Blaney feared the worst. A young man himself, he had almost died down there, so he shuddered to think of the effect on Cross.
His breathing eased a little, so he held the bosun’s belt, freeing Briggs’s other arm. They powered to the rocky shore closely behind Kite and the Captain. Two crewmen dragged Cross from the water, lay him on a flat rock and began massaging the Captain’s chest. Kite flopped heavily on the shore, his head slumped forward between his knees. Blaney dropped down next to him.
“I had to surface,” explained Kite between laboured breaths. “The bosun swam back, thank God, but I fear he may have been too late.”
The rest of the crew littered the jagged shore like flotsam, every man watching the desperate measures being taken to revive Cross. Finally, just when Blaney had accepted that there was no longer any hope, the Captain shuddered violently and vomited a copious amount of water. The crewmen rolled him over while he went into a hideous retching spasm.
Relieved, Blaney summoned the bosun. “We’d better get out of sight until we know the nature of this place. Get the men ready to move.”
“Aye aye, sir.”
It was not going to be easy, Blaney knew. Rocks and a cliff on this side of the harbour and those damned giant buildings on the other. Fate had discounted any easy passage from now on. They would have to navigate through the unknown.
“Give Briggs a hand, Henry,” said Blaney shaking Kite by the shoulder. “I’ll fetch Tommy.”
Kite went after the bosun wearily, following the men carrying the barely conscious Cross. Travis was at the waterline watching the Marlin. The Lieutenant had not had time to think about the stricken vessel until he joined the young midshipman, but now a lump came into his throat. The ship survived two incredible storms on the voyage and surely deserved a better fate than this. She was fully alight now, beyond saving.
“Come on, Tommy. We can’t stay here.”
Travis turned away, his cheeks glistening with tears. But he sniffed loudly, straightened up and set his jaw with determination before they caught up with the rest of the crew.
A couple of sailors had found the best way up the cliff and led the rest of the men to the relative safety of some trees at the top. Each man turned around as the powder in the Marlin’s hold exploded and tore the ship apart. The vessel disintegrated into burning embers which rained down on the water.
Blaney was thankful he was at the rear of the group so that no one could see his grim expression. There was no way back now.
REDMOND
To the east a very dim yellow band of light glowed where the sky could be seen between giant buildings. The convicts were safe enough hidden among the park bushes, but Rufus Redmond knew that once it was fully light they were easy prey.
With great difficulty he had shut his mind off to what he saw about him. He must survive and get his bearings. To stop and think about this place would be fatal.
There was enough light from the buildings around the woodland to see his men now and Redmond was glad they had settled down. They had been like sheep, which made it easy to lead them, but had they been accosted they would have been no use at all. Safety in numbers did not apply to this lot, he thought.
But for all that Redmond felt happier. Death and danger surrounded him and he had no idea of his next move, yet he was free. Well, he mused, not free. This was just a bigger prison. He held his fate in his own hands, however. This sorry-looking bunch of convicts was the key. If he could maintain his iron grip on them, permanent escape was not impossible.
Patrick Mahoney was sitting in the middle of a dozen convicts, speaking in low tones when Redmond glanced in his direction. He was a problem, Redmond knew, and one that would have to be dealt with sooner or later. There could be only one leader.
He sat down, leaning against a tree. Attempting to think, he could only reflect on their journey to this hideaway. They must be close to a mile from the landing point, Redmond thought, and out of immediate danger.
On the grassy slope where their boat had run aground Redmond had quickly taken stock. Fifty-eight convicts were ashore, more than he could have hoped for after the savage battle and fire. He was dismayed, however, to find Mahoney and his followers made up almost half of the survivors. He had not seen many of them in the fight and suspected they were skulking below until the end. But no matter, they were just as scared as everyone else and in no mood to even think about causing him trouble. Yet. Even Mahoney cowered with the main group as they directed frightened glances about the incredible city.
