by Alaric Bond
He took a breath of the stale air and thought back. Brief images of his time with the girl returned but were quickly expelled by darker memories of a bald man who had hurt him badly. And there must have been something in that wine; he could taste it still – this was not the first time he had been fooled so, and Wiessner was angry that such a thing should have happened again. But that was all he knew; from the moment his lifeless body hit the floor, all else was mystery.
One simple fact remained, however: for the time being at least, he was imprisoned. They would let him out eventually, of course, and when that happened, someone was going to pay dearly for the imposition. Thoughts of revenge then flooded his confused mind so that it was several minutes before he arrived at the obvious conclusion. And only then did Wiessner begin to scream.
Chapter Thirteen
Dusk had only just given way to night when Adams and Summers made their first move. There had been no visitors since that one brief and poorly attended funeral earlier in the afternoon, and both midshipmen wished to see the deed done as soon as possible. And they knew the procedure: Riley had explained it in great detail.
It would not be necessary to dig out the entire grave, or lift the coffin – information that came as a relief to both lads. A single hole, roughly three feet across was all they needed. This should be dug at the head of the grave while the coffin lid, when encountered, could be prised open with the crow of iron he provided. At the time, Adams doubted the wood could be broken so easily, but Riley had explained rather haughtily that, on an island where productive trees were a rarity, the planks for pauper's coffins were inclined to be cut thin.
Once the lid was broken, the body could be heaved out. It would be necessary to run a length of line under the arms – that also had been provided – then haul the cadaver up through the hole.
The journey back to Riley's premises would take less than twenty minutes. Once there they had to deposit the body on his marble slab, and the rest of the night would be their own.
It sounded so very simple, and neither midshipman was especially squeamish; even Summers had encountered death a good many times during his brief time in the navy, and was likely to experience it himself unless he met with a decent meal before long. But still the act appalled them; it was so heartless, so calculating, so callous. They might tell themselves that Riley's skills – he was assumed to be some form of doctor – would be improved by the knowledge their harvest provided, and the grisly business of resurrection men was the only one that paid enough to live, while allowing them time to seek a return to their previous lives. But all the reasons in the world did not make up for the fact they would be disturbing the most sacred sleep of all. And, even if they did not admit it to each other, both were privately frightened of what they might literally dig up.
But hunger and mutual support had led them so far, and it was very little extra effort to bring the ever willing donkey and her cart up to the freshly dug earth, then select a spade each and start to dig. And there was no physical hardship in their work, so recently had the soil been disturbed, they found themselves making speedy progress; in no time at all there came the solid clunk of metal against wood that told them the first part of the operation at least was all but done with. Adams glanced across at Summers; the only light came from the early stars, but the lads were accustomed to the gloom, and could see well enough above ground, although deep into the hole it was far darker.
“You clear off the lid, I'll fetch the crow of iron and line.”
Summers nodded silently from the hole they had created, and began to scrape the soil off the rough wooden coffin while Adams disappeared into the night. And then he heard the sounds.
They were muted at first, like screams being suppressed by a gagging hand, but slowly they gathered in volume and were soon joined by the frantic banging on the very wood he stood upon. For a moment he stayed stock still, not knowing if the noises were real, or merely the product of his imagination, then saw Adams returning from the cart.
Rather than give him strength, the sight robbed Summers of the last of his courage. He was scrambling out of the hole before his friend was half way back, and had already started to run as the older lad arrived.
“Hey there,” Adams called, catching him by the jacket and swinging the boy round. But before Summers could explain, the older lad heard the sounds as well, and they both stared down into the hole in horror.
“What shall we do?” Adams finally asked, although Summers was in no condition to reply. But he was no longer trying to run, and Adams cautiously released his hold, before edging nearer to the grave.
It was properly dark inside the hole, but enough earth was being disturbed from its banks to tell him there was definitely something alive under that plank. And yet it was the lid of a coffin, he reminded himself: everyone knew what they held.
“Leave it,” Summers pleaded. “Leave it and go; we can dump the cart at old man Riley's and hide ourselves in the town, he'll never find us.”
It seemed an excellent idea, and one that Adams was keen to follow. Whatever lay beneath that plank was clearly violent; even if it turned out to be mere flesh and blood – and Adams had already considered the alternative – even then, it could only cause them harm. But with several tons of earth keeping that lid safely shut, whatever lay inside was not going anywhere, so yes, to run seemed by far the best option.
* * *
The evening really was going rather well, King told himself. He had not drunk more than that first glass, yet the others were making up for his abstinence, and he was now experiencing that well remembered sensation of intoxication, simply from the presence and antics of others.
Not that he needed any encouragement to feel happy, the last few days had seen almost everything he had ever wished for handed to him as if a gift. Kestrel would be at sea before so very long, with all of summer to test her out and make changes before facing the turmoil of a Mediterranean winter. And throughout that time there was the very real likelihood of prizes. He was already due a fair sum for his share of Kestrel's capture, which was pleasingly ironic, and should be enough to solve his current financial problems.
