Deadly Shoals (36 page)

Stackpole said alertly, “
Thieves?
You think the goods were stolen, and not just carried to the schooner in spite of Adams's instructions to the contrary?”

“I'm sure they were stolen.”

Captain Coffin studied Wiki very shrewdly indeed, but instead of pursuing this, he asked, “So what happened after Adams arrived at the store to find it cleared out?”

Stackpole said at once, in ghoulish tones, “He tracked the horse train to the salt dunes—which sealed his death warrant. Adams asked what the hell he thought he was doing by taking his goods instead of waiting for the schooner to arrive at the pueblo, and they got into a fight. That's when Harden killed him.”

He turned to Wiki, and demanded, “Don't that make sense?”

“I certainly agree that Adams trailed the horse train,” Wiki allowed. “I even know he rode a horse that favored its left forefoot.”

“Well, that's it, then. Adams was angry by nature. He started up a fight, and got killed, so Harden stole the schooner, too.”

Wiki paused, and then said, “But don't you wonder why Harden—who was a confirmed revolutionary—would want a sealing schooner?”

Dead silence. Then Stackpole was struck with inspiration. “For a rebel transport!” he triumphantly exclaimed.

“Transport?” Captain Coffin echoed. “But where would he transport rebels?”

“According to the scuttlebutt I kept on hearing in El Carmen, he was arming the rebels, all set to lead them up to the Río de la Plata to do battle with de Rosas, and what easier way to get them there, than with the
Grim Reaper
?”

“I'm sure that would be a good use for the schooner—if you are right,” Wiki allowed.

His father said shrewdly, “But you have more questions?”

“I do indeed,” Wiki admitted.

“Such as?”

“If the killing was the outcome of a spontaneous fight, why was the corpse buried at a prominent landmark?” Again, remembered words rang in Wiki's mind, this time in Captain Wilkes's voice:
“That's a very strange place to bury a murdered man. It's as if the killer wanted him to be found.”

Stackpole said uncertainly, “Maybe that's where the fight happened.”

Wiki shook his head. “Bernantio could find no signs of a struggle. The body was strapped to his horse, and carried there for a reason.”

“But why was the head sticking out of the grave, if he wasn't killed in that same spot? You reckoned that the victim had jerked his head out of the salt in a last convulsion,” Stackpole pointed out.

Wiki lifted his brows and said, “That's a very good question.”

“And if he was buried after he was dead, why was there a shot in the middle of the forehead?”

“To open up the head to attract the vultures?” Wiki suggested. “They would have stripped it clean within a couple of hours.”

Stackpole grimaced, and Wiki's father visibly shuddered, muttering, “I hate to picture the thoughts that roam about in your brain when you're standing midnight watches, my son.” Wiki grinned, and his father guessed, “You're wondering if the head was left sticking out of the grave to make certain the body was found.”

“You know me well,” said Wiki. He paused, and then said, “I also wish that we'd lifted the body out of the trench and examined it properly.”

Stackpole cried, “But why?”

“So we could check to see if the dead man had been severely flogged at some time in the past.”

While the two shipmasters were staring at him with blank astonishment, a cry of
“Land ho!”
echoed down from the masthead above.

*   *   *

Wiki leaped off the sofa, and was ahead of the two captains as he sprinted up the companionway. Without stopping to ask permission of Mr. Seward, he jumped onto the bulwarks, and shinnied up the mainmast shrouds to have a look for himself.

The familiar outline of the sandhills, the headland, and the flagstaff lay ahead. Breakers driven by the onshore gale crashed high against the beach and the shoals, and the wind gusted unevenly, in the baffling way that it did in this region. There was not a sign of life on land and, to Wiki's regret, no hint of sails on the sea.

He skidded back to deck, approached his father, and said, “Once we're anchored, can I have a boat and five good men to go upriver? Well armed,” he added.

“We're using my boat and my boat's crew!” snapped Captain Stackpole, arriving beside him. “And I'm damn well coming, too!”

