Command a King's Ship (10 page)

She watched him thoughtfully. “I can believe it. I should have realised earlier.” She gave a slow smile, her lashes hiding her eyes. “Then maybe I would not have offended you.”

Bolitho shook his head. “Much of it was my fault. I have been so long in ships of war that I have become used to expecting others to share my dedication. If there is a fire I expect all close by to quench it. If a man tries to overrun authority by mutiny or in an enemy's name I would call for others to strike him down, or do so myself.” He faced her gravely. “That is why I expected you to aid the men injured in the wreck.” He shrugged. “Again, I
expected
it. I did not ask.”

She nodded. “That admission must have surprised you, as much as it did me, Captain.” She showed her teeth. “It has cleared the air a little?”

“Yes.”

He touched his forehead unconsciously, plucking at the rebel- lious lock of black hair which clung to the skin with sweat.

He saw her eyes widen as she caught sight of the livid scar beneath and said quickly, “Forgive me, ma'am. I must go and ex- amine my charts before we dine.”

She watched him as he stood up and said, “You wear your authority well, Captain.” She glanced at her sleeping husband. “Unlike some.”

Bolitho did not know how to reply. “I am afraid that is hardly for me to discuss, ma'am.”

He looked up as feet thudded across the deck and shadows flitted above the open skylight.

She asked, “What is it?”

He did not see the annoyance in her eyes.

“I am not sure. A ship perhaps. I gave orders I was to be in- formed so that I can take avoiding action.”

Noddall paused, two forks in his hand. “I 'eard no 'ail from th' mast'ead, sir.”

There was a rap at the door and Herrick stood in the entrance, his chest heaving from exertion.

“I am sorry to burst in.” He looked past Bolitho towards the woman. “It would be better if you came with me, sir.”

Bolitho stepped from the cabin and pulled the door behind him. In the doorway which opened on to the ship's wardroom he saw a small group waiting for him. They looked confused. Stricken. Like strangers. There was Bellairs, accompanied by his towering sergeant. Triphook, his horse teeth bared as if to snap at an unseen attacker, and cowering just behind him was the ship's cooper, a small hunched petty officer named Joseph Duff. He was the second oldest man aboard, and wore steel-rimmed spectacles at his work, although he usually managed to hide them from his messmates for much of the time.

Herrick said quietly, “Duff has reported that most of the fresh water is undrinkable, sir.” He swallowed under Bolitho's stare. “He was doing his usual inspection and has just reported to the ship's corporal.”

Triphook was murmuring fervently, “In all my days. Never,
never
have I seen the like!”

Bolitho beckoned to the cooper. “Well, Duff, I am waiting. What is this find which you have discovered?”

Duff blinked at him through the oval glasses. He looked like a grey-haired mole.

“Me usual inspection, sir.”

He grew smaller as they crowded round him. Soames had come from his own cabin, and loomed over Bellairs's shoulder like a cliff.

Duff continued shakily, “The casks was all good 'uns, I saw to that, sir. First thing I always looks for. I learned me work under a fine old cooper in the
Gladiator
when I first took on, sir, an'—”

“For God's sake, Duff!” Herrick sounded desperate.
“Tell the captain!”

Duff lowered his head. “Most of the casks is foul, sir. They
'as
to be.”

Sergeant Coaker stepped forward, his boots creaking as the ship tilted in a sudden trough. He was holding a small bundle, but keeping it away from his tunic as if it were alive.

“Open it.”

The sergeant unfolded the parcel very carefully, his face set like stone.

Bolitho felt the deck soaring violently, tasted the vomit clawing at his throat. Screwed up, as if at the instant shock of imputation, it was a human hand.

Soames choked, “In the name of Christ!”

Duff said in a small voice, “In all of 'em, sir. 'Cept the last two casks by the bulk'ead.”

Triphook said heavily, “He's right, sir. Bits of flesh.” He trembled violently, his face breaking out in sweat. “The work of a demon!”