But future seizures would provide far more. As captain, and as long as no other King's ships were in sight, he would be due at least a quarter of the value. In addition to the price of her hull, a juicy merchant could be carrying many thousands of pounds worth of cargo, so he could easily see a time when money was no longer an issue. He might even begin to live like the Lesros; buy his own house on the island, and properly enjoy life. There may even be space for another woman... and it was at that point that his mood changed, and much of the evening's magic began to dissipate.
For there would always be Juliana. No one else was to blame; he had entered into the arrangement voluntarily, and little profit lay in bringing up reasons. She had been so maddeningly attractive, and felt so right, while he was merely young. The bald facts remained: Juliana had changed so dramatically on coming to England that it was hard to accept her as the same person. He made the effort, of course, and tried so hard to love this strident and slightly aggressive woman that looked so much like the gentle soul he knew in the Texel. But there had been no attempt to meet him even half way and he had since been cuckolded so many times that it no longer mattered.
A chance remained that he might meet someone in Malta, someone who would accept a wife so far away, both in distance and temperament, but King was not hopeful. Such a thing almost happened a few years back; that too was on an island, and one even more remote than Malta. But the presence of his wife had been enough to stop all progress and, in his saner moments, King could understand why.
“You are many miles away, Commander,” the strange voice, coupled with an epithet he was still to become accustomed to, brought him back to reality, and King noticed Coleridge, the poet, regarding him with what might have been concern. “And it is sad to see such an expression on one who has much good before him.”
King smil
ed quickly. “It is nothing, sir,” he said. “Just some worries that are not of the moment.”
His companion nodded as if in agreement, although the caring look remained.
“But you do have a deal to look forward to,” he said, almost in reflection, yet with an insight that cut King to the quick. “Your career is prospering, and there is much to anticipate with a new command. You have no obvious dependences,” he continued, glancing at King's glass that had not been touched since its refilling. “And, if you will forgive me, are obviously coping with a wound that many would find totally restricting...”
For a moment King felt the dark brown eyes upon him; it was as if he were being assessed and privately judged, although there was nothing malicious in their look, rather a deep and tender understanding.
“So I can only reason there must be a woman concerned,” Coleridge concluded, and King was momentarily taken aback by his perception. And it was probably significant that it was then, when his mind was still reeling from the strange Englishman's comment, that King first saw her.
She actually walked into the room in quite a conventional manner, although his later recollections were more fanciful, and stretched to clouds along with accompanying angels who would doubtless have been singing. But at no time did her face need ornamentation; from the moment he laid eyes upon her, and long before there was any mention of names or allegiances, King was utterly smitten.
For a moment the vision stood, as if in doubt, while her gaze traversed the room, and he wondered if anything more beautiful had ever been created. Her face was gloriously pale, with high cheekbones that accentuated the clearest, bluest eyes he had ever seen, and her long yellow hair was secured in such a way that he itched to set it free.
From his position at the head of the table, King was the only member of the party to see her, and he must have stared unashamedly. Fortunately most were too deep into their cups to notice, and even Coleridge, who King knew had detected a change in him, did not realise the cause. Then those eyes that he already loved settled in his direction.
At that point they actually engaged, and she considered him curiously for a second, before taking in the others in his group. Then they settled on Hunt when, for the first time, that wonderful face smiled.
* * *
“Go if you wish,” Adams' gaze was still fixed upon the dark depths of the hole, and he all but spat the words at his friend. “But there is a deal here that needs attention, and we cannot always run from such things.”
The words seemed to find a home deep within the boy and Summers paused, before drawing a deep breath. For a moment that terrible time in Rochester's cutter came back, and he felt his limbs turn to jelly. But that was in the past, he had learned much since and grown a little too. Besides, there was someone with him to share the fear.
“I am going below to investigate,” Adams announced, dropping the length of rope he had been carrying, but keeping hold of the crow of iron. Then, without looking to see if his friend was staying, he jumped down, landing on the wooden lid with a hollow thump.
The noise clearly startled whatever was on the other side, and there was silence. Then the screams and banging struck up again, but at a greater volume.
Ignoring this, Adams brought the crooked end of the tool down onto the edge of the coffin and pressed it between lid and side. It was nailed closed, and quite securely, although the wood was every bit as thin as Riley had predicted, and splintered about the heads. Soon a length had been freed, and was being pressed up by a force from beneath. Adams stood back, unwilling to use the heavy iron implement further for fear of hurting whatever lay within, while still relying on its weight for protection. And then, with a ripping and shattering of wood, the entire top section of the coffin began to lift.
* * *
The yellow haired woman who was so very beautiful had a name, and it was Sara. King was quick to learn that, along with much more during the remainder of that evening. It actually meant little to him although Coleridge, who was by then the only other sober male present, regarded the epithet with special significance and took to repeating it softly to himself whenever the conversation lagged.
