Zypheria's Call (A Tanyth Fairport Adventure) (40 page)

“Anything you say, Captain.”

He grinned like a boy with a frog in his pocket and nodded his thanks. “Let’s go see what we can see, shall we?”

He bounded up onto the deck and led the way forward to the main cargo hatch. Jameson and several of the crew stood around it. Tanyth saw that it wasn’t one big cover as she thought, but instead consisted of broad planks across the opening with an oiled canvas cover across the top. Jameson had peeled back the cover and removed a few of the boards. They had a tongue and groove arrangement and fit tightly in the opening.

“Just pull up enough to get in there, Mr. Jameson.”

“Aye, aye, Captain.”

Two of the sailors pulled a couple more of the planks out and stacked them alongside the hatch. The opening was big enough that Tanyth was able to see down onto the tops of the crates and barrels stacked around down inside the ship. It wasn’t as deep as she had pictured it in her mind. It looked barely tall enough to stand up in.

“Nichols, hop down there and set up the ladder,” Jameson said.

“Aye, aye, sir,” a heavyset sailor with muscled arms lowered himself over the coaming, hung by his hands for a moment and then let go. Tanyth heard and felt the thump of his landing. After some scraping and at least one curse, a pair of metal hooks emerged from the darkness and latched over the coaming. Nichols swarmed up the ladder and out onto the deck almost before Tanyth realized what he’d done.

Jameson started for the ladder but the captain cut him off and scampered down out of sight, disappearing into the dark almost as quickly as Nichols had emerged. Jameson went right behind him. She heard their voices speaking under the deck, but couldn’t make out their words. Their voices fell silent for several long moments and just as Tanyth began to wonder if something had happened to them, she heard Jameson say, “Here!”

She heard some scrapping and bumping come from the hatch and then the captain emerged, dusting his trousers off when he regained the deck. “Nichols, Ferguson. Get a line down there and let’s get our little surprise package up where we can see it. Rand, fetch a pry bar, if you please.”

The ship’s bell rang twice while they waited.

Then the two men pulled the crate up out of the hold and placed it on the deck. Jameson clambered right behind it.

“Step back, if you please, gentlemen,” the captain said. He turned to Tanyth. “Is this the one, mum?”

She crossed to where it lay on the deck and walked around it, crouching down to look at the base. Black paint splashed the bottom third of the crate, but it looked like the right one. Along the bottom edge, she found fresh wood showing where something had gnawed the black paint away. She nodded and looked up at the Captain. “Yeah. That’s the one.”

“You’re sure, mum?” he said.

She nodded again. “How did you find it so fast?”

He smiled and held up one finger. After a few moments, they all heard a single, loud click.

“I took a chance that there might be only one crate that clicked,” he said with a grin.

She grinned back.

“Rand?” The captain held out his hand for the pry bar and with a few deft strokes pulled the top off the crate. When he did, Tanyth heard the crunch of breaking glass and everybody froze where they stood for a long moment. Crouched near the base, she caught the tangy whiff of lamp oil and then saw a widening pool spreading out through the holes, flowing across the deck and under the captain’s feet.

“Oil!” she cried and pointed.

The captain, standing with the lid half raised, looked down at his feet and froze. “Water! Douse it. Now!”

Several sailors grabbed the buckets they used for washing the deck and scooped salt water from over the side in the rapid smooth movements of long practice. In less than a minute, the deck, the crate, Tanyth, and the captain were all dripping with icy seawater.

Tanyth saw the rainbow sheen seeping away towards the scuppers in the reflected light of the morning sun.

“You think it’s safe now, sir?” Jameson asked.

The captain grunted. “Don’t know. Everybody stand well back, if you please. Mum? If you and your friend would get back behind the deckhouse? You’ve been a great help and I’d like to keep from getting you blown up.”

Everybody within the sound of his voice started backpedaling as fast as they could.

“A couple of you brave lads might fill a few more buckets, just in case,” the captain said with a wry grin.

They did so and stood by with them. Tanyth moved back behind the deckhouse but peeped around the corner to watch.

“Jameson, take a peep into the crate before I move this lid any more, if you would?”

Mr. Jameson eased himself closer to the crate and peered into the dimness. “Looks like a lanyard hanging down, blowing in the breeze.”

“Anything else?”

“No, Captain.”

