Deck Boy, page 41
“Lying! You little bastard!”
My stomach quaked. Those hairy hands could have squeezed the life out of me.
“I can’t say any more, Bennett.” The mate was white with anger. “You’ve heard Mr Ryland’s denial. If you choose to trumpet these wild accusations in a statement to the captain or the police in Singapore there’s nothing I can do about it. But this I will tell you, and it’s an order. You are not to speak about it below decks. I’m not having a dishonest and bloody-minded deck boy undermine the morale and discipline of this ship. If I hear so much as a whisper that you’ve disobeyed me, you’ll be on a charge, do you understand? A charge so damning it’ll put an end to your days at sea, I can promise you that.”
His dark eyes burned into me. I struggled not to be browbeaten.
“Is that the knife?”
I held it by my stomach. “Sir.”
“Let me see.”
Reluctantly I passed it across. The mate examined it, turning it this way and that in his long hands: the handle, the sheath, the cord that had gone round Ka’tang’s neck. I saw he wore a signet ring on his little finger but Michael was right, if he had worn a wedding ring it was now gone. He drew out the curved blade, tested it with the ball of his thumb, dabbed a finger against the point.
“Deadly weapon in the wrong hands.” He passed it to the bosun. “What do you think?”
“Yeah.” Ryland grasped it in a fist familiar with knives.
Alarm bells jangled in my head. I stepped back. At the same moment the ship rolled heavily, punched by some gigantic wave. I staggered across the rug.
The mate resumed his seat and lit a fresh cigarette. I watched, unaware how important this small act was to be. He sat directly in front of me. The bosun was behind. I moved so I could see both.
“Goldie come up with you?” A cloud of smoke enveloped the mate’s head.
“I’m not sure, sir. You told him to get on with his work.”
“Up here by yoursel’ then.” The bosun’s eye was red and watery. The hand holding the knife hung at his side.
“No, Smoky and Samuel came with me. They’re waiting outside.” I prayed it was true.
“Why?” the mate said.
Ryland swished the curtain aside and half opened the door. “What are you lot doing up here?” He spoke harshly. “Get down below.”
“We’re waiting for the lad.” It was Samuel’s voice.
“Well you can wait down in the messroom.”
“We’ll wait up here if you don’t mind, Bosun.”
“You’ll do as you’re damned well told. This is officers’ quarters. You’ve got no business up here.”
“Ben is our business.” This was Smoky. “Too many funny things been happening to him lately.”
“He’s our mate.” Aaron had joined them. “We’re not going down ’less he comes with us.”
Ryland hesitated then turned back into the cabin. The door slammed shut.
“You OK, Ben?” I heard Aaron’s shout.
“I hope so.” My heart was thudding.
“Failure to obey orders.” The bosun was furious. “That’s mutiny.”
“Almost.” The mate remained in his seat. “These friends of yours, Bennett. Am I to take it they already know about this incident in Wellington – I should say this alleged incident?”
“What I saw in the hotel?” I wasn’t sure who knew by this time. “Probably, sir.”
“So despite what I said, your unproven accusations are all over the ship.”
“I don’t know, sir. I just told Charlie and one or two others.”
He reached for his glass of whisky. “Oh, I think we can say all over. If you just told one or two people, everyone will know by this time. You’re in deeper trouble than I realised, Bennett.”
Holding his cigarette between first and second fingers, he raised the glass to his lips. He drank almost daintily, little finger protruding. The cabin lights, switched on for the storm, winked on the bright disc of his signet ring. I stared. Where had I seen that gesture before: the long hand, the cigarette, the golden glass of whisky, the flash of a ring? It was important. A half memory of spaciousness, ferns, a sunbeam, a disembodied hand … The mate set down his glass and flicked the ash from his cigarette with a thumbnail.
In that instant I remembered:
The Ascot Hotel – the third man!
I raised my eyes to his face. He saw my horrified expression; looked down where I’d been staring; was puzzled.
My eyes flew to the bosun. Down to the knife. Back to the mate.
“What’s the matter, Bennett?”
I panicked. “Nothing, sir. I’ve got to go. Excuse me.”
