* * *
Molineaux and Khari broke off their desperate struggle for a moment to gape in astonishment at the great plume of flame which rose up from where the battery had been.
Molineaux was the first to recover from the initial shock. He lunged forwards and seized Khari by the wrist. Khari stumbled under the onslaught, his feet slipping on the mud-bank, but he quickly rallied and twisted Molineaux this way and that. The leopard prince was easily the stronger, and he grinned as he forced Molineaux over backwards. Molineaux sprawled in the mud and Khari fell on him, plunging the Bowie knife down towards his chest. Molineaux rolled to one side and managed to kick Khari in the ribs, but without any appreciable result.
As Molineaux tried to crawl away, Khari picked himself up and stood over him. Molineaux rolled on to his back and seized a fistful of mud, staring up at where Khari towered over him and feeling like David facing Goliath. He flung the mud at the giant’s face.
Blinded, Khari grunted and raised an arm to wipe his eyes. Molineaux jumped to his feet and leaped into the air, delivering a flying kick to Khari’s chest. As Molineaux fell to the mud once more, Khari staggered backwards. His feet scrabbled for purchase in the slippery mud and he fell into the water with a terrific splash. The low profiles of crocodiles cruising through the channel at once changed direction.
Molineaux would have liked to stay around to see Khari’s grisly demise – if only to make sure the crocodiles did not turn their noses up at him – but at that moment the Thor’s first salvo landed. The sky lit up orange, and he felt the ground tremble beneath his feet.
A crackle of muskets sounded behind him: not the sporadic firing of the guards, but a well-disciplined volley. He turned and saw a squad of ten marines there, giving the slaves covering fire as they ran for the canoes. The slavers turned and ran, only to find themselves face to face with another squad of marines. They threw down their muskets and raised their hands.
Feeling a wave of relief wash over him, Molineaux stumbled down towards the stockade. It was the first time he had been glad to see marines. So it was Killigrew who had come back, and he had brought some friends with him.
He had barely got as far as the alarm bell, however, when he felt burning pain explode through his right thigh. His leg crumpled beneath him and he fell against the wooden posts supporting the bell. Sobbing with agony, he glanced down and saw the haft of the Bowie knife embedded in his leg. He turned and saw Khari advancing once more. The leopard prince leaned over him, grabbed the haft of the knife and twisted it in the wound. Molineaux screamed in torment. Khari pulled the knife out with one hand, grabbed Molineaux with the other, hoisted him to his feet and slammed him back against one of the posts. He raised the knife above his head to plunge it into Molineaux’s chest.
With one final effort, Molineaux lifted his knee into Khari’s crotch and broke free. Khari grunted and brought the knife arcing down. The tip slashed across Molineaux’s shoulder blade, and then his leg gave way beneath him and he fell. He reached out to grab something and caught hold of the bell-rope. But the pin supporting the bell had not been designed to take the weight of a man. The bell gave a half-hearted clang which broke off, along with the bell itself. Khari frowned at the sound and looked up. Molineaux stared in horrified fascination as the heavy brass bell crushed Khari’s head like an eggshell. He winced.
Then the shells of the next salvo began to fall across the barracoon, shooting great plumes of fire into the night sky and hurling clumps of earth through the air. One shell landed in a nearby mud-bank and Molineaux was spattered with mud.
He started to crawl towards the landing stage where the marines were rounding up the slavers beyond the extreme range of the frigate’s guns.
But his progress was agonisingly slow. He was not even halfway when the shells of the third salvo rained fire on the barracoon. He wondered if Madison was able to see this; if he had been, the slave captain would doubtless have had some pithy Biblical quote about a hail of brimstone and fire on Sodom and Gomorrah.
He felt footsteps pounding the earth behind him and twisted in panic, wondering if Khari had somehow managed to survive having his skull smashed in, but it was only a Kruman wearing a top hat. Molineaux recognised him from somewhere, and after a moment’s thought placed him as the interpreter who had arrived at the village with the witch doctor the day Prince Khari had attacked.
In the darkness the Kruman almost ran straight past Molineaux on his way to the stockade. ‘Hey!’ Molineaux called out after him. ‘Don’t leave me!’
