“You’ve been talkin’ with Kelsey! You’re in it with him!”
Bowyer looked at Kydd, who said, “Yes, cully, I’ve been talkin’ — and got quite a different yarn to yours.”
Bowyer stared and Doud stood up. “What do yer mean, mate?” he asked.
“I saw a letter proves he meant to make Lisbon — and it’s always the mate who stows the hold.”
Scully bit his lip. “Yates!” he bawled. “Get the others and get up here!” He pulled a small pistol from his pocket and cocked it with his left hand. “Don’t any of yer move!”
Doud edged away to the shrouds as though in fear of the pistol while Bowyer still held Kydd’s bowline and stared into Scully’s eyes.
Kydd knew what he must do. “Bilge rat!” he yelled, and launched himself at Scully. The pistol swept round but Bowyer whipped his rope back, pulling Scully into its bight and off balance. Simultaneously Wong leaped forward and head-butted Scully, who went down with a gasp, the pistol discharging harmlessly over the sea.
It was no contest. Wong quickly pinioned Scully, who flopped helpless in his grasp.
“Joe!” warned Kydd. Up the companionway had come Yates and others, who took the situation in with a glance.
Yates produced a knife — not a seaman’s blade but a short curved weapon. The other men closed about him and it was plain that no quarter would be shown or asked. Other knives appeared.
The Navy men fell back while Yates moved forward, stopping at the mainmast bitts with its maze of ropes coming down and belayed around the pins on the frame.
With their backs to the bitts, Doud and Bowyer silently reached behind and each eased up a belaying pin, then both brought them forward and smacked them suggestively across their palms.
“You comin’, then?” said Doud to Yates, who now faltered, and looked at the others for support.
It was all Doud needed. Like lightning his hand flicked up his belaying pin, which spun crisply through the air and at Yates’s head. Yates screamed and clutched at his bloody face while the others turned and fled.
The man at the wheel was terrified but took no part in the fight, keeping the ship steadily on course in the same dogged way he had faithfully pumped.
It was a matter of moments to round up the others and free the master, who hurried on deck to confront his mate.
“We’re not going to get much outa Scully,” said Doud. He looked around. “Wong, me old shipmate, I think this ’ere Yates could do with a bath, don’t you?”
Wong nodded. He dragged Yates to the ship’s side, where the sea foamed a few feet down. In one casual move he bent, and seized Yates’s ankles and hurled him over the side, then left him suspended upside down inches above the waves.
Yates struggled and shouted, but Wong effortlessly held on to his skinny frame. Then he let the man descend. Yates saw the sea come closer and wriggled frantically, but his head dipped under.
Wong waited until he saw bubbles, then hoisted him back up. Yates panted and spluttered. Again Wong slowly let him descend. The struggles became frenzied. When the bubbles came again Wong set him roughly on deck and folded his arms.
It all spilled out: Scully had made an arrangement with the owners of the vessel unknown to the master whereby he and his four accomplices would sink the ship, then take to the only boat, ensuring there would be no witnesses. It was barratry, an insurance swindle, and would have succeeded but for the storm. The men lost no time in damning Scully as the man who had killed Warren, and also revealed that he had planned to complete the deed that night by eliminating those remaining.
The master breathed in deeply and took control. “I’ll fix our position and have you aboard your ship as soon as I can.”
CHAPTER 7
Three days later, back aboard Duke William, Kydd and Bowyer were with the starboard watch up on the topsail yard, shaking out a reef. In the maintop sailors swore heartily when the inexperienced officer of the watch let the ship come into the wind. Ponderously, the seventy-five-foot yard swung as the wind caught the sail momentarily aback, then more sharply swayed it back — to bring up hard against the braces.
One moment Kydd was standing watching for orders, the next he heard a brief cry and turned to see a gap where Bowyer had been shortly before. He stared down and saw men hurrying over to a still form, face down and at a distorted angle. For a moment he was stunned. Then, in a rising storm of feelings he shouted, shrieked — and flew down the shrouds.
A small crowd had gathered around Bowyer. Kydd thrust past, distraught at the spreading dark wet stain beneath. Gently he pulled Bowyer around to face upward. His eyes were closed and he was very pale, blood issuing from his nose and ears. His breathing was unnatural; harsh and stertorous.