Quested appeared in the doorway. Seeing Wyatt and Killigrew wrestling in the shallow water, he levelled his revolver at the lieutenant.
Wyatt saw him. ‘Don’t you dare!’ he snarled. He was on top of Killigrew now, trying to force his mouth under the surface, but the water was too shallow. ‘This bastard’s mine!’
‘Get on with it, then!’ Quested snapped back. ‘We’re leaving now, with or without—’ He broke off at the sound of shots from the wharf, and alarm showed on his face. He pointed his revolver at someone outside and squeezed off half a dozen shots. Either he was a bad shot, or he was being attacked by several men; but Killigrew saw one Tannese warrior appear in the doorway and grapple Quested. The native was the stronger of the two, but Quested just buried his hook in his opponent’s neck. Blood gouted, and the native slithered to the floor. Quested jerked his hook out, and tucked his revolver in its holster.
Wyatt sat astride Killigrew’s chest, belabouring his face with his fists. Killigrew reached up until his left hand grasped the handle of the cast-iron door of the furnace beneath the try-pots. The metal was hot enough to burn him, but that was the least of his worries. He swung it open, smashing it into Wyatt’s face.
Quested broached a barrel with his hook and kicked it over so that a tidal wave of whale oil washed across the floor of the try-works. Killigrew was about to charge across to grapple him when the captain lifted an oil-lamp from a nail driven into one wall.
‘See you in hell, Killigrew!’ He threw the lamp at the floor. The oil burst into flames at once, creating a wall of fire between Killigrew and the door. Quested waved mockingly at him through the flames, and then disappeared from sight.
Killigrew heard a sound behind him and turned to see that Wyatt had retrieved the flensing knife. The lieutenant nodded to where the burning oil continued to spread through the try-works, licking against the barrels in the adjoining godown. ‘I’d say we’ve got about one minute to get out of here before this whole place goes up in flames!’
‘One minute is all I need to kill you, pretty boy!’ Wyatt thrust the flensing knife at Killigrew. The lieutenant side-stepped and caught Wyatt by the shoulder, slamming him against the side of the furnace. The shaft of the knife snapped. Killigrew tried to seize the incorrigible in an arm lock, but Wyatt rammed an elbow into his stomach. Winded, the lieutenant stumbled back, and Wyatt turned to face him.
‘I don’t need a weapon to kill you!’ he snarled, and showed Killigrew his fists. ‘These are my weapons!’ He punched Killigrew on the jaw, spinning him round. The lieutenant almost staggered into the puddle of blazing oil. He rallied and turned back, just in time for Wyatt to step up to him and punch him in the stomach.
Killigrew doubled up in agony. Wyatt linked his hands together and brought them down in a sledgehammer-like blow on the back of his neck. Killigrew felt his legs crumple, and he sprawled on the floor. Wyatt kicked him in the ribs.
He tried to stamp on Killigrew’s neck, but the lieutenant rolled clear, swivelled on his back, and aimed a kick at Wyatt’s kneecap. He missed, catching him on the calf instead, but it was enough to make the incorrigible reel.
‘Still got some fight left in you, pretty boy?’ Wyatt asked with a grin as Killigrew pushed himself to his feet. ‘Well, that’s good. I wouldn’t want this to be too easy.’
Killigrew ran up the first few steps to the platform, and then turned to aim a kick at Wyatt. The incorrigible caught him by the ankle and twisted his leg. Killigrew sprawled on his back on the steps, and then kicked Wyatt in the face with his other leg. Wyatt teetered and almost fell back into the flames that had swamped the foot of the stairs, but he caught hold of the handrail and managed to steady himself. Killigrew turned and ran the rest of the way up to the platform, but Wyatt caught him again and drove a fist into one of his kidneys. Killigrew gasped in agony, and Wyatt seized him by the throat, driving him back against the handrail. The flames licked all around the platform now, and Wyatt tried to tumble Killigrew over into the inferno. He bent down to grab Killigrew by the ankles, and the lieutenant kneed him in the face. Wyatt was thrown against the handrail at the top of the steps.