The Kruman twisted and skidded to a halt. ‘You Killigrew friend?’
Molineaux nodded, and ducked his head as another shell burst nearby. ‘Was it Killigrew who arranged the fireworks?’
The Kruman grinned and nodded, and helped him to his feet. ‘Come, we go, plenty quick.’
‘Wait a minute, what about Miss Chance?’
‘White puss in big house. Mas’er Killigrew, he go fetchee. Come, we go!’
‘What about Killigrew? Will he be all right?’
‘Mas’er Killigrew worry ’bout Mas’er Killigrew. You, me, worry ’bout me, you. He be fine.’
Molineaux allowed Tip-Top to help him down towards the landing stage. ‘Yeah,’ he sighed. ‘He certainly seems to have a talent for survival.’
* * *
The whole house shuddered as one of the shells scored a direct hit on the roof. The chandelier over the receiving room shivered and tinkled, and the ornate rococo moulding fell in pieces from the ceiling. A big chunk of plaster hit the marble floor between Killigrew and Salazar.
Killigrew still backed away before the relentless sweeps of the cutlass in Salazar’s hand. He looked around in desperation for something he could use as a weapon, but there was nothing. He bounded on to the mahogany table and kicked the candelabra at Salazar’s head.
Salazar ducked to one side and the candelabra crashed against the wall before falling to the floor. ‘I should have finished you off when I had the chance,’ he snarled, and swung at Killigrew’s knees. ‘This is all your doing.’
Killigrew jumped over the slashing blade. Salazar leaped on to the table. Killigrew backed away until he came to the far end of the long table and almost stepped out into space. He teetered and barely managed to regain his balance.
Salazar laughed. ‘No place left to run to, Mr Killigrew.’
‘Then come and get me.’
Salazar lifted the cutlass and flexed his fingers around the hilt, clearly wondering if Killigrew had any more tricks up his sleeve. Then he charged the length of the table, swinging the blade of the cutlass behind his head. Unarmed, Killigrew waited to receive the attack.
Salazar swung. Killigrew ducked at the last moment and the blade swished above his head.
Salazar’s momentum kept him going until he careered into his opponent. Killigrew caught him around the waist and straightened, flinging him over his shoulder. Salazar screamed, and abruptly fell silent.
Killigrew turned. It had been his plan to throw Salazar into the fireplace, but his aim had been too high. Instead Salazar’s rhinoceros head had killed its killer five years too late, its horn piercing his throat underneath the jaw. Now Salazar hung grotesquely over the fireplace, the final trophy in his own collection. His arms hung limply by his sides. After a few seconds’ pause the cutlass finally slipped from his lifeless fingers and clattered to the floor.
Another shell burst outside. Killigrew jumped down from the table and sprinted up the stairs. ‘Suzannah!’
‘In here!’ She hammered against the door. ‘The door’s locked, I’m trapped inside!’
‘Stand back!’ He lashed out at the edge of the door with his foot, just below the lock. Agony exploded in his ankle, but the door snapped open. Miss Chance ran out into his arms.
Another shell smashed into the house and a huge chunk of masonry crashed to the landing. The shuddering impact hurled them both to the floor and showered them with dust. ‘Are you all right?’ Killigrew asked
her.
She nodded. They got up and made for the stairs. ‘What happened to Salazar?’ she asked.
‘Don’t ask,’ he told her. But she glanced to her left as they went down the stairs. The lawn in front of the palazzo seemed to be on fire, and the flames cast a hellish glow over the grisly scene of Salazar’s death.
He tucked her head against his shoulder. ‘Don’t look.’
‘I already did.’
‘Come on. We’ll go out the back.’ He pushed her through the door to the dining room. They left the house as the last echoes of the bombardment died away and made their way down to the beach where Masterson and a squad of seamen were landing in one of the launches to help the marines round up any surviving slavers.
Epilogue
The Final Hurdle
July 6 – HMS Thor (26 guns, Captain C. Crichton) was instrumental in the destruction of a slave trader’s barracoon on the Guinea Coast. A large number of slaves is known to have been freed. There were a number of arrests, although many of the slave traders are believed to have been slain in the attack. None of the marines taking part in the action were killed. The site has been razed. Lieutenant C.I. Killigrew of Her Majesty’s Royal Navy was mentioned in despatches.
