Seaflower (46 page)

Renzi
crawled over to a thwart and drew out of his package a small book. 'My
friends,' he began, but his voice was hoarse and unnatural, and he had to clear
his throat. 'We are at some hazard, I'll grant, but... these words may put you
in mind of another place, another time, what we may yet...

'"The
curfew tolls the knell of parting day,

The
lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea,

The
ploughman homeward plods his weary way,

And
leaves the world to darkness and to me.

Now
fades the glimmering landscape on the sight,

And
all the air a solemn stillness holds . .."'

'Oh,
Nicholas, Nicholas!' Cecilia wept. She moved to Renzi, and hugged his arm while
the measured, burnished phrases went on until Renzi could no longer see the
text.

Night
fell. They lolled back and gazed at the vast starry heavens as they drifted in perfect
calm beneath. But bodies were now a mass of suffering from the aches of
unyielding hardness everywhere and the sight for them held no beauty.

The
night progressed, the moon travelled half the sky and still no wind. Then in
the early hours an inconsequential puff from nowhere had the sails slatting
busily. Kydd heaved himself up from the bottom of the boat where he had been
lying and looked across the ebony black sea, glittering with moonlight. A
roughening of texture in the glassy sea away in the distance had his heart
hammering. It approached, flaws and ripples in a darting flurry that came
nearer and nearer. Kydd held the tiller in a death grip, fearful with
anticipation, and suddenly they were enveloped in a brisk breeze that sent the
longboat heeling, then in a joyful chuckling of water they were under way
again.

Croaking
cheers broke out - but the breeze dropped, their speed fell away .. . and then
the wind picked up even stronger than before in a glorious thrusting urge. The
winds held into the morning; with a steady breeze from the north-east, the heat
was under control. Eagerly, the midday ceremony with octant and watch was
anticipated with little patience, for Kydd took the utmost pains to ensure his
workings were unassailable.

Finally
he looked up from the frayed chart. 'I’m grieved t' say it, but I was wrong,'
he said, but the staring eyes that looked back at him made him regret his black
humour. 'That is, th' current, it wasn't as bad as I thought. In fact...' he
paused dramatically and pointed '... there — there you will find St Lucia
distant but twenty leagues, and there, that is St Vincent. We pass between them
and to Barbados beyond.'

It
was incredibly elating to be making plans for landfall within the next day. 'Can
we stop at an island for water on the way?' Stanhope said. His voice was
croaking with dehydration.

'No,'
said Kydd decisively. 'We don't know if the French are still in control — after
what we've suffered, I don' want us t' end in a Frog prison.'

Cecilia
lifted a barricoe and shook it. 'We don't have much left,' she said. Her voice
was husky and low, her skin dry and cracked.

'We
don't stop,' Kydd said, concentrating ahead. His own voice had a harsh cast.

For
a long time there was nothing said, then Lord Stanhope murmured, 'I could
insist . . .'

Kydd
gripped the tiller. 'No. Y'r not th' Captain. If y’ needs water then you c'n
have my share.'

"That
won't be necessary,' Lord Stanhope croaked, 'but thank you, Mr Kydd, that was
nobly said.'

'We
don't stop.'

'No.'

The
passage between the two islands was more than twenty-five miles; at their
height-of-eye they would probably not even see them. Kydd concentrated on the
boat compass, the card swimming lazily under the lubber's line. He had to be
certain of his course for if he steered true Barbados lay just eighty-odd miles
beyond in the Atlantic, less than a day away.

'When
we gets t' Barbados, th' thing I'd like best—'

Before
Doud's thought could be finished there was a sickening crunch and a crazy
rearing. The longboat came to a sudden halt, sending all hands sprawling and
the mast splintering in two. Then the boat slid backwards crazily and into deep
water again. The sea was as innocent as it was possible to be, but inches under
water, and therefore invisible, a projection of reef not on the chart had been
lying in wait. The boat lay in disorder, and Kydd saw clear water in the
bottom. 'Clear away th' raffle, Nicholas - we're takin' in water,' he said
thickly.

Without
being told Cecilia added her weight to the heaving and bundling, her face set
and worried, her dress riding up unnoticed. Doud was in the foresheets, bending
over again and again and, in silent agony, nursing an injured arm.

It
was as bad as Kydd had feared. The very bottom of the boat had taken the full
force of the impact and was stove in. By a miracle the worst affected plank was
still hanging by a thread, but the crystal clear water of the Caribbean was
gouting in. Their survival would now be measured in minutes unless something
could be done. Kydd's mind raced. If they stuffed the holes with clothing it
would reduce the flow — but at the almost certain risk of the plank giving way
and bringing on a final unstoppable rush of water.

'Nicholas,
unbend the mains'l, we have t' fother.' They would try to check the inrush by
passing the sail around the outside of the boat 'Rest o' ye, bale f'r your
lives!'

His
fingers scrabbling at the ropes and flaccid canvas Kydd tried to think. Judging
by the merest suggestion of misty grey to the north-west they were no closer
than a dozen miles from St Lucia. The wreckage of the boat might sink under the
weight of its fittings or remain a waterlogged hulk; either way there was no
salvation for them.

The
mainsail was won from its rigging by sheer brute insistence and sailors'
knives, and Kydd staggered with it to the bow. Somehow the unwieldy mass had to
be passed under with a rope each side — that required two men - but as well it
had to be hauled away aft.

'Which
rope?' Lord Stanhope said tersely, stumbling towards them.

'M'
lord — if Y’ please,' Kydd said, and handed him one. Cecilia insisted on the
opposite one, freeing Kydd and Renzi to ease the sail foot by foot down the
outside length of the boat The water was half-way to the knees, unnerving and
making the boat wallow frighteningly.