Not even feeling my red-raw toe, I backed to the door, keeping both in full sight.
“Bennett!” The mate’s voice cracked like a whip.
“Where you think you’re going, you little shite? Come back ’ere.” The bosun lunged to grab me.
He was too late. I shoved him aside with all my strength and next moment was out in the alleyway.
“You all right, mate?” It was Aaron.
Before I could answer the mate appeared in the entrance. “Bennett, back in here!”
“No, sir.”
“How dare you!” He stood aside to admit me. “In here, this instant.”
“No, sir.” I backed behind my friends.
He strode between them and grasped my elbow. “Into my cabin. Right now.”
“Get off! Let go!” I struggled back. My fists struck him on the neck and chest.
“Hey! Come on, Ben.” Aaron was shocked.
“Leave go of him, Mr Mate,” Smoky said.
The mate was livid. “You’ve done it now, Bennett.” His eyes blazed. “Striking an officer.”
Samuel intervened. “No, sir, you had no right to lay a hand on him. He’s a sick boy, you can see that. Very upset about something. You come wading in and start hauling him about. He had every right to defend himself. And there’s three of us here as witnesses.”
The mate was silent.
“I’ll go back if you all come as well,” I said. “Or if the old man comes down. But I’m not going in there with him and the bosun.”
“Don’t blame you,” Smoky said. “Not get me in there neither.”
“What is it, boy?” Samuel laid a big hand on my shoulder. “What you scared of?”
“The two of them.” I hung back. “Mate and the bosun, both of them. I saw them in Wellington with that pirate leader – Ka’tang. And all the chocolates. In a big hotel. They’re all working together. They’re the ones behind the attack on the ship.”
“You know what you sayin’, Ben?”
“They want to shut me up. Bosun’s in there right now with that knife in his hand.”
“He’s imagining it all,” the mate said.
“Telling Michael to get below. Asking if I was alone up here. Trying to stop me talking.”
“It’s the knock on his head.”
“Ask Michael, I told him. And Charlie. Not about the mate ’cause I’ve just found out. He’s got that ring an’ everything.” I pointed. “And he’s got rid of all his wife’s photos and stuff. And he calls the bosun John, like he’s a pal. How come just after I saw them in Wellington I got shut in that freezer locker? Why’d he try and put me in a hot bath that could have killed me? Who was in the pool when it collapsed? Why’d the bosun try to send you all down and leave me alone up here?”
“If Tanner had let me give him that injection,” the mate said, “we wouldn’t be having to listen to all this nonsense.”
“You’re right, I’d be dead.”
“For God’s sake, am I giving lethal injections now? It was a mild sedative to keep you quiet when you came round. Once and for all, there’s no plot, Bennett. You’re over-excited. You’re sick, like Jones says.”
“All right, but maybe the waiters back in Wellington will remember. The police can send pictures. I’ll tell them where you sat. One will remember me definitely ’cause that pirate guy, Ka’tang, he cut my arm and I was bleeding through paper towels. She offered to fetch me a plaster.” I showed them the scar. “I nearly left without paying.”
“I can’t go on listening to all this.” The mate called through to his cabin. “Bosun.”
Ryland appeared. The knife had gone. “Yes, Chief?”
“Take Bennett below. See he stays in his cabin. Lock him in if necessary.”
“I’m not going anywhere with him,” I said. “I’ll go with Smoky and these. Lampie, if you like, or the second mate. Not with him though, there’d be an accident. I’d fall over the side. He’s a murderer, he killed a friend of Michael’s back on the Star of Bengal.”
“Still banging on about that is he?” Ryland snarled. “It was an accident; the police said.”
“Oh, for God’s sake!” the mate exploded. “I don’t care who he goes with, just get the bloody boy out of my sight. When I want to see him again I’ll send for him.” He turned back into his cabin. “Get below, the lot of you.”
My head was thudding so painfully I needed to sit down. Smoky took my arm and slowly, clinging to rails as Pacific Trader pitched and rolled in the storm, we made our way below decks to the messroom.
