‘Aye, aye, sir.’ Endicott turned to leave, and then let out a yell of alarm.
Killigrew whirled, pulling the pepperbox from his belt, and levelled it at the doorway where he saw a savage figure brandishing a spear threateningly. Recognising him, he relaxed. ‘Sharky! Christ! You scared the living daylights out of me.’
Sharky lowered his spear. ‘Ale!’ he growled. ‘You come too much back again. White men come finish. Attack village, take man finish. No good.’
‘Man? Which man?’
‘Two man and ten. Moltata, Guevu, Kateingo… white man take all.’
‘What about Captain Richards? Is he alive? Did they take him?’
‘Him too much sore. White man attack him, beat him long time finish. But him too much strong, m’be him live.’
‘Where is he?’
‘In tree. When white man come finish, woman and pikanini hidem in tree. Back again, we see Vanguard come long place here, we ting maybe bad white man come back again. We hidem again. Sharky come long hut long look-see.’
‘How far away?’
‘Two, maybe t’ree hunnerd yard through tree.’
‘Can you take me to him?’
‘Ale!’
‘Go and get that chart, Endicott, and meet me back here in fifteen minutes.’
‘Aye, aye, sir.’
As Endicott headed back to where they had left the jolly boat, Killigrew and the others followed Sharky into the trees, using the bull’s-eye and the oil-lamp to light their way.
‘I don’t get it, sir,’ said Molineaux. ‘Was it slavers who attacked this village, or Quested and his men?’
‘Both,’ explained Killigrew. ‘You were right about the Lucy Ann making for these islands, but for the wrong reasons; or at least, you didn’t know all his reasons for coming here. I’ll lay odds Quested knows these islands like the back of his hand.’
‘You think he’s the slaver that kidnapped all those natives two years ago?’
‘I’ll stake my life on it.’
‘It still don’t make any sense, sir,’ said Ågård. ‘Why stop here to pick up slaves? Hasn’t he got his hands full getting Cusack to California? Maybe if he thought he’d given us the slip, he could turn a tidy profit on the way somehow; but he knows he hasn’t given us the slip: the writing on the wall tells us that.’
‘Quested didn’t come here for slaves, Ågård. He’s got a score to settle with me, don’t forget. The slaves were just the icing on the cake. He knows how I feel about slavery: kidnapping natives right from under my nose would appeal to his twisted sense of humour.’
‘It also gives you an added incentive to go after him, in case you weren’t gammoned by that dress into thinking that Mrs Cafferty might still be alive,’ said Molineaux. ‘He’s no fool, that Quested: the dress, the slaves… all of it carefully judged to get you all worked up so that you go charging off to Judgement Point on your own, just like the message said… and walk slap-bang straight into a trap.’
‘The thought had occurred to me.’
‘But you’re going anyway,’ Molineaux said heavily.
‘Unless you have a better suggestion? Mrs Cafferty may yet be alive; we don’t know for sure. And even if she is dead, Moltata and the other eleven natives who were kidnapped only got caught up in this because of me. I owe it to them to rescue them.’
Sharky called out in his own language, a warning to the people hiding in the jungle that they were approaching. Suddenly the five seamen were surrounded by natives who materialised out of the trees into the light of the oil-lamp. But they let the seamen pass, and Sharky conducted Killigrew to a grove where several native women were tending a prone figure that lay on a bed of leaves. As the women parted to let Killigrew approach, he gasped.
‘I guess I look a precious sight, eh?’ said Richards.
Killigrew only recognised him because of the voice. The trader was covered in head to toe in some kind of mud. ‘It’s a poultice Sharky made for me,’ explained Richards. ‘For the bruises.’
Killigrew crouched over him. ‘What happened to you?’
‘A couple of walking mountains called Gog and Magog, would you believe? Twins, at that. Quested told them to work me over. I think they enjoyed it.’ He grinned weakly. ‘It don’t seem so bad when I think that at least someone got pleasure from it.’
‘You’re certain it was Quested?’
‘Oh, aye. He tapped me on the chest with his hook, and made me repeat his name so he could be sure I’d got it right.’
‘Do you want me to ask Mr Strachan to come and take a look at you?’
