Nothing.
He turned it and pushed.
The door swung open.
Again, nothing.
He took a breath, knelt and stuck his head around the door frame.
There was a shot and he ducked his head back as plaster rained down on it.
Antton nodded and launched himself through the door at an angle, Marty followed knife in hand and dived in the opposite direction. He came to his knees to see Claudette knelt half naked on the bed frozen in the act of loading a pistol. Her eyes were wide as she looked at Antton and the pistol he had trained on her and then at Martin.
“I told the fool you would find us here,” she sighed and tossed the gun onto the covers on the bed. “Will you take me back to Malta for trial?”
Marty sat on the bed next to her after putting his fighting knife back in its sheath, “I don’t think so, you might get away again,” he told her his hand coming down a little hard on her shoulder.”
She looked at him and started a little pout but was surprised as her eyes fell on the stiletto in his hand. She noticed it had blood on it and it looked very sharp.
I’m so tired, she realised, that’s so strange, and let herself slump down onto the bed.
She looked at Marty, he was very handsome she thought. The world slowly and gently closed in until she could only see his face, and then it went dark.
“It’s done,” Marty said as he checked her neck for a pulse, “let’s see how Ryan is.” He ran his hand over her eyes to close them before standing. He gave a last look at the still body; she looked as if she was sleeping, then turned away putting her out of his mind.
“We have to get the bullet out now,” Matai said. “If we try and get him back to the ship with it in, it might split one of his intestines.”
He explained that the bullet had passed through Ryan’s leather belt before entering the abdomen. He couldn’t smell any corruption so guessed it hadn’t hit any of his guts, but as it had penetrated the belt it would have flattened, possibly with sharp edges. That had saved his life as it hadn’t gone through anything vital, but the last thing he needed to do was walk with it still in.
They carefully carried him down to the kitchen where there was a well-scrubbed oak table and laid him on it. Matai searched and found a bottle of brandy and a pair of silver sugar tongs. He had watched and assisted Shelby extract bullets from all different parts of the body, and the physician had explained what he was doing as he went along. Matai was nothing if not a quick learner.
He got the others to strip Ryan and carefully cleaned the area around the wound with neat brandy, making Ryan gasp. He was washing his own hands when Ryan looked at him.
“Jesus! You miserable pirate, are you trying to kill me as well?” he groaned.
“Bite on this,” Matai said and placed Ryan’s belt between his teeth.
He took one of Marty’s razor sharp stilettoes, washed the blade in Brandy and then flamed it. Taking a deep breath, he cut an incision to extend the hole where the bullet had entered.
Ryan groaned but couldn’t move as he was held firmly top and bottom by Marty and Antton. When he had a hole big enough, he slid his finger in and gently felt for the bullet. At first, he couldn’t find it, but then he felt a hard edge against the side of his finger. He traced it with his fingertip until he knew how it lie, its shape, size and where it was relative to the entry hole.
He took up the tongs, cleaned them, then gently as he could inserted them in the wound. He got hold of the ball, but the tongs slipped off as he pulled. He went in again, this time getting a tighter grip on it. He gently pulled and Ryan arched his back in pain as the squashed ball very slowly came out.
“Almost done,” Matai reassured him as he dropped it in a china dish with a clatter.
He slipped his finger back in and methodically searched the wound again, then took the sugar tongs and went back in. This time he pulled out a piece of cloth layered with a piece of leather. That went into the dish as well.
“All out!” He proclaimed and saw the look of relief on all three faces. He grinned and took a needle and a length of cat gut from his pouch,
“Just got to stitch him up now.”
Ryan spat out the belt. “You’re enjoying this, you mother fucking son of a bitch!” he groaned as Matai dunked the lot in brandy before pinching the wound together to make the first stitch. As Shelby had taught him, he first closed the muscle layer using a special stitch that could be pulled out from the loose end left outside the wound. It also helped the wound drain and reduced the chance of infection. That would be followed by a row of stiches to close the skin
Five, painful, minutes later all Ryan had to show for the whole misadventure was a very neat row of stitches just to the left of his navel with a two-inch-long length of gut hanging out either end.
Marty looked at his watch and said,
“As much as I would like to give you time to recover, we have to go. Dawn is in an hour and we want this place burning and us as far away as possible by then.”
Antton had noticed some buildings at the back of the house and after a short absence, turned up at the front door with a hand cart as Marty and Matai helped Ryan out. They loaded Ryan in it and made him relatively comfortable before Matai and Antton set off down the drive leaving Marty to finish up.
Some more brandy, lamp oil and curtains started a merry blaze that soon spread. Marty left happy that the funeral pyre was well and truly on its way. Then he remembered the guard at the gate. He quickly went to the body, slung it over his shoulder, deposited it in the kitchen, then rushed to catch up with the others.
He heard voices ahead, Ryan swearing at whoever it was in Italian. He slunk closer and could see a pair of night guards who had confronted his three compatriots. It would appear they were asking what they were doing wandering around at this time of the night and Ryan was playing the part of a drunken noble and berating them for their impudence.