Killigrew saw the bomb-gun lying on the boards at the far end of the platform and tried to make a dash for it, but Wyatt caught him by the shoulder and pulled him back. He spun him round, and started to belabour him with his fists. The incorrigible pounded Killigrew with all the precision of a prizefighter, taking him apart slowly and scientifically. Killigrew tried to protect his head with his hands, so Wyatt went to work on his stomach and ribs, pummelling away relentlessly.
‘Some hero!’ sneered the incorrigible. ‘You ain’t so tough. What does it feel like to lose, pretty boy?’
‘You tell me,’ gasped Killigrew, putting all his strength and concentration into one punch to Wyatt’s face. The incorrigible’s nose was flattened and blood gushed from his nostrils as he staggered back, but he was still on his feet and he stood between Killigrew and the bomb-gun. He raised an arm to his nose and then looked at the blood on his sleeve. ‘You sonuvabitch!’ he snarled. ‘Now I’m really going to have to hurt you!’
Killigrew straightened painfully and braced himself for Wyatt’s next onslaught. ‘Somehow I doubt it. You fight like a girl, Wyatt. Four years on Gomorrah Isle hasn’t toughened you – it’s emasculated you!’
Wyatt roared in rage and charged. For a moment Killigrew thought he had miscalculated, but the incorrigible started to swing his fists wildly, with none of his earlier precision. When his blows landed, they were even more agonising than before, if such a thing were possible. But he was getting sloppy now, leaving more openings, and Killigrew took advantage of them, fibbing Wyatt on the ribs before landing a facer that stunned Wyatt long enough for the lieutenant to duck under his flailing arms and run to the far side of the platform.
Reaching into a pocket with one hand, he snatched up the bomb-gun with the other and levelled it at Wyatt.
The incorrigible laughed. ‘Dud percussion cap, Killigrew, remember?’
With his left hand, Killigrew took the box of matches he had taken from Thorpe earlier out of his pocket. He managed to get one match out of its box, accidentally dropping the rest into the fire below in the process. That left him only one chance to get it right.
Wyatt stared at him in bewilderment, wondering what he was doing. Killigrew snicked the match with his thumbnail, but it refused to spark.
Realisation hit Wyatt, and he started to charge across the platform. Killigrew snicked the match again, and this time it fizzled into life.
He thrust the flame into the chamber of the bomb-gun.
‘No!’ screamed Wyatt.
The powder charge flared and the bomb shot from the muzzle, embedded itself in Wyatt’s chest, and exploded, splattering pieces of the incorrigible all over the walls and ceiling.
The recoil slammed Killigrew back against the handrail behind him. The rail snapped and he almost fell through. He managed to catch hold of a piece of the rail that was still intact and saved himself from falling into the flames below.
He tried to climb down from the platform, but the flames blocked his path at the bottom of the steps and the heat drove him back. Through the fire and smoke he could see through the door to the adjoining godown where flames licked all around the barrels of oil stacked there. Standing in the cistern, the platform was an island in a sea of burning oil; but now even the wooden beams which supported the platform were starting to burn. There was no way out across the floor, which only left one possible chance.
He looked up. The block and tackle overhead hung from a joist that ran to the half-loft over the door where the mincing tubs stood. Killigrew grabbed the chain, hauled on it… and the partially burned rope tied to a hook at the far end snapped. The chain ran out of the block to gather in his arms.
He swore, and then swung the chain like a leadsman sounding a lead line. The chain shot over the joist on the first try, and rattled back down to the platform on the other side. Killig
rew made one end of the chain fast to the handrail, gripped the other… and then the platform finally collapsed. As it crashed into the flames below, Killigrew was dragged up to the roof. For a second or two he thought his fists would be smashed against the joist, but then the platform had hit the floor. He stopped only inches from the joist, and then dropped back a couple of inches as the section of handrail to which the chain was made fast started to break away.
Killigrew hauled himself up the last foot with less than a second to spare. He wrapped his arms around the joist just as the chain dropped back down again.
The smoke was much thicker immediately below the ceiling, stinging his eyes and clawing at his lungs. He managed to pull himself up until his feet were on the beam, then picked his way carefully across until he could drop down on to the half-loft.
* * *
Mrs Cafferty ran towards the blazing try-works. She was almost there when Quested stepped out of the smoke that drifted across the wharf. He caught her with his right hand, spun her round to face Paddon, who was running up behind her, and held his hook to her throat.
