‘I, sir? Never felt better. Who told you—’
‘Thorpe,’ Robertson said heavily.
‘Then he must have been mistaken, sir. We’ve seen neither hide nor hair of the Lucy Ann.’
‘Mistaken,’ agreed Robertson. ‘Or lying in his teeth. Get your men back on board like one o’clock, First. We’re going back to Thorpetown. How long will it take us to get there, Mr Yelverton?’
‘With sail and steam, and a following wind? About sixteen hours. Maybe fifteen, if Mr Muir pushes his engines.’
‘Then see to it he pushes his engines, Mr Yelverton. I only pray we’re not too late already.’
* * *
The sun was setting over the island of Éfaté by the time Paddon ran the Rover’s Bride into a secluded cove on the south coast of the island. Killigrew took in the jungle that pressed close on all sides. There was no sign of any settlement.
‘Don’t tell me this is Thorpetown!’
Paddon shook his head. ‘The entrance to the harbour is about five miles further along the coast. There’s a lower lagoon, and an upper lagoon, with a narrow channel linking the two. But if I know Quested, he’ll have posted lookouts. By the time I could sail the Rover’s Bride to Thorpetown, Thorpe will have his yacht broadside on to the entrance to the upper lagoon. If you’ve been on board the Wanderer, you’ll have seen what kind of an arsenal he’s got on board. It might not be a match for the Tisiphone’s carronades, but she could blow the Rover’s Bride out of the water.’
He pointed through the jungles ashore. ‘The upper lagoon is about two and a half miles that way. I can lead you straight there. If we go overland, we can skirt the lagoon to the east and approach the settlement unseen. Oh-kay?’
‘Oh-kay,’ said Killigrew. ‘Let’s go.’
Even as Paddon and Molineaux lowered the jolly boat from the davits over the stern, Moltata and his men dived overboard, their bodies creating hardly a ripple where they cleaved the water. Sharky made to follow him, but Paddon caught him by the arm.
‘Not you, Sharky! I need someone to stay here and keep an eye on the Rover’s Bride.’
‘M’be Sharky killim Quested,’ the nakaimo protested truculently.
‘Maybe,’ agreed Paddon. ‘But not tonight, old feller. We’re just going to take a look, see what’s going on there. Could be we’ll find the Tisiphone there, having done our job for us. Stay here, oh-kay?’
Sharky scowled at being excluded, but nodded his assent. ‘Ale.’
Killigrew, Paddon and Molineaux climbed down into the jolly boat and rowed ashore, where they found Moltata and his people waiting for them. They dragged the boat ashore, and Paddon cut down some foliage with his bush knife and covered it over.
‘It looks like you’ve done this kind of thing before,’ remarked Killigrew.
‘More times than I care to remember. Normally I’d be searching for untapped sandalwood groves, though, or hunting orchids. The natives of these islands will kill for a good clinker-built boat – I mean that literally – and they don’t understand the notion of property, so they’ve no concept of stealing. They find something, they take it. Sharky will keep the Rover’s Bride safe, but if Quested has patrols out, I don’t want them robbing us of our only means to get back to the Rover’s Bride if we have to leave in a hurry.’
As dusk fell, Paddon led the way inland. The Tannese moved silently through the jungle; Killigrew was almost as stealthy, having had some experience of this kind of work; but no one moved more silently than Molineaux.
They smelled the settlement before they saw it.
‘Jesus!’ muttered Molineaux. ‘What’s that stink?’
‘Trying-out,’ said Paddon. ‘That’s bad. There must be another whaler at Thorpetown, using the try-works there.’
‘Potential allies?’ suggested Killigrew.
‘Unlikely. These days the only vessels that bother to visit this place are Thorpe’s. I reckon we can safely assume the odds have just been increased in their favour.’
The next indication that they were drawing near was an intermittent high-pitched whine, the unmistakable sound of a steam-powered sawmill in action. Killigrew spotted bright lights through the trees ahead, and before long they were peering out through the foliage, across the lagoon to the settlement.
The area on the wharf, brightly illuminated with limelights, was a hive of activity. Men were hoisting blanket pieces of blubber up on the hoist in front of the try-works. The Lucy Ann and the Acushnet were moored on either side of the jetty, while the Wanderer was anchored a short distance out into the lagoon. On the deck of the Lucy Ann, men were constructing a deckhouse aft while others sat in boatswain’s chairs to repaint the sides. One man was working on a new name on her escutcheon. Killigrew took out his miniature telescope to take a closer look, and saw him painting the name Themis there.
