Skull and Bones. John Drake

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ there?”

      “Yes. They raised the dollars.”

      “Why’d he want the money? For himself?”

      “No! He already had the men, but not the funds.”

      “And now he’s got the money he needs…?”

      “He’s well on the way to getting it. And have you spoken to him? Listened to him?”

      “Aye! Never heard the like!”

      Norton nodded. “And he knows all the old families, and the colonels of all the regiments.”

      “Are you saying he could do it? Raise rebellion?”

      “We don’t know. But we fear that he might.”

      “Who’s we?”

      “The Lord Chancellor, the cabinet, and me.”

      “Bugger me!” said Silver. “Precious high company you keep.” Then a thought struck him: “Hold hard, my jolly boy…” He frowned. “If McLonarch is so bleedin’ dangerous, why was just yourself sent out to nab him?”

      “A naval expedition couldn’t be sent for fear of someone warning McLonarch.”

      “Jacobites in the navy?”

      “Perhaps. So I was sent quietly, with five good men.”

      “Only five?”

      “Them…and papers for me to command local forces.”

      “So where are they? Your men?”

      Norton sighed. “Dead or wounded, as are several dozen colonial militiamen.”

      “And what about the Jacobites? How many of them are dead?”

      “I lost count.”

      Silver laughed. He liked Norton. But there was more. Silver put his head on one side and looked at the tough, self-assured man who stood so sure on a rolling deck.

      “Are you a seaman, Mr Norton?” he said.

      Norton shrugged. “I can hand, reef and steer.”

      “Aye! But I’ll warrant you ain’t no foremast hand.”

      “Not I!” said Norton with pride. “I was first mate aboard a Bristol slaver.”

      “Ah!” said Silver. “The blackbird trade? That breeds good seamen!”

      “Them as it don’t kill!” said Norton and saw the respect in Silver’s eyes. But then he wished he’d kept his trap shut.

      “Right then, my cocker,” said Silver, grinning. “Whatever else I take out of this ship…” he looked the prize up and down “…I’m having you!”

      “What?”

      “Aye! ‘Cos I’ve two cock-fumbling bodgers for navigators what can’t find their own arseholes with a quadrant, and I want at least one bugger aboard what can!”

      

      On Walrus’s quarterdeck, Selena smiled at Mr Joe, the young black who’d once been a plantation slave and was now gunner’s mate. He was a slim, handsome man, with a rakish patch covering a lost eye, and was further distinguished by the heavy Jamaican cane-cutlass that he wore in his belt instead of the customary sea-service weapon.

      “Thank you, Mr Joe,” she said.

      “That ain’t no matter, ma’am,” said Joe. “I’ll have your box brought up, an’ if you wants to leave the ship, ma’am, why so you shall!” And Mr Joe stepped forward to send a man for the box –

      “Stand clear there!” cried Dr Cowdray, ship’s surgeon. “Stand clear!” Cowdray was hurrying aft from the waist, followed by four men bearing the broken-legged Dusty Miller on an improvised stretcher.

      Miller was whining pitifully and shedding tears. “Ow! Ow!” he cried. “Rum, for the love o’ fucking Jesus!”

      “Later, sir!” cried Cowdray. “You shall have rum to ease the reduction of your limb. Indeed: fiat haustus! Let the draught be prepared!”

      “Ugh!” said Selena, catching sight of Miller’s injury.

      “Oh mother!” said Mr Joe, for the leg was crooked into a right-angle between ankle and knee, and a bloodied end of bone stuck out through the flesh of the shin.

      “Here!” cried Miller, seeing their reactions, and grabbing at Cowdray’s arm. “You ain’t gonna cut orf my fucking leg, now…are you?”

      “Stultum est timere quod vitare non potes!” said Cowdray. “Do not fear that which you cannot prevent!”

      “Ahhhhh!” screamed Miller. “You bastard! You ain’t cutting orf my sodding leg, you mother-fucking sawbones!”

      “No, sir,” cried Cowdray, “you misunderstand. We shall save it!”

      The surgeon was frowning as if in utmost concern, but inwardly he was rejoicing. As ever when Walrus went into action he was ready for the wounded in a fresh-boiled linen apron, sleeves rolled up, spectacles on his nose. And now, here was a wonderful case of compound fracture to test his skills, since – unlike most surgeons – he believed amputation to be unnecessary. With cleanliness and care, the limb could be saved – and he was itching to prove it.

      “Let ‘em through,” said Mr Joe, and he stood back as Cowdray, still spouting Latin, manoeuvred his patient down a hatchway, addressing the filthy-tongued Miller with the same courteous politeness he’d used towards honest patients years ago.

      When they’d gone, Selena looked to Venture’s Fortune, heaving up and down on the ocean swell alongside of Walrus, the lines that bound them together creaking and stretching under the strain. “She’s home-bound to England, isn’t she, Joe?”

      “Aye, ma’am. Bound for Polmouth with rum and sugar under hatches.”

      “And will Long John let her go?”

      “Once we’ve plucked her. That’s Long John’s way.”

      “Good. Then I’ll go aboard…and leave with her.”

      “But –”

      “Don’t!” she said. “I won’t live this life. I’ve told Long John.”

      Mr Joe tried, nonetheless. He told her that she’d never even seen England, and had no friends there, and that – should she be recognised – the crimes she’d committed in the colonies would hang her just as dead in the mother country. And he reminded her of Silver: fine man that he was, and how the hands would follow him “down the cannon’s mouth” when it came to action: a bad choice of СКАЧАТЬ