Paddon raised the stock of his shotgun to his shoulder. ‘Let her go, Quested!’
‘Shoot me with that thing, you’ll kill the girl too.’ Using her as a human shield, Quested backed across the wharf towards the jetty. Paddon followed, keeping his shotgun levelled at Quested’s face, but there was nothing he could do.
Dragging Mrs Cafferty after him as he backed towards the jetty, Quested picked his way across the wooden tracks that led to the try-works. ‘Shoot him!’ Quested told the handful of men who lined the Lucy Ann’s gunwale, a mixture of sailors from the Acushnet, the Wanderer, and the Lucy Ann itself.
Paddon dived for cover behind a stack of barrels that was instantly riddled by a fusillade of shots from the Lucy Ann. Mrs Cafferty pushed the hook away from her throat and tried to break free, but Quested caught her by the wrist.
‘Gangway for a naval officer!’
Silhouetted by the inferno behind him, Killigrew emerged from the first-floor hatch of the try-works, pushing the truck before him. As it started to gather momentum on the inclined ramp, he jumped into it.
The heavy wheels rumbled on the wooden tracks as the truck hurtled down towards the jetty. Realising he was standing right in its path, Quested let go of Mrs Cafferty and tried to throw himself aside. But now she caught him by the wrist, and dragged him back on to the tracks.
Hurtling towards them, Killigrew clambered over the truck until he was able to perch on the front of it. When he was only a few feet away, he launched himself from the truck and caught Mrs Cafferty around the waist, knocking her clear.
The truck slammed into Quested. It lifted him off his feet and he clutched at it instinctively, burying his hook in its side. Then he remembered the buffers waiting for him at the end of the jetty and tried to throw himself clear, but his hook was caught fast. The truck slammed him against the buffers, which smashed under the impact. Quested, truck and pieces of wood all flew off the end of the jetty to sail out over the lagoon and the truck hit the water with a tremendous splash.
A dull thump sounded a moment later as a barrel of oil exploded in the godown, which now burned as fiercely as the try-works. A heartbeat later two more barrels burst in rapid succession, and then they all went up with a huge roar. Fire blossomed in all directions, and burning barrels were thrown high into the sky, trailing flames. The ground seemed to shudder, and the walls of the try-works and godown burst outwards as the inferno sought to escape in all directions. It roared over the rooftops of Thorpetown like a towering afreet, billowing, twisting and turning as it faded into smoke and spiralled up towards the night sky. Killigrew and Mrs Cafferty flinched as pieces of burning debris rained down all around them.
When they straightened, nothing but burning ruins was left of the try-works, the godown, or indeed any of the buildings which had stood within fifty yards of them.
After the deafening thunder of the explosion, the silence which followed was broken only by the sound of hammers being cocked on pistols and muskets. The men on the deck of the Lucy Ann levelled their weapons at Killigrew and Mrs Cafferty.
‘Kill them!’ snarled Thorpe, stepping on to the jetty. ‘Kill them both!’
Chapter 25
Redemption
Killigrew held up a hand. ‘Are you sure you want to do that? I mean, in front of all these witnesses?’
Thorpe thought he was referring to the sailors on the Lucy Ann, and chuckled. ‘Oh, I think I can rely on these fellows to maintain silence on the matter of what really happened here tonight.’
Captain Pease cocked the hammer of his revolver.
‘I think you should look behind you,’ said Killigrew.
Pease grinned. ‘No more tricks, Killigrew. This is where it ends.’ He levelled the gun at the lieutenant’s forehead.
As the Vanguard silently glided in astern of the Lucy Ann, Midshipman Cavan swung from a brace, swooping across the quarterdeck and hitting Pease in the back with both feet. Pease staggered against the rail and went over, landing heavily on his face on the jetty, the revolver skittering from his hand.
Then the bluejackets were swarming over the Lucy Ann’s taffrail. Ågård grabbed two of the Wanderer’s white-uniformed sailors by the throats, lifted one off the deck in each hand, and then banged their heads together. As the rest of the bluejackets levelled their muskets, the Wanderer’s chief mate – the supercilious Mr Irwin – threw down his pistol, and the rest of the men took their lead from him.
Killigrew disguised the feeling of relief that swamped over him with a show of dusting himself down and adjusting his cuffs. ‘Your timing is impeccable, Mr Cavan.’
