“Let me go, sir, I want to fight!”
Cross had forgotten he was holding Tommy Travis tightly by the arm. The midshipman had almost followed Blaney and Kite down the stairs, but Cross stopped him. When the convicts broke through the line he would throw him over the side. Then at least there was a chance he would survive to tell the story.
Shaking his head at the boy, not trusting his voice, Cross turned back to the fight. Five men deep, the defensive line was beginning to buckle under the pressure. Blaney and Kite were doing their best, but it was only a matter of time before they were killed. Kite reacted well to his first taste of action, thrashing awkwardly but effectively at any convict foolish enough to get near. A pity his final bravery would go unrewarded.
Blaney, however, was a vision of excellence. So similar to his father, thought Cross. Like Luke, he possessed perfect balance as he skilfully parried the frequent blows against him, taking the weight before striking back. As Cross watched, the Lieutenant dispatched another convict with a precise lunge to the throat.
But now Redmond was closing in with all the power of a runaway carriage down a steep hill. There was no finesse to his technique, nor was any needed. He possessed enough power to make up for any shortfall of skill, skewering bodies and splitting heads at will. So far he had not met anyone who could even slow him down.
Cross slumped forward against the rail, overwhelmed by a deep sense of loss. He was about to see Blaney, a man he regarded as fondly as a son, butchered by the huge convict. The inevitability of it filled him with despair. And fear. Blaney’s death would be rapidly followed by his own. But he would not shrink from his fate.
The two men squared up below Cross’s position and a space opened up around them, despite the fury of battle. Redmond bellowed, a terrible sound that rose above all the other noise on the Marlin. Raising his cutlass with both hands, he hurled himself at Blaney, swinging a blow that would split the Lieutenant in two, had it connected. Blaney didn’t flinch. Sweeping his sword before him, he was perfectly positioned to parry the blow, but he could do nothing to counter the brute strength behind it. Cross gasped as Blaney’s blade snapped in two and the Lieutenant crashed to the deck, his head thumping heavily against the bulkhead beneath the Captain’s feet. Redmond had time to look at Cross, an evil glint in his eye, before moving in for the killing stroke.
As the convict raised his weapon above the stunned form of Blaney, Cross felt an intense pain in his right hand. He jerked it away instantly, seeing with disbelief that Tommy Travis had bitten him. The boy leapt to the rail, and in one movement slipped the lantern from its hook and hurled it at Redmond with all his strength.
The throw saved Blaney’s life. Redmond was in mid-stride when the lantern caught him a stinging blow to the right side of the head. Off balance, he lost his footing on the bloody deck and toppled over like a felled tree, taking two other men down with him.
The convicts hesitated in their advance, shocked by Redmond’s fall. Several of their number urged them forward again, Kite using the respite to fill the gaps of the defensive line with more sailors. But the fight suddenly lost its significance. There was a far greater danger aboard.
Burning oil spilled from the shattered lantern and several fighting men were in flames. They were screaming in agony and caused panic among the rest as they dashed for the side of the ship. More men were set alight and chaos reigned.
Cross watched in horrible fascination as a convict, smothered in flames, clambered hopelessly along a spar to climb over the melee. His face was contorted in horror and he soon fell back to the deck, but not before he had set fire to a sail. The dry canvas erupted in flame.
Protecting his face from the scorching heat, Cross felt a terrible sinking sensation in his stomach. Even if he had controlled the ship, it would be too late to organise hoses. The fire had spread too rapidly. The Marlin began its death throes.
BELL
Officer Harry Bell’s cheerful mood at seeing the beautiful sailing ship soon crumbled when the young policeman realised something extraordinary was occurring aboard. Sergeant Crosby, however, appeared oblivious as he concentrated on bringing the police launch alongside, all the time muttering about what he was going to do to the captain of the vessel.
Bell opened the wheelhouse door, allowing the wild sounds from the sailing ship to enter the compartment with the warm summer air. At first he thought there was a drunken party in progress, but the yells were not those of people having a good time. In fact, thought Bell, a shudder passing through his body, the screams scared the shit out of him!