Wet as a Water Rat
EVERYONE WANTED to know what had happened that afternoon in Wellington. So I told the story again and bared my forearm, but I didn’t feel too terrific and after a bite of lunch I returned to the cabin I shared with Aaron to lie down for half an hour. He kept me company, repairing some jeans with a broken zip, but I fell asleep and half an hour stretched right through into the evening. When I woke up, Michael had taken his place. Unlike the practical Michael of the morning, he wore eye shadow, a low-neck T-shirt and baggy Thai silk trousers. As I blinked across the cabin he was concentrating on his lipstick.
“What’s the time?”
He consulted his watch. “Coming up half past eight.”
I couldn’t believe it. “Not seen the trousers before. Going to be a party?”
“Who knows what might happen?” He pressed his lips on a tissue. “Can’t let a puff of wind and a few spots of rain get you down.” He fastened a necklace, slipped on some bracelets and examined himself in a hand mirror. “There! What do you think?”
“Gorgeous!”
“Oh, you sailors say that to all us girls.”
“No, really, you look great.” It was true.
He was pleased and returned his make-up to a tattered sponge bag.
I was hungry and we made our way to the messroom. The alleyway was wet under my bare foot. Right hand and left, we lurched from bulkhead to bulkhead as the ship rolled heavily. Dinner was long past and everyone had returned to their cabins, all but the eight-to-twelve watch – Smoky, Brian and an AB called Scudder whom I scarcely knew – who sat drinking coffee. All three wore rubber boots and leggings. Oilskins and sou’westers were thrown over chairs and dripped on the deck.
The storm had reached its ferocious climax. It was, we heard later, officially recorded as typhoon Caroline. Pacific Trader pitched and rolled so wildly it was a wonder the plates could take the strain. Chains secured the messroom chairs to the deck. Edges had been erected round the tables and wet tea-towels spread on top to stop things sliding around. Big hands were wrapped round the coffee mugs. Thuds and crashes came from near and far where objects that had not been lashed securely fell to the deck. Darkness had arrived early. Beyond the streaming portholes the wind shrieked in wires and railings. Black waves, higher than the bridge, bore down upon us and filled the air with spray.
“Hello there, Ben boy.” Brian greeted me. “How you feeling now?”
“Lot better, thanks.” I took the chair he spun round.
Michael said, “OK if I leave you now? You’ll be safe with this lot. I told Barbara I’d look in, she’s shaving her legs again. Don’t know why she bothers, hairiest queen on the high seas. Have you seen her chest? I told her, you want to call yourself Queen Kong and go on the halls.” He shrieked with laughter. “It’s not a friend she needs anyway, it’s a surgeon, the place will be awash with blood. It’s always the same, fishnets and sticking plaster. Lisa Minnelli hasn’t got a look in.”
With a swirl of L’air du Temps he was gone, leaving me with the three tough seamen in their work clothes who waited to be summoned back into the storm.
“What you were saying before,” Smoky said moodily. “’Bout the mate’s wife. That right he’s got shot of all her gear?”
“Looks like it. Photos, even his wedding ring.”
“Lucky beggar. Anyone got them pirates’ address? Get ’em to come to Westport, take my old woman anytime.” He drew on his skinny fag. “Mind you, they wouldn’t stand a chance. Fists like Joe Louis.”
Attila wandered in and mewed for attention. Smoky picked him up.
“Strewth, what a weight.!” He settled the marmalade cat on his knees. “Attila the Hun – that’s what my old woman’s like. You’ve met her, Ben. Pirates come round our place, she’d knock ’em dead in the front garden. Give the SAS a bell, come and get rid of the bodies.”
Attila stretched his claws and yawned contentedly.
“Cor, your breath! What you been eating, rats?”
I took a handful of biscuits. “What are you doing down here anyway, all three of you? That’s the whole watch. Who’s up on the bridge?”
“Mate give us an extra smoko,” Scudder said. “Wanted a word in private with the bosun.”
I sat up.
“Good on him, I say. Got to have a man on the wheel storm like this. Bosun’s steering, mate’s keeping lookout, we get a break.”
“Ring down when he wants us back.”
“Midnight’ll do me.”
“Any idea what it’s about?” I said.
