by Tim Chant
“I’m trusting my wife to you, Baxter,” Juneau said, appearing at his side in that way he had.
Baxter glanced at his friend, his captor. The man he had cuckolded. He wondered again how much Juneau knew. Whether he even cared. “She’ll be looking after us as much as we her.”
Juneau shook his head doubtfully. “On land, perhaps, or in political manoeuvrings. But out there, on the water, she will be in your hands…”
A number of options flashed through Baxter’s mind, all of them shades of bravado. Instead he nodded. “Well, if there’s one thing I know, Second Captain Juneau, it’s handling boats.”
If the journey thus far — those bits that had not involved storm or intrigue, at least — had been oddly peaceful, their ‘cruise’ up the coast of Cochin towards Hong Kong was idyllic. They were freed at last of the machinations on the cruiser and the pressure of being surrounded by so many men. The one thing they were not free of was coal, and they still found themselves stepping around sacks of the foul stuff, stored in every available space — even the small boiler had a voracious appetite and they were steaming much further than the little vessel was designed for. The coast, always on their port side, varied only minimally between Mangrove swamps, muddy estuaries and the rolling greenery of coastal jungle.
The pinnace was, of course, a much smaller vessel and much of her interior space was taken up with the tiny engine and boiler rooms, along with the sundry stores they required. It was still a 50-footer, though, and steamed with a small crew. Tommy, Vasily and the three other bluejackets bunked in the largest space, and after the crowded confines of the Yaroslavich’s mess decks it must have seemed blissful, particularly as they stood watches by twos, one at the wheel and the other in the engine room, tending the small furnace that drove them on at a decent clip.
The ship’s carpenter had hurriedly turned the second, slightly smaller compartment in front of the wheelhouse into two tiny cabins and an even smaller galley-like wardroom. Ekaterina, of course, enjoyed the comforts of the slightly larger space, while Baxter’s resembled a cupboard with a bunk in it. He barely fit below decks anyway, particularly given how close it was, and was content to spend most of his time at the wheel or otherwise on deck, keeping an eye out.
The coastal waters were busy with small fishing vessels, most clinging close in shore but others venturing into deeper water. There was a lively trade as well, most of it still reliant on the wind, and Ekaterina delighted in sitting with Baxter on deck as he identified the wonderful variety of local vessels on the first full day of the voyage.
“That ’un, with a lateen rig — the big triangular sail,” he told her almost absently. “She’s an Arab, and has come a bloody long way. Pardon my French.”
“That was not French, Mr Baxter, but was English of a most vulgar kind,” she said primly — the small smile playing about her lips gave the lie to any attempt at sternness, though. He could feel her gaze on him as he swept the horizon again. “Will we stay close to shore for the whole journey?”
“I’ll follow the coast of Cochin round for a while yet,” he said, commencing another sweep. Ekaterina had closely questioned the men who had made the initial report, sailors from the Yaroslavich who had thought it odd to see one of their officers going aboard, and had further refined their description of the boat. “If we don’t pick him up then, we’ll steer more or less nor-east around Hainan and on to Hong Kong.”
“And how long will this take?”
“To go all the way? It’s seven hundred-odd miles, so if we maintain this speed then five days or so. We’ve got plenty of supplies though.”
She sighed almost theatrically and sat back along the bench that ran around the forward part of the pinnace. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to cope with the tedium,” she said with a reasonable imitation of an upper class English accent and a slightly arch look in his direction.
He smiled, feeling a stir of excitement that he tamped down. The pinnace may have been large for a ship’s boat, but they were still cheek by jowl with the crew. “My dear Countess, I thought this pleasure cruise was your idea?”
“Don’t be so obtuse, Baxter,” she shot back. “Well, I imagine we will catch up with them sooner than that anyway.”
