian loosened his grip to allow Henk to move then forced him back against the wheel. ‘Call the rest of the crew up here. Tell them you made a mistake.'

Pale eyes flashed and a gust of putrid breath fanned Christian's face before he realised his mistake.

Thick fingers clutched his throat and wrenched him off Henk. Mina's knife clattered to the deck. The grip on his neck tightened. Henk planted his hand flat against his chest and pushed, sending him lurching back into Bristol's fleshy embrace.

‘Rule number one, boy. Always cover your back.' Henk gave a final shove and Bristol released him, sending him spinning across the deck.

His head connected with the bulwark with an almighty thud. Pinpricks of light danced across his vision as he fought the enveloping darkness. Forcing the stars from his eyes Christian staggered to his feet only to be pushed face first back onto the deck by Bristol's heavy-booted foot.

‘Don't you know when to give up? Looks like we might have to teach the boy a lesson.' Henk's throaty chuckle pierced the fug in his brain. A row of mismatched boots and bare feet filled his vision. He craned upwards. The entire crew stood ranked behind Henk, even Cookie. Their crow of agreement chilled him to the bone.

Christian struggled against the weight of the boot pressing his back to the deck. It lifted. He heaved himself onto all fours and thence to his feet. The depth of his foolishness hit him. He'd presumed Henk would be alone. The wily old fool had more sense.

‘So we're goin' to teach him a lesson?' Henk queried.

The ominous jeer of approval speared Christian's guts.

‘And what are we goin' to do?'

With those words Henk made clear the elaborate game he played. His fate had been decreed.

‘Treat him like a Dutchie, hey!' The expression of loathing in Henk's yellow-green eyes belied his jovial tone.

‘Yeah!' The chorus resounded in Christian's ears, accompanied by the reek of rum and vengeance. Had Jonas known of Henk's illegal trading? The picture of the old man as he had first seen him flashed in front of his eyes, leaning over him, his white beard tickling his face as he breathed life into his sodden lungs. He owed Jonas not only his life but also his dream. Jonas' dream, the
Zephyrus
, the ship he had built with his own hands would once again fly with the wind across the oceans, free of the stench of whale oil, smoke and the taint of corruption. He'd made Jonas a promise. The old man delivered his end of the bargain. Would he be able to do the same?

‘
Kielhalen! Kielhalen! Kielhalen
!' The crew's feet beat the words, a tattoo sending a lightning bolt of dread through Christian's guts.

‘String him up!'

In unison the crew's gaze lifted to the lines stretched from the yardarms. Keelhauling. He'd played directly into their hands, into Henk's hands.

‘
Kielhalen
,
kielhalen,
' they bayed.

Christian closed his eyes, weighing up his chances of survival. The atrocious Dutch tradition had long been banned. He'd been fortunate never to witness it, now his time had come. He suppressed a wry laugh. He had one small advantage. They'd careened the ship, cleaned the growth of barnacles from the hull. As they dragged him port to starboard below the ship he might not be cut to ribbons. Not that it would matter much once his lungs filled with seawater. He snapped his eyes open and studied Henk, searching for an explanation. The man's face, devoid of all expression, gave nothing away.

‘Settle down, lads. We'll wait for the sunrise.' Henk glared and reasserted control over the pack of seamen howling for blood. ‘Bristol. Tie him to the yardarm and make sure you do a better job than last time.' He cocked his pistol. ‘Jinks. Give ‘im a hand.'

‘Marcus! Marcus!' Not caring what his reaction would be and ignoring the fact he hated to be touched Charlotte shook the man's bony shoulders. ‘Wake up! You have to do something. Now!'

Marcus opened one eye and peered at her.

His cold, pale face reminded her of a corpse. She shuddered. ‘Marcus. Wake up! They're going to keelhaul Christian.'

‘Christian,' he mumbled, his voice full of sleep and ale. Both of his eyes took an eternity to flicker open then he glared at her long and hard. ‘Christian? Would you be referring to our good captain?'

‘Yes! Christian. The Captain. They're going to keelhaul him. They have him tied to the yardarm. The crew have mutinied.' Had the man lost all sense? She shook him again.

Marcus swatted her hands away and pushed up onto his elbow, running a hand through the thin grey hair plastered around his sleep-sodden face. ‘Mutinied? Who is in charge?'