‘And how the hell are you going to do that?’
‘By tying the rope around my chest and jumping off the cliff.’
‘What?’
‘It’s a trick the natives on Pentecost Island use in one of their ceremonies.’ Killigrew secured one end of the vine to the rock as he spoke. ‘When there’s no more slack, the rope will start to stretch, slowing my descent. I should come to a halt before the knot starts to come apart – if I tie an ordinary knot around my chest, that will come apart first. If I use ten fathoms of vine, that should stretch to about fifteen fathoms. I’ll be motionless when the knot comes apart, and only have ten feet to drop.’
‘You’re crazy, sir,’ said Molineaux.
‘I’m not asking you to do it. When I get to the bottom, I’ll strike a match to let you know I’m all right. You can go down the long way and meet me at Judgement Point as soon as you can.’
‘What if you’ve miscalculated? What if the knot comes apart before the vine stretches to the full extent? What if it stretches too much before it’s slowed your fall enough? What if you hit a tree or a spur of rock or something on the way down? You’ll be killed for sure!’
‘Maybe,’ admitted Killigrew, and grinned in the darkness as he knotted the vine around his chest. ‘But what a way to go, eh!’ Before Molineaux could protest further, he stepped backwards off the cliff and plummeted into the darkness.
Chapter 18
Midnight At Judgement Point
As Killigrew fell, a feeling of peace descended over him. He had tied the vine as swiftly as caution would allow, and jumped off the precipice without thinking about it because he knew that if he stopped to think he would never have the courage to do it. He could not see the cliff face rushing past beside him, but he was aware of it: six feet away or an inch, he had no way of telling. The wind rushing past him gave him a curious sense of exhilaration, and for the first time in fifteen months it felt good to be alive; in fact, he felt more alive than he had ever felt before in his life.
Except that somewhere far below him the unforgiving ground was rushing up to meet him.
A sense of panic seized him – to die just when he had regained the pleasure of living would be too ironic – but it was only fleeting. Either this was going to work, or it was not. There was nothing he could do about it, except relax and enjoy the ride.
The vine grew taut above him. He braced himself for the sudden jerk, but it never came: the creeper just stretched and stretched, slowing him to a gentle halt…
And then the knot against his chest came apart.
He was falling again, dropping into the unknown, but it lasted less than a second: then he hit the ground, his knees slightly bent to absorb the shock, and rolled over.
The ground was not flat, however, but sloping, and he fell head over heels and rolled down the scree-strewn gradient in a small avalanche, carried down on a bed of tiny, rolling pebbles. At last he slid to a halt, winded, dazed, covered in bruises and scratches, and feeling elated.
He was alive!
He lay there for several seconds, simply revelling in the joy of being alive as a man waking up in bed on a cold and frosty morning might revel in a lie-in. Then, remembering why he had taken such an insane risk, he picked himself up and dusted himself down. There was work to be done.
The moon had come out from behind its cloud and he could see the landscape before him silhouetted vaguely in the darkness against the purple night sky. The terrain before him seemed to slope away gently, and in the distance he could hear breakers somewhere off to his left. Taking out a pocket compass, he struck a match to signal Molineaux and Sharky on the cliff top that he was all right, and then used the light to get his bearings. If he struck out north-west until he reached the coast, and then followed it north, sooner or later he must get to Judgement Point.
He heard a noise high above him: half whoop of exultation, half scream of terror. The cry grew louder and louder, and then stopped with a gasp, followed a split second later by a thud and a grunt. Then there was a rustling sound, pebbles bounced in all directions around him, and a moment later Molineaux pitched up a couple of feet from where he stood.
‘Glad you could join me,’ Killigrew told the seaman cheerfully. ‘Capital lark, isn’t it? We’ll have to try that again some time, when this is all over. In daylight, perhaps.’
Molineaux glowered up at him. ‘No thanks, sir. It was bad enough when I couldn’t see what I was doing.’
‘You know, the natives of Pentecost Island do it with the vine tied to their ankles. Now that must really be a lark – plummeting headfirst, down and down, watching the ground rushing up towards you…’
‘You’re nuts, sir.’
