I edge head first down the ledge. There is just room beneath the outcrop. Its mass pins me down, crushing me. Imagination: it does not touch me. I am past it. I stand, almost overbalancing. The cliff face sways in front of me. I lean in to it, eyes closed, breath noisy in my throat. I rest my forehead against the rock. So cold. So hard. So implacable.
Shall I ever get there? And, if I do, will there be anything to see after eighty-six years? It does not seem credible. A bit late to be thinking of that. Here I am and the remains of the shattered ice house are no more than a few metres away. I shuffle one step further and then, teetering on the brink of annihilation, see that just before the ruin the ledge comes to an end.
Can I reach the ice house? And, if I can, can I get back?
To give up now is unthinkable. I reach the end of the ledge. Giving myself no time to think, I fling myself into the void.
THIRTY-NINE
Cat
It was one o’clock in the morning and pitch dark. The air was cold, the breeze bringing a taste of winter from the snow-clad mountains of the interior. There was no moon and even the stars were hidden behind a drift of ragged cloud. Here on the river bank it was barely possible to see each other’s faces.
Cat crouched at the edge of the water. Nearby two rowboats were drawn up, oars at the ready, bows facing the water. She sat apart from the men whom she could hear murmuring in the shadows behind her; she did not want them to sense how nervous she was. She stared across the water at the ship anchored in mid-stream, its riding light high in the rigging. The tide had turned, the breeze had risen at dusk and Antares had come upriver in the last of the light. Earlier they had watched a small boat bring a man ashore and later return with others who were probably the marine guard.
‘They’ll never try unloading in the dark,’ Mungo had said. ‘Way out there in mid-river with a troop of marines to hold their hands they probably think they’re safe.’ He had smiled savagely. ‘That’ll help us.’
‘Why?’
‘Over-confidence has lost many battles before this,’ he said. ‘When men think they’re safe they drop their guard.’
‘Let’s hope it’ll be the same tonight,’ she said.
To have his confidence delighted her. No more talk of her having to wait for him and his men to bring Antares downriver; she was one of them now and determined to justify his faith in her. She felt the weight of the loaded revolver at her waist and knew she would use it without hesitation if the need arose. In the meantime, though, her nerves were on edge, which was an embarrassment.
Mungo joined her, bottle in hand. ‘How are you feeling?’
‘I’ll manage.’ But did not look at him as she said it.
‘Waiting is hard for all of us and you have started to remember you are not a pirate,’ he said. ‘Now you wish you were safe in bed at Aberystwyth and had never heard of Mungo Jackson.’
‘I’m nervous, that’s all. As for not hearing of you, never in my life shall I wish that.’
He held out the bottle. ‘Take a mouthful of rum. It will warm you. I am sorry I have no glass for you.’
‘You think a convict doesn’t know how to drink from a bottle?’ She took a long swallow, feeling the spirit burn like fire as it went down, followed by an expanding warmth as it settled in her stomach. She handed the bottle back to him.
‘Better?’
‘Better,’ she said. ‘What are we waiting for?’
‘The tide. We’ll want to use the ebb to get downriver as quickly as we can.’ He looked at her and took her hand. ‘This is a great thing we are doing now. It will change your life.’
‘If we succeed.’
She saw his smile. ‘I refuse to countenance any other possibility.’
He lifted her hand and kissed it, then returned to the men waiting under the trees. Warmed by his words, the touch of his lips on her hand and by the rum, Cat remained where she was. Time passed.
Half an hour later Mungo stood. ‘Now,’ he said.
Silent as ghosts, the men pushed the boats into the water and climbed aboard. The greased rowlocks made no sound as the oarsmen stroked them across the stream and Cat felt the current pressing against the hull. In an hour or less they would have triumphed or lost, would be exultantly alive or possibly dead. Waiting, Cat had grown steadily colder but now the blood flowed warmly in her veins. The waiting was over and she couldn’t wait for the action to begin.
She sat in the bows with Mungo beside her.
‘I’ll go first,’ he said. ‘You follow.’
He spoke through closed lips so that the sound barely reached her.
She did the same. ‘How do we get aboard?’
‘You’ll see.’
The dark bulk of Antares was close now, her bows facing upstream into the current, and Cat could see a lick of white foam along her side. The two boats had separated, the second one heading around the stern of the barque. Mungo had told her the men in that boat would board from the other side.
‘Take them in a pincer movement,’ he said.
It should work. But only if they could subdue the guards before they raised the alarm. If people on shore realised what was going on… There was no point thinking about that.
The oarsmen had brought the boat so close to the hull that it was hidden from anyone who might look down from the deck. Mungo stood, a grapnel fastened to a coiled line in his hand. He flung the line high up Antares’s side. It billowed out; Cat heard the clink as the grapnel’s teeth caught on the rail. They waited but there were no shouts of alarm. Mungo drew the line tight and within seconds was swarming up the vessel’s side. Cat took a firm grip on the line and waited. This was the testing time. First the Cascades wall and now this. She heard a faint whistle and began to climb.