This small snippet at the bottom of the ‘Naval Intelligence’ column was the only mention of the affair in any of the London newspapers. Rear-Admiral Napier folded his newspaper and glanced across to where Killigrew sat opposite him in the carriage, staring moodily out of the window as they rattled down Pall Mall. ‘Well, the newspapers have decided that you should have your commission restored, at any rate.’
‘Will that cut any ice at the Admiralty?’
‘Public opinion is a powerful weapon, Mr Killigrew. More powerful even than the shell guns of HMS Thor, perhaps. I’ve spoken to the First Lord. He scowled a good deal, of course, but he muttered something about seeing what he could do. Cheer up. You mark my words, you’ll be back in uniform before you know what’s hit you.’
‘I just wish I could have found out who was behind Salazar and the Bay Cay Trading Company.’
‘Ah. Yes, well, we’ll come to that presently. Here we are,’ he added, as the carriage pulled up outside the Reform Club. He took a pinch of snuff, sneezed explosively, and then preceded Killigrew out of the carriage, limping up the steps. ‘Rear-Admiral Sir Charles Napier and Mr Christopher Killigrew to see Sir George Grafton,’ he told the porter.
‘You’re expected, gentlemen. Sir George is waiting for you in the smoking room.’
Sir George rose to his feet as Napier and Killigrew approached, and glanced pointedly at his watch. ‘I don’t know what this is about, Rear-Admiral, but you’d better be brief. I have an appointment with the Earl of Auckland at three.’ He plumped himself back down in his chair and motioned for Napier and Killigrew to likewise be seated.
‘We shan’t keep you any longer than is absolutely necessary, I assure you, Sir George,’ said Napier, lowering his bulk into a chair. ‘By the way, you’ve met Mr Killigrew, haven’t you?’
‘Ah, yes. The young man who helped to destroy Owodunni Barracoon. If you want me to press the Lords of the Admiralty to overturn the verdict of your court-martial, young man, you can put aside any such hopes. As far as I’m concerned that trial was properly convened and carried out. The navy can hardly be held responsible if you saw fit to give a false admission of guilt.’
‘That’s all in hand,’ said Napier. ‘I think Mr Killigrew has proved his value to the navy, and I’m currently trying to come to an agreement with the First Lord regarding his reinstatement.’
‘More than the blighter deserves,’ muttered Grafton.
‘I think you do Mr Killigrew an injustice, Sir George. But then, you may not know exactly how much he achieved by his adventure. You see, the aim was not just to find one single barracoon and destroy it, although that was what you might call by way of an added bonus. No, indeed. What our colleagues at the Slave Trade Department wanted to know was: who was the man who financed the ships that carried the slaves to the Americas? And thanks to Mr Killigrew here, I think I can point the finger at that man right now.’
‘Oh?’ Grafton said cautiously. Killigrew was equally surprised, but he held his peace, suspecting that Napier knew what he was doing.
‘Yes. You see, someone tipped off Salazar that Mr Killigrew was working for me. And that was a secret very few people were in possession of. I’d made sure of that; that was the very reason I arranged the whole thing without getting the Admiralty’s approval first.’
‘How many people knew?’ asked Grafton.
‘Well, just myself and Mr Killigrew. And two soldiers of the Royal Marines who helped us could have guessed, of course, but they’re above suspicion. Oh, and yourself, Sir George. Or had you forgotten our little conversation of the twenty-fifth of June?’
Grafton rose to his feet angrily. ‘Sir Charles, I sincerely hope you are not insinuating what I think you are.’
‘Oh come now, Sir George. Do you take me for a child? I’ve suspected you were behind the slavers for years. Now Mr Killigrew – not to mention yourself – has kindly provided me with the proof I need to secure a conviction—’
‘Call that proof?’ roared Grafton. ‘By God, that’s the grossest slander…!’ he spluttered apoplectically. ‘Sir, I demand you retract that last statement at once, or else I shall have no choice but to… but to…’
‘Call me out?’ Napier suggested hopefully.
‘No. To litigate, damn your eyes! I’ll sue you for every blasted penny you’ve got!’