‘Come on.’ Killigrew checked he had not lost his cutlass or his pepperboxes in the fall. ‘Got your rifle and your knife? Good man. Let’s look lively.’
They set off walking, wading through shoulder-high elephant grass. ‘What time is it, sir?’
Killigrew checked his watch. ‘Twenty past ten. No need to run. We should make it with the best part of an hour to spare, thanks to my short cut.’
‘And then what?’
‘Let’s take a look at the lie of the land before we decide that.’
But Killigrew could not help thinking that getting there early might just work in their favour. Quested had timed it perfectly, or so he had thought. Until then he had been one step ahead of Killigrew all the way. He had known roughly what time the Vanguard would get back to Port Resolution. By choosing midnight as the time for Killigrew to meet him at Judgement Point he had known the lieutenant would barely have time to get there on foot. He was expecting Killigrew to turn up there alone and out of breath at midnight. But if Killigrew arrived with Molineaux, both of them in fighting trim, at a quarter past eleven… it would give him the chance to turn the tables on Quested.
They reached the sea, where the surf washed gently against the black sand in the moonlight, and followed it north. As they reached the next headland, Molineaux suddenly grabbed Killigrew by the shoulder and pulled him back. ‘Wait, sir. There: d’you see her? A ship.’ He pointed off the coast ahead of him.
Killigrew could not see a thing in the darkness. ‘Damn it, Molineaux, you must have eyes like a bat.’
‘Her lights are out, but she’s there right enough: just beyond that next headland, half a mile away.’ He unslung the rifle. ‘Come on.’
Killigrew unhooked one of his pepperboxes from his belt and the two of them crept forward more cautiously, sticking to the shadows at the back of the beach. As they neared the headland Molineaux lost sight of the ship, but once they started to crest the rise in the ground above even Killigrew could make it out: the Lucy Ann.
The two of them ducked down, and the lieutenant took a miniature telescope from his pocket to survey the scene. A harpoon had been thrust into the sand atop a dune about two hundred yards away, and a lantern hung from the top of its wooden shaft. Three men stood in the circle of light below it, and Killigrew recognised one of them as Quested by his hook-handed silhouette. A boat had been drawn up on the beach behind them, and two more men, both armed with muskets, stood on guard over it.
‘How many can you see, sir?’ whispered Molineaux.
‘Five.’
‘There’ll be more,’ the seaman assured him. ‘Someone hidden in the long grass with a rifle, waiting to put a bullet in your head the moment you step into view.’
‘No sign of Mrs Cafferty. I suppose she’s still on board the Lucy Ann.’
‘If she’s still alive.’ Killigrew looked at him. The seaman shrugged. ‘Got to face the facts, sir. Quested doesn’t need her any more. You think he’s the sort of cove who’d keep her alive when he don’t need her?’
‘Either way, Moltata and his people still need to be rescued.’
Molineaux glanced behind them. ‘Still no sign of the Vanguard.’
Killigrew checked his watch. ‘It’s only a quarter past eleven. We can’t expect Mr Cavan with the
Vanguard for another three hours. Until then, it’s just you and I.’
‘Against maybe three dozen of them.’
‘That’s only eighteen each.’
‘Easy as caz,’ Molineaux commented ruefully. ‘Got any ideas, sir?’
Killigrew nodded. ‘Quested isn’t expecting me for another three-quarters of an hour. That gives me all the time in the world to swim out to the Lucy Ann, find out if Mrs Cafferty’s on board, and free Moltata and his people.’
‘And then what? Instigate a slave revolt and take over the ship?’ Molineaux asked sardonically.
‘That might work in one of M’sieur Dumas’ novels, Molineaux; I’m going to have a hard enough time as it is getting our friends off the Lucy Ann alive. Arresting Cusack and Quested will have to wait for another day, if it happens at all. Our first priority has to be to protect the innocent.’
‘Now you’re talking sense. What do you want me to do? Come with you?’
Killigrew shook his head. ‘You can do more good ashore. Try not to precipitate things: the longer we can keep them here, the better. Until midnight they’ll be content to wait; after that they’re going to start getting restless. As soon as they head back to the boat, start shooting: try to keep them pinned down. No heroics: keep your head down, hoist in?’