There were other noises, too. The sound of metal striking metal and an incredible deep-voiced bellow which shook Bell to his boots. Something particularly nasty was going on.
Bell turned to Sergeant Crosby. “Sarge, I think..”
“Oh, you do, do you?” Crosby rounded on him. He allowed the launch to bump against the port side of the sailing ship before continuing. “I’m the one paid to think around here, Bell, and you’re the one who does what he’s told.”
“But, sarge...”
“Stop whining and pass me the megaphone.”
Bell did as he was told. Crosby would have to find out for himself, though the bastard would probably tell him off for not telling him.
“Take the wheel and keep us close in,” ordered the Sergeant.
Crosby edged past the younger man and went on deck. Bell followed his progress steadily to the bow. The small craft was bobbing on the water, in contrast to the solid wooden ship towering above her. Crosby lifted the megaphone to his lips, but hesitated, as though he had heard the sounds from above for the first time. Bell considered calling for reinforcements, but petulantly decided he would only follow direct orders in the future.
His attention was suddenly grabbed by a flash from the sailing ship’s deck. A ball of flame rolled spectacularly up one of the sails and cries of panic filled the night. The ship was ablaze!
Watching in disbelief, Bell saw a man leap over the side, his clothes in flames, to fall into the water close to where Crosby stood. Bell heard a hiss before the man was swallowed by the harbour. Another man followed close behind, this one screaming like a banshee. Crosby recovered from the shock and shouted into his megaphone. “This is the police. Your vessel and everyone aboard is under arrest. Cease all activities and assemble on deck.”
Bell couldn’t believe what he heard. It was true Crosby did not have the same view as the elevated wheelhouse, and maybe the Sergeant hadn’t seen the sails in flames, but burning men falling from the ship required more drastic action, surely!
Shadows fell across the launch as men, silhouetted by the fire, crowded the port rail of the ship. Bell craned his neck, pressing his face close to the window to look up at them. His spine tingled when he saw the shadow of a man much bigger than the others. His face was dark against the flames, yet Bell thought he could see two pitch-black eyes staring back at him.
REDMOND
A sickening stab of frustration dug into Rufus Redmond when it became clear his chance of reaching Cross had gone. He pushed himself up from the deck, his hands sticking to the blood covering the surface. Oblivious to the panic around him, he attempted to gain his bearings, shaking his head to clear the ringing. Whatever had hit him hadn’t done him much damage, but he had been cruelly robbed of his revenge. Distorted through the flames, which had effectively separated the convicts from the crew, he could see Kite helping Blaney to his feet while Cross watched from above.
“Damnation!” he cursed. Just another few seconds and he would have finished the lot of them. Now he had nothing. He seriously considered leaping through the flames. He would catch fire for sure, but maybe he could reach Cross before...
“We have to get off!” cried Noah Lockwood, beating out the burning tails of Redmond’s shirt. The big convict had not noticed he was on fire. For the first time, he fully comprehended the situation. Fire was everywhere and men milled about in frenzied madness. A burning man cannon
ed into him, but Redmond kicked him away, aware now there was no time to lose. They had to get off the ship. He followed Lockwood to the port rail, hesitating just long enough to look back to Cross. The Captain’s face was distorted through the wall of flame, but he seemed to be looking in the convict’s direction. “I’m not finished with you yet, Cross,” he promised. “Mark me words, I’m not, you stinkin’ bastard.”
Hand met the two men at the rail. “You all right, Rufus?”
Redmond felt his head. His hand was covered in blood, yet he had no idea if it was his own. “Aye,” he said. “It’s nothin’.”
Looking over the side, Redmond was stunned. A boat was bumping gently against the hull with, as far as he could make out, only two men aboard. One of them stood at the bow, a speaking trumpet in his hand. It was too good to be true.
