Dying Trade

by David Donachie

  ‘Yes,’ gasped James.

  ‘Now.’ Harry threw his sword into the corner opposite, where it landed with a metallic clatter. They launched themselves together, James jumping over the chair which held the cabin door shut and Harry rushing across the strip of moonlight that covered the centre of the room. The boarding pike, coming from above, was so close to his back that he could almost sense it scraping his spine. Had he hesitated to pull out the other one he would surely have died.

  Instead he merely grabbed it at the top of its shaft and kept moving. His efforts didn’t fully dislodge it. But it did swing down enough from him to reach out from the bulkhead and drag it right out of the deck. Without stopping he ducked down to retrieve his sword. A quick glance told him that Pender had carried out his allotted task and was now back in the well of the desk. He slid the first pike towards him, bounced off the wood at his back, and wrenched the third pike out of the floor and was back in his original position before the man on the skylight could rearm himself and take aim.

  ‘Pender, did you fetch the means to reload these pistols?’

  ‘Aye.’

  ‘If I push them towards you with my pike, you should be able to retrieve them with yours.’

  ‘I’m not sure as I can reload them in this light.’

  ‘You might as well try, Pender. They are of precious little use as they are. Perhaps if you turn round the moon through the sternlight windows will help.’

  First one pistol, then the other, scraped across the floor. Harry heard Pender cursing as he tried to manoeuvre in the confined space under the desk.

  ‘What now, Harry?’ whispered James.

  ‘We wait.’

  ‘I will find that harder than doing something.’

  ‘No choice, brother. I don’t know how many men we face. So I don’t feel that it would be a good idea to go out on deck and engage them. All I do know is that they have no muskets, for which we must thank the Lord.’

  James couldn’t keep the disappointment out of his voice. ‘So we are as badly off as we were when they came aboard?’

  ‘Not so, James. We have held to our plans while forcing them to improvise theirs.’

  James’s voice became terse. ‘You have a rare habit of calling something you’ve just dreamed up a plan, Harry. This may not be the moment to point out to you that it is a great failing.’

  Harry laughed again. The Principessa lurched, as if in response to the sound. The laughter would make their assailants curious, and he hoped do nothing for their confidence.

  ‘Guns are loaded and primed, your honour. Shall I slide them back to you?’

  ‘Not a good idea, Pender. They’ll very likely go off in the process. They’d be more of a danger to us than our attackers.’

  ‘They must be having a little get-together, trying to decide which way to play it.’

  As if to give a lie to his words they heard the sound of breaking glass from the sleeping cabin. The rope attached to the desk jerked suddenly, and as it stretched the door opened slightly before slamming shut again. Glass tinkled on the other side, as another one of their attackers tried the coach, hauling fruitlessly on the door. The result was the same, except that Pender, forewarned, scurried across the floor, and as the door opened a fraction he fired a ball right through it, pointing his pistol upwards.

  An odd inhuman scream and a great gurgling sound, as though the ball had lodged in the man’s gorge, followed the crack of the pistol shot. The thud of the falling body, and the crash of the door slamming shut, were almost simultaneous. Pender didn’t stop to congratulate himself, but rolled over swiftly, careering into the foot-lockers that ran along the rear of the cabin. The other pistol was aimed at the skylight as his body came round and he fired up through it. At that angle he had no chance of hitting anyone. But the sound of a gun, and the crash as the ball struck the skylight frame, served to distract any attacker while he returned to safety under the desk.

  ‘I think another one of them laughs might do a power of good now, Captain,’ he said, his voice resonant in the confined space.

  ‘That’s at least three we have accounted for, Harry. Surely we must have discouraged them by now?’

  ‘How I hope that you are right, James. But just in case I’d better elaborate on their options. If they come through the skylight, they can only do so one at a time. In that event, I shall engage the first one. Pender, reload as quickly as you can. Both barrels through the skylight at once, aimed at anyone following. James, if he has his back to you, and he is close enough, kill him. Otherwise leave him to me. On no account are you to engage him.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘How much practice have you had with a boarding pike, brother?’

