‘What did I tell you?’ Quested crowed triumphantly. ‘Where there’s one rat, there’s another. Looks like we’ve got ourselves a regular infestation here.’
Molineaux glanced up at Killigrew. ‘Sorry, sir. Looks like I made a mess of things again.’
‘Is that what you were holding out for?’ Quested asked the lieutenant. ‘Counting on this nigger to rescue you? Think again. There’s no one coming. Now tell me: how did you get off Erromanga?’
‘We hitched a ride on the back of a passing whale,’ Killigrew told him glibly. There was no bravado left in him; from the relish with which Quested had described his impending fate, Killigrew had a feeling he was going to be lowered into the try-pot whether he talked or not.
‘Joke all you like,’ said Jarrett. ‘You won’t find it so amusing when you’re up to your waist in boiling blubber.’
‘At least I can look down my nose at a bastard like you.’
Jarrett smiled. ‘Trying to make me angry so I’ll make a mistake? You’re wasting your time. Ned’s the hot-tempered one. Or did you think you were the only one around here with a stiff upper lip?’
‘What should we do with this one?’ asked Forgan, indicating Molineaux with the bomb-gun.
Wyatt gestured dismissively. ‘Shoot him. We don’t need him.’
‘Oh-kay.’ Forgan levelled the bomb-gun at Molineaux’s back.
‘Not with that!’ snapped Quested. ‘This place is full of whale oil, you half-wit! You want the whole place to go up in flames?’
‘Besides, you’ll make a terrible mess, and this shirt is clean on today,’ added Jarrett.
‘Use a regular gun.’ Quested reached under the rail around the platform to take the bomb-gun from Forgan and was about to hand his revolver down when he hesitated. ‘No, wait. I’ve got a better idea. Take him to the sawmill. Perhaps with the right kind of persuasion Mr Henson will prove more talkative than the lieutenant here.’
Forgan grinned. ‘I get the idea, Cap’n. Come on,’ he told Molineaux. ‘You know the way.’
‘See you later, sir!’ Molineaux called over his shoulder.
‘Not in this life, amigo,’ sneered Forgan.
‘Gog, Magog: go with him,’ ordered Quested, balancing the bomb-gun across the angle of the rail on one corner of the platform. The twins nodded and followed Forgan and Molineaux out of the try-works. A moment after they had left, Solomon Lissak entered. He glanced up at where Killigrew hung, and then averted his gaze hurriedly, as if he preferred to pretend the lieutenant was not there. ‘Thorpe’s house is on fire, Ned,’ he told Wyatt.
‘Let it burn.’
‘Did you find Thorpe yet?’ demanded Quested.
Lissak shook his head. ‘He wasn’t at the house. Piggy was, though. He’s dead.’
‘Your handiwork, I suppose?’ Jarrett asked Killigrew.
The lieutenant shook his head. ‘I wish I could claim the credit for it, but—’
Quested laid his hand against Jarrett’s chest. ‘Piggy’s that heathen you sent to kill Mrs Cafferty, wasn’t he? So where is she now?’
‘No sign of her up at the house,’ said Lissak.
‘Find her,’ snapped Quested. ‘We can’t afford to leave any witnesses, do you understand me?’
Lissak nodded. He was halfway back to the door when he stopped and turned. ‘Where were Mr Forgan and the twins taking Wes just now?’
‘No need for you to concern yourself, Mr Lissak. They were just going to have a little chat with him.’
‘He means torture him,’ Killigrew explained helpfully.
Jarrett rammed the haft of a cutting-in spade into the lieutenant’s stomach, making him gasp in winded agony. ‘Shut up!’
‘That’s rum,’ said Killigrew. ‘A moment ago you said you were going to lower me into the blubber if I didn’t talk. Now you want me to shut up?’
Jarrett hit him with the spade again.
Quested chuckled. ‘You just don’t know when to keep your mouth shut, do you?’ He turned to Lissak. ‘Go and find Mrs Cafferty, and bring her to me. Now!’
‘Do as he says, Solly,’ ordered Wyatt.
Lissak nodded and hurried out of the try-works.
‘You think we can trust him?’ Quested asked Wyatt.
‘He hasn’t got the guts to defy me.’
Quested rubbed his jaw with the curve of his hook. ‘Go after him, Utumate,’ he decided at last. ‘Make sure he doesn’t get any foolish notions about switching sides at the eleventh hour.’