The boat was only about sixty feet in length and of a curious design, but Redmond decided it was sturdy enough for his purposes. He saw the other crewman was a frightened youth peering up at them through a window as he stood at the wheel. Redmond was also aware of a rumbling, throbbing noise coming from the boat, but that was of no concern in this moment of good fortune. Like many sailors, he could not swim and knew most of the convicts were the same. “Come on, lads!” he yelled, his spirits soaring, “we’re changin’ ships!”
Swinging his legs over the rail, Redmond dropped fifteen feet onto the deck of the boat, landing close to the man at the bow. His shuddering impact rocked the vessel alarmingly. The man staggered, but Redmond easily kept his balance. He smiled, his hair and beard and clothes matted with congealed blood, at the shocked man, who after a few seconds found his voice. “This is a fucking police vessel! You can’t...”
“Watch me!” Redmond swung an arm at the man, feeling teeth snap against his powerful forearm. The force of the blow sent the man over the side between the two vessels. He surfaced, barely conscious, but the hulls kissed again and crushed his skull between them like an egg.
Desperate convicts began pouring over the Marlin’s side, rocking the small boat as they jumped aboard. Redmond saw Mogley land on the roof of the wheelhouse, where the youth stood frozen with fear at the wheel, and clamber down to enter the small room. Recognising the vicious grin on the loathed convict’s face, Redmond realised with alarm what he was about to do. He pushed through the other convicts littering the deck, more aware than ever of the strange throbbing beneath his feet.
But he was too late. He entered the wheelhouse just as Mogley withdrew his bloody cutlass from the youth’s throat. The body fell against the wheel and instantly a great roaring noise welled up from the bowels of the boat. The vessel seemed to lift itself out of the water and surge forward, as though a whale had surfaced beneath it. Too-slow convicts fell from the Marlin into the water and screamed as they went under.
Steadying himself, Redmond swung a fist at the unrepentant Mogley. There was little room in the enclosed space for a powerful blow, but the punch caught Mogley on the chin and he crashed to the floor. “You stupid bastard!” roared Redmond, “we needed ’im!”
Mogley crawled into the corner, holding his chin, while Redmond wrestled the body from the wheel. Through the window he could see that many of the surviving convicts had made it aboard. They clung desperately to the roaring vessel, most crying out in fear at the monstrous roaring beneath the deck and also at their first view of the shore. Redmond was also aware of the bizarre city, but he had to concentrate on more important things first. Like staying alive.
The dead youth’s arms were tangled in the wheel spokes as the boat spun away from the Marlin. They were heading directly at a giant grey ship moored at the southern shore of the harbour. Redmond had to break both arms to get the body free and, dragging the slight youth to the door, he tossed him over the side, carrying an unfortunate convict with the body. Redmond dashed back to the wheel.
“We’ll all be killed!” cried Mogley, who stood again looking out of the window.
“Shut yer mouth!” Redmond spun the wheel easily, surprised by the lack of resistance. He thought it was broken, yet the vessel responded immediately, veering wildly. Men screamed and hung on for their lives. They missed the hull of the grey vessel narrowly and Redmond wiped sweat from his brow. He could hardly believe the speed of the boat as it shot back into open water.
Now they were heading for a stone island fort in the middle of the harbour. There were sure to be soldiers there, so Redmond spun the wheel hard to port. The boat cleared the headland where the giant ship was moored and skirted a small bay. Unlike most of the coastline which was fringed by massive buildings, the land here was wooded. He knew he would have to run the boat aground and the approaching finger of land was as good a place as any. He meandered in an attempt to slow their speed, but it was not a successful tactic. He braced himself against the wheel. “Hold fast, lads!”
The boat smashed into rocks just below the surface and bounced up a small slope into a stone wall, before sliding back into the water. Redmond was winded by the impact, but Mogley had survived bouncing around the wheelhouse without a scratch. Some of the convicts had been thrown over the side, though most were still aboard.
Redmond scrambled from the wheel house as the boat began to drift and sink, jumping into the shallow water. He ducked his head under and washed the blood as best he could from his knotted hair, then picked his way through slippery rocks to the grassy slope above.
