The torment went on and on, the monotonous count, the fearful lashing.
Suddenly it was over. Kydd was dimly aware that he was hanging from the gratings and there was a sawing at the lashings. Unable to move, his vision whirling, he felt himself lowered to the deck, his back a roiling bed of unendurable pain. His arms were held, and Renzi’s agonized face swam into view. “Whoresons!” Kydd said thickly. He didn’t hear any reply, for at that moment his mind ceased to take any further interest in the world.
Renzi wrung out the rag, dipped it into clean water and dabbed at the frightful mess of purple and black that was Kydd’s back. He was deeply worried — not about Kydd’s physical condition, which after a few days was already showing signs of healthy healing, but at his brooding silence. Kydd went about his work sullenly, stiff with pain, and responded in monosyllables when talked to. Even Renzi was given short shrift. Now he sat on the chest, his back bowed.
“I am sanguine it will heal within the week,” Renzi said.
Kydd grunted.
“You will forget all about it in — ”
“No!”
Renzi stopped dabbing. “There’s nothing you can do about it. You may as well — ”
“I know exactly what I’m goin’ to do about it.”
“May I know what it is you propose?”
Kydd hesitated. “No.”
“Very well. I’m sure you intend no fatal mischief for the sake only of immediate satisfaction.”
“I know what I’m doing, if that’s what you mean.” The grim set of his face worried Renzi. He finished the job and reluctantly left Kydd alone.
“So all it takes is a few fuckin’ stripes to get you thinking.” Kydd looked up. It was Stallard.
“Bollocks!” Kydd said weakly.
“Just thought I’d give you the word, brother. There’s a meeting tonight for all them that have had a gutful of this and fucking well want to do something about it.” He waited.
“Where?” Kydd said, without thinking.
Stallard smiled. “Cable tiers, starb’d side, last dog-watch.”
He looked around and leaned forward. “Password, ‘freedom or death,’ ” he mouthed dramatically.
It was no part of Kydd’s plans to plot mutiny, but the way he was feeling, there would be no harm in seeing what was in the wind.
Turning aft from the fore hatch, Kydd saw that the orlop was in its usual darkness amidships, the area between the surgeon, purser and others aft, and the carpenter and boatswain with their stores forward.
His senses on full alert, he padded down the walkway until he was abreast the starboard cable tier. The anchor cable had long since dried and the thick rope was ranged out in long coils, one on the other nearly to the low deckhead.
He wondered what to do next, when noiselessly a dark figure appeared in front of him. He sensed another behind. “What’s the word?” the first whispered urgently.
“Freedom or death,” Kydd said quickly.
The figures relaxed, signaling him to clamber up.
Inside there was ample room for the dozen or so men it contained. Kydd’s nose wrinkled at the acrid seaweed and mud smell. A single shaded purser’s dip was the only illumination.
“Meeting comes to order,” Stallard whispered. He was the one with the light.
The others leaned forward over it to hear. With a start Kydd recognized one. It was Bull Lynch, from his own gun crew. Lynch stared back.
“First thing, meet Brother Kydd, who’s joining us.”
Heads nodded cautiously. Kydd’s dull anger now turned to apprehension. It was untrue that he was joining, but now he would be considered part of anything that was decided.
“Now, brothers, to business.” Stallard had the easy authority of the rabble-rouser. “We have to face it, friends, we ain’t had a chance to do anything much lately, it being so busy, like.” He glanced at each of them. “Until now! Brother Kydd is a townie, comes from my part o’ the country, and I trust him. Got a headpiece, has Tom, and the two of us are going to work on a plan o’ mine that’s going to shake the buggers up somethin’ cruel.” He paused. “Been workin’ on this plan for a long while, and even if I say it, it’s a good ’un. We gets shot o’ this life, and at the same time we gets set up with a purse full o’ guineas — every man jack of us!”
The men stirred restlessly, darting uncomfortable glances at each other.
Lynch looked scornful. “Tell us yer great plan, then,” he hissed.
Stallard looked resentfully at Lynch. “Brother Bull, I spent a lot o’ time at me plan, please be s’ good as to hear me out. What we needs is a plan what sees us safe from the law afterward, an’ sets us up at the same time so’s we don’t need to go beggin’. I have that plan, an’ it’s guaranteed.” He stared Lynch down and continued. “Now, listen to this. Hear the whole plan first afore yer makes comment, brothers.