Captain Coffin merely nodded, being preoccupied in bringing the
Osprey
to a mooring. With the onshore gale filling her sails, she was scudding toward her old anchorage at rather too smart a pace, considering that they were on a lee shore where there was a danger of being blown into the shoals by a sudden gust. The
Osprey
luffed, coming up into the wind, and he said to the mate, “Strip her down to fores'l, fore-topmast stays'l, and mains'l, mister, and don't lose any time about it.”

Mr. Seward nodded, and hurried forward to supervise, shouting orders as he went. Apprentices tailed onto lines and seamen clambered aloft. Within minutes, with the energetic help of the six whaleboat crew, the royal, topgallant, and topsail were tied up to their yards. Then it was time to furl the jib, which meant that two hands had to crawl out onto the bowsprit. Wiki supposed that he shouldn't be surprised when Mr. Seward went out himself, followed by one of the cadets, and after that everything happened too fast for anyone to think.

Just as the mate arrived at the outer jibstay, an unexpected gust veered sharply from the north, heeling the brigantine over at the same time that a billow rose as high as her bow. Captain Coffin shouted, the apprentice at the wheel lost his head, and the
Osprey
flew up into the wind. The end of the bowsprit dug into the wave, and when it came up again Mr. Seward was gone.

Sprinting forward, Wiki saw the mate's head bob up and hit against the jibstay. Then Mr. Seward went straight down, trailed by a thin stream of blood. Because he was barefooted, and didn't have to pause to kick off his boots, Wiki was the first to dive over the rail.

Icy cold water closed about his head and gurgled in his ears. Then he was back on the surface, blinking salt out of his eyes. Dimly, he heard concerted screaming, and glimpsed fingers pointing forward to where Mr. Seward had sunk. Wiki kicked hard, struck out for the bow, and arrowed down.

Locating the senseless form by a stream of bubbles, he reached out and grabbed a leg. At the touch, the mate regained consciousness, and instantly panicked. Twisting up and around, he snatched at Wiki's hair. If it had been its original length, he would have drowned them both, but the sodden ringlets slipped out of his grip with an excruciating tug. Then Mr. Seward had him in a stranglehold around the neck. Without compunction, Wiki hit him so hard that he would have done some damage if the blow hadn't been cushioned by the water. The mate flopped again. As Wiki disentangled himself, he realized that the two Tahitians had joined him in the water. Between the three of them, they got the unconscious form back to the ship.

Captain Coffin, along with just about all the crew, was leaning anxiously over the rail. Wiki clambered up the side, slithered over the gangway, and then reached down to take Mr. Seward from the two Polynesians. Once he had him on deck, he stood, heaved Mr. Seward's senseless form over one shoulder, and set off for the mate's stateroom.

His father pursued him to the companionway door, his expression panic-stricken. He exclaimed, “What are you doing?”

“He's alive—don't fret,” Wiki grunted, without looking back. “I'll get him to his berth and into dry clothes. The steward can dress his head.”

Numbly, Captain Coffin opened the door. Then they were both on the companionway. Wiki crouched as he stepped down, to avoid knocking Mr. Seward's head on the beams. The mate's stateroom was sternward of the two rooms that had been allotted to him and Captain Stackpole. Wiki headed in that direction, saying over his free shoulder, “I'd be obliged if you'd open his door for me, before you go back to the deck.”

“
I'll
attend to Mr. Seward,” his father said very firmly.

Wiki let out a grunt of derision. “And leave Captain Stackpole in charge of your ship?” He could hear the foresail flogging against the braces.

His father looked around rather wildly. “But—”

“It's all
right,
” Wiki snapped, and then said more gently, “I know.”

“I haven't a notion what—”

“I know that Mr. Seward is a woman.”

Dead silence. Then his father numbly opened the door of the stateroom, and Wiki tipped Mr. Seward, still unconscious, onto the neatly made berth.

“I knew that
you
would guess it,” Captain Coffin growled.

Wiki smiled, because he had already worked out why his father had been so flustered and angry about receiving his son on board his ship. As Captain Coffin was acutely aware, in the Pacific it was natural to distinguish sex by mannerisms, stance, and movement, and not by what a person wore. The two Tahitians had realized that Alf Seward was a woman the instant they'd clapped eyes on him; because Wiki was becoming more American with every month of the discovery voyage, he had taken a little longer.