The surviving convicts threw themselves to the ground, many thanking God loudly for their deliverance. Redmond silenced them angrily, but inside he was ecstatic. They were free and standing on solid ground. He watched the boat keel over on its side and sink. Then he turned his gaze further out to where the Marlin burned brightly, flames licking the sky high above the main mast.
May you burn with her, Cross, he wished silently.
BLANEY
Blaney allowed himself to be led to the upper deck by Kite and a crewman. His coat smouldered in the intense heat of the fire, but he hardly noticed. His limbs seemed to operate independently of his mind as he staggered up the steps between the two men.
“Nearly there,” said Kite.
They set him down on the deck beside Cross, who squatted down and put his hand on Blaney’s shoulder. “Are you badly hurt, Kit?” he asked, deep concern etching even more lines on his worn face.
It was a difficult question to answer. The blow from Redmond still vibrated through his body, making Blaney feel as though he’d been trampled by a team of horses. Strength slowly returned to his limbs, but his right arm, which took the weight of the blow, was numb from shoulder to hand.
“Kit?”
“Sorry, sir,” said Blaney. “I’ll recover. Just stunned.”
Cross nodded. “Thank God for Travis.”
Blaney stared back, uncomprehending. He could remember nothing except the earth-jarring sensation of Redmond’s impact. Cross quickly explained and then helped Kite move the Lieutenant to the stern. The surviving crew gathered there, driven by the increasingly hungry flames. Smoke and confusion reigned and Blaney could not be sure how many men were left. Plenty were still trapped in the flames, but they were beyond help. He could also see the dim outlines of convicts going over the port side. Hopefully to their deaths, he thought, seeing how far away the shore was. He felt a wave of anger. Redmond was responsible for so many deaths. He bunched his right fist, but there was little strength there yet. His fingers, however, began to tingle painfully.
Young Tommy Travis stood nearby watching the death throes of his ship, his eyes filled with tears. “Cheer up, lad,” said Blaney. “You saved our lives.”
“Who can swim?” shouted Kite over the roar of flames. Blaney knew he was still minutes away from regaining his full wits, and Cross appeared to be in a state of confusion, so Kite had stepped in to assume command.
A smattering of hands went up among the exhausted crew, relieved to find authority still in their midst.
“Very well,” said Kite. “You swimmers attach
yourselves to those who cannot swim. We’ll make for the land over there.”
Blaney looked across and saw a dark point of land jutting from the northern shore. It was not an easy distance, yet it was the closest land to the Marlin and they had no choice.
Strength was rapidly returning to his body, but Blaney allowed Kite to organise the evacuation under his watchful eye. The younger Lieutenant displayed the makings of a first class officer. He had the men, who were clearly frightened of drowning, up on the rail and over the side before they knew what was happening.
Cross insisted on being the last to leave, but Kite and Blaney, who was now close to recovery, ensured he was between them when they climbed over the rail. They leapt into the night air together, Blaney noticing his jacket sleeve was alight as they hit the water.
The cold water cleared the rest of the cobwebs from Blaney’s mind and he gasped as he broke the surface, coming face to face with Kite. There was no sign of the Captain. Both men dived, Blaney kicking straight down until he felt his eyes might burst. The last of his breath dribbled from his mouth in the pitch darkness and his head throbbed, yet he kept going. A feeling of panic began to overtake him as he realised he was dangerously deep, but wait...his right hand clutched something. Hair! Human hair! He pulled and touched skin, then cloth. He gripped the material and kicked weakly for the surface, his head bursting. Then an object brushed his arm. It pulled away, then grabbed him tightly. It was a hand, pulling him up to the surface.
Blaney choked and coughed as his head emerged from the deep. He thrashed in the water, but the hand held him steady. “Don’t move, sir, I’ve got ’ee.” It was Bosun Briggs. He swam surely towards the shore, one arm holding Blaney’s jacket.
“The Captain?” gasped the Lieutenant.
“Mr Kite’s got ’im,” said Briggs, “but ’ee don’t look good.”
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