Marty snuck up behind them and hit the first on the back of the head with his knife hilt. Matai swung a haymaker of a punch and felled the other with a crack of his jaw breaking.
“What was stopping you?” he barked and gestured them to get a move on.
“We were waiting for yous, boss.” Antton grinned, imitating Sam.
Marty shook his head; he was working with a bunch of comedians all of a sudden. Then he grinned, that’s not such a bad thing.
Chapter 17: Double trouble.
The Formidiable was ready for sea by the third week in September and they set off in convoy for the trip back to base. It was relatively uneventful with just a moderate storm to slow them, and they sailed into Rosia Bay on the third of October.
A lot has happened in the last nine months, he thought as he watched Ackermann and his other lieutenants bring the ship to anchor, nine months! It hit him! It was this month the baby was due!
He scanned the shoreline and spotted a carriage pulling up at the dock. Shelby got out and helped a very pregnant Caroline to step down. She walked over towards the edge, stopped and waved a scarf. Marty waved back and then became aware his barge was being pulled up at the side. When he looked around, he saw Sam leading a crew to man it. The rest of the men were grinning at him and Ackermann approached with a salute.
“With the crew’s compliments, Captain, but would you kindly bugger off and go and see your wife before she gives birth.” He grinned and put his hand on Marty’s shoulder.
“We can manage without you.”
“Watch it, or I will have you at the grating,” Marty grinned back and slapped him on the shoulder in return as he bolted for the side and his waiting boat.
As it turned out he got back just in time. They got to the house that Caroline had rented and an hour later she went into labour. Marty was all in a dither; his mother wasn’t here! Who would look after the birth!
Tom, who had come over with Caroline as she had wanted his wife with her, took Marty to one side, told him Shelby had everything under control,
gave him a glass of rum and asked about his latest adventures. That sent Marty off into another direction, Ryan! He needed to be seen by Shelby, Matai had stitched him up and he seemed alright, but Shelby must see him.
Tom rolled his eyes. It was strange how a man who could face the sternest of tests facing the enemy and was normally as cool headed as you like could turn into a gibbering wreck at the hint of childbirth.
“Shelby is overseeing the birth,” he told him again as if he was taking to a child, “he will check Ryan over when he gets done here.”
Marty slugged back the rum, and gradually calmed down as Tom kept talking to him. In the end Tom persuaded him that he should take a bath as the stink of the ship was on him and he should greet the new-born clean.
It only occurred to Marty that he hadn’t seen his other children since he had arrived once he got into the bath. Tom, who wasn’t about to leave him alone for a minute, explained that they were out with Mary, their nanny, visiting the Barbary monkeys.
Marty hadn’t even notice that the bath had already been filled by the time he got to his room and that some of his clothes had been brought from England. His steward had also miraculously appeared and helped him undress and shed his weapons.
While he was in the bath Sam turned up, having returned to the Formidiable for his sea chest. He and Adam unpacked his uniforms, sorted out what needed to be cleaned or repaired and had a clean suit of clothes laid out ready when Marty had finished his bath.
Calmer, now, and more in control Marty went with Tom and Sam to the drawing room. The house was built high on the slope of the hill where it could get a cool breeze. The windows were open, and he could see Rosia Bay below them. His ships looked neat and tidy; their yards crossed perfectly with the sun glinting on their brass work.
Shelby came down and sat with them for a while.
“How long do you think it will take?” Marty asked.
“This isn’t your first, you know they take as long as they will,” Shelby answered.
“I wasn’t home for the first and we were in India for the second and I had a lot on my mind,”
“How long did she take for the first?” Shelby asked.
“That un was quick,” replied Tom, “well less than a day. The second was a bit longer.”
Marty looked at him in surprise, he hadn’t realised Tom had paid so much attention.
“Then I expect she will take around the same for the first and the other will come out soon after.”
Time stopped.
“What did you say?” he finally whispered.
Shelby looked at him in surprise and looked at Tom who suddenly found something to look at out of the window.
Sam started to laugh as what Shelby had said sunk in,
“You be having twins boss!”
Marty was mad at Tom for not telling him and madder at Caroline for not even mentioning it in her letters. He took Blaez out and walked it off before he trusted himself back in the house again. It was early October and the weather was grey which suited his mood.
The children were back when he got home and Blaez went into paroxysms of joy at meeting them again. Beth was now six, going on eight or nine as far as Marty could tell; had his mother’s strong will and knew her own mind. James was three and showing a mischievous streak.
“Uncle Tom has been teaching me to use a sword,” she proudly announced.
“Really?” Marty said, “and why do you want to learn that?”
“’Cos I am going to be a warrior pwincess when I grow up and have a ship like mummy and fight piwates!” she said seriously.
“And how do you know about mummy fighting pirates?” Marty asked, casting a gimlet eye on Tom.
“Mummy told me in a bedtime stowy!” Tom looked smug and gave him as innocent a look as the old rogue could manage.
It wouldn’t do but she showed him her skills, resulting in him getting bruised knuckles as she whacked him with the wooden blade of the sword Tom had carved for her.