Surveying the scene, he recognised Gog (or was it Magog?) on the deck of the Lucy Ann, tossing slender sandalwood logs down to his brother on the jetty below. Magog (or Gog) caught them as easily as if they had been bamboo canes. Wyatt and Vickers stacked the logs on a truck which they pushed along the tracks to the sawmill.
‘I can see Wyatt and Vickers,’ he told the others. ‘No sign of Thorpe or Quested.’
‘What’s the name of that whaler?’ asked Paddon.
‘The Acushnet.’
‘Just as I’d feared. Captain Pease: one of Thorpe’s men.’
‘How big’s her crew?’
‘Twenty-seven, usually.’
‘Add about ten from the Wanderer, another ten left on board the Lucy Ann when she sailed from Erromanga yesterday, and six incorrigibles,’ Killigrew said grimly. ‘That’s… um… more than fifty.’
‘And fifteen of us,’ said Molineaux. ‘What do you want to do, sir?’
Killigrew swore. ‘We’ll have to let them go. We can’t tackle them head on, not against those kind of odds. At least now we know the new name Quested’s ship is sailing under: the Themis.’
‘That’s dandy,’ Paddon said sarcastically. ‘Who knows? Maybe one day he’ll make the mistake of sailing her into British waters. Your navy can put a notice out to keep a weather eye open for him. Of course, by the time you ever do catch up with him, he’ll have landed the convicts in California long ago; and probably have given the Lucy Ann a new name and another change of appearance.’
Killigrew rounded on him furiously. ‘What else can we do?’ he hissed. ‘They’ve got muskets, pistols, whaling craft. We’ve got a rifle, a shotgun, two revolvers, a bush-knife and Molineaux’s Bowie knife.’ He wanted to say it was hopeless, but that would have been ‘Quit’ Killigrew speaking. He racked his brains – there had to be a way. ‘At least we can drag Thorpe to Sydney in chains, put a stop to his nasty little trade in sandalwood.’
‘Sir?’ Molineaux pointed to the Acushnet, where a couple of figures were emerging from the after hatch. ‘Is that who I think it is?’
Killigrew raised the telescope to his eye once more in time to see Silas Jarrett shepherding a woman to the entry port. ‘Mrs Cafferty. At least she’s still alive, thank God.’
‘Not for much longer,’ said Paddon. ‘She knows too much about Thorpe and Quested. Take my word for it, she’ll be marked for death.’
‘We’ve got to get her out of there, sir.’
‘I’m aware of that, Molineaux,’ Killigrew replied tersely, following Jarrett and Mrs Cafferty with his eyes as the swindler led her across the plaza and up the broad flight of steps to the house above. They went inside.
Killigrew returned the telescope to his pocket. ‘All right, Captain Paddon. You’ve played your part, and I’m grateful, but from now on this is a Royal Naval operation. Take Moltata and his people back to the Rover’s Bride. If Molineaux and I aren’t back by dawn, you can assume we’re not coming. If you can’t find the Tisiphone, sail to Hobart Town. You’ll find HMS Havannah there. Tell everything you know about this business to Captain Erskine. He’ll know what to do.’
‘Yo
u’re kidding, aren’t you? You mean to tell me you and Wes here are going to tackle them all? Just the two of you?’
‘We’re just going to try to rescue Mrs Cafferty; it doesn’t take fifteen of us to do that.’
Paddon looked inclined to argue, but finally nodded his assent. ‘Oh-kay, mate, you want to get yourself killed, that’s fine by me. You’d better take these.’ He handed his rifle to Molineaux, his shotgun to Killigrew, took the revolvers from the holsters at his hip and handed them one each. ‘You’re going to need them.’
‘Thank you. But I hope we can pull this off without a shot being fired. Silence and stealth, that’s more my speed.’
Molineaux rolled his eyes. ‘Whatever you say, sir.’
The lieutenant and the able seaman left Paddon with the twelve Tannese in the bushes on the south side of the lagoon, and worked their way around to the eastern end, approaching the settlement from that direction. They could hear sawing and hammering from the Lucy Ann, the intermittent whine of the saw-blade, and the clank and hiss of the machinery that drove it.