‘No. Sharky’s a pretty good doctor. Oh, his methods might raise some eyebrows at the Royal College of Surgeons, but I’ve seen him cure sick men that most Western physicians wouldn’t even bother to look at, for fear of losing their fee.’
‘I’m sorry this had to happen to you… It’s my fault…’
‘Hey, stop trying to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders, Killigrew. If anyone’s responsible for this, it’s that bastard Quested. If you want to do me a favour, just make sure you take your time killing him.’
Killigrew made his way back to the trade house with Sharky and the three seamen. When they got there, Cavan and Strachan were waiting for them with Endicott by the light of a second oil-lamp. ‘Got the map?’ Killigrew asked Endicott.
The Liverpudlian nodded and spread the chart on the table. ‘You’re not going to like this, sir. Here’s where we are, at Port Resolution; and here’s Judgement Point – way over here on the other side of the island.’
‘Lumme!’ exclaimed Molineaux. ‘Begging your pardon, sir. But that’s got to be at least twenty miles!’
‘Probably nearer seventeen,’ Killigrew said mildly.
Strachan checked his fob watch. ‘It’s quarter past seven now. How long will it take the Vanguard to get there?’
‘She couldn’t do it in less than seven hours,’ said Cavan. ‘Even that’s asking a lot.’
‘Yes, and Quested knows it,’ said Killigrew. ‘He wants me to go alone, remember?’
‘And you’re going?’ Strachan demanded incredulously.
‘Seventeen miles in four and three-quarter hours. That’s only…’ Killigrew started counting on his fingers.
Cavan coughed with embarrassment. ‘Four miles an hour, sir?’ he suggested helpfully.
‘A brisk walk should do it,’ said Killigrew.
‘Seventeen miles as the crow flies, sir,’ Molineaux pointed out. ‘Probably nearer twenty on foot. Over rough country. In the dark.’
‘I’ll take Sharky here part of the way to guide me,’ said Killigrew. ‘If that’s all right with you, Sharky?’
‘Ale!’ responded the nakaimo.
‘You’ll never make it, sir,’ said Molineaux. ‘And even if you do, they’ll kill you when you get there.’
‘Maybe,’ allowed Killigrew, checking he had his cutlass and that both his pepperboxes were primed and loaded. ‘Cavan, get the men back on board the Vanguard and set out at once for Judgement Point. You said just now it would take her seven hours to get there; cut it down to six, and I’ll see to it they make you an admiral. I’ll set out overland with Sharky; when I get there I’ll try to delay them from sailing before you get there.’
‘I’m coming with you, sir,’ said Molineaux.
‘The devil you are.’
The seaman unslung his rifle. ‘I’m coming with you, sir; otherwise you don’t walk out of that door.’
Killigrew turned and faced him. It was obvious the seaman was in deadly earnest: he would not shoot the lieutenant dead, but he might wound him the way he had wounded one of the natives on the west coast earlier that day. ‘Ågård, place Able Seaman Molineaux under arrest for mutiny. I’ll decide what’s to be done with him when I get back.’
‘If you get back,’ said Strachan.
Uncertainly, Ågård took a step towards Molineaux. ‘Sorry, Wes…’
Molineaux turned the rifle on him. ‘Stay back
, Ollie. I’m serious.’
It was Cavan of all people who broke the standoff. ‘All right, Ågård, stand down. If you’re going to arrest anyone, arrest Mr Killigrew.’
‘You don’t have the authority, Mr Cavan,’ warned the lieutenant.
‘As the second-ranking executive officer present I do, sir, if the senior medical officer rules you unfit for command by reason of insanity. What do you say, Mr Strachan?’
‘Hmm?’ Apparently it was news to Strachan that he was the senior medical officer present. ‘Oh, yes. Mad as a March hare.’
‘Are you going to put that in writing, Strachan?’ Killigrew asked softly.
‘I’m sorry, sir. If it was up to me neither you nor Molineaux here would go anywhere near Judgement Point tonight. But I can see I’m going to have no more luck persuading him to stay than I am you. At least if you both go, there’s a chance one of you might live long enough to tell us what happened to the other.’