“Likely to tell us?”
“What about the old man?” I packed my mouth with biscuit. “I thought he was living on the bridge this weather.”
“Mate give him a break, get his head down for a couple of hours.”
Smoky said, “Get you a coffee?”
“No thanks, just a bit peckish. I missed dinner. Maybe Kevin’ll make me a sandwich.”
The rolling ship trapped me in my seat. I waited for it to roll back and came away. After the events of that morning, whatever was being discussed up there in the wheelhouse, it concerned me. My life could depend on it. And if Ryland and the mate were up there, there was nothing to be scared of down here in the crew quarters.
I spotted Aaron heading into the washroom. “Hey.” I followed him. “Mate and bosun are up on the bridge having some big confab. Sent the watch down. Will you come up with me, see if we can hear what they’re talking about?”
“After what’s just happened? In this storm? Are you off your head?”
“But if there’s two of us.”
“Away into the bar.” He vanished into a cubicle. “I’ll be along in a couple of minutes.”
The bar and the sick bay were only a few doors apart. I’d visited Steve earlier and looked in again now.
Several people had told me how unforgettably brave he had been to tackle the drug-crazed man with the machete. In saving my life, which he had certainly done, he had been seriously hurt. The murderous weapon, which could have hacked off my head with a single blow, had been deflected by the metal steps. Other pirates had dragged the madman back and Ka’tang had shot him, but not before he had inflicted terrible wounds. Long scars, black with scab and bristling with stitches, decorated Steve’s chest and back and the side of his face. Heidi and Captain Bell had done a brilliant job but Aaron was right, Steve Petersen’s days as Mr Westport were over. Although he must have been devastated, he tried to be upbeat and hadn’t blamed me at all.
It wasn’t the first time I’d had reason to be grateful to Steve: he had rescued me in the thermal pool. And it was Steve, I was sure, who had saved me when I was being hunted by Ryland and the rest when they were robbing the cargo. It had to be Steve, there was no one else.
As I entered the sick bay, the cabin in which poor Ossie had been imprisoned, he was asleep, possibly sedated to give him respite from the storm. A plastic medicine glass rolled about the deck. I set it where it wouldn’t rattle and stood by the bunk. Steve’s powerful legs were covered by a sheet and he wore boxer shorts patterned with girls in bikinis. Above the waist he was bare, his golden muscles like a photo from a body-building magazine, but now criss-crossed by those disfiguring wounds. He lay peacefully, unshaven since the attack, his blond hair straggling across the pillow. Aaron looked in and went away again. I stayed a few minutes longer, wretched with guilt, and came away quietly.
Music and raised voices issued from the bar. Aaron had joined a crowd. Someone produced a felt tip and Michael found a corner of Aaron’s plaster to add a new message. There were shouts of laughter.
I continued along the alleyway. An open door led down into the engine room with its roar and smell of hot diesel. Directly opposite, a flight of stairs led up to the engineers’ quarters. I climbed them and headed for a door that gave access to the boat deck. As I opened it, the gale wrenched it from my hand and smashed it back against the bulkhead. In an instant I was transported from shelter into a maelstrom of wind and rain and towering waves. I stepped out on deck and struggled to shut the door behind me. In seconds my T-shirt was sodden, my old cotton football shorts clung to my legs. Both were black, appropriate for my role as an eavesdropper. I bowed my head against the storm, clung to the handrail on the bulkhead and worked my way for’ard. The noise was terrific: the thump of waves, rattle of spray, snap of the lifeboat covers overhead, shriek and roar of the wind. I stared around in the darkness. Brackish water salted my lips and blurred my vision. The bulkhead came to an end. Before me lay number three hatch so recently raided by the pirates. There was no sign of their presence: the wool had been re-stowed, the boards replaced, the canvases secured. No safety line had been rigged, perhaps because it was possible to get from place to place below decks. I waited, and in a momentary lull dashed the length of the hatch. The ship rolled suddenly. I lost my footing and was flung towards the side rail. The ship rolled back. I staggered the other way, crashed into the hatch coaming, and managed to reach the bridge steps. Gratefully I grasped the handrail, waiting for the raw pain in my toe to ease.
