by Lee Henschel
“Would they do that, sir?”
“It’s been done it before, and will likely be done again. With that in mind I may have to agree to Artà’s demands. At least in part . . . but only if he’s more forthcoming about Kyle.”
“Can we can claim Gottlieb’s body, as well? Harriet says he was shot by a clan enemy . . . somewhere near Otra Nova.”
“A feud that has ended badly for Gottlieb. But frankly, Mr. Starling, I don’t care about Gottlieb. I do care about Kyle, though, and Artà freely admits to holding Kyle as prisoner . . . and he won’t give him up.”
“More remuneration?”
“No. Someone on Minorca signaled to Eleanor and then helped Harriet escape. If that was Kyle . . . then he violated his parole and may be hanged for it.”
“Hanged!”
“Aye. As an example . . . and as punishment for thinking he could get away with it.”
“We must find Lieutenant Kyle at once, sir.”
“I don’t know where he is.”
“Harriet may know, sir.”
“Then I will interview him now.”
“Of course, sir. Just let me tend him first.”
Mr. Starling nudged me. “Stand you now, Harriet, I wish to examine your wound, then the captain will interview you. You must be alert, so drink this.”
He gave me coffee from the marine mess. When I finished he sent me to the captain, who rocked and swayed on the quay as if still at sea and on his quarterdeck.
“It’s good you are still alive, Owen. Tell me how is your eye?”
“It hurts, sir.”
“Of course. Mr. Starling says you’ll survive, though. You’ve done well. And now I have questions only you can answer.”
“I’ll try, sir.”
“Where was Lieutenant Kyle when last you saw him?”
“In the resistance camp, sir. In the hills above Mahon.”
“This camp. It’s where the signals came from?”
“Aye sir.”
“Best guess, now, lad. Do you think Kyle is still being held in that camp?”
“I think so, sir. He’s to be kept out of Nagua, away from his marines.”
“Is this camp well-manned? Well-armed?”
“I didn’t see it much, sir. But the old woman, she cooked fish stew in a big pot. Enough for twenty men. And the men who came for it, one of them had a musket.”
“And after you escaped you rode from the camp directly to Mahon?”
“Aye, sir.”
“How far is it, overland?”
“No more than five miles, sir. I can take you there. It’s . . .”
“No. Mr. Starling has put you on restricted duty.”
“But Lieutenant Kyle, sir. He saved me. They were going to hang me, I’m most sure of it. And the lieutenant tricked them to look for the bag pipes and then I ran the other way. And if . . .”
“Enough! You’ll not set foot on this island again. Not under my command.”
My eye started to throb and my stomach began to hate the coffee and I threw up into the water and wept, shaking violent.
The captain laid a hand on my shoulder. “I cannot allow you to go back, lad. But you can help Kyle in another way.”
“What way, sir?”
“Can you draw a map of how to get there from here?”
“Oh! Certain I can, sir!”
The captain nodded, gazing at Eleanor riding at anchor in the roads. I’d seen the look before. He was about to act. “Very well. Draw it now. When you finish bring it to me and we shall go over it with Sergeant Archalatta. That will be all.”
That evening the captain folded my map and gave it to Sergeant Archalatta. “Very well, Sergeant, tomorrow night you will depart with all but two of your marines. Light packs but heavily armed. You will also carry seven extra muskets, extra charges and shot. Those are for the marines held at Otra Nova. And take a brace of pistols for Lieutenant Kyle as well.”
“Aye sir.”
“No idle fighting . . . just locate Lieutenant Kyle as quickly as you can and get him out. Then make your way on to the pier in Nagua. How long will that take?”
Archalatta frowned thoughtful, then replied. “Six hours, sir. Give or take. Assuming the boy’s map is accurate.”
“Then go you now and prepare.”
