Inferno by Julian Stockwin Page B

caused
Aileen
to sink nearly a foot and McFadden to swear in alarm.
    Meares turned to Kydd. ‘I’d be obliged if we could be gone, Mr Paine.’
    â€˜Directly. But you are addressing the wrong man. It’s Mr Stirk who’s in charge of this enterprise.’
    In the safety of the open sea the principals of the company crowded into
Maid
’s little cuddy for a conference. It wasbrief and led to a unanimous conclusion: there was nothing to be gained by procrastination. The good weather was likely to hold for a day or two more, but in these waters it could easily take a turn for the worse.
    Nowhere was free from prying eyes for trials of the equipment that anyone could think of – except the Armada wreck itself.
    During the remaining hours of darkness they kept to the open sea to the south, and when dawn finally came they set course for Tiree.
    The dark cave and the patch of sea before it had a repellent, cold feel. Kydd wondered if they were being given warning that trespass on the subsea kingdom would not be forgiven.
    There were grave expressions and Kydd saw he wasn’t the only one with qualms.
    â€˜Um, sir, how should we …?’ muttered Stirk, drawing him aside.
    â€˜I’m a bystander only, Toby,’ Kydd answered quietly. ‘I can have no part in this.’
    â€˜I – I read th’ writings, but … but what do we first?’
    â€˜I’m sorry, but you’re in charge. You’ll have to—’
    â€˜Bugger it, Tom! Don’t top it the gent wi’ me now – I’m askin’, mate!’
    Kydd grimaced. By insisting on keeping his distance he was pushing his old friend into public humiliation or worse. There was no lack of courage in Stirk’s stout-hearted character, but Kydd as an officer was trained in the cool analysis of a situation to its elements and the devising of a course of action to meet it.
    He gave a friendly pat on Stirk’s shoulder. ‘You’re in charge,Toby, sure enough – but if I were you, I’d set a kedge and stream killicks out to each side, then rig a stayed traveller and purchase between, so …’
    In an hour they were ready. The two boats lay thirty feet apart with shared hoisting gear and were held in place by anchors spread to the four quarters.
    The huge bulk of the barrel lay along the deck of
Maid
ready for swaying out into the cold green depths. Its copper staying bands and glass eyes flashed in the sun and the varnish of the new timbering shone gaily. To its underside was now clamped the massive black-painted long lead weight that had been the other load.
    â€˜We’ll dip th’ beast in, see if it leaks,’ Stirk decided.
    All hatches and stopcocks were closed, according to the list. Then, with curt seamanlike orders, he had it suspended at the right angle and began lowering.
    â€˜I make no warranty, Mr Paine. None at all,’ Meares said, his hands wringing. ‘We filled it with water overnight to test it, but in the sea, well, it might be different, is all.’
    The barrel touched the sea but as it was lowered deeper it twisted and writhed, refusing to go further, heaving and bobbing half submerged.
    In despair Stirk turned to Kydd in appeal. ‘It don’t want to,’ he croaked.
    â€˜And neither should it, Toby. There’s nobody aboard. Should you weigh it down heavier with something?’
    A body’s weight of anything that could be found was stuffed inside and it was lowered again – this time to sink obediently below the waves. Every eye followed it until the diminished shape faded from view in the depths with nothing left to tell of its existence but the taut ropes plunging straight down.
    In silence it was raised again, the squeal of the block sheaves startling in the quiet, until its glistening bulk broke surface.
    Meares pressed forward gingerly and worked the stopcock. A runnel of water dribbled out, then ceased. It had not leaked.