Inferno (4 page)

He stopped walking. A lump grew in his throat and he sat on a flat rock to look out on the limitless sea through fast
misting eyes as emotion took hold. His head dropped and he surrendered to the feeling invading his soul, a long, racking and consuming passion born of that experience of carnage and heroism, peril and desperation – what might so easily have been and what triumphantly was. It swept over him like a torrent, cleansing and scouring, leaving him shuddering and weak with the unstoppable force of it all.

Then as if in a dream of long ago he heard a voice. Infinitely kind and gentle, one that his reason had clung to in the gulf of years that separated the famous frigate captain of now from a young seaman in his first skirmish against the enemy, a voice that had then seen him through to the other side. ‘How's this, Tom, m' old shipmate? Somethin' has ye by the tail, then?'

Low and concerned, just as it had been so long ago.

But the hand on his shoulder was real enough. He rubbed his eyes, looked up and saw Stirk's seamed face drawn in care. It brought on another bout of uncontrollable feeling and he reached for control.

‘I – I'm s-sorry, Toby, j-just came over me.'

It sounded foolish but he couldn't help it.

‘Don't be sorry, cuffin. Things in life, well, they's natural an' we has t' see 'em through ourselves and be buggered to any who says else.'

The same patient, practical good sense.

‘Why … why did you come here?'

‘Someone said as how you're heading up these 'ere cliffs an' I came to warn ye off 'em. So easy t' slide over the edge – it gets a sousing from th' rain.'

‘Thanks, Toby. It's right … oragious in you, cully.' The words he had used in a past existence.

The hand patted his shoulder awkwardly. ‘Look, mate.
How's about we two duck down to the kiddleywink and sink a jar or three? Right handsome lot they is in the Lion.'

With rising feeling Kydd realised Stirk had seen him in difficulties and reacted as he would with a messmate. Kind, understanding words and the extending of the rugged mateship of the foremast jack.

There was no need for pretence: he was being treated as any other shipmate – in a man-o'-war that was home to half the races of the world, quirks of character and origin were passed over.

Kydd pulled himself together. ‘Toby. Can I talk straight with you?'

‘Tom, mate, it's a sad thing if 'n ye thought ye couldn't.'

‘We're … we're talking here as if … all those years … well, as if nothing happened.'

‘Aye. An' I figured as that's how it should be, youse bein' set hard a-weather, like.'

‘It is. Toby, I'd take it very kindly should you stay that way for me for a space. I've had a – a grievous lot to take in lately as a whole parcel o' gentlefolk could never understand. Could you?'

‘In course, matey. Could be we c'n bear a hand f 'r each other,' he murmured. Then, in a stronger voice, ‘Right then, cully. We's for the Lion?'

‘I'll be with you presently, Toby. Just want to be on my own for a while.'

S
tirk set off down the path with a fixed expression. Seeing his old messmate in such straits had disturbed him more than he cared to admit. Kydd had reached out to him. Was it to do with the stiff fight they'd all been through? He himself had taken a knock and since then had been plagued by nightmares of hours at the guns, going at it like a madman. Then whispers of fear stealing in. Was he was getting old, no longer carefree, not so spry on his feet when it came to the absolutes of combat to a lethal conclusion?

There were others coming on ready to take his place. War at sea, these days, was a young man's game: the harsh conditions, constant threat, endless sea duty. However, in his very being Stirk was a deep-sea mariner and wanted no other life. The prospect of leaving it was impossible to contemplate.

His thoughts returned to Kydd. He could only dimly perceive that the lot of a captain was different. He'd known Kydd as a callow young sailor and even then had seen he was cut from broader cloth. In a way Stirk had secretly gloried
in his advancement, first past himself and then across the near unbridgeable divide between fo'c'sle and quarterdeck.

He bore no resentment or jealousy because he took Kydd for what he was – a born seaman and leader of men – and had actively sought out his ships to join; he trusted him completely. Even in
Tyger
, which he'd known was in mutiny, he'd taken it for granted that Kydd would sort things out.

To be a captain, that was a rum thing to think on. True, they had all the honour and comforts going but he, as a gunner's mate, would have no hesitation in passing a knotty problem up the tree to an officer – that was what they were paid for, wasn't it?

He suspected that officers didn't have the same close-knit intimacy born of danger and interdependence that seamen took for granted and could call upon at any time without shame. And a captain – he had no one. Kydd had taken
Tyger
into battle with not a soul to talk freely with, to offer suggestions, to argue with, or after the event to say he'd done the right thing – or not. Yes, before there was Mr Renzi, of course, but now he was a noble lord, tending his grand estate.

