The Blighted Cliffs (3 page)

He
dropped the paper to the table and stared hard at me.

'Lieutenant
Jerrold.' There was a contempt in the way he said my name that made
me even less comfortable.

'I
have my commission at the inn, with my belongings.'

'Hah,'
he grunted. 'You certainly make a memorable arrival, Lieutenant. I
take it you knew nothing of the corpse until we found ' him?'

I
nodded my assent. 'I was taking a stroll to clear my head, sir, and …
had not even noticed the body when you found me.' I thought of
mentioning my encounter with the smugglers as possibly relevant, but
feeling no need to colour his perceptions of me yet further with
tales of my cowardice, I kept quiet.

'I
have left the body with the coroner,' Crawley told me. 'He may wish
to question you, I suppose, though I did tell him that you would be
thoroughly useless. In that regard.' He seemed bored by the whole
business, but there was definitely an edge to his voice. 'I suppose
you know why you are here in Dover?'

Only
too well, but I refrained from an honest answer in the hope
that my uncle might have exercised discretion in his orders to
Crawley. Instead, I tried a tentative nod.

'Good,'
barked Crawley. 'Because I have to tell you, Mr Jerrold, that it
rather eludes me. Do you know how many officers one of his Majesty's
cutters requires?'

Sensing
that I could provide no satisfactory answer, I attempted a shrug of
the shoulders.

'One,
Mr Jerrold.' Crawley almost spat out the words. 'One. Her commanding
officer. And tell me, Mr Jerrold, who might that be aboard
Orestes
?'

'You,
sir?' I had meant it to be a firm reply, but it came out more like a
question.

Crawley
visibly flinched. 'Am I, Mr Jerrold? Do you question my authority, or
are you possessed of some happy intelligence that I am not?' His face
was flushed, and he was staring at me with a furious intensity.

My
mind churned under his onslaught, and I struggled to grasp why I was
being subjected to it. Had my uncle apprenticed me to a sadist? A
dementate? But as I looked at his angry face I saw that there was a
real puzzlement behind the glaring eyes, and suddenly the thought
occurred to me: did he really not know why I was here? Could he
believe that I might have been sent to relieve him of his command? It
seemed laughable under the circumstances, but I could see no other
reason for it, unless out of some unknown malice he was determined to
drive me away.

'I
was not even aware that there was the vaguest doubt as to your
commanding
Orestes
,'
I tried, as stiffly nonsensical as I could manage. I realized from
his face that my words were still ambivalent, and dredged my brain
for the wording of my commission. 'I am sent here, sir, to observe
and execute what orders and, er, directions I shall receive from you.
Sir.' I found myself nodding like a clown, willing him to accept my
words.

His
narrow face still burned with suspicion, but he relaxed an inch in
his chair and rapped his fingers on the desk. 'Very well,' he
allowed. 'But be mindful, Mr Jerrold: "The wise in heart will
receive commandments, but a prating fool shall fall, and he that
perverted his ways shall be known." I shall not suffer you to be
a prating fool.'

I
think my mouth must have dropped a little at the sudden prospect of a
sermon from this bizarre officer, but I managed to get out a few
words about how much I looked forward to being under his command. He
sniffed dismissively.

'Though
for the moment,' he added, 'you shall stay ashore and carry out my
orders here. I cannot have you confusing the men aboard my vessel,
though it may be useful to have an extra sword in a fight.' He
glanced at his paper again. 'I see you were at Trafalgar?'

'Yes,
sir,' I said, keen to change the conversation, though I hardly wished
to reminisce the occasion with him.

'You
were a lucky man, Lieutenant, to have been present at our most
glorious naval action since the Armada. Many officers would have
given the use of a limb to be there. I do not know that you made the
best of your luck, though I suppose you acquitted yourself
honourably.' He looked at me shrewdly, and I tried to set a manly
face. 'Certainly a hero of Trafalgar might expect better than a
posting to this forsaken corner of the kingdom.'

I
tried to protest my enthusiasm for the hunting down of villains who
cheated the King's taxes, but he waved my words away.

'No-one
comes to Dover, Lieutenant, unless his career is in the very greatest
need of redemption. My predecessor on this station was relieved only
because he enjoyed a great, indeed a unique, success against the
smugglers. In the six months I have been here all … I have
endured is the enmity of the townspeople and the obstruction of the
merchants, the sniping of the smugglers and the dangers of wind and
tide. And the knowledge that every week hundreds of gallons of
liquor, to say nothing of cloths and tobaccos and teas and the
hundred other currencies of the smuggler, arc being spirited past nay
petty blockade.' The vigour had left his voice, and his words were
bitterly flat 'If we pursue them, they throw their cargo overboard
and become legitimate, or sail into one of the harbours the Corsican
tyrant has kindly provided for them. Only last month we lost the
Ariadne
off Boulogne when she struck a reef chasing a lugger. And if we do
ever enjoy a small success it is almost certain to be undone when we
bring the culprits ashore. Men disappear from prisons, magistrates
let them off with risible sentences, and impounded goods make their
way into the shops. Dover is a festering wound on the face of
England, Lieutenant,' he concluded grandiloquently, 'and we are but a
tiny maggot trying to eat away at the rot.'