‘That’s rich, coming from you, sir!’
‘I get paid more than you, Molineaux. Taking risks is my job. They’ll be able to pinpoint you from your muzzle-flashes, so keep moving. And if you get the chance to kill any of those bastards… don’t waste it. I’ve a feeling that if we don’t get them tonight, we never shall.’
‘How will I know when you’re safely off the ship?’
‘Because I’ll set her on fire before I jump over the side. That should stop the bastards from trying to sail away.’ Killigrew unhooked his pepperboxes from his belt and handed them to Molineaux. ‘You’d better take these: there’s no way I can take them on board without getting the powder soaked.’
‘Good luck, sir.’
‘You too.’
Killigrew nodded curtly, crawled across the beach and dragged himself out through the surf before striking out for the Lucy Ann.
* * *
Molineaux watched Killigrew swim out into the darkness before turning back to where Quested and his men waited on one of the dunes. Holding his rifle before him, he squirmed on his belly through the sand, trying to work his way through the dunes until he was to the north of Quested and the others, the one direction they would not expect anyone to come from.
He moved silently, a shadow amongst the shadows. When it came to creeping around in the dark, no one had been more at home than Cowcumber Henson moving silently through the rooms of a town house in London while the owners and servants slept. Every so often, he would pause and become one with the shadows, listening intently. Patience was the real virtue that lent a man stealth: the patience to outwait the peelers lurking to trap you. Sooner or later one of them gave himself away with a sniff of a nose made runny by the damp London air. When that happens, Foxy had always taught him, get out. Don’t stop to prig the gob-sticks from the dresser; just mizzle and don’t look back over your shoulder. There’s many a dab snakesman that got lagged because he got greedy. Know when to walk away from a job: you mayn’t die a blunted cove, but at least you’ll die a free one.
But this was one job Molineaux could not walk away from, not now that Killigrew had swum out to the Lucy Ann.
It was his nose rather than his eyes and ears that saved him, however: a whiff of tobacco carried on the breeze, when he knew that neither Quested nor the two men with him had been smoking. He glanced upwind, and saw the glow of a pipe amongst the reeds to his right, overlooking the patch of exposed ground he had been about to crawl across. Molineaux changed direction, crawling around to approach the man from behind.
The man lay on his stomach amongst the reeds, a musket cradled to his shoulder, a clay pipe stuck in one corner of his mouth. Clearly he had never been duck hunting: a man stupid enough to smoke when lying in ambush did not deserve a chance, and Molineaux did not give him one. The man never knew what hit him. Molineaux was all over him in the blink of an eye, his left hand clamping over the man’s mouth as his right drove the blade of his Bowie knife between his ribs in search of his heart. The man gave a single spasm, and was still.
Molineaux lay motionless on top of the man’s corpse, listening to make sure the scuffle had not been overheard. The only sound that had been made was the man’s toecaps scraping against the sand, and even that had only been momentary, but Molineaux lay still nonetheless, in case someone more skilled at ambushes was nearby, waiting for him to make a move. Five minutes, ten minutes, Molineaux had the patience of a spider.
Nothing. At last Molineaux took the man’s musket and slung it from one shoulder, and retrieved the rifle he had left at the foot of the dune, carrying it so it was ready and it would not knock against the musket, giving away his position. He crawled around the back of a couple of dunes, climbed to the top of the furthest and peered through the reeds on the crest to where Quested and the two men waited beneath the lantern. Now he was in position, there was nothing to do but wait until midnight. He had no watch, which was just as well: a man waiting with a watch was forever looking at it, making the time pass more slowly; but he did not need one. He would know when it was midnight, because all hell was going to break loose.
* * *
The water was perfect: a gentle chop stirred up the sea into waves which slopped against the Lucy Ann’s hull, the sound masking any noise Killigrew might have made, but not too choppy to prevent him from employing a strong, silent breaststroke to take him out to the whaler. He duck-tailed beneath the water, swam under the keel and surfaced on the far side of the hull, in the shadows of one of the boats suspended over the side.