‘Didn’t think we’d let you have all the fun, did you, sir?’ the midshipman replied with a grin, as Paddon appeared behind Thorpe and prodded him in the back with the barrels of his shotgun.
‘Fun, he calls it!’ groaned Molineaux, staggering on to the jetty with Solomon Lissak.
At the top of the Lucy Ann’s gangplank, Ordinary Seaman Endicott levelled his musket at Lissak. ‘Not another step, matey!’
‘It’s all right, Seth,’ Molineaux said wearily. ‘He’s a friend. Foxy, this is Seth, one of my shipmates. Seth, meet Foxy Lissak, my old partner in crime.’
‘He’ll still have to go back to Hobart Town for trial,’ Killigrew said firmly.
‘Oh, come on, sir!’ protested Molineaux. ‘He saved our bacon back on Erromanga; and if he hadn’t rescued me at the sawmill just now, I’d be half the man I am now.’
‘I’ll see to it that’s taken into account, Molineaux,’ said Killigrew. ‘I’ll act as a character witness myself at his trial, if necessary. I’m sure we can arrange for the lieutenant-governor to have Mr Lissak pardoned.’
‘You mean, he’ll go free?’ asked Molineaux, his face lighting up.
‘Pardoned for the crime of trying to escape from one of Her Majesty’s penal settlements, I mean. You’re forgetting he’s still a convicted criminal. He’ll go back to Norfolk Island to serve out the rest of his term.’
‘But, sir! He’s an old man. He won’t live another year in a hellhole like Norfolk Island…’
‘Calm down, Wes!’ said Lissak. ‘Your Mr Killigrew’s right. I’m an incorrigible; I’ve got to be punished for my sins. Don’t blame yourself for what happened. If I really hadn’t wanted to do that one last job, neither you nor anyone else could’ve persuaded me to; not even Sammy the Swell. I made the one mistake I always warned you against. Got greedy, didn’t I?’
He walked across to stand in front of Killigrew, looking him up and down contemptuously. ‘And don’t blame the lieutenant here, either. He’s got his duty to do. And he’ll carry it out without question, come hell or high water; even if it means sending a feeble old cove like me to an early grave. Take a good look at him, Wes. This is one of your new friends. You sure you want to go on being a lagger? You don’t want to go back to the old life?’
Molineaux hung hi
s head. ‘I’m sorry, Foxy. But I made my mind up a long time ago.’
‘Then I reckon I’ve got no choice.’ With a swiftness surprising in one so old, Lissak managed to snatch up Pease’s revolver and moved behind Killigrew, pressing the muzzle to his forehead. ‘Tell your men to put down their weapons!’ he snarled in Killigrew’s ear.
‘Sorry, Lissak. You know I can’t do that.’
‘Wes!’ From the deck of the Lucy Ann, Endicott threw a musket to the able seaman.
Molineaux caught it, adjusted his grip and levelled it past Killigrew’s shoulder at Lissak’s face. ‘Put the barker down, Foxy.’
‘So you can drag me back to the Isle of Mis’ry? No, thank you, Wes.’
‘It doesn’t have to be Norfolk Island,’ pleaded Molineaux. ‘We can have you transferred to Port Arthur for the rest of your bird-lime, maybe even get you a soft job in Hobart Town as a… as a… I dunno, as a locksmith or something. Ain’t that right, sir?’
‘It’s not up to me, Molineaux,’ said Killigrew. ‘But I can promise to put a good word in for him.’
‘Oh, sure.’ Lissak rammed the muzzle of the revolver harder against the lieutenant’s head. ‘He says that now, when he’s got a barker to his noddle. But you can’t trust anyone these days, can you?’
‘He wouldn’t say it if he didn’t mean it,’ said Molineaux. ‘For God’s sake, Foxy! If you don’t trust him, at least trust me!’
‘Didn’t I always teach you? Never trust anyone! Least of all when they’ve got a barker in your face! Drop the musket, Wes. Maybe then we can talk.’
‘I can’t do that, Foxy. Put the gun down. It’s over.’
‘I ain’t going back to Norfolk Island, Wes. I’d rather die first.’
‘If you don’t drop that barker by the time I count to five, it might just come to that.’
Killigrew and the Incorrigibles Page 45