My stomach quaked. Those hairy hands could have squeezed the life out of me.
“I can’t say any more, Bennett.” The mate was white with anger. “You’ve heard Mr Ryland’s denial. If you choose to trumpet these wild accusations in a statement to the captain or the police in Singapore there’s nothing I can do about it. But this I will tell you, and it’s an order. You are not to speak about it below decks. I’m not having a dishonest and bloody-minded deck boy undermine the morale and discipline of this ship. If I hear so much as a whisper that you’ve disobeyed me, you’ll be on a charge, do you understand? A charge so damning it’ll put an end to your days at sea, I can promise you that.”
His dark eyes burned into me. I struggled not to be browbeaten.
“Is that the knife?”
I held it by my stomach. “Sir.”
“Let me see.”
Reluctantly I passed it across. The mate examined it, turning it this way and that in his long hands: the handle, the sheath, the cord that had gone round Ka’tang’s neck. I saw he wore a signet ring on his little finger but Michael was right, if he had worn a wedding ring it was now gone. He drew out the curved blade, tested it with the ball of his thumb, dabbed a finger against the point.
“Deadly weapon in the wrong hands.” He passed it to the bosun. “What do you think?”
“Yeah.” Ryland grasped it in a fist familiar with knives.
Alarm bells jangled in my head. I stepped back. At the same moment the ship rolled heavily, punched by some gigantic wave. I staggered across the rug.
The mate resumed his seat and lit a fresh cigarette. I watched, unaware how important this small act was to be. He sat directly in front of me. The bosun was behind. I moved so I could see both.
“Goldie come up with you?” A cloud of smoke enveloped the mate’s head.
“I’m not sure, sir. You told him to get on with his work.”
“Up here by yoursel’ then.” The bosun’s eye was red and watery. The hand holding the knife hung at his side.
“No, Smoky and Samuel came with me. They’re waiting outside.” I prayed it was true.
“Why?” the mate said.
Ryland swished the curtain aside and half opened the door. “What are you lot doing up here?” He spoke harshly. “Get down below.”
“We’re waiting for the lad.” It was Samuel’s voice.
“Well you can wait down in the messroom.”
“We’ll wait up here if you don’t mind, Bosun.”
“You’ll do as you’re damned well told. This is officers’ quarters. You’ve got no business up here.”
“Ben is our business.” This was Smoky. “Too many funny things been happening to him lately.”
“He’s our mate.” Aaron had joined them. “We’re not going down ’less he comes with us.”
Ryland hesitated then turned back into the cabin. The door slammed shut.
“You OK, Ben?” I heard Aaron’s shout.
“I hope so.” My heart was thudding.
“Failure to obey orders.” The bosun was furious. “That’s mutiny.”
“Almost.” The mate remained in his seat. “These friends of yours, Bennett. Am I to take it they already know about this incident in Wellington – I should say this alleged incident?”
“What I saw in the hotel?” I wasn’t sure who knew by this time. “Probably, sir.”
“So despite what I said, your unproven accusations are all over the ship.”
“I don’t know, sir. I just told Charlie and one or two others.”
He reached for his glass of whisky. “Oh, I think we can say all over. If you just told one or two people, everyone will know by this time. You’re in deeper trouble than I realised, Bennett.”
Holding his cigarette between first and second fingers, he raised the glass to his lips. He drank almost daintily, little finger protruding. The cabin lights, switched on for the storm, winked on the bright disc of his signet ring. I stared. Where had I seen that gesture before: the long hand, the cigarette, the golden glass of whisky, the flash of a ring? It was important. A half memory of spaciousness, ferns, a sunbeam, a disembodied hand … The mate set down his glass and flicked the ash from his cigarette with a thumbnail.
In that instant I remembered:
The Ascot Hotel – the third man!
I raised my eyes to his face. He saw my horrified expression; looked down where I’d been staring; was puzzled.
My eyes flew to the bosun. Down to the knife. Back to the mate.
“What’s the matter, Bennett?”
I panicked. “Nothing, sir. I’ve got to go. Excuse me.”