Treading water, he glanced up and saw a man on sentry-go at the starboard entry port a few feet above him, armed with a musket. Slow, steady footsteps sounded on the deck as another man, presumably also on watch, paced back and forth. At least two guards, then: he had been hoping against it, but expecting it nonetheless. It was no good climbing the anchor chain and hauling himself up on to the head: he needed to get to the accommodation aft, but he could not sneak down the fore hatch and through the forecastle: that would be crowded with men, and on a night like this he did not imagine many of them would be sleeping. Nor could he cross the deck with at least two men on guard: there was no way of dealing with one without giving the other a chance to raise the alarm.
He swam around to the stern and studied the rudder, looking for a way up. There was a gap between the mainpiece and the sternpost where the rudder was hinged, wide enough for him to get his fingers through. He gripped the mainpiece and braced his feet against the planks of the sternpost, on either side of the rudder. Then, pulling back against the mainpiece with his hands and pressing the soles of his feet against the sternpost, he edged up, hand over hand, until he could hang from the rudder hole. There was an overhang immediately above him. He groped for a handhold, found one, and swung himself out. He dangled by one arm, then reached up with the other and hauled himself up until he was peering through the stern window. The great cabin behind the window was dark, but one of the windows was ajar. He managed to pull it open, hauled himself through and sprawled on the seat on the other side.
‘Good evening,’ an urbane voice said in the darkness.
Killigrew froze as someone struck a match. The flame was applied to the wick of an oil-lamp, and the guttering flame illuminated the great cabin to reveal Jarrett standing over the lamp while one of the other incorrigibles stood with his back to the door, thrusting each of his fingers into his mouth in turn as if sucking grease from them. Jarrett picked up a pistol and levelled it at Killigrew’s chest.
‘Silas Jarrett,’ said Killigrew.
‘Call me Speeler,’ Jarrett said jocularly. ‘Come to drag us back to Norfolk Island in chains, have you? Sorry to disappoint you, Lieutena
nt.’ He chuckled. ‘You’re pathetic, do you know that? Trying to sneak on board this ship, rescue the damsel in distress and save the day. You’re so predictable. Did you think Captain Quested wouldn’t anticipate you might get here a few minutes early and swim out to the ship while he was waiting on the point?’
Killigrew shrugged. ‘Hope springs eternal.’
‘Put your hands up.’
Killigrew raised his hands as high as the low deck head would allow. His knuckles brushed a metal catch, but he was careful enough not to glance up and draw Jarrett’s attention to it. He was familiar enough with that kind of catch, designed to hold in place the partition that folded up against the deck head when not in use.
‘Get his cutlass, Fingers. And make sure he isn’t carrying any other weapons.’
Vickers crossed the deck and dragged the cutlass from its scabbard, laying it out of Killigrew’s reach before turning back to check Killigrew’s pockets.
‘Check his sleeves,’ ordered Jarrett.
Vickers pulled down Killigrew’s arms, one after the other, and pushed his sleeves back to make sure the lieutenant had no knives strapped to his forearms.
‘And the small of his back.’
Vickers moved around behind Killigrew and lifted the hem of his pea jacket. ‘Nothing.’
‘And his ankles.’
‘Thorough, ain’t he?’ remarked Killigrew, surreptitiously unfastening the catch above his head so that the partition was held up only by his raised hands.
Vickers scowled at him, and got down on his knees to pat down the lieutenant’s pantaloons. Killigrew kneed him in the face and swung the partition down against Jarrett’s head with all his might. The swindler never even got a chance to cry out, let alone squeeze off a shot: he staggered back against the forward bulkhead, cracked his head against the panels, and slumped to the deck.
Killigrew checked that Vickers was equally unconscious – the convict would have an impressive black eye in the morning – before cupping a hand behind the glass flue of the oil-lamp and blowing it out. He crossed to the window and tried to peer out. He could not see where Quested and his men waited on Judgement Point, which meant they could not have seen what had taken place in the cabin. He glanced up and checked that the blinds had been drawn beneath the skylight. Nor were there any sounds to indicate that anyone else on board the whaler was aware that anything was amiss.
Killigrew and the Incorrigibles Page 32