“I’m gonna move the cover. Tell me if that lanyard fetches up.”

“Aye, aye, sir.”

The captain rotated his upper body to open up the crate to inspection.

“Nothing yet, sir...all right, you’re clear.”

The captain leaned the cover against the hatch coaming and looked down into the crate. As he leaned over, it clicked again. With the lid off, the click sounded more like a clank and was loud enough to make everybody jump.

Jameson and the captain peered down into the crate and mumbled together for a few minutes. When they stood, Tanyth saw the captain’s face had taken on an angry, red cast so deep it neared purple. Mr. Jameson seemed very gray, and perhaps just a little sick to his stomach.

“It’s all right,” the captain called. “You lot, secure the hold, if you please. We won’t be putting this one back down there.”

Three sailors started laying the planks back down, tapping them into place with the heels of their hands, and then stretching the oiled canvas back over the opening, lashing it down securely.

Tanyth came out from behind the deckhouse and joined the throng of sailors who clustered around the captain. “It’s safe now,” he said. “Thanks, again, to Mother Fairport for noticing.”

He shared a pointed look with her and she nodded. “Quite welcome, Captain.”

“Now, you’ve all got work to do, I wager. If not, I’m sure the bosun can find something...?” He didn’t need to say any more as men started disappearing like soap bubbles in a high wind. The captain turned to the bosun and pointed to the crate and the mess on the deck. “Wrap that in canvas, if you please, Harcourt? Gently. Try not to bump it around too much.”

The bosun nodded. “Wrapped, not bumped. Aye, aye, Cap’n.”

“And then get a couple of the lads to scrub that lamp oil off the deck. No need to tempt fate, eh?”

The bosun knuckled his forehead and nodded. “Aye, aye, Cap’n. We’ll take care of it.”

“Mr. Jameson? Mother Fairport? Would you join me in the cabin again, please?”

They followed the captain back down the passageway and took up their regular seats at his table. Captain Groves sat back in his chair, one arm slug over the back and squinted at Tanyth. “That was good timing, mum.”

“Why’s that, Captain?”

“Inside that crate was a clockwork drum that slowly wound a bit of rope around and around. When the rope ran out, there was some mechanism inside that would break a jar of oil and then tilt a burning wick into it.”

She glanced at Jameson who nodded in agreement.

“And why was that good timing, Captain?”

“Because the rope was almost all wound up.”

“Is that why the oil spilled when you took the lid off?”

His mouth screwed into a bitter grimace. “No, that was a bit of luck there. A second lanyard was tied to the lid. Anybody prying the lid off, like I did, released the mechanism that broke the glass. The lanyard on the lid was apparently supposed to tip the lantern.”

She cocked her head trying to follow what he was saying. “So, it was trapped in case somebody noticed and opened the crate?”

He nodded and rubbed a hand across his mouth. “That would have been me going up like a human torch if it had worked.”

Jameson’s brow crinkled in puzzlement. “I saw the lamp in there, skipper. Salt water doused it, but why didn’t it tip over?”

He glanced at him before turning an amused look back to Tanyth. “It seems, Mr. Jameson, that a rat chewed through the cord.”

The two men looked at Tanyth for a long, long moment before the captain asked, “Do you know who shipped that particular crate, Jameson?”

“Yes, Captain. That was the crate that Peter Robertson was so anxious that we bring aboard at the last minute.”

The captain nodded. “I thought as much. It only makes sense.”

Jameson asked, “Why’s that, Captain?”

The captain leaned an elbow on the table and held up his fist. He raised one finger. “First, it had to have come aboard close to when we were leaving. That’s not the kind of thing you can have sitting in a ship that might be tied to the pier for a week.”

Jameson nodded.

The captain raised a second finger. “Second, I refused to pay the insurance premiums that the syndicate wanted. It’s gone up every year, and I put my foot down. Apparently they felt it was time to make an example of me.”

Jameson nodded a second time.

The captain raised a third finger. “Robertson’s one of my investors. He’s not been happy with that decision. He’s concerned that if we lose the ship, then he’ll be out a lot of money.”

Jameson nodded again.

“Isn’t that a reasonable fear, Captain,” Tanyth asked.

He pulled his hand down and nodded. “Yes, mum, it is. But it ignores the reality that while he loses money, we lose our lives.”

