Command a King's Ship (31 page)

He dragged open a cupboard and gaped as the little man screamed wildly, “Don't touch! 'E'll flay you alive if you dare lay yer 'ooks on it!”

Bolitho asked, “Who will?”

Then he seemed to realise what was happening. That it was not part of another in a whole procession of living nightmares. He stared at Bolitho's grave features, tears running unheeded down his sunken cheeks.

“Muljadi!”

Carwithen muttered, “What, here?”

The creature peered around Bolitho, his terrified eyes search- ing the crowded passageway, the dead seaman below the hatch.

“There! 'Is
son!
”

Bolitho turned swiftly and stooped above the man brought down by Lincoln's knife. Of course, he should have seen it. Instead of congratulating himself on being spared a horrible death.

The man was still alive, although the seaman's blade had laid open his neck and shoulder in a great, gaping wound. Must have missed the artery by a whisker and no more.

He was naked to the waist, but his loose trousers, now blotchy with his own and the seaman's blood, were of the finest silk. His eyes were tightly shut, his chest moving in quick, uneven thrusts.

Carwithen said, “Let me finish the bastard, sir!” He was almost pleading.

Bolitho ignored him. The man was not aged much more than twenty, and around his throat he wore a gold pendant in the form of a prancing beast. Like the one on Muljadi's flag. It was just possible.

He snapped, “Bind his wound. I want him to live.”

He turned to the ragged figure in the cabin. “My men will take care of you, but first I want—”

The figure edged nearer the door. “Is it really over, sir?” He was shaking violently and close to collapse. “It's not a cruel trick?”

Allday said quietly, “This is Captain Bolitho, matey. Of His Majesty's Ship
Undine.”

“Now tell us who
you
are?”

The little man sank down to the deck again. Like a cowed dog.

“I was sailmaker, sir. In the Portuguese barque
Alvares
. Took on in Lisbon when I lost me own ship. We was carryin' a mixed cargo from Java when we was attacked by pirates.”

“When was this?” Bolitho spoke carefully, very aware of the other man's confusion.

“A year back, sir. I think.” He closed his eyes with the effort. “We was taken to Muljadi's anchorage, wot there was left of us. Muljadi's men killed most of 'em. Only kept me 'cause I was a sailmaker.

“I tried to escape once. Didn't know I was bein' 'eld on an is- land, y'see. They caught me before I'd been free an hour. Put me to torture.” He was shaking more violently now. “All of 'em sat there watchin'. Enjoyin' it. Laughin'.” He lurched to his feet and threw himself towards the door, snatching up a cutlass as he screamed, “Pulled out all my nails with pincers, an' worse, the
bloody bastards!
”

Lincoln caught his wrist and turned the cutlass away from the unconscious figure in the passageway.

“Easy, mate! You could cause a mischief with that, eh?”

The man's cheerful voice seemed to steady him in some way.

He turned and looked at Bolitho very steadily. “Me name's Jonathan Potter once of Bristol.”

Bolitho nodded gravely. “Well, Jonathan Potter, you can be of great service to me. It will not bring back your friends, but it may prevent others suffering in the same manner.” He glanced at Allday. “Look after him.”

He walked from the cabin, grateful for the clean air which greeted him on deck, the sense of purpose as Davy's men prepared to get under way. Potter had probably been the only Englishman aboard the Portuguese barque. For that, and no other reason, had his life been spared. Kept like a slave, a downtrodden creature less than a man. From what he had heard of Muljadi, it seemed a far more truthful reason.

Davy crossed to his side. “I am about ready to weigh, sir.” He paused, sensing Bolitho's mood. “That poor devil must have suf- fered terribly, sir. He is scars and scabs from head to toe. Little more than bones.”

Bolitho studied his pale outline thoughtfully. “Something kept him alive, Mr. Davy. Fear of death, a need for revenge, I know not which.” He grasped a stay as the deck swayed restlessly in the swell. “But whatever it was, I intend to use it to good purpose.”

“And the schooner's master, sir?”

“If he is really Muljadi's son we have a catch indeed. But either way I want him kept alive, so pass the word to that effect.” He thought of Carwithen's eyes. “To
all
hands.”

He peered abeam at the small islet where so much had hap- pened. The craggy distortions were lost in deep shadow. It was a whale once again.

“We will run to the sou'-east directly and gain sea-room. I am not yet acquainted with these waters. By dawn we should be able to come about and make contact with
Undine
.” He looked at the men hurrying about the schooner's deck. “She's a fine little prize.”

Davy stared at him and then at the vessel, the realisation com- ing to him apparently for the first time.

“I see, sir. A
prize.
” He nodded happily. “Worth a good price, I'll be bound.”

Bolitho walked to the opposite side. “I thought that might interest you, Mr. Davy.” He added, “Now, have the capstan manned and break out the anchor while the wind holds.” He thought of Herrick. “We are no longer beggars.”

Davy shook his head, not understanding. Then he looked at the helmsman and at the others gathering at the capstan bars and grinned broadly.

A prize at last. Perhaps the first of many.

Noddall hovered by the cabin table and bobbed his head with sat- isfaction as Bolitho pushed his empty plate aside.

“More like it, sir! A man works the fairer on a full belly!”

Bolitho leaned back in his chair and let his eyes move slowly around the cabin. It felt good to be back aboard
Undine,
and with something to show for their efforts.

The lantern above the table seemed much dimmer, and when he glanced through the stern windows he saw that dawn had al- ready given way to an empty sky, the horizon slanting across the thick, salt-stained glass like a thread of gold.