Chapter Twenty
The tide was out, the wind was down, and at two bells in the forenoon watch Eleanor secured alongside the quay. Starky and Gleason stood at the taffrail and that caught my eye, for it was unusual for either of them to stand on the quarterdeck. But it made sense after Gleason pointed toward Illa del Rei, and the blue lighter making for Eleanor. It carried one thing—Eleanor’s new rudder. The Eleanors worked steady, but all kept track of the lighter. When it shipped oars and tied on all enterprise slowed. The chatter died as well, so the carpenter and the bosun might be heard.
“That dogger off Gibraltar didn’t wreck the rudder too bad. But the captain said to make use of Illa del Rei and build it new. So I shaped a new one by hand and the smithy forged new pintles and gudgeons. And he filed them to tolerance right there in his shop.”
Gleason nodded. “That saves us time.”
Starky agreed, then made a sour face. “Time we’ll need to sway on that horse, I think.”
“Nay. For the next few hours Eleanor will ride level with the quay so we don’t need no sway. A gangway will serve . . . level and straight through the entry port. The boy just walks the horse straight on.”
“Well, he needs to bring it on quick. I don’t know how long this rudder will take to get in place so I best be under way. Get the gangway in position.”
Positioning a gangway takes time, so I led Haditha along the waterfront to a livery. Water, hay and oats, then a short walk, until we found a dray horse harnessed to a cart. We stood with the beast, to give Haditha a horse for company. It was the last horse she’d see for a while. I begged apples for them.
Soon Gleason waved and I led Haditha onboard, letting her stand for a bit to gain her footing, and then to her stall. Some horses remember. And Haditha was remembering now. Gottlieb said she and Tarif had been stolen from Amunia a year before and then transported on a brigantine to Otra Nova. Brigantines are small, built for coastal trade, not a long sea passage. It must have been a hellish time for her, and I guessed it was coming back now with Eleanor’s motion along with the smells, the noise and the clatter. All of it, and not liking it one bit for she snickered low, her eyes open wide. Her expression changed, and she shifted in her stall. She’d made a decision and was no longer just taking things in, but looking around and making herself ready. Ready for what I didn’t know. And neither did she, I don’t think. But I knew it best to stand clear, for she was probably mad at me. And why not? She’d trusted me and what did that get her? A good gallop through the hills. Most fun, that. And a brushing. Also good. But then I rode her to this noisome thing that shifted and groaned as some immense, tarry being. She didn’t half mistrust the being, and it was my fault. How could she not think that? Besides, she was right. It was my fault. I was about to apologize, but Gleason came and lowered the tarp over her stall.
Starky had built two stalls on the spar deck. Both stalls were built under tarps, one for Tarif and one for Haditha. But poor Tarif was dead now, and I was permitted to rig my hammock in the empty one. To shelter my eyes in the shade and to stay near Haditha. I slept until seven bells in the forenoon watch but Starky was only now off-loading the new rudder. A boom sway creaked at the mizzen top, its block chirping as it took up the slack. Haditha balked and I moved close to comfort her. That calmed her some, at least enough to ignore Starky as he roared away.
“Handsomely now! Don’t slam on the skeg.”
Then came a high-pitched voice from behind. “A busy forenoon, Harriet.”
It was Mr. Lau.
“Mr. Lau! Most good to see you, sir. I thought never to see you again.”
“And I, you. I’m nearly done translating. But the words still make
no sense. Except for one grouping. A string of numbers, actually.”
“Numbers, sir?”
“Aye. They may refer to a year. 1799.”
“That’s only next year, sir.”
“Indeed. So it’s uppermost to understand what I’ve translated.”
“I should like to help, sir.”
“And surely you will, lad. But for now Mr. Starling’s placed you on restricted duty. He says sunlight’s bad for your eye and you must shade it. That’s no reason to shade your mind, though. Your education does not require full sun, so we shall carry on with your lessons under a cloak of darkness.”
“Sir?”
“Lunar distance. I meant to hold off introducing this for a while, but when opportunity presents then one must take advantage. So we shall begin tonight. The night will be cloudless I’m sure, and with half a moon rising through first watch. A majestic setting for stellar observations.”