  ‘None. But I doubt that I’ll get a chance to explain that.’

  ‘Do you have a chair by you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then use that to defend yourself.’

  ‘I …’

  ‘There’s no time to argue, James. Do as I ask. Keep your pike trained towards the door in case they try to come through there. With that chair in place I doubt they’ll be able to smash it fully open. As soon as there’s a gap, just shove the thing through it as hard as you can and hope to hit something. Keep jabbing to discourage them. Pender, keep your eyes on the sternlights. I don’t think they’ll be fool enough to try that route, but you never know.’

  ‘What course would you adopt, Harry?’ asked James quietly.

  Harry, aware that he had been extremely brusque, answered softly. ‘Depends on my aim, James.’

  ‘I should think their aim is rather obvious.’

  ‘Perhaps they’ll try both at once.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘Then we each do what I have already outlined, though I doubt we’ll keep them out completely. At that point, and I expect this will delight you, James, I fear we shall have to improvise.’

  ‘You seem to imply an alternative course of action.’

  ‘They might have sent ashore for some muskets, your honour,’ said Pender.

  ‘That’s possible, but it’s the other possibility that worries me.’

  ‘What’s that?’ asked his brother.

  ‘That is that they’ll set fire to the ship, and stand off, waiting to spear us like fish when we jump into the water.’

  ‘I’d be obliged if you say that more quiet, your honour. We don’t want to go giving the bastards ideas.’

  Silence. And no movement. It was plain that some kind of stalemate had been reached. Time passed slowly. On the opposite side of the doorway he could hear James breathing steadily and the occasional scraping sound as Pender moved his position. He was just about to remark that the situation was looking more promising when the top edge of the axe came through the bulkhead behind him. He jumped away quickly. Another axe crashed through the paneling just by the doorway, the blows raining on the wood, seeking to smash it through. Harry cursed under his breath at this unforeseen development.

  The men swinging the axes knew how to handle them. There would be little to gain from working side by side to make a small hole in the bulkhead, since that would not get them to their quarry on anything like equal terms. Their idea was much more ambitious, and dangerous. They sought to remove one whole area of the cabin wall so that they could come at them as a body and overwhelm them. Harry stood still, his mind racing as he watched the axes do their work, knowing that the others were waiting for him to say something, waiting for him to vouchsafe them a method with which to counter this assault.

  Crash followed crash, as the axes struck in an almost single continuous sound. The bulkhead was fixed and constructed of solid oak and there was still a great deal of work to do before it collapsed. No gap of sufficient size would open up through which they could thrust a pistol or a pikestaff. And was this merely a diversion? Would they, having got them to concentrate on the wall, drop behind them and attack in the rear as well?

  ‘Damn,’ Harry said aloud, but the expression was covered by
the noise of the axes. He could come to no conclusion, given that it all depended on their numbers. Gingerly he backed into the centre of the cabin, his eyes fixed on the rectangle of starry sky above his head. He spoke quietly.

  ‘Pender, the pistols, if you please.’

  His servant scuttled out from under the desk and handed him the pistols, never once himself taking his eyes off the skylight. No head appeared. Once he had handed the weapons over, he lifted his pike into a position that would give him a chance of hurling it at anyone who poked their head over the rim.

  Harry took the pike from him. ‘Undo those lashings on the desk. See if you can find something else to tie them to.’

  He stood there while Pender scurried about. Out of the corner of his eye he realised that his servant was tying the two door handles together with a fresh length of line, before undoing those attached to the desk.

  ‘James. Out here and keep your eye on this skylight. Pender, the desk into the centre of the room.’ Harry had to risk being heard, raising his voice over the sound of the blows to give his instructions. Swiftly he pulled out the drawers, tossing them, and their contents, all around. With Pender’s help he dragged the desk into the middle of the cabin, positioning it below the skylight. Then he jumped onto the desktop and reached up, his hands easily gaining the point at which the wooden skylight surround connected with the poop deck.