'And
all to prevent people enjoying a few harmless pleasures,' I
reflected, succumbing to the pessimism that had infused the room.

He
stiffened. 'Even if you view tea and alcohol and tobacco as harmless
pleasures, Mr Jerrold - and certainly I do not - you miss the point.
It is the King's desire that all merchants should pay tax on their
cargoes. Now you may believe that the King is the Lord's ordained
instrument for the good governance of our sceptred isle, or you may
believe that he is simply a feeble German well endowed by his
parents, but if you wish to leave Dover for anywhere other than the
churchyard or a life beyond the navy, you will dedicate yourself most
sedulously to enforcing his wishes. That' - he jabbed a finger at me
- 'is why we are here.'

I
was so taken aback, by his bleak cynicism as much as his near
treasonous talk, that I could think of nothing to say in reply, but
simply stood dumbly before him while he glared up at me. The silence
was broken by a rap on the door.

'Yes?'

I
turned and saw the quartermaster standing squarely in the doorway.

'With
your pardon, sir,' he began, talking straight through me.

'There's
a gentleman 'ere to see the new lieutenant.'

I
could not believe that this would be good news, and felt my heart
begin to beat faster.

'From
the Paving Commission.'

I
tottered to the door, and saw Mr Stubb.

Mr
Stubb was a great slab of a man, with a thick chin protruding from
his shoulders, and a curiously compressed, anvil-like head. He did
not carry much height, but his breadth was unshakeable and the girth
of his limbs immense. He wore a look of unblinking purpose, and his
voice grated with casual menace.

'Mr
Jerrold.' It sounded as though he had perhaps swallowed some of the
commission's paving stones. 'You'll come along with me.

I
could hardly think to disagree with this walking boulder, but
suddenly Crawley's voice broke in. 'And where do you plan on taking
my lieutenant, Mr Stubb?'

Stubb's
narrow eyes swung slowly on to the captain. 'To the court'ouse, your
'onour. The magistrate wants a word with 'im.

Re
gardin'
'is dead body.'

'What?'
Crawley sounded irritable. 'I have already informed the coroner that
Lieutenant Jerrold has no light to shed on that matter.'

'I
couldn't say, your 'onour. But 'e does take against strange men
found with strange bodies, does the magistrate.' Stubb's shoulders
swelled slightly, stretching the seams of his tight coat to breaking.

'Lieutenant
Jerrold may be
a
stranger to Sir Lawrence,' said Crawley icily, 'but I can certainly
vouch for him as an officer of his Majesty.'

Stubb
gave a toothless grin. 'Well, sir, then that's ali's well that ends
so. Sir Lawrence was wantin' you to come along too, so you can
explain it to 'im yourself.'

Before
Crawlcy could harangue him further, I felt a fat fist squeezing
around my upper arm and was dragged into the street. The captain
called that he would be along directly. It was scant comfort.

Stubb
never relaxed his grip for a second, and I had to trot briskly after
him to keep my arm from tearing off its shoulder. He said nothing,
but led me quickly back along the harbour edge into the centre of the
town. The tide was out now, and between the buildings I could see an
oozy slope running down to the low water where dozens of small craft
lay cock-eyed. From the stench, I guessed that not all the slime was
mud: the harbour must double as the town's sewer.

We
turned up yet another narrow street, though this was lined with shops
of some refinement: ribbons and silks and fine waistcoats were their
stock in trade, and the patrons correspondingly genteel.

They
had no shortage of curiosity, though, and turned from the well
stocked windows to stare at us, Stubb and his catch. It occurred to
me, as I endured the hundredth prying little glance, that I was well
on my way to becoming the most notorious stranger in Dover.

The
road opened on to a small square, mostly covered by a large,
colonnaded hall at its centre. I assumed this building was our
destination, but Stubb pulled me behind it, past a pair of timbered
inns, and across the face of a thin alley. I had barely time to see a
pair of rusting manacles hanging down a thick stone wall before Stubb
jerked on my shoulder again, and I stumbled after him through a
looming gateway.

'Gibble!'
Stubb bellowed. The word echoed around the dark room, though to
little obvious effect.

I
was thoroughly dizzied by my new surroundings, for in the gloom I
could make out hardly anything. The floor was coarse under my feet,
as if caked with sand or dried mud, and there was a mouldering
flavour to the air. There were no lanterns or torches, and only after
a few moments could I discern the vertical lines of some sort of gate
ahead of us.

'Gibble!'

This
time, after a pause, there did come a response: a slow, shuffling
sound, as if an animal was limping out of its cave. A dim light
appeared from my right, outlining a narrow passage and casting
grotesque shadows across the wall behind. As the light came nearer
the shadows rose, bending up the barrelled ceiling; now I could hear
the huff of laboured breathing, the hollow slap of slow footsteps,
and the cold clink of metal. I was gripped with a pounding fear. What
horrors would Stubb and this Gibble inflict upon me in this forgotten
dungeon? What could I have done to merit this fate? Where the devil
was Crawley?