Marbeck and the Privateers (15 page)

Marbeck sat down heavily, and waited for Thomas Oxenham to die.

L
ate the following night, Marbeck was back in Weymouth. He had slipped into the town after dark, and tethered Cobb to a ring on the quayside. Now, with the streets empty, he walked to the corner of Hope Cove and readied himself.

It had been a long day, of regret and remorse, but he'd been spared one grim task: that of disposing of the body of Thomas Oxenham. In the morning, after Marbeck had stayed up half the night and watched his fellow-intelligencer die, Woollard had changed his mind and said he would deal with the matter. The surgeon wished to be rid of both his unwanted guests, the living and the dead, but Marbeck's departure seemed to him the more urgent. Having handed Oxenham's purse to him, he said he would dispose of the man's horse and belongings. So with few words the two of them had parted at dawn, Marbeck riding swiftly out of Melcombe and concealing himself in a copse on the road to Broadwey. There, he'd formed his plan to free Mary Kellett from her dreadful captivity.

Oxenham's death, as well as his testimony, had shaken him; but now he saw it differently. Juan Roble, the man he had thwarted in the past, wished him dead and had forced Oxenham to carry out the task – though his people, it seemed, had misjudged the man's capabilities: someone like Levinus Monk, perhaps, could have advised them differently. As for Roble's corsair activity: it took Marbeck's breath away. It revealed a link between the Langostas of the Mediterranean and their fellows in the northern seas: the Sea Locusts. And after all that Oxenham had said, was it not likely that this network of renegades was behind attempts to spoil the peace talks in London?

He had turned the matter about, and the more he looked the darker the whole business appeared. There were people on both sides who disliked the planned treaty – even if both their nations had much to gain from its successful conclusion. But in the end he felt helpless in the face of these wider events, and after hiding out all day, he'd grown weary of it. Two things he could and would do, because he had given his word: one was to go to Oxenham's father, but the first was to rescue Mary Kellett from John Buck. And for that task only a bold approach would serve: in short, he would go to the house and take her away by force.

Now, with the town quiet and most folk abed, he steeled himself to the task. In the evening clouds had scudded in; as a result the place was almost pitch dark, with only a couple of lanterns on the quays. After a final look round, he walked the short distance to the Buck house and rapped on the door.

For a moment nothing happened; then came a creak overhead as a casement opened. Drawing his poniard, he pressed himself against the doorway. From above he couldn't be seen; and when a voice called out he made no answer. The voice was Sarah's; he waited, but no further sound came. If John Buck was in the house it would be he who came to the door, and for that Marbeck was prepared; he heard the window close, and tensed in every muscle. There was no back entrance to the building, he believed … and at last, he heard the sound of a bolt sliding back. The door opened only inches, but it was enough.

With all his strength he shoved it inwards, heard a cry and the thud of someone falling. Then he was in, kicking the door shut behind him … and against the wall, eyes wide with fright, lay Sarah Buck tangled in a voluminous night-shift. When he bent and showed her the dagger-point, she gasped.

‘God's mercy … you won't use that!'

‘Where's Buck?' Marbeck snapped.

‘He's upstairs – he'll have heard!' Sarah threw back. ‘Go while you can, or he'll kill you …' But seeing Marbeck knew she was lying, she faltered.

‘Get up,' he ordered, with mixed feelings of relief and disappointment. Reaching down, he grasped Sarah's bony arm and dragged her to her feet. There was light, from a candle she'd placed on the stairs. Glancing round, he steered her towards the parlour doorway. But at that moment there came a soft footfall … He looked up, and there stood Mary Kellett in her thin shift.

‘It's time,' he said. ‘Will you get ready?'

In amazement Mary stared at him … then her eyes flew to Sarah Buck, but Marbeck was quicker. The woman's mouth was open: a split second later, and her shout would have woken the whole street. Instead she found Marbeck's hand clamped over her jaws, and the dagger's point an inch from her nose.

‘One sound,' he hissed, ‘and I'll end your life here.'

As bluffs went it was not one of his best, but on this occasion it worked: having no cause to doubt him, Sarah nodded quickly. Marbeck looked at Mary, who was still on the stairs.