Utumate hopped down from his barrel and left the try-works, swinging his tomahawk casually.
‘Now, where were we?’ mused Quested. ‘Oh! Now I remember. Torturing Mr Killigrew here. Mr Wyatt, be so good as to lower Mr Killigrew’s feet into the try-pot.’
‘My pleasure.’ Wyatt jumped down from the half-loft and crossed to the chain that controlled the pulley.
‘Last chance, Mr Killigrew.’
‘Go to the devil.’
Jarrett chuckled. ‘After you, I thi—’
A shot sounded outside. Quested, Wyatt and Jarrett exchanged glances. ‘What was that?’ asked Jarrett.
‘Another goddamned interruption,’ sighed Quested. ‘Hold it, Mr Wyatt. I’d better go see what that was.’ He descended the steps from the platform, drawing his revolver from its holster once more, and headed for the door. On the threshold, he paused and turned back briefly to address Killigrew with a grin. ‘Hang around, Mr Killigrew. I haven’t finished with you yet.’
* * *
Vickers pressed his mouth against Mrs Cafferty’s and forced his tongue between her lips. She bit down with all her might. He gave a muffled scream, and pushed her away. She fell against the side of the try-works. He raised a hand to his mouth, and it came away covered in blood.
She got up and tried to run, but he caught her by the shoulder, spun her around and threw a punch at her jaw. She felt her teeth crack in her mouth as she fell. He crouched over her, unfastening the buckle of the belt that held up her trousers. She raked her nails across his cheeks, until he caught her by the wrist and pinioned her arm to the ground. ‘Lie still!’
She rolled over and sank her teeth into his wrist. He screamed, and then slapped her across the cheek. She kicked him in the face with both feet. He was thrown back, and she got up to run, but he was on his feet in an instant. He caught her round the waist and dragged her to the ground. With one hand on her throat, he tore off the buttons of her trousers and tried to drag them away from her hips.
She saw the revolver thrust down the front of his trousers. She grabbed the butt and tried to pull it clear, but the hammer got caught in his shirt and she inadvertently pulled the trigger. There was a muffled bang, and his whole body jerked spasmodically. Wide-eyed with horror, he glanced down at the bloody stain that spread across his crotch.
Mrs Cafferty stared in horror at what she had done. ‘Oh my God!’ she sobbed. ‘I’m so sorry!’ Then she realised what she was saying and, more pertinently, to whom she was saying it. ‘No, on second thoughts, I’m not sorry at all.’ She stood up, cocked the revolver, and levelled it at his head.
He fainted.
She decided against shooting him, partly because she could not shoot a defenceless man, but mostly because a quick death from a bullet was too good for his kind: he deserved to bleed to death. Still holding the revolver, she staggered to the mouth of the alley, hurting in a dozen different places.
A figure appeared in front of her, silhouetted by the light from the wharf. It was Utumate, drawn by the sound of the shot. When he saw her, he swung his tomahawk back across his shoulder. She levelled the revolver at his chest, but before she could fire he had knocked the gun from her hand with the flat of the tomahawk. He aimed a second, killing-stroke at her head, and Lissak stepped up behind him and hit him on the back of the head with a plank of sandalwood. The plank broke in two, and Utumate measured his length on the ground.
Mrs Cafferty scrambled for the revolver, but by the time she had retrieved
it and whirled to face Lissak, he had dropped the four-by-two and thrown up his hands. ‘Whoa! Careful where you point that thing, missy. I’m on your side. I may be a cracksman, but I ain’t no croaksman.’
‘How do I know I can trust you?’
‘Well, if I wasn’t on your side, why didn’t I let that heathen bastard croak you just now?’
‘Your logic is impeccable, Mr Lissak. Where’s Mr Killigrew?’
‘They got him in the try-works. They’re torturing him.’
‘Then there’s not a moment to lose!’
‘Yur, but they’re also torturing my Wes in the sawmill!’
‘All right. You help Wes, and I’ll help Mr Killigrew.’
‘I haven’t got a gun!’ he whined.
‘Surely you can’t expect me to tackle them unarmed? I’m only a woman, for heaven’s sake!’
‘Yur, but I’m old!’
She ignored him. He seemed like a cunning fellow; he would work something out. She hurried across the wharf to the try-works, praying she would not be too late. She was about to pass under the ramp leading up to the loft of the try-works when Quested stepped out from behind a stack of barrels and held the muzzle of his revolver to her neck.