  He looked down. Pender and James stood, pikes ready. ‘Put those aside for a moment, both of you. This desk top will separate from the two bases.’

  ‘How do you know?’ asked James.

  Harry responded angrily, but answered nevertheless. ‘If you can tell me how they got it into the cabin otherwise, brother, I’ll be obliged. I’m going to jump up and try and get some purchase on the rim. As I do, lift the desktop to provide me with a platform to stand on. With your arms outstretched I should be able to see over the top.’

  ‘And if there’s someone there waiting for you?’ asked James.

  ‘If I shout “let go”, please do just that.’

  It was a gamble, and they all knew it. But with an unknown number of assailants on the other end of those boarding axes, doing nothing guaranteed their death. Harry leapt up in the air, trying desperately to get high enough for his arms to lock straight and take his weight. They didn’t and he started to drop back. But the rising desk took his weight and lifted him just enough. He heard the pair below grunting at the effort of holding him up, and he knew that they would only be able to do so for a matter of seconds.

  He heaved again, pushing the desktop down as he did so. But it was just enough to allow him to lock his arms, lift his legs, and take all his weight off the makeshift platform. James and Pender straightened their arms and held the desktop steady. Harry bent his legs into a crouch as it came up, then eased himself down to allow them to take the weight. The desktop remained rock-steady, and pulling out his pistols he slowly raised himself till he was standing upright.

  He peered over the edge of the box which supported the glass canopy of the skylight, twisting quickly to see if there was anyone about. None of their attackers was on the poop, and he blessed his most uncommon luck. He’d fully expected they’d post a lookout there, as the most obvious place to keep an eye on the reaction of the prisoners to the assault on the bulkhead. Perhaps they weren’t so numerous after all. The glass from the skylight was completely gone, barring a few jagged shards, and using the rim of the skylight box, he stepped gingerly onto the moonlit poop.

  There was no sound, barring the relentless crunching of the axes. Pistols out ahead of him, he made his way to the companion ladder. The moon was full up now and its light illuminated the entire main deck of the Principessa, all the way to the naked bowsprit. The black guns along each side, with the small piles of cannonballs, gleamed dully where the moon struck their barrels. He looked over the poop rail, again surprised that no one stood guard. Perhaps this crew were not as professional as he’d first supposed.

  Softly he made his way down the ladder, though the sound of the axes crashing into the oak bulkhead would have covered the approach of a herd of elephants. The poop deck extended out over the outer bulkhead of the captain’s cabin, forming a canopy that provided some shelter for the doorway, be it from sunshine or foul weather. But it also cut out the moonlight, making it difficult to see, and he was almost at the bottom step before he could make out clearly the scene before him: four men stood, feet splayed and hands on the bulkhead, heaving in a silent rhythm, trying to dislodge it. At each end the two axemen swung in that steady way, working up and down the ragged seam they’d already made in the thick wood. Calmly, taking careful aim, Harry shot one axeman in the head, then the other.

  The exploding pistols, going off within a second of each other, made the others drop to their knees. Harry was at the top of the ladder before they recovered enough to try and pursue him. He threw the pistols through the skylight and jumped after them onto the upheld desk, yelling for them to let go. As it dropped from beneath him he reached out instinctively to grab the rim of the box to break his fall. His arm felt as though it was being wrenched out of its socket. He let go, landing awkwardly, and painfully, on the desktop, intending to roll sideways. As he landed he felt the hands grab him, hindering his movements rather than aiding them, and he pushed out blindly, trying to get away from the centre of the room, out of view from the top of the skylight. A shower of missiles followed him through the gap.

  He heard the crunch of breaking bone, then the scream behind him, and spinning on his knees, he was just in time to catch his brother as he fell. Ignoring the agonised cries of pain, he dragged him into a corner, out of danger and another wound as more objects came hurtling through the skylight. Cannonballs, marlin-spikes, even a small water cask. He could hear James gasping, as he fought to contain his need to cry out.