Redmond was also intrigued, but he allowed himself no fear. The massive monuments to the west towered much higher than any buildings he had seen before. And thousands of lanterns shone from the windows to light the entire harbour. Perhaps it was a fabled lost city of gold; the place fairly reeked of wealth. Redmond also noticed the air was smoky, but that was probably due to the fire on the Marlin.
He imagined Cross being burned to death with the ship, but there was no time to dwell on pleasantries. They had to get away from the water. Already he could see boats on the harbour, their flashing blue lanterns and high-pitched wailing noises assaulting his senses from several directions. He was spurred even faster by two strange, roaring objects which flew over them to the harbour, each of them shining a bright light over the water. The convicts wailed and Redmond kicked a few of them to get them moving.
Noah Lockwood was further up the hill, leaning against a huge tree that had long, spidery branches. He was studying the buildings, a look of wonder on his face. “What do you make of that?” he asked as Redmond joined him.
The big convict saw a curious white structure with fractured, jagged edges leaning towards the harbour like a giant slab of half-melted butter. It was so bizarre, Redmond could find no response. “Listen, we have to get away from the water. It ain’t safe here.”
“Aye,” agreed Lockwood, becoming instantly alert.
“You stay at the back an’ watch Mahoney,” continued Redmond. “He’s no threat now, but I don’t trust the bastard. Tell Silas to stay in the middle of the men.” Redmond saw that Hand was near the shore watching the last remnants of the Marlin disappear below the surface. At least his two closest companions had kept their heads.
“We’ll keep to them woods,” he said.
Lockwood considered the plan and nodded. Redmond knew he would not hesitate to criticise the plan if he saw fault.
Satisfied, he approached the men. “Get moving, you mangy lot!” he said harshly, shocking them to attention. “That’s if you don’t want to be caught,” he added, surveying each upturned face. “You know there’s a rope waitin’ for every one of our necks!”
The truth of his words slowly sank in. Redmond saw realisation sink in as they contemplated the noose. Each convict was under a sentence of death now. If captured, there would be no trial, just a shaded spot to dangle beneath the sturdy bough of a tree. Instant justice.
Needing no further urging, the men followed Redmond up the hill and were surprised when they reached the top. Instead of unbroken woods, two roads converged, each sloping up to the south. The surface was hard and smooth beneath Redmond’s bare feet and provided a good grip. He chose the road to the left because it curved away from the tall buildings, an area he was keen to avoid. The massive towers spearing the night sky reminded him too much of prison bars.
The road levelled gradually as it ran along the western side of the bay where, on the opposite side, two huge grey ships were moored. One had the number forty-one painted in bold figures near the bow. Redmond was stunned by the strength of a fleet with more than forty such vessels.
Where the bay narrowed to his left, Redmond could see a wide highway flanked by many lanterns. Queer carriages raced along the road, lights shining from the front, accompanied by roaring noises which grew louder as the group of convicts progressed.
Soon, they approached a bridge over a chasm. The roars echoing from below sounded like demons. Redmond stopped and the men packed tightly be
hind him, scared out of their wits. He could hardly blame them; his own heartbeat boomed loudly inside his head.
He moved on alone, crouching low to the ground. The movement brought a spasm of pain as scabs on his back opened up. He sighed through gritted teeth, careful that the men should not hear him. Across the bridge he saw a single building standing on the left of the road. A large structure, it had reassuring stone pillars and an ornate roof.
But first Redmond must navigate the chasm. The bridge was an extension of the road and was lined with metal railings. There was little doubt it was safe, yet the noise from underneath filled him with misgivings. Aware the eyes of every convict were on him, he steeled himself and edged even closer. Summoning all his resolve, he lifted his head to look into the abyss. The sight made him gasp loudly and the convicts moved back.