‘Going somewhere, missy?’ He pulled back the hammer of the revolver with his hook. ‘Any last words?’
‘Quested!’
Both Quested and Mrs Cafferty turned to see Thorpe striding towards them with Utumate, Underwood and Noah Pilcher. ‘What the deuce do you think you’re doing, Quested?’ demanded Thorpe.
‘Putting this bitch out of her misery.’
‘Don’t be a fool! We need her as a hostage.’
‘No we don’t,’ Quested snapped back. ‘She’s brought me enough bad luck as it is. Got those forged papers, Mr Underwood?’ Ashen-faced and sweating, Thorpe’s secretary nodded and patted the leather wallet-folder under his arm.
‘Put them in my cabin on board the Lucy Ann.’ Quested pushed Mrs Cafferty towards Utumate, who promptly held a knife to her throat. ‘Kill me this bitch. Then meet me on board the Lucy Ann. We’re leaving. Now.’ He turned his back on them and set off walking across to the try-works.
‘Where are you going?’ demanded Thorpe.
‘To make sure Killigrew’s dead.’ Quested strode off and left Mrs Cafferty with Thorpe, Utumate and Underwood.
‘Turn away,’ Utumate told Mrs Cafferty. ‘You feel nothing, I promise.’
She shook her head. ‘If you’re going to murder me, Mr Utumate, at least have the courage to look into my eyes.’
He smiled. ‘As you wish…’
She squeezed her eyes shut, waiting to feel the icy touch of the blade as it sliced her throat, but it never came. Instead she heard a click, and Underwood’s tremulous voice. ‘Put the knife down, Utumate.’
She opened her eyes. Underwood had pulled a small pistol out from behind the wallet and now he levelled it at the Polynesian.
‘Mr Underwood?’ spluttered Thorpe. ‘Put that gun away, before someone gets hurt!’
‘Before someone gets hurt!’ echoed the secretary, laughing bitterly. ‘So this kanaka here can murder the woman, you mean? Enough people have been hurt already, thanks to you.’
‘Enough of this foolishness, Underwood. Put the gun down. That’s an order.’
Underwood turned the pistol on Thorpe. ‘I’ve taken enough orders from you, you lunatic. Don’t you realise? Don’t you understand? It’s over.’
‘Only for you.’ Utumate punched the blade of his knife deep into Underwood’s side, right up to the hilt. The secretary gasped as his blood pumped over Utumate’s fingers, and as he crumpled the Polynesian prised the pistol from his limp fingers. Underwood slipped to the ground, and Utumate turned the pistol on Mrs Cafferty.
Chapter 24
Judgement
‘Not so talkative now, amigo?’ asked Forgan, propping his musket up in one corner of the sawmill. He had to shout to make himself heard above the clamour of the steam-engine.
‘You pick a topic,’ suggested Molineaux.
‘All right. Why don’t you start by telling us how the hell you vamoosed from Erromanga?’
‘Why, it’s just like Mr Killigrew said: we hitched a ride on a passing whale.’
‘You know something? I’m glad you’re not in a mood to co-operate.’ Forgan nodded to Gog, who pulled a lever to set the sawblade, six feet in diameter, spinning. Another level engaged the ratchet that pulled the saw carriage Molineaux was tied to towards the blade. He looked at it fearfully between his feet, which were less than six feet from the cutting edge.
‘You know, I don’t care if you do talk,’ shouted Forgan. Tm going to enjoy watching you get sawn in half. Any last requests, amigo?’
‘Yur. You couldn’t put me the other way around, could you? I’m kind of tender down there.’
‘But that’s the fun of it.’
The door opened and Lissak entered, carrying Utumate’s tomahawk, the Polynesian’s rifle over one shoulder. ‘Gog, Magog?’ he shouted hoarsely. ‘Cap’n Quested wants a word with you two.’
The twins glanced at Forgan. ‘Better go see what he wants,’ the mate told them. They nodded and made for the door. Magog went straight out, but Gog paused and turned on the threshold. ‘You gonna wait until we get back?’ he asked, nodding to where Molineaux was tied.
‘Sure. Go on. You know Cap’n Quested don’t like to be kept waiting.’
Gog hurried out after his brother. Forgan turned to Lissak.
‘Sometimes they’re like a couple of big kids.’