‘I must compliment you, Sir George. I had no idea you were such a fine actor. But you’re wasting your breath. Dead men cannot litigate, and you know as well as I that the penalty for slaving in this country is death… For heaven’s sake, Mr Killigrew, what on earth are you counting on your fingers? That’s very distracting, you know.’
‘Excuse me, sir, but could I have a word?’
‘Not now, Killigrew! When I’ve finished with Sir George here—’
‘No, sir. Now.’
Napier smiled thinly at Grafton. ‘You must excuse me for a moment, Sir George.’ He rose to his feet and allowed Killigrew to take him to one side, leaving Grafton fuming in his seat. ‘Now what is it, Killigrew?’ he demanded irritably.
‘You did say you told Sir George on the twenty-fifth, didn’t you?’
‘The twenty-fifth of June, yes. What’s that got to do with it?’
‘It’s just that Salazar knew when I arrived at the Owodunni Barracoon on the first of July. Which means that if Salazar learned it from Sir George, then his messenger travelled from London to the Guinea Coast in less than a week.’
Napier stared at Killigrew. ‘Why on earth didn’t you say something before?’
‘Because I didn’t even know you’d said anything to Sir George.’
Napier turned back to Grafton. ‘My apologies, Sir George. I seem to have made a terrible mistake.’
‘A mistake? A mistake! I’ll say you’ve made a mistake, you slanderous poltroon! You’re finished, d’ye hear me? The pair of you! I’ll have you thrown out of the navy, I’ll have you blackballed from every club in town, why, I’ll have you hung, drawn and quartered…!’
‘Shouldn’t that be “hanged”, sir?’ said Killigrew.
‘Get out!’
Napier fled as fast as his gammy leg would carry him, followed by Killigrew.
The two of them drew breath on the pavement outside. ‘I’m awfully sorry about that, Mr Killigrew. I’m afraid I made rather a fool of myself there. Still, it’s not the first time and I dare say it won’t be the last.’
Killigrew smiled ruefully. ‘It was a good plan, sir. It would have just worked better if we’d compared notes before our meeting with Sir George.’
Napier shook his head. ‘I don’t understand it. I was certain it must be him… Oh, well, never mind. Some you win, some you lose, eh, Mr Killigrew? Can I offer you a ride somewhere?’ he added, climbing back int
o his carriage.
‘Thank you, sir, but no thanks.’ Killigrew was seething that Napier had risked his life by using him as human bait and did not trust himself to hold his tongue during the ride. It had probably never occurred to the old fool that he might get killed. The Rear-Admiral had probably thought he had been doing Killigrew a favour by adding that extra touch of peril. It was flattering that Napier seemed to think him so indestructible, but that did not alter the fact he might well have been killed. Besides, he had another matter to attend to. ‘There’s a personal call I’d like to make,’ he told Napier.
‘A young lady, eh, I’ll warrant! Wedding bells in the air soon, perhaps? Well, good luck to you.’
‘Thank you, sir.’
‘Driver! Drive on!’
* * *
Killigrew watched the carriage until it disappeared down a side street, and then hailed a passing hansom. ‘Knightsbridge,’ he told the driver.
The hansom dropped him off outside Sir Joshua Pengelly’s house. He walked slowly down the drive to the front door and pulled the doorbell. A footman answered.
‘Yes?’
Killigrew handed him his card. ‘Mr Christopher Killigrew calling for Mrs Fairbody.’
‘I’ll see if the young lady is at home, sir,’ said the footman, and closed the door in Killigrew’s face.
A moment later it was flung open and Eulalia ran out. ‘Kit!’ she exclaimed, and embraced him shamelessly on the doorstep. ‘When did you get back? I was so worried for you… and then I saw the piece in this morning’s paper! Come in, come in! Fleming, would you ask Cook to make some tea for myself and Mr Killigrew? We’ll take it in the parlour.’
Killigrew followed her into the parlour. ‘Actually, Eulalia, it was your father I wanted to see.’
‘My father? You go swanning off risking your neck on the high seas for absolutely weeks, and when you finally get back and show up on my doorstep, it’s my father you want to see instead of me? Shame on you! And after the things that passed between us the last time we saw one another,’ she added coyly, toying with the lapels of his frock coat.
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