Julian Stockwin - Artemis

'First thing I'm gonna do is get aboard o' yer barky, an' I advise you do the same,' he said, fidgeting.

'Damn it, man, what's the problem?' The woman began wailing brokenly, beating at the grass with her fists. Powlett caught Gurney's arm and propelled him away.

"Noo it would happen, sooner or later.'

'What?' roared Powlett.

'Tubou-alohi — that's the son o' the high chief — he's kinda restless. Doesn't want t' take his old man's rule fer much longer, so he's done somethin' about it.' Catching Powlett's expression he hurried on, 'He's got his friends from another island t' help him - he's gotta prevail quickly, or he loses. Sends out raidin' parties, seems we have one arrived on the other side.'

Powlett glowered at him. 'Hands to quarters!' he ordered crisply.

The stands of muskets emptied and the seamen and marines hastily took up position at the stockade. Powlett pursed his lips. 'Mr Parry, be so good as to lead a reconnaissance party to the other side of the island and report the situation.'

'Aye aye, sir,' said Parry, and immediately detailed ten men for his party, including Kydd.

'Mr Fairfax, please to muster the ship's company, have them at readiness within the stockade.' He swung round and bellowed to the two scientists and their assistants still at the observation platform, 'Pray stand ready to re-embark on my order.'

Hobbes barely turned his head. 'Indeed we shall not.' His voice sounded thinly over the distance. 'It is not convenient at this time, Captain.'

Powlett ground his teeth. 'Get moving, Mr Party!'

* * *

The party doubled over the beach, not a soul abroad, with Party in a fierce grimace and his sword out in the lead. Kydd smiled secretly as they rushed past the blowhole, the other men flinching at the sudden gouts. They reached the distinctive red-soil bluff that Kydd remembered seeing from the peak, rustling through an overgrown path to its low summit. Parry dropped to the ground, his hand at the halt. 'Silence!' he hissed. They crept cautiously to the edge of the bluff.

Below, the narrow beach was crowded with war-canoes and men. The warriors were engaged in some form of ecstatic dance. They circled around a fire-pit, viciously waving bone clubs and spears. At the head of the beach their prisoners, seven of them, were tied to the palms in a standing position.

Kydd looked sideways. Parry was counting carefully, assessing the war-like potential of the horde. Kydd admired his coolness, but knew even without a count that they were far outnumbered. 'What d'ye think they'll do t' the prisoners?' whispered a man on one side.

'They'll probably be some sort o' slaves to th' end o' their miserable lives,' Kydd muttered. It made more sense than to kill them. The prisoners did not move, probably resigned to their turn of fortune.

The counting went on, as did the circling about the fire. A conch shell bayed, a low and baleful sound, varying in clarity as the man rotated slowly around. The capering stopped. From the dancers a warrior emerged with a tall headdress and anklets of shark's teeth. Carrying a broad bone club he pranced towards the prisoners, passing from one to another, menacing each with his jagged club. He stopped before one.

The club rose slowly and fixed on the man in a quivering accusation. A shout went up from the other warriors and the prisoner was instantly surrounded, dragged down the beach and thrown to the ground. He knelt, his head drooping, not a sound escaping. The warriors drew back, and in a single whirl of motion the bone club smashed the man's skull, the dull squelch carrying up to the hidden watchers.

Kydd was chilled to the core. Below him the body toppled slowly. The executioner stepped back, allowing others to move forward. Then, in absolute horror, Kydd saw butchery begin. Limbs were separated and laid on plantain leaves, strips of flesh torn and peeled from the carcass. His mind threatened to fly apart when he saw one warrior casually carrying a whole leg down to the sea to wash it. The flesh was wrapped in leaves and taken to the fire-pit, where it soon left a rich aroma in the air like roasting pork.

'Retire by twos,' Party whispered fiercely. Stunned, Kydd slid back. They returned to the stockade in silence, something about their manner communicating itself to the waiting seamen.

Powlett rounded on Fairfax. 'They know we're here, and they're not worried. That's not good. If they take it into their heads to make a sally, we'll be put to severe hazard.' He looked soberly at Gurney. 'Is it likely they will?'

'They stand t' take a lot o' plunder if they do - an' more'n that. Whoever gets t' kill a white man gets plenty o' face as a warrior. They won't attack at night, the gods don't like it, but tomorrow . . .'

Parry snorted. 'We can blast them to kingdom come with Artemis’s great guns.'

Powlett glanced at him. 'So we have wise shot, Mr Parry, which knows to seek out only the enemy? At that range off-shore we cannot reach the savages without we hurt our own. No — the scientificals have nearly concluded their work, we have no further business here, and therefore there is only one course I will contemplate. We evacuate the island immediately.'

Muttering began among the men, but Powlett smiled grimly. 'Those who wish to linger I have no doubt will be right royally entertained by the savages.' He glanced up at the sun. 'We'll not complete today. Get as much of the stores back aboard before sunset as you can, Mr Fairfax, the scientificals can remain until first light if they wish, the ship's company will take a two-watch guard. I want to be at sea at dawn.'

More shaken than he cared to admit, Kydd took his place at the stockade, but his mind was on Renzi, lost somewhere in the interior. Not having any real means of communication with anyone he would be alone at a time of appalling danger — and tomorrow was his last chance at escape.

Kydd felt tears prick, whether selfishly because he had lost a true sea companion, or for helplessness at Renzi's dire plight, it didn't matter. A thought began to force itself on his consciousness, a growing, pressing thought. He shuffled along the stockade until he found the end where it met the sea in an untidy pile of logs. 'That you, Toby?' he called.

Stirk was there and grunted a reply. Dark was rapidly falling, and if Kydd was going to do anything it would have to be in the blackness of night before moonrise. 'I know where Renzi is,' he said, in a low voice. Stirk's eyes gleamed in the dying light of the day but he didn't reply. 'I'm goin' after him.'

'Yer want help, mate?' Stirk said. Kydd felt a surge of feeling: here was what it meant to be shipmates.

'No, Toby, I need y' here so when we gets back, you c'n let us back in,' Kydd said. He had no plan, simply an urge to get to Renzi. He hesitated. A musket would impede his progress considerably, and a cutlass didn't have the reach compared to spears and clubs. He would go unarmed.

He splashed around the end of the stockade. 'Luck, matey!' Stirk called quietly. Kydd stepped out nervously, imagining unseen eyes on him, with capture and a hideous death to follow. His skin crawled, but he went on towards the trail leading to the clearing where Haynes had held his trade and which connected with the small path leading inland.

Every bush and broad leaf that brushed his face and every root that grabbed at his ankles made his heart thump. The sky was splashed with stars, but die earth was in inky blackness. The foliage fell away — he had reached the far side of the plateau, and would be able to follow along its fringe until he reached the forest path he sought. If anyone could see him from the stockade, which was doubtful in the gloom, they would believe him to be a savage.

Here — was this the place where he and Renzi had begun their final ascent to the peak? For a minute of panic he could not recognise the area, but remembered the casuarina with its feathery leaves overshadowing the track. He plunged forward. The moist cool of the night was laced with odours of decaying vegetation and night blooms.