Of a sudden a cable bound in its sheave and the new rudder swung wild, smashing the stern gallery and shattering a pane. Starky was the steady one, though, and stood braced in the cutter tied on at the stern. “Belay there. Slack off a bit. Handsomely now.” And the task resumed.
“Lunar distance, sir, what is it?”
“The moon, of course, and its relation to sidereal stars along the ecliptic, and with many references to almanac tables.” He noticed my puzzled expression and patted my back. “All in good time, lad. The answers will reveal all in good time.”
“Oh! Sir! I have the answer now!”
“Answer to what, lad?”
“To your riddle, sir. It’s FISH!”
“Fish? Ahh! G-H-O-T-I! Good on you, Harriet. How did you come to it?”
“It was Lieutenant Kyle, sir. He wrote out the name Sergeant Fish and it just, I don’t know, sir, it just . . .”
“No need to explain, lad. Surely it derived from your active mind.”
“Are there more riddles you have?”
“Many. But it’s time you made one of your own.”
“A word riddle, sir?”
“Aye. The best way to learn a thing is . . .”
The cutter thumped on Eleanor’s keel and Gleason barked out. “Back starboard oars! Smartly now! You’re almost in place.” Metal scraped on metal, pintles easing fine into their gudgeons.
“I was saying, Harriet, that the best way to learn a thing is to teach it. So make up a riddle of your own. And when you have it you must teach it to me. Then we’ll see how clever you’ve become.”
“Aye, sir. I should like to ask you a question now, though. It’s not a riddle though, I don’t think.”
“You may ask. But ask short. I must prepare the noon line.”
“It’s Mr. Pogue, sir.”
Mr. Lau’s face coloured, and he turned away muttering.
“I should like to know, sir, where is he?”
“I’ll say nothing of the man. But you’ve a knack for hearing more than you’re told, Harriet, so if you but half listen you’ll find the nub.”
“Did he . . .”
“Enough. You must rest your eyes. Tonight we begin stellar observations.” He peeked in Haditha’s stall. “That’s a horse,” he stated, then scurried off for the noon line.
I watered Haditha and started her brushing. Opp, the ship’s boy stood nearby, gangly tall and thin as ever. I thought he’d been waiting for Mr. Lau, but he addressed me.
“Harriet.”
“Opp.”
“How’s your eye?”
“It hurts.”
He shifted his quid and spat overboard neat. “The purser says to report direct.”
“What does Coutts want?”
“Don’t know. He’s in worst temper, though. Stinks badder than ever. That’s the sign of dyspeptic.”
“What’s that?”
“Don’t know. But Spoon, he guessed it’s dyspeptic’s what’s wrong with Coutts. Until he got shot in pieces. Two, I think.”
“You talk overmuch, Opp.”
He nodded. “Hudson and me, we felt poorly when Pogue said to knock you about.”
“Well, neither one of you had your blood up. It didn’t amount.”
“And after that I wanted to make things right. Never did, though. Then word come you got all shot and everything and I thought maybe it was too late. So, there it is.”
“Thank you, Opp.”
“And the Penguin, he says it’s good Spoon and you looked after Tate. Tate was fearful of Pogue.”
As was I still, and so wanted to know his whereabouts. But my thoughts went instead to Tate, of a wretched life barely lived before a grim death. And, as I brushed Haditha, I nearly forgot about Opp until he started in again.
“We call Botherall the Penguin ’cause he walks like one.”
“He does. But you mustn’t say that to his face.”
“I heard you ask the sailing master about Pogue. But Mr. Lau, he didn’t say. Now I suppose you want me to say.”
I did. But I’d learned the best way to pry something from Opp was to show dim. “No, I do not.”
“Good, ’cause I’m not supposed to.”
“Then you mustn’t say anything.”
“I won’t.”
He waited for me to prod him on but I said nothing . . . only stared at him until he looked away, toward Illa del Rei, its squat buildings baking in the heat risers. “He’s over there. In the brig for surrendering a position. Left Eleanor’s marines stranded on the beach at Nagua. He said them marines never showed up. So he left.”
