Blood at Bay. Sue Rabie

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СКАЧАТЬ panel consisting of a rev counter, oil pressure gauge, temperature gauge and generator charge indicator. There were several other instruments along the cabin top: a throttle, a wind indicator, a compass, a rudder indicator, bow-thruster toggles and GPS. There was also a large old-fashioned wheel that wouldn’t have looked out of place on an ancient man-of-war.

      The forward companionway to the right of the wheel was locked. At the rear of the wheelhouse a second companionway led aft, just right of the main mast that towered far above. It, too, was locked.

      “You got the spare keys?” Baumann asked with his hand out.

      David fished in his pocket for the spare set of keys Julian had couriered down to him and handed them over.

      “You should have these locks changed. The two idiots who delivered her still have the originals.”

      David nodded.

      “You got the list?” Baumann asked.

      David fished again to find the list.

      Baumann scanned the page. “Let’s inspect the engine room first, shall we?”

      He unlocked the aft companionway, took the wooden splash board out of its housing and slid the polycarbonate cover back. They both recoiled in disgust.

      “Bloody hell!” Baumann swore.

      “Damn!” David echoed. “What’s that smell?”

      “The heads.”

      “The what?”

      “Toilets.”

      David grimaced as Baumann started down into the darkness. He was reluctant to enter, the stench holding him back.

      “You coming?” Baumann called from below.

      David sighed and started down. The saloon, when he had carefully negotiated the steep, narrow steps and accustomed his eyes to the gloom, was a mess. Empty beer bottles and tins covered the large central table of the once stately saloon, along with dirty plates, coffee mugs, broken glasses and cutlery. The stained and sandy upholstery was strewn with litter and torn magazines. The swift escape of cockroaches darting beneath the debris drew David’s attention to the floor. The caulked teak footsole was smeared with spilt beer and dried beans that had leaked from a can rolling back and forth across the wood. Overhead, the cream-padded ceiling was splattered with red tomato sauce. Or what David hoped was tomato sauce.

      “Access to the engine room is through here,” Baumann beckoned.

      David stared at the spilt coffee and sugar in the recessed work area beside the steps and then ducked through the narrow passageway that led to the galley and the forward cabins. Baumann was already past the mess that had been left in the small kitchen area. The inside of the built-in microwave was splattered with crusty sauce, and the sink was full of dishes, cardboard wrapping and uneaten food. More broken glasses and plates jutted from the debris. The smell from the heads got worse.

      David tried to breathe shallowly as he followed Baumann into the navigation alcove. The forward-companionway steps led down to the chart table, and David wished Baumann had unlocked that hatch as well to help alleviate the stench. The passage stretched forward into darkness and, while Baumann took away the steps beneath the forward companionway and wrestled with the engine-room hatch, David investigated the gloomy passageway. On his left was the main cabin, boasting a double bunk with cleverly fitted recesses for storage and cupboards in every conceivable nook and cranny. The cabin was a mess, and so too was the en suite bathroom.

      David backed out and went to the next cabin. It also had a built-in double bunk, but was smaller, messier and had no en suite. The forecabin had three bunks fitted along the hull, each bunk with a small space for storage against the bulkhead. The crew quarters were full of litter and debris.

      David backtracked, opening a small door on the right that turned out to be another storage locker. The next door was the crew bathroom. The heads.

      He reeled back as he caught the full blast of the reek that flooded out. He caught a glimpse of the toilet overflowing with urine, faeces and vomit before he shut the door and backed away. He leant back against the wood panelling and tried not to breathe.

      “Bad hey?” Baumann shouted to him from inside the engine room. “It’s better in here.”

      David held his breath and made as quickly as possible for the small opening into the bowels of the boat. He ducked down through the forward-engine-room hatch and took in a grateful gasp of diesel fumes. Baumann was right. Anything was better than the stench of the heads.

      “She’s fine down here,” Baumann told him. “No leaks. You’ve got a diesel Perkins ninety-five horsepower engine and a five-kilowatt genset. They’re in relatively good condition. Your gel batteries look good. You’ve got two electrical circuits, a two-twenty-volt AC and a twelve-volt DC for your lighting and instruments.”

      “Right,” David said, not knowing what else to say.

      “Needs a service and clean-up maybe, but other than that everything’s in place.”

      “That’s a relief,” David muttered.

      He followed Baumann out, watching him replace the hatch to the engine room and steps before returning to the saloon.

      “I’ll check the rigging and sails later,” Baumann told David. “That’s a bigger job.”

      David nodded and waited for him to climb up the aft companionway towards the cockpit. He turned as he heard a sound. At the rear of the saloon was a small door he had barely noticed before. It led to the stern. This was in the raised poop at the rear of the boat that could be used as a cabin or as extra storage. He picked his way through the clutter towards the door, trying not to disturb any more cockroaches as he went, and opened the door cautiously.

      The place was a mess. Loose equipment had tumbled everywhere: old canvas, frayed ropes, life jackets, dirty fenders. It all lay in a jumbled heap. But staring out from beneath the mound was a face.

      It was tiny. Black and white. A kitten.

      CHAPTER FIVE

      David took the kitten home simply because he didn’t want it to die on the boat. It was clear that it had been abandoned. It had probably wandered onto the boat somewhere in Richards Bay before Sea Scout sailed for Durban. How the kitten had survived with no food or water was a mystery to him. It must have eaten cockroaches or stolen leftover food, and drunk from the dirty water in the sink or Lord knows where else. Why the two delivery men sailing the boat had not come across it was also a wonder to David. From the sounds of it they didn’t seem the type to tolerate a small animal, and he imagined if they had caught it they would simply have thrown it overboard. Nevertheless, it was his responsibility now, as Baumann pointed out, and a good sign too, as he took lengths to explain.

      “All big boats have cats,” Baumann had told him. “And Scout certainly needs one, what with her roach problem and the inevitable rat or two a boat of her size would certainly have.” He had laughed at David’s expression as he tucked the list into his overalls and relocked the companionways. “I’ll start with those fenders tomorrow. One good blow and the jetty will cut her up to hell.”

      David nodded. “I’ll keep the forward-companionway СКАЧАТЬ