‘Some kids!’ said Lissak. ‘Er… aren’t you going to turn the saw off?’
‘That depends.’ Forgan turned to Molineaux. ‘Are you gonna tell me how you got away from Erromanga?’
Molineaux shook his head.
‘Then I ain’t gonna turn this machine off.’
‘You’d better tell him what he wants to know,’ Lissak told Molineaux. ‘Otherwise I might have to do something drastic.’
Molineaux eyed the blade which spun less than three feet from his boots. ‘Right now, Solly, whether or not you do something drastic is the least of my worries.’
Lissak nudged Forgan. ‘I thought you said you were going to wait for Gog and Magog to get back?’
‘I lied.’
Lissak nodded thoughtfully, and hit Forgan on the back of the head with the tomahawk. The mate crumpled. Lissak grinned at Molineaux. ‘Not bad for an old man, eh?’
‘Plummy,’ agreed Molineaux. ‘If you’d used the edge of the tomahawk, you might really have done some damage.’
‘Hey! I’m a cracksman, not a croaksman. I save your life, and all you can do is complain?’
Molineaux was now less than a foot from the blade. ‘You’ve come to save my life?’
‘Well, sure I have, Wes. What, you think I hit him for the fun of it?’
‘Then would you mind switching this bloody thing off?’
‘Sorry!’ Lissak looked at the machinery. ‘How do I do that, then?’
‘Pull the lever!’
‘Which one?’
‘How do I know which one? Pull them all!’
Lissak grabbed a lever and pulled it. Released from the ratchet, the carriage started to glide forwards under its own momentum. ‘The other lever, you chucklehead!’
‘You told me to pull them all!’
‘Push it back and pull the other one!’
The saw sliced effortlessly through the ropes binding Molineaux’s ankles together and his legs moved down on either side of it. He managed to brace the soles of his feet against the stanchions that held the axle on which the blade rotated.
‘That was a close shave!’ said Lissak, mopping his brow with a grubby handkerchief.
Molineaux glanced down to where the saw-teeth blurred barely two inches from his crotch. ‘They don’t come much closer,’ he agreed. He pushed off the stanchions with his legs, propelling the carriage back along the rails until he was clear of the blade. ‘Now cut
me loose!’
Lissak produced a pocketknife and sawed through the bonds on Molineaux’s left hand.
‘Behind you!’ yelled Molineaux.
Lissak ducked instinctively and the tomahawk that Forgan swung at his neck passed harmlessly over his head. The old lag thrust at his stomach with the knife, slashing through his guernsey. Forgan dropped the tomahawk and clutched at the wound. ‘You old sonuvabitch!’
Lissak tried to stab him again, but Forgan caught him by the wrist and forced his arm towards the spinning flywheel. With his free hand, Molineaux clawed frantically at the bonds on the other. Lissak could fight dirty with the best of them: he had taught Molineaux every trick he knew, but the most important lesson he had ever taught the black about fighting was that it was best avoided if at all possible.
But Forgan knew a few dirty tricks of his own, and he was much younger and stronger than the old lag. He forced Lissak’s hand back until the blade of the knife struck the spokes of the flywheel and closed over the old lag’s fingers. Lissak cried out and dropped the knife, blood dripping from his fingers. Forgan punched him in the stomach and started to force his head towards the flywheel.
At last the knot came untied and Molineaux swung himself down from the carriage. He tapped Forgan on the shoulder. ‘Try picking on someone your own age.’
Forgan threw Lissak to one side and rounded on Molineaux. The seaman punched him on the jaw, but Forgan rode the blow easily and drove a fist into the seaman’s stomach. Molineaux doubled up, raising his hands to protect his head while the mate relentlessly landed punch after punch against his ribs, driving him steadily back. Molineaux tripped over the tomahawk and sprawled on the floor beside the machinery. Forgan kicked him in the side.
‘Get up, amigo! I’m going to do to your uppity hide what someone should’ve done a long time ago.’
Molineaux reached for the tomahawk, but Forgan kicked it under the machinery. Then he grabbed the seaman by his guernsey and threw him across the carriage. ‘I’ll cut you to the quick, boy!’ he snarled, pushing the carriage towards the still-spinning blade.
‘Let him go!’ snarled Lissak. He had finally unslung the rifle he had brought with him, and levelled it at Forgan’s head.
Killigrew and the Incorrigibles Page 43