The line swayed, forcing her to use her feet to fend herself off from Antares’s timbers. Ignoring her complaining shoulder muscles she hauled herself higher. She was running out of breath but knew if she stopped she would never have the strength to start again. Eyes shut, teeth clenched, she dragged herself up the line. She crawled onto the deck at last. She stood with trembling limbs and looked about her.
Where was Mungo?
A second whistle answered her. She joined him in the shadow of an upturned lifeboat as one by one the men climbed over the rail to join them. All was still.
Where were the sentries?
Cat heard him before she saw him: a tall figure in a red coat and white cross belts, rifle slung over his shoulder. He was strolling casually along the deck, whistling beneath his breath.
When men think they’re safe they drop their guard, Mungo had said.
The marine stopped five paces from the lifeboat. He stood looking out at the water and Mungo was on him, clubbing him across the back of his neck. He fell as though shot, Mungo grabbing the rifle before it could clatter on the deck. Two of the gang raced from their hiding place and dragged the marine into the shadows. Working swiftly, they stripped him of coat and belts and Mungo put them on. In the darkness and wearing the marine’s cap he would pass very easily as the man he had knocked out.
Mungo stood at the railing and waited. In the shadow of the lifeboat the men waited also. A minute passed then came a shout of alarm from the bows followed by the sound of running feet. One of the waiting men cursed, silence now of no consequence. They had to overpower the crew before they could alert the people on shore. They raced down the deck, reaching the main hatchway as it was flung open. A man in an unbuttoned officer’s tunic ran out, pistol in hand.
Mungo spoke loudly and clearly. ‘All under control, sir.’
The uniformed figure caused the officer to hesitate for a second and that was enough. Before he could shout he was engulfed by half a dozen men who bore him struggling to the deck. He was still clutching his pistol. Before he could use it Cat rammed the muzzle of her revolver into his ear.
‘Drop the gun!’
He stiffened, staring up at her, and saw the resolve in her face. He opened his hand. The
pistol clattered to the deck.
Cat thrust it into her belt and stood back, keeping the revolver still trained on him.
Mungo spoke to Alfred Dark. ‘Check the rest of the vessel. Lock the crew up until I tell you otherwise. Any more marines too. If anyone gives you a problem I leave you to deal with them.’ He turned back to the officer. ‘If you give me your word not to raise the alarm I shall not have you gagged. Break your word and I shall kill you. You understand?’
The two men stared at each other – the dishevelled officer, the black-haired pirate in the stolen uniform – and saw something in each other that others might not have.
‘You are a gentleman,’ the officer said.
‘As you are, sir,’ Mungo said. ‘Which is why I shall accept your word if you give it.’
‘My men will come to no harm?’
‘Provided they give no trouble. And we shall put you all ashore as soon as we can.’
‘Then you have my word, sir.’
‘And you have not seen my face?’
‘Blind as a bat, sir. It is after all very dark.’
‘Thank you. What you can do: when you get ashore tell them the raiders were led by a masked man. They’ll know who that is, I assure you.’
The officer nodded. ‘I shall not forget.’
Mungo turned to Cat. ‘I think you may put away your revolver.’
Alfred Dark came back. Two other marines had been found sleeping and had been easily overcome. The crew were tough in their way but were not in the business of fighting for someone else’s property against armed men. Only the bosun had tried to make something of it.
Alfred Dark grinned. ‘We spoke to ’im gentleman-like and ’e soon quietened down. But there’s a coupla other blokes I reckon you should see. Two darkies, all dolled up in silks. Passengers, by the look of ’em.’
‘What are they doing on board?’
‘No idea. They don’t speak English. I left ’em in their cabin with Chas Nicols on the door so they can’t get out.’
Mungo looked a question at the marine officer, who shook his head. ‘They came aboard when we did. I know nothing about them except they have an arrangement with the owner to be taken north after the cargo’s discharged.’
‘I’ll see them later.’ Mungo turned to Robinson. ‘Let’s get under way,’ he said. ‘Quiet as you can. We don’t want people on shore wondering what’s going on.’
Robinson, a man of few words whom Cat had disliked on sight, nodded. ‘That bloody frigate?’
‘Upriver. I don’t see any problem with her. It’ll take time to get word to her even after they realise we’ve gone, which hopefully won’t be for some time yet.’
‘You better be right. That son of a bitch could sink us in minutes if she’d the mind. You’ll be telling me when we reach that creek of yourn?’
‘You may depend on it.’
Robinson turned to his waiting crew. ‘Let’s be having you then, you bastards.’
He walked to the wheel. His fists took possession of the spokes; in that instant he owned the ship and everything in her. ‘Stand by to bring home the anchor.’
Men ran, their bare feet drumming on the deck.
Overhead the sails blossomed along the yards. They fluttered at the first touch of the breeze then grew still as the barque tended to the wind.
Robinson spun the wheel. ‘Up anchor!’
A rattle of the windlass as the anchor broke free of the river bed. Cat listened to the clatter of blocks and creaking of trusses as the yards were hauled round.
‘Secure the anchor.’