Not even feeling my red-raw toe, I backed to the door, keeping both in full sight.
“Bennett!” The mate’s voice cracked like a whip.
“Where you think you’re going, you little shite? Come back ’ere.” The bosun lunged to grab me.
He was too late. I shoved him aside with all my strength and next moment was out in the alleyway.
“You all right, mate?” It was Aaron.
Before I could answer the mate appeared in the entrance. “Bennett, back in here!”
“No, sir.”
“How dare you!” He stood aside to admit me. “In here, this instant.”
“No, sir.” I backed behind my friends.
He strode between them and grasped my elbow. “Into my cabin. Right now.”
“Get off! Let go!” I struggled back. My fists struck him on the neck and chest.
“Hey! Come on, Ben.” Aaron was shocked.
“Leave go of him, Mr Mate,” Smoky said.
The mate was livid. “You’ve done it now, Bennett.” His eyes blazed. “Striking an officer.”
Samuel intervened. “No, sir, you had no right to lay a hand on him. He’s a sick boy, you can see that. Very upset about something. You come wading in and start hauling him about. He had every right to defend himself. And there’s three of us here as witnesses.”
The mate was silent.
“I’ll go back if you all come as well,” I said. “Or if the old man comes down. But I’m not going in there with him and the bosun.”
“Don’t blame you,” Smoky said. “Not get me in there neither.”
“What is it, boy?” Samuel laid a big hand on my shoulder. “What you scared of?”
“The two of them.” I hung back. “Mate and the bosun, both of them. I saw them in Wellington with that pirate leader – Ka’tang. And all the chocolates. In a big hotel. They’re all working together. They’re the ones behind the attack on the ship.”
“You know what you sayin’, Ben?”
“They want to shut me up. Bosun’s in there right now with that knife in his hand.”
“He’s imagining it all,” the mate said.
“Telling Michael to get below. Asking if I was alone up here. Trying to stop me talking.”
“It’s the knock on his head.”
“Ask Michael, I told him. And Charlie. Not about the mate ’cause I’ve just found out. He’s got that ring an’ everything.” I pointed. “And he’s got rid of all his wife’s photos and stuff. And he calls the bosun John, like he’s a pal. How come just after I saw them in Wellington I got shut in that freezer locker? Why’d he try and put me in a hot bath that could have killed me? Who was in the pool when it collapsed? Why’d the bosun try to send you all down and leave me alone up here?”
“If Tanner had let me give him that injection,” the mate said, “we wouldn’t be having to listen to all this nonsense.”
“You’re right, I’d be dead.”
“For God’s sake, am I giving lethal injections now? It was a mild sedative to keep you quiet when you came round. Once and for all, there’s no plot, Bennett. You’re over-excited. You’re sick, like Jones says.”
“All right, but maybe the waiters back in Wellington will remember. The police can send pictures. I’ll tell them where you sat. One will remember me definitely ’cause that pirate guy, Ka’tang, he cut my arm and I was bleeding through paper towels. She offered to fetch me a plaster.” I showed them the scar. “I nearly left without paying.”
“I can’t go on listening to all this.” The mate called through to his cabin. “Bosun.”
Ryland appeared. The knife had gone. “Yes, Chief?”
“Take Bennett below. See he stays in his cabin. Lock him in if necessary.”
“I’m not going anywhere with him,” I said. “I’ll go with Smoky and these. Lampie, if you like, or the second mate. Not with him though, there’d be an accident. I’d fall over the side. He’s a murderer, he killed a friend of Michael’s back on the Star of Bengal.”
“Still banging on about that is he?” Ryland snarled. “It was an accident; the police said.”
“Oh, for God’s sake!” the mate exploded. “I don’t care who he goes with, just get the bloody boy out of my sight. When I want to see him again I’ll send for him.” He turned back into his cabin. “Get below, the lot of you.”
My head was thudding so painfully I needed to sit down. Smoky took my arm and slowly, clinging to rails as Pacific Trader pitched and rolled in the storm, we made our way below decks to the messroom.
