Michael Jecks - The Death Ship of Dartmouth

‘Is there something wrong?’ he asked.

‘That man … I am sure he is familiar.’

‘So? It’s only a small town.’

‘Yes, but I thought he had left port … Ach, it’s just my memory playing tricks.’

Stephen privately thought it was more likely to be something connected with his gambling, but that would have been discourteous. Tactfully, he changed the subject.

Hamund lay on his back on the deck and stared up at the stars, a heavy cloak over his legs. Every time he moved, the nausea returned, but for all his feelings of sickness, there was a sense of relief that he must soon leave these shores and escape to France. There, perhaps, he could make a new life, and forget all about the past.

He glanced at the Frenchman’s shape over near the mast. He was a strange one, too. Desperate to be out of the country, and the man at the inn had said it was because he had raped a woman. He didn’t seem the sort to do something like that, though, from the little Hamund had seen of him, and he wondered whether the accusation had been made maliciously. The fact that Pierre was here on the ship was proof that he believed his life to be in danger if he was caught.

‘There are too many of us in the same boat,’ Hamund reflected, and winced at the pun even as he closed his eyes once more.

‘That man will be the end of me,’ Simon growled as he rose slowly from his bench.

‘He was only trying to be friendly,’ Baldwin countered. ‘And you didn’t have to accept.’

‘I thought if I drank one cup with him, he would grow weary and seek his own bed,’ Simon protested, scowling at his friend from eyes narrowed in pain. ‘Instead the damned fellow kept refilling our cups.’

‘I did not witness him holding you down and forcing the drink down your throat,’ Baldwin pointed out.

‘It would have been churlish to refuse his generosity,’ Simon attempted loftily. ‘Christ’s ballocks, but some rat’s left shite and piss in my mouth.’

‘Stop your complaining and dress yourself,’ Baldwin said, eyeing his flabby naked body without enthusiasm. ‘Simon, you should rise earlier and exercise. For a man so young as you, your body is growing too rounded.’

‘It’s all this sitting around doing nothing except agreeing with Stephen’s adding,’ Simon admitted.

‘Hah! It’s too much knocking back ale and wine, I’d guess!’ boomed a new voice, that of Sir Richard, as he entered the room. ‘Morning, Bailiff, Keeper. Sleep well? I was out like a snuffed candle. Wonderful place this, and you have a good bed, Master Bailiff.’

‘I am so glad to hear it,’ Simon said, baring his teeth in a mockery of a smile.

When Simon rose and had dressed, he leaned on the doorpost and gazed into his parlour in amazement. Rob had already been in, he saw, and there was a fire already crackling brightly! His sour feelings towards the Coroner took on a more mellow aspect.

‘Today, then, we should go and see if there is anything to learn about this lad found dead on the ship.’ Baldwin was sitting at the table, studying his fingernails. He rubbed his index finger nail against his tooth, grimaced, and took out his little knife, using it to pare away a fragment. ‘After that, I suppose we should take the nephew of Stapledon and have his body sent to the bishop. Dear God! I hate to think of that. His brother will be so distressed to learn that his son has been murdered.’

Sir Richard clumped into the room with his thumbs in his belt. ‘Good idea. Don’t need stiffs lying about the place if we can help it. I’d have had him buried here if you hadn’t told me who he was.’

‘I still cannot make sense of the man on the ship, though,’ Baldwin said. ‘It is curious that two murders should take place so near to each other, and the ship be so devastated, and yet none of the three incidents to have any connection.’

‘I have known such occurrences,’ Sir Richard said easily. He sat on a stool and bellowed suddenly for Rob, making Baldwin wince almost as much as Simon. ‘Boy, take these pennies and see what you can find for our breakfast. And fetch us a little ale, too. You can finish what we don’t, so make the most of the money. Understand?’

Rob took the coins and stared at them as though he had never in his life held so many — which, Simon reflected, was probably no more than the truth. In an instant he had darted from the room, and the three men heard his feet slapping down the lane.

‘He’s not too bad, that lad. Needs a strong hand to guide him, though,’ Sir Richard said approvingly.

When the three heard a light step, a little later on, they thought it must be the boy returning. There was a tentative knock, as though Rob was leaning a heavy basket against the door as he sought to lift the latch. Baldwin stood and crossed the room, pulling the door wide.

Outside stood a hooded figure, and even as he opened his mouth to speak he saw the flash of steel.

Sir Baldwin de Furnshill had been trained well. The blade was thrust at his heart, but he fell to his right, grabbed the wrist with his right hand and slammed it across his torso and into the open door. The wrist caught the edge of the door itself, and he felt the shudder as the hand released the knife. He swiftly kicked it aside, pulled the figure in bodily, and booted the door shut.

‘Now, Edith, that is the least gratitude I have ever experienced after attempting to aid someone. I assume you have some reason to want to harm me?’

‘You think you can forget your actions by buying his family?’ she spat.

Simon had joined Baldwin, and stood behind his shoulder. ‘What is all this?’

Edith saw the knife on the floor near the door. She made a move as though to dart to it, but Baldwin did not release her wrist. Instead he hauled her with him further into the room, leaving the knife where it had fallen. ‘Sit, child, and tell me why you tried that.’

‘What can we do if you have him killed? It’s bad enough paying for his keep while he’s out, but at least he can help mend nets and earn a few ha’pennies here and there. But now? You’ve condemned us all to death!’

‘I have not the faintest idea what you are talking about.’

‘My father! He’s in the gaol for stealing some silver from the dead man’s purse, and you made out you weren’t going to do anything about it! You deceived us, and now he’s-’

‘Wait!’ Baldwin snapped. ‘I know nothing of this. Coroner?’

‘What?’ Sir Richard growled.

‘Is this your doing?’

‘Why me?’ Sir Richard asked with a baffled lifting of his eyebrows.

Baldwin nodded. ‘Edith, it is none of us here. Where is the gaol?’

‘At the market house.’

‘Come with us now, and we shall have him released if we may.’

She stared at him warily. ‘Why should I believe you? You’ll have me arrested too!’

‘Edith,’ Baldwin said with some asperity, ‘it was I who gave you money to help the family. Would I then order your father to be arrested? You have drawn steel against me, but I have not killed you as I might. I have no intention of hurting you or your father. Now come and help us.’

Her expression remained suspicious, but when he released her hand, she walked to the door. Standing by her knife, she looked back at Baldwin. He nodded, and she picked it up, concealing it in a sheath under her cloak, and led the way outside just as Rob appeared, whistling. His whistle became low and appreciative as he leered at her, and Baldwin was tempted to cuff him as he passed. Instead he heard Sir Richard take a pie.

‘Good choice, lad,’ he bellowed as he munched. ‘Keep them hot by the fire at the Custom House. We won’t be too long.’