Luckily a maid rushed in and announced that the first of the babies had arrived and the second was on its way out! Which saved his knuckles but sent his nerves in a spin. She rushed back up the stairs before anybody had a chance to ask if it was a boy or a girl!
Another half hour passed, and Shelby walked into the drawing room rolling his sleeves down and looking satisfied. He was heralded by the joint lusty calls of the babies from upstairs.
“You may go up and see them Martin, mother and babies are doing well.”
He didn’t need a second invitation and hared up the stairs two at a time. He slowed down at the bedroom door as he realised the crying had stopped, eased open the door and entered quietly. Amara, Tom’s wife, was sat beside the bed sewing a, something, and Mary, the children’s nurse, was watching from the foot of the bed.
Caroline, looking beautiful, sat propped up in the bed holding a baby to each breast, feeding them simultaneously. Marty, eyes wide in wonder, stepped forward and sat on the edge of the bed. Caroline watched him with a happy smile and love in her eyes. The pain of childbirth forgotten in the moment.
“Girls?” Marty asked as he gently sat on the edge of the bed.
“They didn’t tell you?” she asked mischievously.
Marty gave her a pleading look.
“One of each, a boy, the eldest, and a girl,” she relented. “and damn, are they hungry!”
“We will have to get a wet nurse,” Amara said in her deep Indian accent, “there is no way that mistress can manage with two babies like that on her own.”
“Where do you find one of them?” Marty asked.
Domestic bliss was short lived; the twins seemed to be always hungry and Mary had to find two wet nurses in the end to keep them fed. Until that time, Caroline was permanently tired and made it clear if Marty came within ten feet of her with an erection, she would chop it off!
After a week of that Marty found an excuse to go to the base and check that everything was alright with the flotilla. Everything was fine, of course, and he found Ridgley sat in his office.
“Take-over bid?” he snarled as he walked through the door.
“Now that’s a nice way to greet an old friend. Twins getting you down?” Ridgley smirked.
Marty hmphed and plonked himself down in one of his comfy chairs.
“Any missions that will take me away for about five years?” Marty growled.
“You know I once had a friend whose wife gave birth to twins who volunteered for a polar expedition.” Ridgley said thoughtfully.
“Did it work?” Marty asked.
“Don’t know, he never came back.” Ridgley quivered with laughter.
“Very funny.”
“Well, you will have to put up with it for a few weeks yet, your officers tell me the men need a rest and you need to recruit some replacements. How’s the thigh by the way?”
“It’s healing well enough. I don’t suppose there are any reports on that desk for my attention?”
“What, these?” Ridgley smirked as he tossed over several brown cards folded around sheaves of papers tied together with black ribbons. “I was about to bring them to you at the house. The folded cards are my idea, keeps things from getting mixed up.”
Smart! Marty thought, but wasn’t about to say anything of the sort to Ridgley, he would be insufferable.
“I also wanted to tell you that London are sending out a new man for Malta.”
“Do we know him?” Marty asked.
“No, unfortunately not. His profile reads well, though, been to Oxford, trained in a seminary, thrown out for duelling. Has mixed parentage, his father was an English officer in the Indian regiment and his mother a high caste Indian woman. Apparently makes him look somewhat Mediterranean, by all accounts.”
“Fit right in, then.” Marty commented off handedly.
“Listen,” Ridgley leaned forward intently, and Marty took notice as he sensed something coming, “how well do you get on with Sir Sidney Smith?”
; “Friends I think,” Marty replied honestly. “I like him, he just needs to be a bit more diplomatic when dealing with his superiors.”
“Yes, quite, he called General Stuart an ass,” Ridgley told him. “That’s what got him taken off the Sicily station.”
“Yes, I can imagine him doing that,” Marty laughed at the vision that created.
“Do you think you could rein him in?”
Marty looked at him sharply.
“What are you getting me into?” he asked bluntly.
“Nothing yet, but there are plans in the making and having a part of the task force that wasn’t directly under his control, led by someone who could influence him might be an attractive option.”
“And if he fails dramatically?” Marty asked.
“Then you and your flotilla will never be named in any of the reports. As usual.”
Chapter 18: Falling on deaf ears
After a well-earned break, Marty was introduced to the infamous Enreekaay that he had heard about when they first got to Gibraltar. His name was Enrique Castell, a Catalan who had some distinct prejudices against the French. He needed someone to get him back into Spain close to Madrid and the S.O.F. was given the job and Marty chose to do it himself.
To be honest, he could have tasked Ryan or James to do it. He used the excuse that the Formidiable was Spanish-built and therefore less likely to attract attention than the others, which they all knew was hokum. He just needed to get away from the chaos the twins had turned his home life into, and the job would only take a couple of weeks if all went well.
He tasked Ryan to sail back to England and see if he could recruit some more volunteers. James was left in charge of the shore base and would handle anything else. Marty borrowed twenty of his men to get the Formidiable back up to strength.
It was cold, rainy and miserable weather when they set sail with the wind veering between due North and Northeast which made getting out of the bay tricky. They had a nasty time getting into the straits and just made it into the Mediterranean before dark.
Vendetta: The Dorset Boy - Book 6 Page 19