Wet as a Water Rat
EVERYONE WANTED to know what had happened that afternoon in Wellington. So I told the story again and bared my forearm, but I didn’t feel too terrific and after a bite of lunch I returned to the cabin I shared with Aaron to lie down for half an hour. He kept me company, repairing some jeans with a broken zip, but I fell asleep and half an hour stretched right through into the evening. When I woke up, Michael had taken his place. Unlike the practical Michael of the morning, he wore eye shadow, a low-neck T-shirt and baggy Thai silk trousers. As I blinked across the cabin he was concentrating on his lipstick.
“What’s the time?”
He consulted his watch. “Coming up half past eight.”
I couldn’t believe it. “Not seen the trousers before. Going to be a party?”
“Who knows what might happen?” He pressed his lips on a tissue. “Can’t let a puff of wind and a few spots of rain get you down.” He fastened a necklace, slipped on some bracelets and examined himself in a hand mirror. “There! What do you think?”
“Gorgeous!”
“Oh, you sailors say that to all us girls.”
“No, really, you look great.” It was true.
He was pleased and returned his make-up to a tattered sponge bag.
I was hungry and we made our way to the messroom. The alleyway was wet under my bare foot. Right hand and left, we lurched from bulkhead to bulkhead as the ship rolled heavily. Dinner was long past and everyone had returned to their cabins, all but the eight-to-twelve watch – Smoky, Brian and an AB called Scudder whom I scarcely knew – who sat drinking coffee. All three wore rubber boots and leggings. Oilskins and sou’westers were thrown over chairs and dripped on the deck.
The storm had reached its ferocious climax. It was, we heard later, officially recorded as typhoon Caroline. Pacific Trader pitched and rolled so wildly it was a wonder the plates could take the strain. Chains secured the messroom chairs to the deck. Edges had been erected round the tables and wet tea-towels spread on top to stop things sliding around. Big hands were wrapped round the coffee mugs. Thuds and crashes came from near and far where objects that had not been lashed securely fell to the deck. Darkness had arrived early. Beyond the streaming portholes the wind shrieked in wires and railings. Black waves, higher than the bridge, bore down upon us and filled the air with spray.
“Hello there, Ben boy.” Brian greeted me. “How you feeling now?”
“Lot better, thanks.” I took the chair he spun round.
Michael said, “OK if I leave you now? You’ll be safe with this lot. I told Barbara I’d look in, she’s shaving her legs again. Don’t know why she bothers, hairiest queen on the high seas. Have you seen her chest? I told her, you want to call yourself Queen Kong and go on the halls.” He shrieked with laughter. “It’s not a friend she needs anyway, it’s a surgeon, the place will be awash with blood. It’s always the same, fishnets and sticking plaster. Lisa Minnelli hasn’t got a look in.”
With a swirl of L’air du Temps he was gone, leaving me with the three tough seamen in their work clothes who waited to be summoned back into the storm.
“What you were saying before,” Smoky said moodily. “’Bout the mate’s wife. That right he’s got shot of all her gear?”
“Looks like it. Photos, even his wedding ring.”
“Lucky beggar. Anyone got them pirates’ address? Get ’em to come to Westport, take my old woman anytime.” He drew on his skinny fag. “Mind you, they wouldn’t stand a chance. Fists like Joe Louis.”
Attila wandered in and mewed for attention. Smoky picked him up.
“Strewth, what a weight.!” He settled the marmalade cat on his knees. “Attila the Hun – that’s what my old woman’s like. You’ve met her, Ben. Pirates come round our place, she’d knock ’em dead in the front garden. Give the SAS a bell, come and get rid of the bodies.”
Attila stretched his claws and yawned contentedly.
“Cor, your breath! What you been eating, rats?”
I took a handful of biscuits. “What are you doing down here anyway, all three of you? That’s the whole watch. Who’s up on the bridge?”
“Mate give us an extra smoko,” Scudder said. “Wanted a word in private with the bosun.”
I sat up.
“Good on him, I say. Got to have a man on the wheel storm like this. Bosun’s steering, mate’s keeping lookout, we get a break.”
“Ring down when he wants us back.”
“Midnight’ll do me.”
“Any idea what it’s about?” I said.
“Likely to tell us?”
