rank.
Craddock faced him again. “We’re armed, if that’s what’s troubling you. Inspector Munro and I have our revolvers, Constable Palmer a sawn-down shotgun.”
Ryland shrugged, as if this was inconsequential.
“ Captain, you surely realise that danger is part and parcel of law-enforcement? Or are you one of those officers of militia who prefers to earn his ribbons riding down striking cotton-workers?”
Ryland straightened up. “It’s not a matter of that. I’m as prepared to face an armed felon as the next chap. But … the Catherine-Maria .” He gestured through the window. “Look at her.”
They did. Perhaps it was an optical illusion, but more of the scuttled vessel now appeared to be visible than before. She was an immense, frightful object, all mildewed timber and tattered rigging. Even from this distance, her scabrous hull glittered black and green in the torchlight of the surrounding horsemen.
“ When she saw action as a French warship, she held a crew of eight-hundred,” Ryland said. “Eight-hundred maximum. Yet when we captured her and turned her into a prison, we crammed over two-thousand convicts inside her. At times many more than that. Many more. Hundreds of them died: disease, malnutrition, brutality. No wonder she’s got the reputation she has.”
“ What reputation?” Munro asked.
Ryland smiled to himself. “I see bad news doesn’t travel far. Well, that’s good. You stay over in Wigan, Inspector Munro … twelve miles away, where you’ll be safe. If you lived in Southport or Lytham, though, you wouldn’t come out here after dark.”
“ What reputation?” Craddock asked again.
There was now near-silence in the tap-room; only the spitting and snapping of the flames. The troopers’ expressions were sullen, fearful. A moment passed, then Ryland flung his half-smoked cheroot into the hearth. “Damn it, she’s supposed to be haunted! Isn’t that plainly obvious? My lads are doing well just to be holding their ground encircling her.”
“ Haunted?” Craddock said.
His voice betrayed no emotion, but Ryland, possibly through guilt or embarrassment, or both, read it differently. “Don’t mock me, sir! I don’t believe in bogies or demons. But there’s something about that ship. I don’t know the truth, who does? But there was so much pain and despair confined in that place. Not to mention the evil; imagine the concentration of evil!” He paused. “Is it so impossible to believe that some kind of imprint has been left behind?”
Craddock remained blank-faced. “I assume that what you’re getting round to telling me is that none of your hussars will be coming aboard with us?”
“ You’re still going out there?”
“ Yes, we’re going out there. We have a job to do.”
“ Then I’m sorry to say you’ll be on your own. Even if I ordered my men to accompany you, they’d probably mutiny. They’re locals, farm-labourers for the most part, apprentice boys. They’ve grown up in the shadow of that thing. It’s terrified most of them since they were youngsters.”
Craddock glanced at his two police officers. They regarded him steadily, unhappy but knowing better than to question his judgment in the presence of others.
“ I’m sure you understand,” Ryland added. “As a former service-man, you must admit there are some things you simply can not order your men to do.”
“ You can at least ask them,” the major said. “See if there are any volunteers.”
“ I’ll ask, but there’ll be none forthcoming …”
Rather to Ryland’s surprise, however, one of the hussars immediately stepped forwards. “I’ll go with ’em, sir,” he said.
“ Corporal Kenton,” Ryland muttered with something like distaste.
Kenton, a barrel-chested individual, with thick black side-whiskers and a brown, brutal face, nodded and unslung his cloak. “I’m no feared of that ship, sir.”
Like the other part-time soldiers, he wore a heavy sabre and carried a
Craddock faced him again. “We’re armed, if that’s what’s troubling you. Inspector Munro and I have our revolvers, Constable Palmer a sawn-down shotgun.”
Ryland shrugged, as if this was inconsequential.
“ Captain, you surely realise that danger is part and parcel of law-enforcement? Or are you one of those officers of militia who prefers to earn his ribbons riding down striking cotton-workers?”
Ryland straightened up. “It’s not a matter of that. I’m as prepared to face an armed felon as the next chap. But … the Catherine-Maria .” He gestured through the window. “Look at her.”
They did. Perhaps it was an optical illusion, but more of the scuttled vessel now appeared to be visible than before. She was an immense, frightful object, all mildewed timber and tattered rigging. Even from this distance, her scabrous hull glittered black and green in the torchlight of the surrounding horsemen.
“ When she saw action as a French warship, she held a crew of eight-hundred,” Ryland said. “Eight-hundred maximum. Yet when we captured her and turned her into a prison, we crammed over two-thousand convicts inside her. At times many more than that. Many more. Hundreds of them died: disease, malnutrition, brutality. No wonder she’s got the reputation she has.”
“ What reputation?” Munro asked.
Ryland smiled to himself. “I see bad news doesn’t travel far. Well, that’s good. You stay over in Wigan, Inspector Munro … twelve miles away, where you’ll be safe. If you lived in Southport or Lytham, though, you wouldn’t come out here after dark.”
“ What reputation?” Craddock asked again.
There was now near-silence in the tap-room; only the spitting and snapping of the flames. The troopers’ expressions were sullen, fearful. A moment passed, then Ryland flung his half-smoked cheroot into the hearth. “Damn it, she’s supposed to be haunted! Isn’t that plainly obvious? My lads are doing well just to be holding their ground encircling her.”
“ Haunted?” Craddock said.
His voice betrayed no emotion, but Ryland, possibly through guilt or embarrassment, or both, read it differently. “Don’t mock me, sir! I don’t believe in bogies or demons. But there’s something about that ship. I don’t know the truth, who does? But there was so much pain and despair confined in that place. Not to mention the evil; imagine the concentration of evil!” He paused. “Is it so impossible to believe that some kind of imprint has been left behind?”
Craddock remained blank-faced. “I assume that what you’re getting round to telling me is that none of your hussars will be coming aboard with us?”
“ You’re still going out there?”
“ Yes, we’re going out there. We have a job to do.”
“ Then I’m sorry to say you’ll be on your own. Even if I ordered my men to accompany you, they’d probably mutiny. They’re locals, farm-labourers for the most part, apprentice boys. They’ve grown up in the shadow of that thing. It’s terrified most of them since they were youngsters.”
Craddock glanced at his two police officers. They regarded him steadily, unhappy but knowing better than to question his judgment in the presence of others.
“ I’m sure you understand,” Ryland added. “As a former service-man, you must admit there are some things you simply can not order your men to do.”
“ You can at least ask them,” the major said. “See if there are any volunteers.”
“ I’ll ask, but there’ll be none forthcoming …”
Rather to Ryland’s surprise, however, one of the hussars immediately stepped forwards. “I’ll go with ’em, sir,” he said.
“ Corporal Kenton,” Ryland muttered with something like distaste.
Kenton, a barrel-chested individual, with thick black side-whiskers and a brown, brutal face, nodded and unslung his cloak. “I’m no feared of that ship, sir.”
Like the other part-time soldiers, he wore a heavy sabre and carried a
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