  ‘Where are you wounded?’

  ‘Shoulder,’ replied James through gritted teeth. ‘A cannonball, I think. Right arm’s gone.’

  James raised his head, looking towards the skylight, and the still cascading contents of the ship pouring through, thrown in a frenzied attempt to cause further damage. He fought audibly to control his voice. ‘There is some danger, if this goes on, that this ship will sink by the stern.’

  Harry nearly choked, since he was out of breath from his exertions, which made laughing difficult. But he couldn’t help himself. James’s voice had that languid tone of the bored man-about-town which he often used to such devastating effect. He heard Pender laughing too.

  A sharp intake of breath, before James reverted to that urbane tone. ‘Is it only the proximity of death that amuses you, Harry, or have you observed something out there that’s responsible?’

  ‘We must get some light,’ said Harry. ‘Are you bleeding?’

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘You should have let me be, James, and looked to save yourself.’

  ‘So it seems.’

  ‘The heat of battle. Now remain still.’

  ‘Pistols reloaded,’ said Pender. ‘But that’s the last of the shot.’

  There was a lot of movement on the deck of the ship, interfering with gentle rocking motion as the waves ran underneath the counter. Harry felt the ship dip to larboard, and heard the scrape of a boat along the outer planking.

  ‘It may well be sufficient.’ The sound of oars thumping the ship’s side as a boat shoved off convinced him. ‘I think our visitors have had enough.’

  ‘Shouldn’t we pursue them?’ said James, struggling to sit up. ‘Perhaps with the pistols …’

  ‘Just stay still,’ Harry snapped, already on his feet. He was undoing the door to the coach. Pender, on the other side of the cabin, grabbed the line and wrapped it around his arm to keep it taut on the other door handle. Gingerly, Harry pushed his door open, sword held forward in case of attack. Nothing. He swung the door right back to trap anyone standing there, but it crashed into the wall behind.

  In the moonlight, streaming throu
gh the stern and side casements, he could see that the room was empty. Not even a body. No sign of the man that Pender had shot. He rushed to the side gallery windows and peered out through the thick salt-encrusted glass. The boat was no more than a dim shape which quickly faded. The catch was undone and he threw the casement open. He could see them clearly now, slowly pulling away towards the inner harbour. Four men sitting upright, with two rowing, the rest of the boat full of huddled, immobile figures.

  Pender hadn’t moved, sensibly awaiting instructions. Harry shut the casement and walked back into the main cabin. ‘I think that we can afford some light now.’

  It was almost tangible, the way that the tension eased. Pender, now standing upright, hesitated for a moment, rubbing his hands over his sweating face, before he set to, finding the flint, match, and taper to ignite a lantern. The taper took the spark, and the flame began to rise. Harry grabbed the lantern and quickly knelt beside his brother. James’s upper arm was at an odd angle, clearly broken.

  ‘We must remove your coat, James. More light, Pender, if you can find any.’

  Pender was kneeling over one of the drawers that Harry had thrown aside. ‘A box of candles here, your honour. For the sconces on the wall, most like.’

  Hurriedly he lit them, and as he did so the full extent of the damage done to the cabin was revealed. The bulkhead had great gashes in it, forming a rough rectangle. It had been close to collapse and could only have been a matter of minutes before it gave way. Paper and the various objects that had been on the desk littered the floor, mixed with the debris that had come in through the skylight. In the far corner lay the black-clad body of the first attacker to try and enter the cabin.

  ‘If you can sit up, brother.’ Gingerly, Harry pulled James’s coat open, and tried to ease it over his right shoulder. He stopped as he saw the pain registered in his face. He pulled a knife out of his boot and started to cut the cloth from around the useless arm. Sharp as his knife was, he could not help snagging on the material, causing more pain. The linen on the shirt was an easier proposition, and as that fell away, he could see the bone protruding from under the skin.