There was a sharp cry of horror, and Bolitho stepped in front of the cooper as Mrs. Raymond gasped, “I'm going to be sick.” He saw her leaning against the marine sentry, her face like chalk as she stared fixedly at the group by the wardroom.

Bolitho snapped, “Get rid of that object!” To Noddall's hover- ing shadow he added, “Call that damned maid and attend to the lady!” His mind was reeling from Duff 's gruesome discovery. What it meant, and what he now had to do. “Fetch the surgeon.”

Bellairs dabbed his lips with a handkerchief. “Carry on Sar'nt Coaker. Pass the word for Mr. Whitmarsh.” He glanced at the others. “Though I doubt he will be able to assist, what?”

Herrick asked, “Would you care to come in here, sir?” He stood aside to allow Bolitho to enter the wardroom.

It was small and compact, the table laid for a meal, and at odds with the twelve-pounders which were lashed at each open port. Bolitho sat down heavily on a sea chest and stared through the nearest gun port. The fair wind and dancing water held no more attraction. Danger was within the ship. His ship.

Herrick prompted, “Some wine, sir.”

When he turned Bolitho saw the others watching him. Soames at the top of the table. Bellairs and Triphook seated on the opposite side. In those fleeting seconds he recalled his own life as a junior lieutenant in a frigate. The wardroom was the place you shared not merely your food and your life, you shared your doubts, and drew on your companions for help whenever it was needed. Aft, behind his bulkhead, the captain had been a remote, godly character beyond reach. At no time that he could recall had he imagined a captain required anything but obedience.

It even
felt
different here. Pistols in a rack. Some shirts hang- ing to air which the wardroom servant had just washed. The smell of something simmering in a pot.

He replied, “Thank you. I would relish a glass just now.”

They relaxed slightly and Soames said, “It will mean turning back, sir.” He thought about it. “Or making for the African coast mebbee.”

Feet creaked outside the door and then Mudge pushed his way into the wardroom, his grey hair sprouting as he threw his hat into a corner.

“God blast me eyes, but what's this bloody deed I've bin told?” He saw Bolitho and muttered, “Beggin' yer pardon, sir. I was not expectin' to discover you in 'ere.”

Herrick held out a glass. “Some Rhenish, sir.” He did not smile, but his eyes were calm. Almost pleading. “Still fairly fresh, I think.”

Bolitho sipped it gratefully. “Thank you.” He tasted the sour- ness in his throat. “After what I have just witnessed . . .” He swung round as the surgeon lurched through the door, his shirt unbut- toned, his gaze bleary.

“You have been told the news, Mr. Whitmarsh?”

He watched the effort he was making to focus his eyes, the growth of stubble on his chin. Whitmarsh had been quietly mak- ing up for all the time he had stayed with his patients.

“Well?”

Whitmarsh groped his way to a gun and leaned on it with both hands, sucking air through the open port like a drowning man.

“I heard, sir.” He retched. “I heard.”

Bolitho watched him impassively. “As the water casks were fresh when stowed aboard at Spithead, it would seem likely that these human fragments came from your surgery.” He waited, feeling pity for the man, but knowing the need for haste. “Would you agree?”

“I expect so.”

Whitmarsh lurched to the table and poured a large measure of wine.

Bolitho said sharply, “If you drink that, Mr. Whitmarsh, I will see to it that you do not get another drop while you are under my command.” He stood up. “Now, think, man! Who could have done this?”

Whitmarsh stared at the glass in his hand, his body swaying badly, despite the easy motion.

“I was kept busy. They were in a poor way, sir. I had my loblolly boys and my mate to assist me.” He screwed up his red face in an effort to remember, the sweat dripping off his chin like rain. “It was Sullivan. I gave him the job of clearing amputated limbs and the like from my sickbay. He was very helpful.” He nodded vaguely. “It's all coming to me now. Sullivan.” He turned and stared fixedly at Bolitho. “The man
you
had flogged, sir.”