'Bale!'
bawled Kydd, and with anything they could find they furiously threw the water
overside. There was no telling whether they had a chance and Kydd fell to his
work in a frenzy of desperation.

He
was unprepared for the inhuman screech that pierced the air. It was Cecilia.
She stood in the centre of the boat and pointed shakily - to a hulking white
shape below the water that glided past lazily, a lethal flash of cruel eyes and
a semicircle of teeth around a gaping maw. Kydd went icy. He remembered the
frenzy of killing around the burning ship, the living flesh ripped and devoured
before their horror-struck gaze. 'Bale!' he howled.

Cecilia
remained frozen near the stump of the mast, her face sagging with fear, staring
at the shark. 'I — I hate them — I h-a-a-a-te them!' she said, in rising
hysteria. Kydd had never seen his sister like this before and saw that her
terror was unhinging her.

His
voice caught in a sob, for he knew there was nothing he could do for her. It
was probable that before evening every one of them would have been eaten alive
- there were now four of the terrible creatures circling the boat. An
impossibly huge shark came close, closer. There was a sudden bump and dismaying
displacement. Something of its evil ferocity was transmitted in the shock of
the blow, a personal message of hatred that was the more terrifying for being
felt rather than seen.

Cecilia
sat suddenly, her face contorted with terror. Renzi put down his baler and,
with an expression of supreme compassion, held her rigid body close, stroking,
soothing.

'Nicholas!'
Kydd choked. His duty was baling; they must fight - they would play it to the
last.

Renzi
went back to his work, his eyes on Cecilia. She gulped crazily and scrabbled
over the thwarts towards Kydd, looking to him with eyes at the very edge of
madness. "Thomas! Thomas! Ple-e-a-se!’ Kydd could not look at her.
'P-p-promise me, p-please promise me — before it h-happens — you'll k-kill me,
with y-your knife, ple-e-a-se ...' Kydd's hand strayed to the seaman's knife at
his belt and felt his mind unravel.

The
shark came in again, its bulk under the bright sunlit water sinister and
purposeful. Kydd knew that the shark was closing in for a kill. He took an oar
and, like a harpoon, rammed it into its loathsome mouth as hard as he was able.
The shark twisted in agony, and thrashed away in a fury of spray — but the
others took it to be a crippling injury. They fell on the creature and it
disappeared in a snapping frenzy of red mist.

'Bale!'
Kydd croaked.

But
something had changed — the far horizon ahead was no longer a clean line of sea
and sky: it was populated with pyramids of sails, and not one but nearly a
dozen. Unseen by them in their peril they had stolen up over the horizon.

'Th'
Loo'ard Islands squadron!' Kydd gasped. The stately line of men-o'-war
stretched several miles over the sea, clearly on its lawful occasions, possibly
exercising on the passage to Barbados: an incredibly moving and beautiful sight
— but they were many miles distant.

'Ned!'
screamed Kydd. Doud leaped to his feet, tore off his shirt and, with his good
arm, waved it furiously, for their lives depended on it.

The
grand procession sailed on.

'Holy
Christ, see us, see us, why don' ye?'

'Bale!'
Kydd shrieked.

Cecilia
sat with her head at a strange angle, a haunted smile playing on her lips.

The
ships, Vice Admiral of the Blue, Sir Benjamin Caldwell's Leeward Islands
squadron of the Royal Navy, proceeded ahead in line — sailing inexorably past.

'Y'
bastards, y' fuckin' scrovy . ..' Doud raved. But Kydd knew that past the
closest point of approach they had little chance. The lookouts were primed to
expect things ahead, and with their mast a mere stump their visibility to the
Fleet would be nothing. A lump came to his throat, emotion flooded him,
overwhelmed him.

Then,
one after another the great ships-of-the-line majestically put down their helm,
the heavy spars braced around, the sails backed then drawing at exactly the
right moment to have the Fleet pivoting about the one point in succession - and
in a faultless exercise, the ships of the Fleet tacked and headed directly
towards them.

There
was weeping, racking, joyous, heartfelt — and this time Kydd let Renzi go to
Cecilia.

In
a haze of unreality, they saw the leading ship fall out of line, lowering a
boat that sped across to them. The sight of the strong, open faces of the
seamen misted Kydd's eyes. They heaved the feeble, sun-ravaged humanity into
their boat, and left the wreck to settle forlornly. Their pitiful collection of
possessions was tenderly removed and the lieutenant in charge spoke kind words.
And discovered whom he had delivered. Sailors tugging strongly at the oars,
they went back down the line, passing ship after ship in a delirious
progression, to the flagship in the centre.

For
Kydd there followed only disconnected images: the vast bulk of the flagship
alongside, figures looking curiously from the deck-line high above. A chair
swaying down from a yard-arm whip, Cecilia first, the others and finally Kydd.
The blessed tar-smelling clean decks, the crisp banging of backed sails above,
himself crumpling helpless, concerned seamen crowding around, a vision of
Cecilia staring at him, the gold and blue of high officers gathering around
Lord Stanhope — and then his body sought peace in insensibility.

'Good
God!' exclaimed the Admiral, visibly shocked. 'Frederick, to see you like this.
Great heavens, you must be—'

'That
is not of consequence. May we talk — in private?' His voice was weak but
resolute.

The
Admiral's Great Cabin, with its dark panelling, ornate silver and polished
furniture, did not deter Lord Stanhope from speaking directly. 'I have a matter
of compelling urgency that requires my attendance at the Foreign Office.'

Strategic
naval dispositions were straightforward enough; Ceres frigate would be sailing
for England in any event, she would simply leave immediately. Of course it
would be in order for the young lady to be accommodated until Lady Charlotte
arrived to join her.