“I don’t care, Opp.”
“Good, ’cause no one else cares, either. I mean . . . what’s in store for that one.”
I continued brushing Haditha, but remained silent, waiting for Opp to spill all.
“He’s to become court marshaled. And then one of us ship’s boys, one of us might be able to try for midshipman.”
I stopped brushing Haditha. “That would be you, Opp.”
“No.”
“No? But you’re senior ship’s boy, if there is such a thing.”
“I can’t read none.”
“Hudson, then?”
“He can’t read, neither. So that leaves you ‘cause you can read.”
“Barely.”
“But the sailing master showin’ you it.”
He looked down, tending a bunt line. “I was wonderin’ if you, I mean if you could show me it. The reading, how it works and everything.”
Just then Towerlight called for Opp and he beat feet along the spar deck. I finished with Haditha then made forward to see Coutts. I still feared the man, and would not forget him soon. For what he’d tried to force on me, and for what he’d done with Tate. But pursers are seldom seen and it had been easy, if not so wise, to let Coutts slip away and not think of him, until now. His summons was likely some matter of business, maybe, but a purser has little business with a ship’s boy, so I went disbelieving, shifting my knife to a front pocket. Still most sharp. His office was jammed in a dim cavity between two knees just forward of the midshipman’s mess. The watch was changing over and the midshipmen thronged the gun deck lively. I stood at Coutt’s door and spoke loud to be heard above the din.
“Harriet, sir. Reporting as ordered.”
His stench burned in my nose and I gagged on the loathsome stink of the man. He was gaunt as a vulture, perched on a stool dressing his quill. And though he saw me from the corner of his eye he paid me no heed. Finally he blotted the last entry and croaked.
“You’re late, boy.”
“Sorry, sir.”
He fixed me with eyes beady sharp. “Two days late.”
“Sir?”
“Eleanor payed off two days ago. You were not present.”
“I was ashore, sir.”
“No matter. Your ticket remains unsigned.”
“I can sign now, sir. I can write some.”
“You will not.”
“Sir?”
“I posted your pay to general funds. You’ll n
ot see it until next ticket.”
“But, sir, how can . . .”
He raised a hand, ink stained and paper thin. “I understand your circumstance, boy, and am prepared to relieve your hardship.”
He shifted to face me just as Ajax fired the pistol for noon line. The gun deck emptied and all went silent. I was alone on the gun deck now, standing in Coutts’s doorway.
He smiled. “I forgive you for implicating me in your scheme. I doubt any of it happened but you are young and subject to your imagination.”
“I was not imagining.”
Coutts shrugged. “The orlop is always dark. It was someone else you saw with Pogue.”
“Pogue said your name.”
“I was not on the orlop with Pogue.”
“I smelled you.”
“Enough of this folderol. Although I am busy I have made the time to call you here. I have access to certain funds and if you want your pay ticket I will advance your earnings. But you must step in and close the door.”
I feared he meant to draw me in with false promise then slam the door behind—to have his way. I would not rise to the bait and remained fixed in place.
He gripped his quill, his knuckles turning white. “If you don’t come in here you shall go without money for another month.”
Certain I wanted my pay. But I would not permit Coutts to play me, and stood firm. “Then I must go without, sir.”
He pursed his bloodless lips, dabbing them with a kerchief before he went on. “Do you mean to say you refuse my offer to help you?”
I did mean to refuse. But what if he actually meant to pay? What if my fears were misplaced? Possible. If so then perhaps I should agree to his offer. I was about to accept and made to step in. But of a sudden a hush crept along the gun deck and I went cold, for a spell came with the hush—a silent messenger.
“Sukiyama.”
Coutts saw I was about to yield, and then watched as I came resolute. I do not believe he heard the Sukiyama. Or could have, for certain I was by now that the whisper was meant for me and no one else. Coutts must have recognized a change in my expression. His eyes narrowed spiteful wary and I understood then his intent was never to relieve my hardship but to have his way with me. The moment passed. We spoke no more. I stepped away cautious, and quit the deck.