‘What’s the plan, sir?’ asked Molineaux.
Killigrew glanced up to where Thorpe’s house loomed over the settlement. ‘Come to think of it, creeping stealthily is more your speciality than it is mine. Think you can get up there without anyone seeing you, and get Mrs Cafferty out?’ It went without saying that Molineaux would probably have to deal with Jarrett, but the lieutenant had every faith in the seaman’s ability to do so.
‘Getting up there will be easy as caz, sir. The difficulty is going to be getting Mrs Cafferty out again.’
‘Supposing I supply a diversion of some sort?’
‘Like a fire, perhaps?’ suggested Molineaux. He nodded to where the crew of the Acushnet were rolling casks of whale oil into the godown adjoining the try-works to cool. ‘All that oil’s going to burn a treat.’
Killigrew grinned. ‘Let’s do it.’
* * *
‘Did Mr Thorpe say what he wanted?’ Mrs Cafferty asked Jarrett as she followed him into the house.
‘I’m afraid he didn’t see fit to confide in me, ma’am.’ He gestured up the stairs. ‘This way.’
She knew he was lying. Even if she had not known he was a swindler, she fancied that his oily, urbane manner would have made her distrustful of him anyway. But the only way to find out what was going on was to comply. She suspected she did not have much choice, anyway: Jarrett had a pistol tucked in the waistband of his trousers.
She followed him upstairs, and he gestured to the door of the room where she had slept the previous night. ‘In there?’ she asked sceptically.
He nodded, and motioned for her to go in.
She hesitated on the threshold. It was dark outside, and the shutters were closed: the only light came from the oil-lamp that stood on the bedside cabinet, and the wick had been turned down low.
‘Mr Thorpe?’ She stepped inside. It took her less than a second to realise that Thorpe was not in the room: there was nowhere to conceal a man of his bulk. She started to turn back to the door. ‘I think you must be mistaken, Mr Ja—’
That was when Mangal Griddha stepped out from behind the door and looped a strip of cloth over her head. Before she had realised what was going on, he had pushed her across the room and face-down on the bed. With one knee in the small of her back, he commenced to garrotte her expertly.
‘Do not be afraid, memsahib,’ he murmured almost tenderly in her ear. ‘It is a great honour to die in Kali’s name.’
Chapter 23
…Into The Fire
There was no need for silence. As Killigrew and Molineaux crept through the shadows beneath the sawmill, the clank of the steam engine and the whine of the blade cutting through wood precluded the danger of their being heard by Lissak or Noah Pilcher who were stacking up the sawn planks a few yards to their left.
Hunched over – there was barely four feet between the floor of the mill above them and the ground below – they made their way to the far end and crouched behind the steps leading up to the door of the mill. The try-works was directly opposite, another building with a light showing in the window to their right. Molineaux wasted no more time, but slithered off and disappeared round the back of the building to their right, keeping his head down below the level of the windows.
Killigrew glanced across to where a couple of dozen barrels were stacked in front of the try-works and patted his pockets down for matches. The box he had been carrying had got soaked when he had swum out to the Lucy Ann the night before last. Gog and Magog came from the direction of the jetty, pushing a truckload of sandalwood logs along the rails. Killigrew waited until the twins had disappeared in front of the sawmill before he crossed to the building off to his right, and peered cautiously through the grimy window. An oil lamp illuminated what appeared to be an office, with ledgers and papers spread out on a desk. There was no one in sight. Feeling exposed against the wall of the building, Killigrew tried the handle of the door. It was not locked. He slipped inside, at once drawing the faded, mildewed curtain over the window.
A second door led into another room, and he could hear voices. ‘Splendid work, Mr Greeley.’ Thorpe’s plummy tones were unmistakable. ‘You really are an artist.’
‘Not the kind of masterpiece I had in mind when I agreed to come to work for you, Mr Thorpe,’ Greeley replied huffily. ‘What the devil’s going on, sir? What does Captain Quested need with forged papers, anyhow? And why are they disguising the Lucy Ann?’
‘You mean you don’t know?’ asked a third voice Killigrew did not recognise. ‘Quested’s been a naughty boy. Rescuing convicts from Norfolk Island, feeding natives to the cannibals on Erromanga—’
‘All right, Mr Underwood, that will do,’ Thorpe snapped pettishly.
