Ocean Without End by Kelly Gardiner Page A

the rails. We were drifting far too close in for my liking, with not enough wind to bring us about and out of danger. Nasty sharp-edged rocks, they were, too, with the waves crashing against them. Even in a small boat it’d be a close shave.
    There was panic in the men’s voices. I guessed they’d rather take their chances with the navy ships than be crushed against the rocks, here on the edge of the desert. On this desolate coast nobody would find a shipwrecked crew. Nobody would save us.
    â€˜About ship!’
    Jem jumped up on the quarterdeck, calling out.
    â€˜Ready about!’
    Miller was at the wheel, using all his weight to bring the ship around.
    â€˜Helm’s a-lee!’ he cried.
    The deck watch let go the staysail sheets and ran across to pull the headsail tight. I ran with them, joined the end of the line, and pulled on the sheet with all my might.
    It wasn’t much, but it was just enough to get us under way. Gisella lurched again, out into the bay, and we tacked carefully into open water. The crew worked like demons, desperate to get away from this damned cove. The huge square sails had to beangled around on their yards to catch the wind. We heaved so hard on the braces I thought my elbows might pop out of their sockets.
    It was the same as being out in the Swallow with Lucas, really, except there were ten times as many sails and sheets, and the pulleys were about as big as my head. But the sounds were familiar, and the luffing of the canvas told the same story. I helped as best I could, anticipating Jem’s calls and running to wherever I could be of most use. I knew, like he did, when it was time to tack again, when to get ready, when to squint up at the sails for those tell-tale signs.
    We rounded the headland at last, catching the offshore breeze, and it wasn’t until we were running downwind along the coast that we relaxed. Hussein Reis and his low, fast taridha were already out of sight.
    Jem strode past to check on the foresail, and patted my head as he passed.
    â€˜Good work, Cygnet,’ he whispered. ‘You must be a hell of a sailor.’
    It was then I realised I had helped Gisella escape, not just from a sure disaster on the rocks, but also from the ships that might have rescued me. I had lost myself in a moment of excitement, of danger, and had strained every muscle alongside these blasted pirates to help them to safety. Was I crazy? I sat down on the hatch, suddenly exhausted and feeling strangely empty inside.
    Diablo stood oblivious on the quarterdeck, his telescope fixed on the sails away to the east. It wasclear they had not seen us. I could hear the captain chuckle.
    There would be no rescue for me. I was stuck on Gisella , and at that moment it seemed like my own stupid fault.

6.
Cut and thrust
    After dark, we changed course again. The men who had gathered in the galley for their gruel were moaning, as usual, Cook louder than any.
    â€˜Feels like we’re not headed for Tripoli after all, mates,’ said Harry, his mouth crammed full of leftover goat meat. ‘Due north, it is. Jem says we’re sailing back the way we came, now we’ve shaken off those Frenchies.’
    â€˜It’ll be biscuit and salt beef soon, just like the Navy,’ warned Cook. ‘If I don’t see a market town in the next week, there’ll be scurvy and hell to pay.’
    I was huddled on my bed under the bench. I knew where we were headed, sure enough — back towards Santa Lucia, to Isola di Bravo and the Golden Grotto. Only God, Diablo and Hussein Reis knew why. I’d take them there. I had no choice. But there’d be little chance of escape, I knew that. If we sailed in from the south, even in the ship’s launch, there’d be no way of landing. The cliffs on that side of the island were a hundred feet high, and the currents made it impossible to get in close. If I tried to swim ashore, I’d be smashed on the rocks.
    The only