Десмонд Бэгли - The Golden Keel

‘I am here.’

‘Good! Tell your boys to attack when I give the signal. You stay with Coertze and me, and the three of us will make for Torloni.’

I turned to find Francesca at my elbow. ‘I thought I told you to duck out of sight.’

She shook her head stubbornly. Old Palmerini was behind her, so I said, ‘See that she stays here, old friend.’

He nodded and put his arm round her. I said to Coertze, ‘Remember, we want Torloni — we don’t stop for anything else.’

Then we attacked up the yard. The three of us, Coertze, Piero and I, made a flying wedge, evading anyone who tried to stop us. We didn’t fight, we just ran. Coertze had grasped the idea and was running as though he was on a rugby field making an effort for the final try.

The goal line was Torloni and we were on him before he properly realized what was happening. He snarled and blue steel showed in his hand.

‘Spread out!’ I yelled, and we separated, coming at him from three sides. The gun in his hand flamed and Coertze staggered; then Piero and I jumped him. I raised my arm and hit him hard with the edge of my hand; I felt his collarbone break and he screamed and dropped the pistol.

With Torloni’s scream a curious hush came over the yard. There was an uncertainty in his men as they looked back to see what was happening. I picked up the gun and held it to Torloni’s head. ‘Call off your dogs or I’ll blow your brains out,’ I said harshly.

I was as close to murder then as I have ever been. Torloni saw the look in my eyes and whitened. ‘Stop,’ he croaked.

‘Louder,’ ordered Piero and squeezed his shoulder.

He screamed again, then he shouted, ‘Stop fighting — stop fighting. Torloni says so.’

His men were hirelings — they fought for pay and if the boss was captured they wouldn’t get paid. There is not much loyalty among mercenaries. There was an uncertain shuffling and a melting away of figures into the darkness.

Coertze was sitting on the ground, his hand to his shoulder. Blood was oozing between his fingers. He took his hand away and looked at it with stupefied amazement. ‘The bastard shot me,’ he said blankly.

I went over to him. ‘Are you all right?’

He held his shoulder again and got to his feet. ‘I’m O.K.’ He looked at Torloni sourly. ‘I’ve got a bone to pick with you.’

‘Later,’ I said. ‘Let’s deal with the crowd at the bottom of the yard.’

We were being reinforced rapidly by men climbing over the wall. This was our mobile force which had taken Torloni’s men in the rear and had whipped them. In a compact mass we marched down the yard towards Sanford, Torloni being frog-marched in front.

As we came near Sanford I poked the pistol muzzle into Torloni’s fleshy neck. ‘Tell them,’ I commanded.

He shouted, ‘Leave the boat. Go away. Torloni says that.’

The men around Sanford looked at us expressionlessly and made no move. Piero squeezed Torloni’s shoulder again. ‘Aaah. Leave the boat, I tell you,’ he yelled.

They raised their eyes to the crowd behind us, realized they were outnumbered, and slowly began to drift towards the hard where their boats were drawn up. Piero said quietly, ‘These are the men from La Spezia. That man in the blue jersey is their leader; Morlaix; he is a Frenchman from Marseilles.’ He looked speculatively at their boats. ‘You may have trouble with him yet. He does not care if Torloni lives or dies.’

I watched Morlaix’s crowd push their boats into the water. ‘We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,’ I said. ‘We’ve got to get out of here. Somebody might have notified the police about the brawl — we made enough noise, and there was a gunshot. Did we have many casualties?’

‘I don’t know; I will find out.’

Palmerini came pushing through the crowd with Francesca at his side. ‘The boat is not harmed,’ he said. ‘We can put her into the water at any time.’

‘Thanks,’ I said. I looked at Francesca and made a quick decision. ‘Still want to come?’

‘Yes, I’m coming.’

‘O.K. You won’t have time to pack, though. We’re leaving within the hour.’

She smiled. ‘I have a small suitcase already packed. It has been ready for a week.’

Coertze was standing guard over Torloni. ‘What do we do with this one?’ he asked.

I said, ‘We take him with us a little way. We may need him yet. Francesca, Kobus was shot; will you strap him up?’

‘Oh, I didn’t know,’ she said. ‘Where is the wound?’

‘In the shoulder,’ said Coertze absently. He was watching Walker on the deck of Sanford. ‘Where was that kêrel when the trouble started?’

‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘I never saw him from start to finish.’

We put Sanford into the water very easily; there were plenty of willing hands. I felt better with a living, moving deck under my feet than I had for a long time. Before I went aboard for the last time I took Piero on one side.

‘Tell the Count I’ve taken Francesca away,’ I said. ‘I think it’s better this way — Torloni might look for revenge. You men can look after yourselves, but I wouldn’t like to leave her here.’

‘That is the best thing,’ he said.

‘If Torloni wants to start any more funny tricks you know what to do now. Don’t go for his men — go for Torloni. He cracks easily under direct pressure. I’ll make it clear to him that if he starts any of his nonsense he’ll wind up floating somewhere in the bay. What did you find out about casualties?’

‘Nothing serious,’ said Piero. ‘One broken arm, three stab wounds, three or four concussions.’

‘I’m glad to see no one was killed,’ I said. ‘I wouldn’t have liked that. I think Francesca would like to speak to you, so I’ll leave you to it.’

We shook hands warmly and I went aboard. Piero was a fine man — a good man to have beside you in a fight.

He and Francesca talked together for a while and then she came on board. She was crying a little and I put my arms about her to comfort her. It’s not very pleasant to leave one’s native land at the best of times, and leaving in these circumstances the unpleasantness was doubled. I sat in the cockpit with my hand on the tiller and Walker started the engine. As soon as I heard it throb I threw it into gear and we moved away slowly.

For a long time we could see the little patch of light in front of the shed speckled with the waving Italians. They waved although they could not see us in the darkness and I felt sad at leaving them. ‘We’ll come back sometime,’ I said to Francesca.

‘No,’ she said quietly. ‘We’ll never be back.’

We pressed on into the darkness at a steady six knots making our way due south to clear the Portovento headland. I looked up at the mast dimly outlined against the stars and wondered how long it would take to fix the running rigging. The deck was a mess, making nonsense of the term ‘shipshape,’ but we couldn’t do anything about that until it was light. Walker was below and Coertze was on the foredeck keeping guard on Torloni. Francesca and I conversed in low tones in the cockpit, talking of when we would be able to get married.

Coertze called out suddenly, ‘When are we going to get rid of this garbage? He wants to know. He thinks we’re going to put him over the side and he says he can’t swim.’

‘We’ll slip inshore close to Portovento,’ I said. ‘We’ll put him ashore in the dinghy.’

Coertze grumbled something about it being better to get rid of Torloni there and then, and relapsed into silence. Francesca said, ‘Is there something wrong with the engine? It seems to be making a strange noise.’