Killigrew tiptoed across to the desk and opened the drawer. He found papers, a bottle of ink and some pencils, a ball of twine, a few loose percussion caps, but no matches.
‘What’s he talking about, Mr Thorpe?’ demanded Greeley. ‘Rescuing convicts from Norfolk Island? You mean… Wyatt and those others? They’re escaped convicts?’
‘Ask no questions, hear no lies, Mr Greeley,’ said Thorpe. ‘Now you get on with that master’s certificate while I give these papers to Captain Quested.’
A moment later the door opened and Thorpe stepped into the outer office. He froze when he saw Killigrew, and the lieutenant levelled Paddon’s shotgun at him.
‘Mr Killigrew!’ exclaimed Thorpe. ‘Thank the Lord above you’re here! Captain Quested – he’s a pirate, sir, nothing but a pirate! He forced me to—’
‘Spare me your lies,’ sighed Killigrew. ‘Raise your hands above your head.’
‘But surely you cannot conceive that I—’
Killigrew prodded him in the stomach with the barrels of the shotgun. ‘Hands up, I said. It’s all up with you, Thorpe. We’re on to your nasty little trade, and I’m here to close you down. Permanently. Now, get back in there.’ The lieutenant gestured with the shotgun and Thorpe backed into the inner room. Killigrew took the ball of twine from the drawer before following him.
The inner room was some kind of printing works. Greeley and the other man – Underwood – had heard them talking and were waiting for them when they entered. The artist looked bewildered, the other man resigned. ‘Mr Killigrew?’ Greeley asked in astonishment. ‘What the devil’s going on?’
‘I’m arresting Thorpe for conspiracy to mass murder,’ explained Killigrew. He tossed the ball of twine to Greeley. ‘Tie him up. We’ll see if you’re as much of an artist with knots as you are with printer’s ink. Sit in that chair, Thorpe.’
Ashen-faced, Thorpe complied. Greeley approached him hesitantly, an apologetic expression on his face as he started to tie up the shipowner.
‘But this is intolerable!’ protested Thorpe, glowering at Killigrew. ‘Do you have any idea who you’re dealing with, young man?’
‘A fat tub of lard who’s going to hang,’ Killigrew told him che
erfully, before swinging the shotgun towards Underwood, who had been slinking towards the door. And where do you think you’re going?’
‘I didn’t want any part of this!’ whined Underwood, and gestured at Thorpe. ‘He forced me into all this!’
‘Tell it to the judge in Hobart Town,’ said Killigrew, and turned to Greeley. ‘When you’ve finished with Thorpe, you can tie up this fellow, too.’
‘What’s going to happen to me?’ asked Greeley.
‘I overheard you talking just now. Turn Queen’s evidence and you might just walk away from this whole affair a free man.’
‘Turn Queen’s evidence!’ snorted Thorpe. ‘Untie me now, Greeley, or you won’t live long enough to see the inside of a court-house!’ Killigrew rammed the muzzle of the shotgun into his stomach. ‘Pipe down!’ He turned to Greeley, who had started to bind Underwood into the other chair. ‘When you’ve finished tying him up, my advice to you is to get away from here as quickly as possible. Make your way to the east end of the lagoon and then cut due south across the jungle. There’s a trail there that leads to the coast. You’ll find a cutter tied up in the cove there, the Rover’s Bride…’
‘Paddon!’ spat Thorpe. ‘So, that’s how you got off Erromanga!’
‘I think we’ve had enough out of you, Mr Thorpe.’ Killigrew found a couple of inky rags and used one to gag Thorpe, tossing the other to Greeley who did likewise with Underwood.
Killigrew checked that both Thorpe and Underwood were securely bound and gagged, and then reached into the pocket of Thorpe’s coat. ‘Don’t mind if I trouble you for a light, do you?’
Thorpe looked as if he did mind, very much, and made a strangled sound of rage behind his gag.
Killigrew gestured for Greeley to follow him into the outer office. ‘Where are the rest of your men?’ asked the artist.
‘Able Seaman Molineaux’s getting Mrs Cafferty from the big house at the back of the square even as we speak,’ said Killigrew, extinguishing the oil-lamp so that no light would show when he opened the door.
Killigrew and the Incorrigibles Page 41