Jameson snorted. “And the syndicate is happy to insure a sailor’s life and only charge him three times the amount he’d make in pay.”

Tanyth squinted her eyes and cocked her head. “That doesn’t sound like a good deal to me.”

The captain barked a single laugh. “Even a landlubber can see it. They try to make out like it’s a great bargain. Buy the insurance, and if you get killed at sea, then your wife and kiddies get a hundred times your pay in settlement.”

Tanyth blinked at the sum. “That’s a lot of money. How often have they paid it?”

The captain shook his head. “Never as far as I know.”

“But...? I don’t understand.”

Jameson leaned into the table. “Most sailors have their pay spent before the ship gets underway. Really, the only people who could afford the premiums are mates and captains.”

“All right, so no mate or captain has ever been lost?”

The captain nodded. “Oh, aye, and some of them even had an insurance policy.”

“Then, why hasn’t the syndicate ever paid.”

“Because the only ones who’ve been lost have been on ships that never came back,” Jameson said.

The captain added the missing piece to the puzzle for her. “Without an officer like captain or mate to file the claim, there’s nothing to pay. The wife and kiddies have no standing. If the ship doesn’t come back, then the syndicate doesn’t know if the corpse in question is really dead or just sailed off into the hazy distance, absconding with ship and cargo.”

Jameson nodded. “So they don’t need to pay.”

The captain scowled and looked at Tanyth. “Some of the other captains and I have long been convinced that the syndicate was sinking ships that didn’t pay the cargo premiums.”

“And even some that did,” Jameson added. “Nothing like a fat payout to sobbing investors to convince folks they provide a valuable service.”

“But not the families?” Rebecca asked. “If the ship is lost...?”

The captain’s mouth twisted into a grim parody of a smile. “Because investors don’t insure the ship. They insure the cargo. If the cargo doesn’t arrive, doesn’t matter why. Failure to deliver is grounds for payment.”

“So, some cargoes get paid for a couple of times,” Jameson muttered darkly. “Send it out in an insured vessel. Ship disappears and the syndicate pays with a lot of fanfare. Meanwhile, the cargo gets off-loaded someplace quiet and the crews just evaporate into the sea fog. Voluntarily, if they know what’s good for ’em.”

The captain nodded, a wry smile curling his lips. “More truth than fiction in that story, too, I’m thinking.” He sighed. “I shoulda paid closer attention. I knew there was something wrong with Robertson insisting we take that crate.”

“Well, we got proof now, sir. That crate is tied directly to Mr. Peter Robertson and a lot of people saw him loading it. That was a big hullabaloo in the middle of the evening, skipper. He won’t find it easy to wiggle off this hook.”

“I hope you’re right, Jameson. That bit of clockwork and oil is pretty damning, but tying it to the syndicate could be a lot tougher.”

“Well, Robertson’s head on the block would probably get him to speak up right, quick, I’d wager.”

The captain turned a jaundiced eye to his young subordinate.

“You don’t think so, Skipper?”

He shook his head. “I think I’ll have an opening on my board of investors by the time I get back, assuming I don’t already.”

Jameson looked startled, but Tanyth thought the captain had the right of it.

“Let me guess,” she said. “Your Mr. Robertson had some financial set back that prevented him actually investin’ in this voyage.”

“Big loss on a corn crop last fall,” the captain said. “He didn’t have time to recover his fortune and the rest had to dig a little deeper to underwrite this trip.”

Jameson scowled. “Does that mean they’ve been planning to set us up all winter?”

The captain shrugged. “Could be. Or it could be that Robertson had a handy lever for them to press on. In return for not investing in a trip he couldn’t afford, and for pressuring me to buy insurance on the trip, he gets a nice little paycheck from the syndicate. When he couldn’t convince me, they gave him this little present to get included on the voyage.”

“You don’t think he knew what was in it, Captain?” Tanyth asked.

“Oh, he probably knew, but he didn’t build it. At most he had to light the wick and make sure it was on board at the last minute.” The captain shook his head. “No, that’s a damned clever design, right down to the artful splashes of black paint that got applied after they bored the holes. That deadman’s lanyard in the top in case somebody got too nosy?” The captain shook his head. “That was just too subtle a touch for Peter Robertson. I’ve seen broken bottles with more subtlety than he’s ever shown.”