‘Bring me something to gag her,' he said.

The girl hesitated; only now, it seemed, had she grasped the reality: that freedom was within her reach. She turned on her heel and ran upstairs. A moment later she was back with a pair of woollen stockings, which she handed to Marbeck before disappearing again. There was a spring in her step, which in spite of everything eased his heart.

And in a matter of minutes, it was done. Mistress Buck was seated in a corner of the parlour, gagged and trussed: first with her own stockings, then with a rope Marbeck found in a closet. Meanwhile Mary Kellett, dressed in her workaday clothes and a tattered gown, was in the hall trembling visibly. Marbeck sheathed his poniard, and lifted the door-latch.

‘I never thought you'd come back,' she said at last.

He drew breath, calming himself. ‘Where's John Buck?'

‘Abbotsbury,' Mary answered. ‘He goes there often …' She cocked an ear towards the door. ‘Are you sure it's safe? Someone might have seen you, when you entered Weymouth …'

‘Perhaps. Which is why you must follow a few steps behind. When I get to the corner I'll whistle. My horse is nearby.'

A frown puckered her brow. ‘You're leaving Sarah like that?' Her eyes strayed towards the parlour. ‘It's dangerous …'

‘Nevertheless, that's how it must be,' Marbeck said. ‘By the time she frees herself we'll be clear, and Cobb will outrun any horse Buck can lay hands on.'

‘You don't understand,' Mary said. ‘It's not Buck who'll come after you …' But he shook his head.

‘I go now – whatever happens, run to me.' He opened the door, then glanced down. ‘You've no shoes still …'

‘Everything I have is here,' she whispered, and indicated a bundle tied about her waist. So with a nod, he stepped out into the street.

He listened, heard nothing but the distant wash of the sea, and hurried to the corner. Here he crouched, peering round at the quayside, but it was clear. There was a sound from further off – from the King's Arms, perhaps; but Cobb was between himself and the inn. He could see the silhouette in the gloom. Sensing his presence, the horse snickered. Having judged the distance, Marbeck half-turned and gave a low whistle. Then came the pad of feet, and Mary was beside him.

‘I'll make a stirrup, hoist you into the saddle,' he said. ‘You must grasp the reins tightly – is that clear?'

For answer she merely gripped his arm. So he straightened up and walked swiftly to Cobb, who was stamping restlessly. It was the work of a moment to loosen the reins, and when he looked round Mary was already hurrying to him. As she placed her foot in his cupped hands he found she was light, as she'd told him, three nights ago. Then she was in the saddle, Marbeck's foot was in the stirrup, and he was up behind her … and with a clack of hooves, they were moving along the quay. Somewhere a door opened, but it no longer mattered. Breaking into a trot they clattered across the bridge and were soon riding through Melcombe, the ground rising beneath Cobb's hooves.

As they passed the last house and rode out onto the northward road, Marbeck heard a sound from the figure who sat before him, her bony back pressed to his body. She muttered a few words, which were indistinct; but then he understood, and concentrated on guiding Cobb in the dark.

Mary was weeping, and her shoulders shook against his chest.

Dorchester was a bare eight miles away; but as he'd planned to do, Marbeck stopped at the copse three miles north, near Broadwey. He set Mary down and led Cobb away to graze, then returned to find the girl muffled in her hand-me-down gown, hunched against a tree. He handed her his leather flask, from which she drank thirstily. Though he could barely see her face, he sensed how frightened she was.

‘We can't stay here,' she said. ‘It isn't far enough. They'll come for me – I know they will.'

‘As soon as dawn comes we'll ride on,' Marbeck said. ‘They can't follow in the dark, and we have a few miles' start. In Dorchester I'll get you some better clothes. None will recognize you, I promise.'

She hesitated, then: ‘Isn't it best that I go a different way – take the road to Wareham, or to Winterborne Abbas? They'll follow the horse, and by the time they find out …' But when he squatted beside her, she broke off.

‘I'm not leaving you on foot, within their reach. You told me you tried to run before – how far did you get?'

At that she sighed. ‘Only to the rabbit warrens above Melcombe.'