But those times were few; Sara was so sparkling and stimulating to talk with and, as King and his new friend were the only ones capable of coherent thought, her attention naturally centred on them. She remained seated next to Hunt, however; that was something King was to remember throughout the evening, and for a long time afterwards.
Sara was the daughter of a ship's master and one of the many new faces that had arrived in the spring convoy. The Swanmore sounded a particularly ordinary little brig, although her association obviously gave the vessel greater importance. And the fact that she had spent the last three years of her life aboard ship, and knowing similar perils, gave much to her conversation with King. But then she could equally empathise and commiserate without a hint of condescension when a first time sailor like Coleridge spoke of dank calms and violent storms. How someone could look so magnificent while living in the cramped conditions of a trading brig remained a mystery to King, although the means did not bother him greatly, he was simply glad that she did.
And there was further encouragement: Sara freely admitted to only having met Hunt the previous day, so King was assured that no long term relationship could have been established. If Hunt felt anything of the attraction he did, there was bound to be stiff competition, and King was sensible enough to realise such a contest might not be the best between a captain and first officer. And it did seem that Hunt had already stolen a lead on him.
“Why Mr Hunt is to take me aboard Kestrel on the morrow, Commander,” she had told him, her eyes flashing quickly to the inert form on her left, who had drifted into a deep and solid sleep.
“Then I trust you will enjoy the day,” King replied, feeling more than slightly nettled that his own ship was to be used by another man to impress her. “Though there is still a deal to be done before we set sail,” he continued. “So you must not be offended if the tour is brief, or your escort somewhat distracted.”
If Hunt could spare the time to show a young woman about Kestrel, he could not be overworked, and that was a situation which would be changing very shortly.
“Oh, I should not mind at all, Commander,” she replied. “But perhaps if Tony is busy, you may be persuaded to stand in his place?”
* * *
Adams jumped back but was able to remain standing on the closed section of the coffin lid as the far, and broken end, rose up to meet him. The noises grew louder until all thoughts of spirits and ghosts were brushed aside, and he could think of nothing more terrible than that a fellow human was in distress. He even grasped at the wood, and wrenched it away, chucking the pieces up to where Summers was still standing, while the gasps and groans from below doubled in volume.
“What is it?” his friend called from above, but Adams had no time for him. Instead he dropped the crow of iron onto the remains of the coffin lid and bent down to see what truly lay within.
His hands felt deep inside the coffin, and almost immediately touched warm, real, and reassuringly human flesh.
“Thank God!” a husky voice cried out, as Adams caught the whiff of stale air.
“Whatever happened?” he found himself asking. But the body beneath had no energy for foolish questions, and simply lay there, breathing fast and hoarsely in the darkness.
“For heaven's sake, what is it?” Summers repeated, and Adams gave up trying to make anything out in the darkness.
“Get the line!” he called. “And bring the cart as close as you are able.”
He was still unsure exactly what they had uncovered, but it was definitely not in Dr Riley's department. For some incredible reason yet to be discovered the body was alive, at least for the time being, but would need proper medical attention as quickly as possible.
“Can you move?” Adams addressed the darkness beneath and receiving a muttered confirmation. “I'm going to lift you up,” he advi
sed, once more reaching down to the body.
It was a bare torso and the damp skin slipped between his fingers, but Summers had lowered the rope and Adams was able to slip it under the arms, securing it with the fingers of one hand in the way he had been taught.
“Very well, take the slack,” he ordered and the line grew tight. Then, with Adams straining to keep hold, and Summers heaving from above, the body was steadily eased out of the hole, and brought to lay on the rough soil nearby.
For a moment no one spoke, Adams and Summers due to shock, and Wiessner through sheer exhaustion. He lay, panting, in the cool of the evening for almost a minute, before the same, gruff voice spoke once more.
“Thank you – oh, thank you.” The words were said slowly, and with care, and neither Adams or Summers appreciated how rarely they had been uttered in the past.
Chapter Fourteen
As the month drew to a close, much changed; the riggers made short work of her tophamper and Kestrel was allowed to leave the dockyard. At the same time, King had been able to hand over his responsibilities at the Auberge d'Italie to become a full time sea officer once more. Then weapons were taken on board, while calculations began for the time when several hundred tons of water, along with beef, pork, hard tack, powder, shot, and all the other weighty necessities of a ship of war were received.
And this was no small task with little to go on other than guesswork. When she was taken, the corvette had been reasonably filled with stores, but with her tophamper wrecked it had been impossible to assess her qualities in any great detail, and Lesro proved worse than useless when it came to giving advice. So they had to wipe the slate clean and approximate the weight of each store, while assessing the need for it to be accessible, all the time keeping an eye on how it would affect Kestrel's sailing abilities. King was hoping for a crew of slightly more than one hundred, each of which required a gallon of water a day. That meant nearly half a ton of water would need to be drawn every twenty-four hours, with roughly the same weight of meat required each week.