ALEXANDER KENT: Richard Bolitho – Midshipman

The bowman cupped his hands. 'Ship ahoy! ' His voice seemed to echo back like an acknowledgement. Dancer whispered, 'What d'you reckon, Dick?' Bolitho shook his head. 'Not sure.' He watched the barquentine's masts lifting above the sweating oarsmen, the way the booms on her main and mizzen creaked and shook without purpose.

'Way 'nough! ' The oars stilled and the bowman hurled a grapnel high over the vessel's bulwark. Tregorren snapped, 'Easy now! ' He stood staring up at the bulwark, uncertain, or as if he still expected somebody to appear. Then, 'Boarders away! ' The boatswain had chosen only experienced hands, and within seconds they were all up and over the sundried bulwark and clustered close together beneath the batlike sails. Tregorren said, 'Mr Dancer, take the forrard hatch! ' He gestured to a boatswain's mate, the one who had carried out the flogging. 'Thorne, you make certain that the main hatch is secure.' Surprisingly, he drew a pistol from his belt and cocked it carefully. 'Mr Bolitho, and you two, will come aft to the poop with me.' Bolitho glanced at his friend who gave a quick shrug before taking his own men to the forward hatch. Nobody was smiling now. It was like a phantom ship, deserted and neglected, her crew spirited away. He looked towards the Gorgon but even she seemed further away, her protection less certain. Tregorren said harshly. 'This bloody ship stinks! ' He stood above a companionway, his head on one side as he peered down into darkness. 'Anyone below?' But there was no sound other than sea noises and the dismal creak of the unattended wheel. Tregorren looked at Bolitho. 'Down you go.' He seized his wrist and added fiercely, 'Well, attend to your pistol, damn you! ' Bolitho drew the heavy weapon from his belt and stared at it. The lieutenant said, 'And don't turn your back as you go down the ladder! ' Bolitho slid over the coaming and paused to allow his eyes to become used to the gloom between decks. Once below the poop he heard other shipboard sounds, and he had to tell himself they were quite normal. The sluice of water against the hull, the creak and clatter of loose gear. He could smell candle-grease and damp air, the more rancid stenches of bilge and stale food. He heard a man yell from above, 'Nothing forrard, sir! ' and relaxed very slightly. On the planks above, muffled but recognizable, Tregorren was moving this way and that, probably wondering what to do next. But he remembered Tregorren's haste to send him below first and without aid. If he was concerned about this strange, deserted vessel he was certainly indifferent to his midshipman's safety. He pushed open a small cabin door and stooped to enter. It was so low beneath the deck beams that he had to shuffle in the darkness like a hunchback, his hands groping to stop the ship from throwing him off balance. His fingers touched a lantern before his face. It was ice-cold. At that moment a tiny hatch was flung open overhead and a previously concealed skylight wrenched aside. Framed in the blinding glare, Tregorren's massive head peered down at him. 'What the hell are you doing, Mr Bolitho?' He fell silent, and when Bolitho turned to follow his stare he saw why. Sprawled in one corner of the cabin was a man, or all there was left of him. He had received a terrible head wound from cutlass or axe and had taken several more thrusts in chest and side. In the shaft of sunlight his gaze seemed to be slitted against the brightness, his eyes terrified as they fixed on Bolitho. Tregorren said at length, 'God Almighty! ' Then as Bolitho remained stockstill beside the corpse he added roughly, 'On deck with you! ' In the bright sunlight again Bolitho found that his hands were shaking badly, although when he looked at them they seemed as before. Tregorren ordered, 'Put a hand on the wheel, Thorne. Mr Dancer, take your men to the main hold and search it. The rest of you begin to take in these damned sails! ' He turned as Dancer called, 'Gorgon's under way again, sir.' 'Yes.' The lieutenant was frowning with the effort of thinking. 'She'll be dropping down within hailing distance. By that time I want some answers.' It was like putting together parts of a torn and dismembered book. Dancer's search of the barquen tine's main hold revealed that she had been carrying spirits, mostly rum, but the hold, apart from a few broken and upended casks, was empty. By the starboard rail on the poop, and again on the compass box, they found dried blood and the burn marks from discharged pistols. The solitary corpse in the cabin must have been the vessel's master, running below to arm himself, to save some valuables or merely to hide. It was not clear. What was certain was that he had been brutally murdered. Bolitho heard Tregorren say to the boatswain's mate, 'Must've been a mutiny and the devils made off after killing the loyal seamen.' But both of the barquentine's boats were still hoisted inboard and secured. Then, when Gorgon's great pyramid of sails was running slowly across the vessel's quarter, Heather, one of Dancer's party, discovered something else. Just aft of the main hold a ball had smashed into the timbers, and when the hull dipped across a deep trough it was possible to see where it had struck the outside of the ship. By leaning out from the shrouds Bolitho saw it shining from its jagged socket like a malevolent black eye. Tregorren said heavily, 'Must have been a pirate of some sort. Put a shot into her when she failed to heave-to and then boarded her.' He ticked off the points on his spatulate fingers. 'Then butchered the hands and pitched ' em overboard. There are sharks a'plenty hereabouts. Then they swayed out the cargo to their own ship and cast off.' He looked round irritably as Dancer asked, 'But why not seize the ship too, sir?' 'I was coming to that, ' he replied angrily. But he did not explain further. Instead, he cupped his hands and began to bellow some of his news towards the Gorgon. Across the narrowing stretch of water Bolitho heard Verling's voice through his speaking trumpet. 'Continue the search and remain under our lee.' That was probably to give the captain time to examine his own logs and documents about local shipping. The City of Athens was obviously not a new vessel, and was probably familiar on the rum trade from the West Indies. Bolitho shivered, imagining himself alone and suddenly faced with a rush of savage, stabbing boarders. Tregorren said shortly, 'Down aft again.' He strode to the companion with Bolitho at his heels. Even though he knew what he would see it was still a shock. Bolitho tried not to look at the dead man's face as Tregorren, after a brief hesitation, began to search his pockets. The City of Athens ' log and charts had vanished, probably overboard, but in a corner of the littered cabin, almost hidden under a bunk, Tregorren found a canvas envelope. It was empty, but had the vessel's agent's name in Martinique clearly printed on it. It was better than nothing. The lieutenant righted an upended chair and sat on it heavily, his head still almost brushing the deck beams. He remained in the same position for several minutes, staring at the corpse, his face dark with concentration. Bolitho said, 'I believe there was a third vessel, sir. That the attackers or pirates saw her sail and decided to make a run for it, knowing that this one would attract first attention.' For an instant he thought Tregorren had not heard. Then the lieutenant said softly, 'When I require aid from you, Mr Bolitho, I will ask for it.' He looked up, his eyes in shadow. 'You may be a postcaptain's son, and the grandson of a flag officer, but to me you are a midshipman, less than nothing in my book! ' 'I – I'm sorry.' Bolitho felt himself tense with anger. 'I meant no offence.' 'Oh yes, I know your family.' Tregorren's chest was lifting with exertion and suppressed fury. 'I've seen the fine house, the tablets on the church wall! Well, 7 had no safe background to help me, and by God I'll see you get no favours in my ship, understood?'