‘Well – this is your chance, and you must seize it. In Dorchester you can decide where you want to go …' He paused, recalling what Woollard had told him. ‘Is there any family …?'

But she made no answer, and he too fell silent. In truth he was uncertain what to do with her. He had to make his way back to London, but it was a very long ride for two people on one horse. He sat on the grass and drew his cloak about him. ‘You should try and get some sleep,' he began – but gave a start as her hand clutched his arm.

‘Why did you come back?'

‘Because I told you I would.'

‘But your life was threatened … you knew the danger, yet—'

‘Let's say I've taken a strong dislike to John Buck, shall we?' In the darkness, Marbeck wore a wry smile. ‘And had he been at home, it would have given me satisfaction to stick a poniard under his nose, and hear him beg for his life.'

She paused, then: ‘Sarah's life will be torture, when Buck finds out what's happened. He'll blame her like he always does – I daren't think what he'll do.' And when Marbeck said nothing, she added: ‘There's much I could tell you about Buck. You should know what manner of danger you face …'

‘Tomorrow – when you've rested, and we're in Dorchester. I'll find an inn …'

‘And where do you mean to go, after that?'

‘To London,' Marbeck answered after a moment. ‘But I cannot take you all the way there.'

She sighed. ‘I know that … I would not ask so much.'

She was silent after that, and to allay her fears he added: ‘But I'll take you wherever you wish. I know a few people … there might be a place for you, as—'

‘A servant in a trugging-house?'

The bitterness in her voice was stark as it was sudden. He sighed, for it rang true: the girl's future looked bleak. He was seeking some words of comfort, when she spoke again.

‘You asked me about the Sea Locusts.'

In the dark, he turned to her.

‘How much do you know about them?' Mary asked.

‘I know of two ships called the
Amity
and the
Lion's Whelp
… and that they're slave-traders,' Marbeck said.

‘But do you know what kind of slaves they carry?'

‘Those poor wretches taken from the coasts of Africa and elsewhere, I imagine.' He broke off: her voice was taut. Suddenly, an ugly thought occurred to him – and her next words confirmed his suspicion.

‘I was to be one of them,' Mary said flatly.

He started, and let out a long breath.

‘The bargain is already made, and Buck meant to turn me to good profit,' she went on. ‘English girls, and those of other fair-skinned races – Irish or Danes, say – fetch high prices in the Barbary states. Though it's better if they're virgins, of course …' She gave a hollow laugh. ‘But there are ways to fake that, Buck said. I would be instructed how, in the Bedestan – that's the slave market in Algiers. If I was lucky, he used to say, I might even end up in the pasha's
harem
. Then he'd laugh, and say I wasn't pretty enough. And he'd send me upstairs again to earn my keep, as he put it …'

She stopped talking; somehow, in the dark, she sensed Marbeck's anger. He knew little of the slave trade, though he'd heard tales of people being snatched from many countries, even northern Europe: men, women – and it seemed, children too …

He got up suddenly, startling Mary, and walked away. It fitted: Woollard's telling how the girl had been passed to Buck, to dispose of as he pleased; why secrecy surrounded the Sea Locust ships, and why people were afraid to speak about them. Breathing hard, he gazed into the dark, wishing John Buck had been there when he'd forced his way into the house. Finally he turned, and made his way back to Mary.

‘You said there were things you could tell me,' he said finally.

‘I can still,' she said at once. ‘For I know who owns those ships – who pays for their fitting out, to send them to sea again and again. And who takes the biggest share, when they return.'

He froze. There was a scrap of intelligence here at last: something that might have a bearing on his stalled investigation. Again he heard the voice of Fahz in the Limehouse tavern:
wicked men, doing wicked deeds
… with an effort, he sat down beside her again.

‘I want to know more … indeed, I want to know all of it,' he said, somewhat harshly. ‘But it must wait until tomorrow, when you've rested. I have to write it down …'

‘Why would you?' she broke in sharply. And when he made no answer, she seemed to shrink from him. ‘Are you one of the Admiralty men? That's what Buck told me. He told me you'd have me arrested as a whore, and sent to Bridewell to be whipped …'