He looked up, judging the handful of clouds in the otherwise deep blue bowl of the sky. “They’ve got a favourable wind, and the fishing boats in these parts are fairly quick in the water. However, he’s not got much of a head start and the boats are not designed for long voyages. I shouldn’t wander if they put in at a harbour to resupply or indeed stay in a safe anchorage during the nights. My main worry, then, is that we will overshoot. Assuming, of course, that he doesn’t change vessels.”
“I doubt he has the funds for that,” Ekaterina said firmly. “I searched his quarters again and found a reasonable amount of currency that he’d abandoned. I think he panicked and bolted once he was ashore, rather than planning this. You think we have a chance of intercepting him?”
He thought about that for a few moments before answering. He didn’t want to say he had a feeling, that his gut said they would. He could feel it, though, in his bones. A certainty that they were reaching a conclusion with Yefimov. That his prey was close, and would be in his hands soon enough. He couldn’t explain it, so didn’t try, merely nodded. “I’d say we’ve got a good chance. Not today, though.”
She rose, ran a hand very lightly down his arm. “In that case,” she said, in a low husky voice, “leave Tommy to keep a watch and come below.”
He swallowed hard after she’d gone, then raised his voice in the direction of the crew cabin. “Master Dunbar, a job for you!”
CHAPTER 19
They sailed on in that way for what felt like a peaceful age, maintaining a steady fifteen knots during the day with the little engine chugging away and their own little cape of smoke following them. They anchored in shallow water at night — navigating busy coastal waters in the dark was never a great idea, and their quarry was unlikely to push on through the dark.
Baxter and Ekaterina always said good night to each other, carefully and publicly, before the rest of the crew retired to the foredeck or cabin. At some point, there would be a rustle of cloth and Ekaterina, half-seen and glorious in the dimness, would slip into his bunk beside him. They didn’t always make love, but just the closeness in the cloying darkness was enough for him.
“What of the sailors, though?” he whispered one night, after they subsided next to each other. Her body moulded against him, their skin tacked together with sweat. Her complete lack of even a light nightdress would have scandalised any society lady. He felt her raise her head and sensed rather than saw her raised eyebrow. “I mean, won’t they talk?”
She shrugged, breasts rising against his ribs. “They are peasants — the doings of their betters is none of their concern.”
It was said without any sort of condescension or rancour, just a plain statement of facts; a rare glimpse into a world he’d only ever encountered at a distance before. He wondered where he fitted into her scheme, her view of the world. Almost as though she sensed his thoughts, she turned closer against him and raised a hand to run her fingers languidly down the side of his face. He felt the softness of her hair against his cheek, and rapidly lost his train of thought.
Early the next day, Baxter shaped their course further to the east, and tried hard to ignore the insolent grins of the men under his command. His and Ekaterina’s business may have been none of their concern, but that didn’t mean they didn’t know what was going on. He pushed those thoughts aside. The seas were running smooth and long, but he was aware they were only in a small vessel and wanted to remain within an easy steam of the coast in case it did turn on them. His gut told him Yefimov’s vessel would do the same thing.
“He won’t think he’s being chased,” he explained to Tommy in the small deck wheelhouse as he adjusted their heading. “And he knows the squadron won’t move for days, possibly more than a week.”
“And he’s a man who values his own skin,” the lad commented thoughtfully. “He’ll want to make sure the journey’s as safe as possible.”
Baxter smiled. Tommy was sharp, no doubt about it. The months aboard the Russian ship had taken the soft, pallid edges off him, and he was fitter and healthier. The oddest change was that he had more or less lost his Leith accent, and his English now had a trace of Russian about it.
It didn’t make him feel less guilty about accidentally dragging Tommy along for this mad ride, but there was nothing he could do about that now — and the lad had proved himself invaluable. He just had to work out a way to get him home to his ma when all this was over.
“So we’ll just saunter along, going a little bit faster than a sailing boat can go even with these favourable winds, and keep a sharp eye out. Won’t we lad?”
Tommy grinned and hefted the enormous pair of field glasses the Russians had entrusted him with. They looked ridiculously out of proportion, but he didn’t seem to have any problems holding them up to scan the horizon for their quarry.