“What about the old man?” I packed my mouth with biscuit. “I thought he was living on the bridge this weather.”
“Mate give him a break, get his head down for a couple of hours.”
Smoky said, “Get you a coffee?”
“No thanks, just a bit peckish. I missed dinner. Maybe Kevin’ll make me a sandwich.”
The rolling ship trapped me in my seat. I waited for it to roll back and came away. After the events of that morning, whatever was being discussed up there in the wheelhouse, it concerned me. My life could depend on it. And if Ryland and the mate were up there, there was nothing to be scared of down here in the crew quarters.
I spotted Aaron heading into the washroom. “Hey.” I followed him. “Mate and bosun are up on the bridge having some big confab. Sent the watch down. Will you come up with me, see if we can hear what they’re talking about?”
“After what’s just happened? In this storm? Are you off your head?”
“But if there’s two of us.”
“Away into the bar.” He vanished into a cubicle. “I’ll be along in a couple of minutes.”
The bar and the sick bay were only a few doors apart. I’d visited Steve earlier and looked in again now.
Several people had told me how unforgettably brave he had been to tackle the drug-crazed man with the machete. In saving my life, which he had certainly done, he had been seriously hurt. The murderous weapon, which could have hacked off my head with a single blow, had been deflected by the metal steps. Other pirates had dragged the madman back and Ka’tang had shot him, but not before he had inflicted terrible wounds. Long scars, black with scab and bristling with stitches, decorated Steve’s chest and back and the side of his face. Heidi and Captain Bell had done a brilliant job but Aaron was right, Steve Petersen’s days as Mr Westport were over. Although he must have been devastated, he tried to be upbeat and hadn’t blamed me at all.
It wasn’t the first time I’d had reason to be grateful to Steve: he had rescued me in the thermal pool. And it was Steve, I was sure, who had saved me when I was being hunted by Ryland and the rest when they were robbing the cargo. It had to be Steve, there was no one else.
As I entered the sick bay, the cabin in which poor Ossie had been imprisoned, he was asleep, possibly sedated to give him respite from the storm. A plastic medicine glass rolled about the deck. I set it where it wouldn’t rattle and stood by the bunk. Steve’s powerful legs were covered by a sheet and he wore boxer shorts patterned with girls in bikinis. Above the waist he was bare, his golden muscles like a photo from a body-building magazine, but now criss-crossed by those disfiguring wounds. He lay peacefully, unshaven since the attack, his blond hair straggling across the pillow. Aaron looked in and went away again. I stayed a few minutes longer, wretched with guilt, and came away quietly.
Music and raised voices issued from the bar. Aaron had joined a crowd. Someone produced a felt tip and Michael found a corner of Aaron’s plaster to add a new message. There were shouts of laughter.
I continued along the alleyway. An open door led down into the engine room with its roar and smell of hot diesel. Directly opposite, a flight of stairs led up to the engineers’ quarters. I climbed them and headed for a door that gave access to the boat deck. As I opened it, the gale wrenched it from my hand and smashed it back against the bulkhead. In an instant I was transported from shelter into a maelstrom of wind and rain and towering waves. I stepped out on deck and struggled to shut the door behind me. In seconds my T-shirt was sodden, my old cotton football shorts clung to my legs. Both were black, appropriate for my role as an eavesdropper. I bowed my head against the storm, clung to the handrail on the bulkhead and worked my way for’ard. The noise was terrific: the thump of waves, rattle of spray, snap of the lifeboat covers overhead, shriek and roar of the wind. I stared around in the darkness. Brackish water salted my lips and blurred my vision. The bulkhead came to an end. Before me lay number three hatch so recently raided by the pirates. There was no sign of their presence: the wool had been re-stowed, the boards replaced, the canvases secured. No safety line had been rigged, perhaps because it was possible to get from place to place below decks. I waited, and in a momentary lull dashed the length of the hatch. The ship rolled suddenly. I lost my footing and was flung towards the side rail. The ship rolled back. I staggered the other way, crashed into the hatch coaming, and managed to reach the bridge steps. Gratefully I grasped the handrail, waiting for the raw pain in my toe to ease.