The backed sails filled, Robinson put the helm hard a-starboard and the barque began to move, turning by degrees until she was facing downstream. The yards were trimmed, the river came to life, chuckling quietly about the bow, and Antares and her cargo slipped silently away into the darkness.
Now all was peace. After the tension of the wait, the climb up the barque’s side and the capture of the vessel Cat stood at the rail with Mungo beside her, watching the barely visible bank sliding past. It was a moment out of reality, the audacious seizing of a ship with vast treasure in its hold.
Cat thought: they sent me out on the St Vincent for something I hadn’t done. What will they do if they catch me now? What had the old gypsy said about a noose? Had it been a warning or a prophecy?
A shudder that had nothing to do with the cold night air eeled through her. She did not speak but took hold of Mungo’s hand and held it tight.
Half an hour later Mungo walked back to where Robinson was standing beside the helmsman, eyes fixed on the sails.
‘We’re getting close,’ he said. ‘There’s an islet just beyond the entrance with two pine trees.’
‘What depth in the entrance?’
‘Twenty feet.’
‘More than enough.’ Robinson shouted to one of his crew. ‘Islet with two pine trees off the starboard bank. Lay aloft, Paddy, and give me a hoy when you see her. An’ don’ damn well miss ’er or I’ll skin you.’
Ten minutes later they saw the pine trees silhouetted against a paling sky. Robinson bellowed, the yards went around and with only a staysail set Antares slipped between the trees that masked the entrance to Jackson’s Creek.
‘God knows how we get out again,’ Robinson said.
Three hundred yards in she fetched up alongside Jackson’s wooden jetty. Men ran to secure the mooring lines and open the hatches.
Mungo returned to Cat still standing at the rail.
‘Stay here. I’ll be back directly.’
He went below to speak to the marine officer who was being held with his men in an enclosed inner cabin.
‘You’ll have to stay here for the time being. I’m sorry for it but I can’t have you telling people where we off-loaded the cargo. We’ll be under way again as soon as possible and we’ll drop you off when we can. In the meantime I’ll have food and water brought for you and your men.’
He locked the cabin door behind him. He turned to Alfred Dark. ‘Make sure they don’t get out.’
‘What about them two savages?’
Mungo had forgotten about them. ‘I’ll see them now.’
‘Keep your gun handy when you goes in, Cap’n. Who knows what they might try, given the chance?’
‘I’ll be careful,’ Mungo said. ‘And I want you on shore. Make sure nobody starts helping themselves to the coin. We can’t have that, can we?’
‘Thieving?’ Alfred said, rolling his eyes piously. ‘How can you think such a thing, Cap’n? One of our boys? Heaven forbid!’
Mungo smiled and went to see the two strange men. Mindful of Alfred’s warning he had his hand on his pistol as he opened the cabin door but the men neither moved nor spoke, watching him with dark and questioning eyes. They were small and fine-boned with brown skins. They were young, one probably in his twenties, the other several years older. Both had dark hair and eyes and were dressed in silken tunics: the older man in red; the younger in gold. Each wore a headdress of patterned material and carried a short sword in a jewelled sheath at his waist. Savages, Dark had called them.
‘Who are you?’ Mungo asked.
Nothing.
‘What are you doing aboard this ship?’
Nothing.
‘Does either of you speak English?’
Nothing.
Hopeless. Mungo knew that Dirk Giles had spent time in the islands and was familiar with at least one of the languages they spoke in those parts. Maybe he could have a word with them later but there was no time for that now. He would not allow their presence to distract him from the task of unloading the silver. For the moment they would have to stay where they were.
Mungo went up on deck where Cat was still waiting by the rail. He smiled at her, took her arm and they went ashore together.
Arthur Dunstable was asleep. He was alone, which did not suit him, but Maria Hack had vanished the day after the raid and so far he had not replaced her. No matter; there were plenty more sluts happ
y to share a wealthy gentleman’s bed and now Antares had arrived his future was secure. Tomorrow the coin would be unloaded under the watchful eye of Treasury officials; Arthur would receive his fee and at last escape the financial constraints under which he had laboured too long. It was a good feeling and he and the barque’s captain had enjoyed a convivial evening to celebrate the vessel’s safe arrival.
He was woken at four with the news that Antares had vanished.
Careless of his throbbing head he sat upright in bed, staring at his manservant in outraged disbelief. ‘What the devil are you talking about?’
‘There’s a constable waiting who says Antares ain’t where she’s supposed to be.’
‘You’re telling me she’s grown wings and flown away?’
He used fury to hide the dread that had set his stomach churning.
‘Ain’t telling you nothing, sir. Just passing on the message.’
The man was sullen as well as stubborn; Arthur could have struck him. ‘I suppose I shall have to sort this out myself.’
Clad in a brocade gown, slippers on his feet, he strode into the drawing room where the constable was waiting, cap in hand.
‘What is all this nonsense?’
The constable answered him and Arthur learnt the terrible truth: that Antares had indeed vanished during the night.
‘But when? How?’
No one knew, only that she was gone.
‘What about the frigate?’
‘Hercules, sir? She’s being readied to go in pursuit. As to how it happened, nobody knows. Nor will, most likely, until she’s found.’
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