“Well, best jump up to the bows then,” Baxter said, then nodded to Vasily to take the wheel. “I think I’ll join you.”
The land was now little more than a shadow to the west and north — and at some point it would become apparent a little north of east as well, as they raised Hainan. Beyond that, of course, was Hong Kong. British bastion in the Orient since the Opium Wars and home of the China Station.
“We’re not far, are we?” Ekaterina asked. She lounged along one of the benches in the stern of the boat, having turned what had been spartan accommodation into luxury with the addition of cushions and blankets. She had a book open in her lap, and seeing her looking so relaxed almost fooled him into believing that this was a pleasure cruiser. Her eyes were hard and assessing, puncturing any nascent delusion.
“From Hong Kong? Another two days, all things being equal.”
“Not much time to catch our quarry.” Her tone made it clear that she knew he was considering other things. He realised, perhaps for the first time consciously, just how conflicted he was. A sensible man would just keep going into Hong Kong, get himself and Tommy to safety. Not to mention ensure Ekaterina didn’t steam headlong into the middle of a war. He was confident he could overpower even Vasily, and they wouldn’t even know what was happening until they were steaming into the harbour — it would be a simple matter to surrender to the first Royal Navy ship he saw.
But… He looked into those level green eyes, and knew she would never forgive him for that. And he wouldn’t forgive himself. He shook those thoughts off. “We’ll have him before Hong Kong. Tomorrow, I’d warrant.” He raised his voice and switched into Russian. “But only if our lookouts do their damned jobs!”
Tommy flashed a grin over his shoulder, elbowed the other lookout in the ribs to encourage him to keep a sharper lookout. Baxter picked up a spare set of field glasses and went forward to join them, followed by Ekaterina’s full throated laughter.
Baxter wasn’t far wrong with his assessment. They spotted what could very well be their quarry in late morning on the following day, with the low rolling hills of Hainan on their port quarter and Hong Kong barely more than a day’s sail away if the sweet cool wind maintained its direction.
She was a pretty enough barky, for a working vessel, sliding through the water with the wind just where she wanted it to make the best speed. Baxter held her in the view of his field glasses, riding the pinnace’s roll unconsciously in order to keep the view steady.
“You’ve got sharp eyes, lad,” he said to Tommy, who had summoned him into the bows. The view was hazy and the fishing boat was some distance off, but she certainly matched the description.
“Alexei and I spotted her at the same time,” the boy said in Russian, causing the burly young sailor who shared the watch to bob his head in pleasure.
“An extra tot of vodka, then,” Baxter said, then saw Tommy’s smile. “Not for you, lad — when you’re a bit older.”
“Ah’m keepin’ track,” the boy said grumpily. “You think it’s oor friend, though?”
“I think it could be.” Baxter turned. “Vasily, increase revolutions to full. Let’s get a closer look.”
The increased thumping of the engines brought Ekaterina on deck as the pinnace surged forward, water burbling as it sluiced down its side. Her hair was down and the wind whipped it around her face. She grinned as their game little vessel surged over a wave, her footing as sure as any experienced sailor’s, and he felt his heart surge at the sight of her.
“We have him?” she called forward.
“We might have him,” Baxter replied as she made her way forward until they didn’t need to raise their voices. “The local fishing boats are remarkably swift with the wind a bit abaft. I think we’ve got the legs on her, but not by much.”
“And if it isn’t him, will we have wasted time?”
“We’re more or less following the course we’re on, but we’ll be burning extra coal.” He felt a bone-deep certainty that he had taken the right course of action. “It’s worth the risk though.”
She nodded, took the glasses from him without asking and put them to her own eyes. “Yes. Yes, I think you are right.”
Baxter felt the excitement build in the little crew as the day wore on and the certainty rose in them that they were, in fact, closing on their quarry. A succession of watchmen in the bows reported the view becoming clearer and sharper as they closed, slowly but surely; with clarity came certainty that it was their Vietnamese fishing vessel.