In the captured schooner he had rejoined
Undine
at almost the same hour as this, the previous day, the strain and tension of their short, bitter fight lost momentarily in the cheers from the watch- ing seamen and marines.

Herrick had been almost beside himself with pleasure, and had insisted that Bolitho should go to his cabin without delay and rest.

The schooner had once been under the flag of the Dutch East India Company, although it was impossible to tell how long she had been in the pirates' hands. But from her filthy condition and disorder between decks it seemed likely it had been a considerable while since Dutch sailors had manned her.

He let his mind drift as he listened to bare feet padding over- head, the sluice of water and the clank of a pump as the decks were washed down for another day.

Noddall was right, he had eaten a good breakfast. Thinly sliced fat pork, fried pale brown with biscuit crumbs. Always his favourite. Helped down with strong coffee and some treacle.

Herrick tapped on the door and entered the cabin.

“Wind's holding steady from the sou'-west, sir.” He looked alert and clear-eyed.

Bolitho smiled. “Good, Thomas. Have some coffee.”

It was always strange how Herrick relaxed once there was a set plan to perform. If he really guessed how hazy it was in his captain's mind he gave no sign.

“Mr. Mudge informs me that we are logging some ten knots, sir.” Herrick took a mug from the servant and grinned. “He's up there beaming away as if he's just won a fortune at the tables.”

Bolitho frowned. “That means we should make a landfall at any time now. If yesterday's wind had been more than a snail's pace we could have been there now.” He spread his arms, feeling the touch of a clean shirt against his chest and back. “But there was plenty to do.”

Herrick smiled. “Mr. Davy's well on his way to Pendang Bay by now.”

Bolitho replied, “Aye. He'll be feeling like a post-captain, if I'm not mistaken.”

When he had put Davy in charge of the schooner, and had sent him back to Conway, he had seen his face come alight, as if from within. He must have looked like that himself once, he thought. He had been put in charge of a prize when he had been a lieutenant, far younger than Davy. The first step to real command was said to be the greatest, so perhaps it would work for Davy, too.

He looked up at the open skylight as a voice pealed, “Deck there! Land on the lee bow!”

Bolitho smiled, feeling the chill on his spine. “If the
Argus
is elsewhere, I will have to think again.”

The door opened slightly and Midshipman Armitage re- ported, “Mr. Soames's respects, sir. Masthead has sighted land on the lee bow.”

Bolitho said, “Thank you, Mr. Armitage.”

He saw the deep hollows around his eyes, the nervous way his fingers twitched against his patched breeches. Unlike any of the others who had returned, he was unable to hide his real feelings. His fear. His knowledge that he could no longer contain it.

“My compliments to Mr. Soames. Tell him we will exercise both watches at gun drill in half an hour.” He hesitated and added, “If there is anything troubling you, it would be as well to confide in the first lieutenant here, or myself, if you feel it might help.”

Armitage shook his head. “N-no, sir. I am better now.” He hurried away.

Bolitho looked at his friend and asked quietly, “What are we to do about that one?”

Herrick shrugged. “You cannot carry them all, sir. He may get over it. We've all had to go through it at one time or another.”

“Now then, Thomas, that does not sound like you at all!” He smiled broadly. “Admit you are concerned for the lad!”

Herrick looked embarrassed. “Well, I was thinking of having a word with him.”

“I thought as much, Thomas. You haven't the right face for deceit!”

Another knock at the door announced the surgeon had arrived.

“Well, Mr. Whitmarsh?” Bolitho watched him framed in the doorway, the early sunlight from the cabin hatch making a halo around his huge head. “Is our prisoner worse?”

Whitmarsh moved through the cabin like a man in a prison, ducking under each beam as if seeking a way of escape.

“He is well enough, sir. But I still believe, as I told you when you returned to the ship, that he should have been sent back to the settlement in the schooner.”

Bolitho saw Herrick's jaw tighten and knew he was about to silence the surgeon's aggressive outburst. Like the other officers, Herrick found it hard to cover his dislike for him. Whitmarsh was little help in the matter either.

Bolitho said calmly, “I cannot answer for a prisoner if he is there and we are here, surely?”

He watched the beads of sweat trickling down the man's fore- head and wondered if he had taken a drink this early. It was a wonder it had not killed him already.

Above his head he heard the regular stamp of boots, the click of metal, as the marines mustered for morning inspection.

He made himself say, “You must trust my judgement, Mr. Whitmarsh, as I do yours in your own profession.”

The surgeon turned and glared at him. “You are admitting that if you'd sent him back to Pendang Bay he would have been seized and hanged!”

Herrick retorted angrily, “Damn, your eyes, man, the fellow is a bloody pirate!”

Whitmarsh eyed him fiercely. “In
your
opinion, no doubt!”

Bolitho stood up sharply and walked to the windows.

“You must live in reality, Mr. Whitmarsh. As a common pirate he would be tried and hanged, as well you know. But if he is the son of Muljadi he is something more than a cat's-paw, he could be used to bargain. There is more at stake here, more lives in peril than I feared. I'll not falter because of your personal feelings.”

Whitmarsh siezed the edge of the table, his body hanging over it like a figurehead.

“If you'd suffered as I have—”

Bolitho turned on him, his voice harsh. “I know about your brother, and I am deeply sorry for him! But how many felons and murderers have you seen hanging, rotting in chains, without even a thought?” He heard someone pause beside the open skylight and lowered his voice. “Humanity, I admire. Hypocrisy, I totally reject!” He saw the fury giving way to pain on the surgeon's flushed fea- tures. “So take care of the prisoner. If he is to be hanged, then so be it. But if I can use his life to advantage, and in doing so save it, then amen to
that!
”