Molineaux shouldered his rifle. ‘We’re wasting time, sir.’ He pushed past the lieutenant and stepped outside.
‘Damn it!’ said Killigrew. ‘You’re supposed to obey superior officers, Mr Cavan!’
‘You can court-martial me when I get to Judgement Point with the Vanguard, sir. Good luck.’
* * *
The first ten miles were the worst. Sharky led the way, setting a punishing pace; he had to stop every few hundred yards and wait for Killigrew and Molineaux to catch up. The path led inland, around the south and western slopes of Mount Yasur, which rumbled ominously above them. To the north-west of the volcano was a barren plain covered in ash where nothing grew: in the orange glow of the volcano, the plain looked eerie.
They hurried across the shore of a lake, and then they were moving along a trail through thick jungle. As he struggled to keep pace with Sharky, Killigrew’s one consolation was that at least the nights were temperate on Tanna; he was soon dripping with sweat from the exertion, and had the climate been more sultry the humid air might have overcome his European constitution.
Sharky seemed to have no difficulty following the trail, such as it was, and when Killigrew lost sight of his pale figure flitting through the darkness he could usually be counted on to be waiting for them up ahead. The path grew steeper, emerging from the trees and twisting and turning its way up the side of a high ridge as they entered the mountains of the central range. It was hard going, and a couple of miles further on Killigrew had to stop and clutch at a stitch in his side.
‘It’s all them cheroots you smoke, sir,’ said Molineaux, who had lost none of his bounce. Even as he waited for Killigrew to get his wind back, the seaman ran on the spot, as if to taunt him. ‘They take the wind from a man’s lungs.’
Killigrew looked the seaman up and down. ‘Damn your eyes, Molineaux! Don’t you ever break into a sweat?’
‘Not me, sir. “Cowcumber Henson” they used to call me back in London.’
‘Why did they call you that?’
‘Partly on account of how I never sweat, no matter how hot things get.’
‘Partly?’
Molineaux grinned. ‘You don’t want to know the other reason, sir.’
‘I think I can guess. But what I wanted to know is why they called you “Henson”?’
‘That’s my mum’s maiden name, sir. After my dad walked out on us for the last time, she changed her name back. We all did – didn’t want to be associated with that sonuvabitch any longer. Then, when I was on the run and I signed on board HMS Powerful, well… I couldn’t give them my real tally with the peelers after me, could I? Molineaux was the first tally that popped into my noggin.’
‘You never told me what it was you were on the run for.’
‘Stealing, sir. Same as some of those coves we’ve been chasing ever since Norfolk Island,’ he added significantly.
‘You’ve no need to feel guilty, Molineaux. Whatever you stole, I think you can say you’ve redeemed yourself by now, after the work you did on the Guinea Coast and in China.’
‘Maybe,’ Molineaux said dubiously. ‘What about Sol… about Wyatt and them other coves? Do they get a chance to redeem themselves?’
‘They’ve had their second chance. That’s why they were transported to the Australias. But they proved themselves incorrigible; that’s why they were sent to Norfolk Island.’
‘Easy for a cove like you to condemn them, sir. You don’t know the full story. There might be mitigating circumstances.’
‘It’s not my job to condemn them. That’s up to the courts. Our job is to take them back to Norfolk Island.’
‘Dead or alive?’
‘That’s entirely up to them.’ Seeing Sharky gesture impatiently, and mindful that time was running out, Killigrew started running again – a shambolic, stumbling run, but it covered the ground. At length the terrain levelled out as they hurried through a pass between two peaks. At one point they ran through a patch of yam vines and Killigrew tripped and fell flat on his face.
Molineaux helped him up. ‘You oh-kay, sir?’
‘I’m fine.’ Killigrew dusted himself off with stinging palms, feeling foolish. ‘Come on, let’s keep moving.’
Killigrew paused and peered at his fob watch in the faint moonlight. ‘What time is it, sir?’ gasped Molineaux; even he had the decency to be out of breath by now.
A cloud moved across the face of the moon, and Killigrew had to light a match to see the watch face. ‘Just coming up to ten. How much further, Sharky?’
The nakaimo pointed off into the darkness. ‘Judgement Point – four mile.’