“What happens when we close with her?” Vasily asked, startling Baxter with his deep rumbling voice. The big Russian petty officer rarely spoke except to give orders to subordinates, and almost never asked a question. It wasn’t that he was stupid — far from it — or lacked initiative; he had a petty officer’s inherent confidence in his own abilities, and if an officer’s orders didn’t make sense he usually just found a way to work them round until they did.
“Well, we’ll see how they react,” Baxter said after a moment’s thought. “Could be they’ll hand him over without fuss — after all, they were paid to sail him to Hong Kong, not fight a boatload of angry Russians. Could be we’ll have to take him by force.”
A slow smile crept over Vasily’s face. He didn’t appear to be a man who courted danger, but he also wasn’t someone who shied away from it. “Shall I clear away the gun?” he asked after a pause. That explained his expression — like many bluejackets, he did enjoy the noise and activity of gunnery.
Baxter pursed his lips. He didn’t anticipate needing it, but it would give the men something to do during what would likely be a long sea chase. And it was better to be safe than sorry. He nodded. “Do it quietly, though, Vasily, and no great displays. We don’t want to tip our hand if we haven’t been recognised.”
It did seem that the fishermen hadn’t noticed them, let alone taken particular note. Steam vessels weren’t uncommon in this area, even if sail was still the prevalent form of locomotion. He could see one or two other vessels in the distance, on the Hong Kong trade no doubt, but the pinnace and the fishing vessel were by far the closest to each other.
That lasted for an hour as they closed gradually with the target vessel. After Vasily had cleared the gun and arranged the little three-pound shells ready for use, there was little for those not directly involved with the operation of the boat to do. That meant they all crowded into the bow, watching tensely as the range crawled down.
“This is what it must have been like in the wars against France,” Baxter said. He was taking a turn at the wheel, Ekaterina once again sitting in the stern. Her book was nowhere in evidence, though, and he suspected her pistol was in her pocket.
“And against Russia, depending on the year,” she said mildly. “But how so?”
“The crew watching a chase avidly, waiting to find out if she was legal prize. Working out what their share of the money would be.”
Ek
aterina snorted. “You sailors — a mercenary lot.”
He shrugged. “It’s a hard life, even more so then. You take what compensations you can find. All these poor buggers will get is a bit of extra vodka, of course.”
“And you, Mr Baxter? What compensation do you look for?”
It was asked in a completely innocent voice, but there was a wicked glint in her eye when she said it. He couldn’t help but smile back. “A roof over my head, even if it does pitch about, and food every day is good enough,” he said. “Though the current company is … delightful.”
Tommy’s call from for’ard forestalled further conversation. “She’s seen us!” A moment later. “She’s shaking out more sail.”
“Vasily, take the wheel!” Baxter ordered, cheerful conversation and all thoughts of compensation banished. He scrambled forward once the big man had the wheel again. The fishing boat was indeed forging ahead — she hadn’t had much more in the way of canvas to spread on the single mast, but what little there had been had given her a couple of knots. She was quite clearly fleeing now, but he could not yet say why — whether they thought the pinnace was the oddest pirate vessel ever to ply these waters, or whether Yefimov was indeed aboard and had demanded it.
That question was answered a second later. He’d not long put glasses to his eyes that a Westerner emerged from the little deckhouse of the low vessel. He focused quickly, and they were close enough that he could more or less recognise Yefimov. The Russian was shading his eyes as he stared back at the pinnace, before turning to shout something at the crew.
A feral smile split Baxter’s face. “There’s our man!” he called out. “Tommy, jump down to the engine room and tell the engineer I want every extra knot he can manage!”
“The engine room, aye,” Tommy muttered, though Baxter couldn’t tell if he was being sarcastic or just acknowledging orders. It was a grand title for the adjoining cubby holes that housed the engine and boiler, after all.