Herrick said harshly, “Don't be so bloody impertinent to the captain!”

Bolitho found he was suddenly very calm. “In your opinion, Mr. Whitmarsh, will the casks be any further use after this?”

“None.” The surgeon was still glaring at him. “They must be scoured at once. The contents thrown overboard. A mouthful of that water, after gangrenous flesh has been in it, and you'll have a raging fever aboard! I've known it happen. There's no cure.”

Bolitho placed his glass on the table very slowly. Giving his mind time to steady.

“It seems that you are not the only one who wishes to turn back, Mr. Herrick. Now take hold of Sullivan and guard him be- fore he does some other mischief.” He turned to Whitmarsh. “I have not finished with you yet!”

Feet clattered on the quarterdeck ladder and Herrick reap- peared in the doorway.

“Sir! That fool Sullivan is aloft on the cro'jack yard! He's raving mad! Nobody can get near him!”

Bolitho heard men shouting, more feet pounding overhead.

He said, “I will go up.”

He found the gangways crowded with seamen and marines, while Don Puigserver and his Spanish lieutenant had joined Davy by the quarterdeck rail to watch a bosun's clinging to the mizzen shrouds and trying to reach Sullivan.

The seaman was perched on the yard, totally indifferent to the great billowing sail at his back and the hard sunlight which lanced across his body. He was completely naked, but for his belt, where he carried the broad-bladed dirk which had brought about his flogging in the first place.

Davy said anxiously, “I did not know what to do, sir. The man is obviously moonstruck or worse.”

The bosun's mate bellowed, “Now yew get down on deck, or by the livin' Jesus I'll pitch you there meself!”

Sullivan threw back his head and laughed. It was a shrill, un- nerving sound.

“Now, now, Mr. Roskilly! What would you do then? Lay your little rope's end on me?” He laughed again and then pulled out the knife. “Come along then, matey! I'm awaitin' you, you goddamned lickspittle!”

Bolitho called, “Come down, Roskilly! You'll do no good by getting killed!”

Sullivan craned under the vibrating yard. “Well, blow me down, mates, an' who 'ave we 'ere? Our gallant captain, no less!” He rocked with laughter. “An' 'e's all aback 'cause poor old Tom Sullivan's spoiled the water for him!”

Some of the watching seamen had been grinning at the spec- tacle on the quarterdeck. The mention of water soon altered that.

Bolitho looked at the upturned faces, feeling the spreading alarm like the edge of a fire.

He walked aft, his shoes loud in the sudden hush around him. Below the yard he stopped and looked up.

“Come along, Sullivan.” He was in the sunlight and with no shade from the bellying sail above. He felt the sweat pouring down his chest and thighs, just as he could sense the other man's hatred. “You have done enough today!”

Sullivan cackled. “Did you hear that, lads? Done enough!”

He twisted on the yard, the glare playing across the scars on his back, pale against the tanned skin. “You've done enough to me, Cap'n bloody Bolitho!”

Herrick snapped, “Sergeant Coaker! Have one of your marks- men brought aft! That man is a damned danger up there!”

“Belay that!” Bolitho kept his eyes on the crossjack yard. “He is past reason. I'll not have him shot down like some mad dog.”

He sensed Puigserver was watching him and not the man on the yard, and that Allday was close by, a cutlass in his hand. But they were all excluded. It was between him and Sullivan.

He called, “I am
asking
you, Sullivan!” He recalled the woman's face in the cabin.
I did not ask.

“You go to hell, Captain!” Sullivan was screaming now, his naked body twisting on the yard as if in torment. “An' I'll take you there now!”

Bolitho hardly saw his hand move, just the brief flash of sun- light on the blade, and then gasped as the knife cut through his sleeve before embedding itself in the deck by his right shoe. So great was the force that nearly an inch of blade was driven into the planking.