Dozens of carriages raced in both directions along the road below. They were of many different colours and shapes and all had bright lanterns blazing from their front corners. Squinting, Redmond imagined he could see men inside them. His awe turning to curiosity, he stood, confident the occupants of the boxes could not see him. Over the western side of the bridge he saw the road curve away to the right, while to the east, on the side he stood, the road split in two as it continued down a hill.
He studied the vehicles for a moment, wondering what was familiar about them. Then it came to him. The boat! That strange rumbling from under the deck. It was different, yet very similar to these...these...roarers!
Redmond went back to his men. “There’s nothin’ to be afeared of here. Them roarers’ll not see us if we get across the bridge quick-like. Move!”
He led the running group over the crossing, ensuring the convicts did not have time to dwell on the frightening sight below. But he need not have worried. Most of the men overtook him in their haste to put the chasm behind them.
“Stop over the road from that buildin’,” Redmond shouted after them. The area was illuminated by lamps fixed to tall poles, but the trees opposite afforded some cover.
“It’s an art gallery!” announced Lockwood, catching up.
“We have to keep movin’,” said Redmond. He gathered the men together and led them off again, sticking to the trees beside the road. After a few hundred yards they reached a set of open gates leading to another street. Lockwood’s voice drifted from the rear, “St Marys Road.”
Another voice, this time from ahead, stopped Redmond in his tracks. Convicts piled into him in surprise, but Redmond turned and glared at them, keeping them silent. He pushed them back into the trees and made them lay down on the grassed slope like infantry in a trench.
After a few tense seconds a couple came through the gates walking towards the Art Gallery. Their appearance caused a sharp intake of breath from most of the convicts, but the light breeze rustling the leaves drowned out the sound.
The man was a gangly youth in black, torn clothing with a heavy chain running the length of each arm. He also wore knee length boots with coppery toecaps. His head was completely shaved and a large ring pierced an ear.
The girl was also in black, a loose shirt revealing her shoulders and arms and a tiny leather skirt showing shapely legs from the thighs down. Her face would have been pretty had it not been covered by hideous black paint around the eyes and lips.
Ugly or not, Redmond felt the men stir. He licked his own lips, experiencing the light-headed sensation of barely controlled lust. He fought the feeling and turned to the man next to him. “If any man moves I’ll cut his balls off!” he whispered. “Pass it on.”
Women would have to wait until they were safe, Redmond decided. Grabbing this one would slow them down and the couple would have to be killed. Better they should pass by unaware how close they were to the escaped convicts. There would be no signposts left for the troopers to find.
Redmond breathed a huge sigh of relief when the couple idled safely away. During those seconds he realised how vulnerable he was. His chances of permanent escape depended on this stupid collection of men. He must be mad to stay with them. Yet, deep within himself, he had to admit he was still afraid of facing this monstrous city alone. He needed more knowledge.
Confident it was safe to continue, Redmond led the men forward into St Marys Road. To the right of the towering cathedral he saw a park across the road. It meant moving closer to the tall buildings, but the park looked a good place for concealment. Waiting for a roarer to hurtle past at incredible speed, Redmond waved the men across. He heard some of them describing what they would do to the next woman they encountered, and allowed himself a grin. At least it took their minds off the awesome surroundings.
They dashed along a pathway leading into the middle of the park and entered a tree-lined avenue. Unfortunately, the undergrowth was only knee deep, so Redmond led them south. Men were complaining of tiredness now and he could hardly blame them. His back itched furiously and he needed to lie down to smother the feeling. But on they must go, or risk capture.
A road soon cut the park in two. “Park Street,” announced Lockwood. Redmond wished the bastard would stop showing off his reading skills. More roarers went past before they could cross the street safely, running hell for leather up the steps at the other side. The path led to a square building in the distance, fronted by a long pond. Before they reached the water, however, Hand called out. “Over there, Rufus.”
To Redmond’s right was a small area of high bushes. It was not perfect, but he knew beggars could not be choosers. He ordered the convicts in and told them to lie down, ensuring when they did that they were not visible from the path. He noticed Mahoney did not argue with his orders, but the Irishman gave him an icy stare as he found a clearing with his followers.