‘Only four miles!’ exclaimed Killigrew. The thought gave him renewed strength. ‘Come on, we’re almost there!’ He broke into a sprint, but before he had taken a couple of paces Sharky had caught him by the collar and hoiked him back. Killigrew sprawled on his back. ‘What the devil—’
Sharky picked up a rock. Killigrew thought he was going to hit him with it, but the nakaimo stretched out his arm and let go of it. A second or two passed before the sound of it hitting the ground a hundred feet or so below carried back to them.
‘Jesus!’ Killigrew felt cold when he realised how close he had come to stepping over the precipice in the darkness.
‘Four mile as bird fly. We walk…’ He gestured off to their right. ‘Nine, maybe ten mile.’
‘Ten miles!’ groaned Molineaux. ‘We’ll never make it. Not in two hours.’
‘Is there no quicker route down?’ Killigrew asked Sharky urgently.
The nakaimo grinned. ‘Ale! You step out – you get down too much quick. Then just little bit walkem, flat ground all way. But you no walkem again.’
Molineaux crawled to the lip of the precipice and peered down. ‘What do you think, Molineaux?’ asked Killigrew. ‘Can we climb down?’
‘Not in this light, sir. Looks like a sheer drop to me. I dunno – maybe I could make it in the daytime. But it could take longer climbing than walking. We could get halfway down and run out of handholds, find we’ve come to a dead end and then have to climb back up and start all over again. Now, if we had some rope, it would be a different matter…’
Killigrew snapped his fingers. ‘What about those vines we passed a couple of hundred yards back?’
Molineaux grinned. ‘Now, they might just do the trick.’
The three of them hurried back to where they had seen the vines. Molineaux pulled up a length, cutting it with the Bowie knife he carried in a sheath in the small of his back, and measured it in his outstretched arms. ‘Twelve fathoms. Not long enough.’
‘So we’ll pull up another and tie them together.’
Molineaux ripped up the second largest vine he could find. When he measured it between his arms it was only half as long as the first, but in combination they would be long enough. He tied them together and tugged on the knot to make sure it would hold.
The two vines came apart.
‘Damn it, Molineaux!’ exclaimed Killigrew. ‘What kind of a snowball hitch was that? Do it pr
operly. Our lives are going to depend on that rope.’
Scowling, the seaman tried again.
‘Rabbit goes into the hole, round the tree…’ Killigrew reminded him helpfully.
‘Hey, I do know how to tie a knot, sir.’ Molineaux pulled the knot tight, and then tested the rope again. Again it came apart.
‘You’re supposed to be an able seaman, damn your eyes!’ snapped Killigrew. ‘Here, give them to me. Little rabbit goes into the hole, round the back of the tree, across the boughs, round the back of the tree again, and back out through the hole, thus.’ He pulled on the vines, and his own knot came asunder.
‘See?’ Molineaux demanded truculently. ‘There’s no way them vines are going to hold. They keep bloody stretching!’
Killigrew took the longer of the two vines and pulled on it with all his might. The length between his fists stretched to half its length again, without coming close to snapping. ‘That’s it!’ he exclaimed.
‘What is?’
‘How we can get down the cliff quickly.’ He started coiling up the seventy-foot length of vine. ‘Come on, back to the cliff.’
‘Sir, I ain’t got a notion what you’re talking about.’ Molineaux followed Killigrew back to the precipice. The lieutenant tore a few pages out of his pocket book, wrapped them round a small stone, then set fire to them with a match and dropped the burning paper over the cliff. The three of them watched the flame plummet into the darkness before it hit the ground far below.
‘How far, would you say?’
‘About a hundred feet. That leaves us thirty feet short – prob’ly nearer forty once we’ve tied the end of the vine to that rock there. And we know the knot will come apart as soon as we put any weight on the rope.’
Killigrew shook his head. ‘We’ll tie it in a double Cornish bowline hitch – that should hold long enough for my purposes.’
‘Long enough for us to climb all the way down?’
‘The knot won’t come apart until the full weight of my body is on it,’ explained Killigrew. ‘All I have to do is make sure that the full weight of my body doesn’t come to bear until I’m at the end of the rope.’
Killigrew and the Incorrigibles Page 31