He repeated, “Go up to deck.”

“But it isn't proper for you—”

“Oh, for God's sake,” said Wiki. It was hard not to laugh. “Your secret is safe with me,” he promised, forbearing to mention the Tahitians. “Go and look after your ship.”

Still muttering to himself, his father headed back up the companionway. Just as he disappeared, the steward arrived at the stateroom door, looking anxious. Wiki sent him off for towels, and then threw blankets over the slack form, having no desire whatsoever to see Mr. Seward in the flesh. Reaching under the blankets, he yanked off the seaboots that had almost drowned them both, and then sodden trousers and drawers. A similar foray at the head of the bed got rid of the equally saturated shirt, which joined the pile of wet discarded clothing on the floor.

The towels arrived, and Wiki sent the steward off again for hot tea and brandy. By the time Mr. Seward was dried off, still under the blankets, he was blinking awake. They looked at each other, but not a word was said.

Then, as Wiki produced a clean frock shirt, there was a shout from above to hail a sail in sight. Mr. Seward straightened up, huddling the blankets around his chilled body as he pulled the shirt on, looking a great deal more alert. Then his top half was decent. Abandoning him to the steward's medicating, Wiki ran pell-mell up to deck, and sprang up the mainmast.

He had been so confident that the expedition fleet had been raised that it was a shock to see that the ocean to the east, south, and north was still empty. It took a confused moment for him to turn and scan the landward side—and there he saw the two masts of a schooner coming out of the river estuary.

The
Grim Reaper,
making for the open sea.

Seventeen

In a flash, Wiki realized what had happened—that the Río Negro pilot and the seven sealers must have escaped upriver during the fog. They had spent the interval re-rigging the schooner, and now, under the impression that the expedition fleet had left the Río Negro for good, were escaping out to sea.

With amazing speed and agility, Captain Stackpole had joined him in the hamper. “My God, my God,” he cried. “'Tis my schooner—and she's bloody well getting away!”

Wiki had already seen sails sprout, and realized that there was no chance for the
Osprey
to get under way fast enough to intercept. Then Captain Stackpole hollered out again, in utter stupefaction. Instead of heading for the horizon, the
Grim Reaper
came around, and tacked directly for them.

“What the hell are they doing?” the whaleman cried.

The two Tahitians, in the foremast rigging, understood at once, and hollered out a warning that was so urgent they forgot to use English. The
Osprey,
her sails dowsed, was on the verge of dropping anchor. She had no way on, but was wallowing up and down instead, leaning over with the force of the wind and tide on her hull. If the sturdy little schooner rammed her, she was done. With a great hole in her lee side, she would fill at once, and sink like a stone.

Closer the schooner beat toward them, all her canvas spread, while shouts of horrified realization burst out on the decks below, accompanied by Captain Coffin's roared orders to make sail. Then the
Grim Reaper
was less than two hundred yards away. Within cannon shot, Wiki bemusedly thought—and as if in response he saw a puff of smoke, and heard the flat distinctive thud of a gun being fired directly at them.
My God! Not only have they rerigged the schooner, but they have armed her, as well!

A ragged splash of water spurted up twenty yards from their lee bow. Captain Coffin was yelling like a maniac, issuing a stream of orders—not only for the topsail to be loosed, but for the
Osprey
's own armament to be hoisted up from the hold. The equally frantic boatswain whistled and roared as he sorted excited men into parties.

Wiki scrambled down to deck, ran forward, and clambered up the foremast so fast he was the first to join the Tahitians on the yard. Frantically, gaskets were cast away, and the topsail unfolded in a series of rattles, while the schooner beat closer, closer. The canvas billowed and flogged, and then was sheeted home by hands on deck. Wiki, with the other topmen, clambered upward to attend to the topgallant.

Again the
Grim Reaper
fired, a shot that was rapidly followed by another. Two puffs of smoke, and two echoless thuds. The hail of shot was briefly visible against the sky, but again it fell short. Then at last the topgallant sail was set and drawing. Wiki skidded down a backstay, running headlong for the helm.