Redmond sought out Hand and Lockwood at the edge of the bushes. “Anything I should know?” he asked.
Lockwood nodded. “Mahoney’s grumbling about you.”
“Aye,” added Hand, “’ee’s tellin’ ’is men you don’t know what yer doin’.”
“Is he now?” mused Redmond. Matters were coming to a head more quickly than he thought. “Get some rest,” he told his two companions.
Redmond spent the remaining hour of darkness sitting against his tree and gazing at the towers to the west. Daylight would force him into action, but first there was Mahoney. Things would have to be settled between them. One way or another.
SLAVEN
A grim task faced the flotilla amid the remains of the Marlin. Burning sections of the ship littered the water, extinguished one by one with a smoky hiss. The area where the vessel went down was thick with bodies.
Jim Slaven gritted his teeth as he worked a grappling hook, helping to pull the dead from the harbour. After a fishing trip to the Hawkesbury River, he had been looking forward to a long sleep. But the flaming welcome to Port Jackson in the early hours soon put paid to that idea.
Quickly reaching the scene in his chartered boat, Slaven was intercepted by a navy launch. His initial offer to help was not warmly received at first, but he persisted. It was a sailor’s natural instinct to help his own kind.
“It’s not pretty,” warned the naval officer, “but go ahead. I hope you’ve a strong stomach.”
Slaven frowned as he remembered those words. His fishing companion, Sam Bosca, had already thrown up twice, but had eventually grown used to the horror. Now he hauled the bodies aboard like a machine.
Eighteen bodies lay on the deck and Slaven could see other boats with more. The first two he picked up were unmarked and had probably drowned. The rest, however, suffered hideous wounds or burns and many were partly dismembered. The first of them sent Bosca running to the side, but then his stomach held until number thirteen. The two men had to wrestle that body from a shark until the two parties eventually reached a grisly compromise. Even Slaven gagged over that one. Since then, a couple of navy runabouts were employed full time chasing the sharks away.
When Slaven had twenty bodies aboard he decided that was enough. Bosca nodded his agreement.
“Don’t let me talk you out of it,” he said, a little colour returning to his cheeks.
Slaven hit the START button and the engine gurgled into life. Spinning the wheel, he turned toward Garden Island, where a temporary morgue was set up. It was getting quite light now and more vessels were approaching from all directions. Slaven opened the throttle, but Bosca stopped him.
“Hold on. What’s that over there?”
Slaven killed the engine. There was splashing near a large burning piece of wood. He thought for a moment another shark had made it through the cordon for an early morning snack. He shuddered at the thought, but decided to check it out. There were no other boats near enough to call over to the site. He started the engine again and manoeuvred around the wreckage.
At any other time the sight greeting the two fishermen would have been hilarious. A man was in the water, alive! He was trying to stay afloat by hanging onto a barrel. Each time he pulled himself up, the barrel would spin and dunk him. He didn’t even have time to cry out, such was his frantic concentration. Slaven drew up alongside, allowing Bosca to slip a boathook under the man’s jacket collar.
The man was tall and thin, with a smooth, delicate face and dripping brown curly hair. He coughed and retched as Slaven and Bosca dragged him over the side and dumped him on the deck beside the bodies. He sneezed violently three times, sending explosions of spray from his hair.
Slaven and Bosca grinned at each other, overjoyed at finding probably the only survivor of the disaster. But they had second thoughts when the young man finally found his voice.
“Did you have to be so rough, damn you!” he spluttered bitterly, accusing the two rescuers with cold, grey eyes. “Can you not see I am unwell? Who is in charge? I demand to see your superior!”
Recovering from the shock, Slaven bent down and grabbed the man by the scruff of his neck. “Listen, you ungrateful bastard,” he said, angry enough to hit him, “one more word and you’re back over the side!”
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