Tom Kydd would find his old messmate Stirk there when he needed him, and be buggered to what any cove made of that.

With that thought, he felt better.

T
he first dark ale at the White Lion went down with relish, and Stirk was about to put in for a threepenny ordinary when he felt his sleeve twitched. ‘Laddie! Ye gave me such a start—'

‘Toby, I needs t' talk wi' ye,' McFadden whispered, looking about nervously.

‘I'm listenin', mate.'

‘Not 'ere! I cannae—what I wants t' say is private, you 'n' me, like.'

At this hour in the afternoon the snug was free and Stirk settled next to him by the inglenook of an unlit fire. ‘Well, what's it about, then, Laddie?'

The man looked away, as if wrestling with a decision, then leaned closer. ‘It's a sad puzzle I has, Toby, an' no one to tell it to for near a twelve-month.'

‘An' now ye're going to split wi' me.'

‘You're the only one I trusts, Toby, ye know that.'

‘I don't peach on m' friends, if that's y'r meaning.'

‘No, mate, it's more'n that.'

Furtively checking that no one was watching, he felt about in his breeks. His calloused hand slowly uncurled and in his palm was a single golden coin. ‘Toby, I knows ye've seen near everythin' on y'r voyaging about on the high seas. I want ye to tell me what this is. Go on, take it, an' have a good look.'

Stirk inspected the coin. All of an inch across, it was of substantial thickness, ornately stamped with a large, equal-sided cross on one side and filigree work. ‘It's Spanish, Laddie, I'll give ye that. But it ain't one I know, mate. Pieces-of-eight, why they's silver only, an' I dare t' say are made better'n this.'

That only made McFadden more excited. ‘Yair, as I reckon too. Now I has m' ideas about this'n and I'd give anything t' know for sure.'

‘Ye've found treasure, is th' size of it. Am I right, cuffin?'

McFadden's eyes glittered. Then he sat back with a sigh. ‘Aye, lad. I think I have, but it's not in m' hands. An' that's the rub – this gets out, an' every man on the island'll be down firkling about like demons an' I'll lose it.'

‘Ye can't get at it y'self, and are a-feared t' go asking as y'r secret'll get shared.'

‘Like y' say.'

‘Well, now, an' you're at a stand. Either ye tells someone and loses y'r secret or you don't, an' ye never gets to lay hands on y'r treasure.'

McFadden winced. ‘True enough.'

Stirk raised an eyebrow. ‘Ye'd better lay it before me, cully. Y' knows I'd give ye a right steer.'

‘An' promise not t' tell?'

‘On m' honour, Laddie – as can be sealed wi' a muzzler of ale.'

Stirk's price duly met, McFadden lowered his voice. ‘It's like this. When I fishes an' it comes on to blow I generally
makes f 'r the lee of one o' they outer islands, Coll, Tiree or similar, and short-line for plaice an' eel. One time, last autumn it was, I was in with one of 'em – never mind which – and I'm in close, sees one o' them sea caverns, not s' big, and decides to bait up for conger just off it.

‘While I'm laying out m' lines I notices there's a wreck bung up in the cavern. An old 'un, ye can always tell. We've more'n our share o' shipwrecks in these waters so I doesn't notice. There's a good bite an' we fights until I hauls him in, a right knaggy conger. I tells the skinker t' settle him an', it gettin' on for dusk, heads back an' I send him home. While there's still light I guts the catch, an' when I get t' the eel … out pops this'n!'

‘Ye're sayin' he ate the coin?' Stirk chuckled.

‘Fish go for bright 'n' shiny things, y' fool, everyone knows that.' McFadden snorted.

‘So what's it mean?'

‘Right, well, a conger don't stray much. He finds a hole in th' rocks an' stays there, comin' out to take any fish or such as passes.'

‘So?'

‘Can't ye see it? If he took the coin it's because it was right there, an' couldn't be anywhere else 'cos he don't go a-cruisin' like other fish.'

‘And—'

‘Yeah! The coins – they're spillin' out o' the wreck. We got to go there an' get diggin' quick. But if I goes an' they see me worritin' away at th' wreck all day, why, it's all over begob!'

‘You think …'

‘That there shipwreck is from y'r Spanish Armada as was, them years ago. A fortune o' gold aboard and, like them
others, piles ashore in a storm. Could be a treasure s' high a man can't jump over it. Think on it, Toby – if we can get our fists on it we'd live like lords for th' rest of our days!'