The Devil's Eye by Ian Townsend Page A

together today, we’ll never find your pearl.’
    ‘Shush!’ Sam looked over his shoulder to make sure no one had heard. ‘I’m the only one who can stop you going to hell, Willie Tanna.’
    It was the top of the tide and the tide would ebb to the north, not over the seagrass, but over a patch that the lugger had worked the day before.
    Willie had been anxious to make the most of the offshore morning breeze, because it would turn back tothe north and tacking against it to start another run would be costly. Now, having wasted the morning, he’d have to work harder.
    But what he was looking forward to now was being on the bottom where it was cool and relatively quiet.
    The coffee came; the crew fixed the pump.
    ‘Remember,’ Sam told him. ‘Two pulls and two shakes of the lifeline if you see that old crocodile. I’ll have you up before he can lick his lips.’
    Sam was bent over, washing the heavy brass diving helmet in a bucket of soapy water. The crew were at their stations.
    ‘I’m not afraid of any crocodile,’ said Willie.
    ‘Pray with me.’
    ‘What I’m afraid of is you pulling me up fast. Don’t do it again.’
    Sam took Willie’s gloved hand and closed his eyes. Willie snatched his hand back. ‘Let’s just say that God gives us a pearl,’ he hissed, as Sam continued praying silently with his eyes shut.
    Sam opened his eyes. ‘Amen.’
    ‘What do we do with it?’
    ‘Keep it safe. Sell it ashore.’
    ‘Joe Harry and Thomas both say they will buy any pearl we fish.’
    ‘And that’s why we won’t sell it to them. Someone else is buying from them. We sell it directly to him. You see?’
    ‘No,’ said Willie and he took a deep breath. ‘Just don’t pull me up fast.’
    Sam put the clean helmet in a bucket of salt water and began fussing with the corselet, leads, lifeline and lashings.
    ‘Right then,’ said Sam.
    ‘Raise the anchor,’ shouted Willie, throwing his cigarette over the side.
    The tide was running out, the crew weighed the main anchor and let go a light drift anchor. The mainsail came down and the lugger swung around so that its nose pointed towards Barrow Island.
    Sam looked over the side with his usual concern. ‘If the current runs a bit faster I’ll hang the main anchor over the back. You might have to step out a bit to keep up.’
    Willie stood, a giant baby, and waddled to the side dragging his leaden boots. Far to the north were the sails of a schooner.
    ‘Who’s that?’ asked Waller.
    ‘It must be the Admiral .’
    ‘About time. We need gaskets.’
    Willie looked doubtfully at the pump but then grabbed a shroud, turned around and stepped backwards onto the ladder and into the sea until his corselet was level with the deck.
    Sam sent the hands to the pump handles. ‘Don’twear the damned thing out before the skipper gets down,’ he told them.
    They grinned at each other, spat in their hands, and turned the handles. The pump made a series of small sneezes.
    Sam leant down and lashed the leads on Willie’s back and chest, and then ceremonially lifted the massive helmet from its bucket of water.
    ‘Don’t forget what I said,’ said Sam.
    ‘Fornication is a mortal sin?’
    ‘Two pulls and two shakes,’ and he carefully put the helmet over Willie’s head.
    Willie watched Sam’s face appear and vanish in turn as the helmet was screwed into the suit. Each time he appeared, Sam would smile in a manner he must have thought was reassuring.
    Willie had a habit of closing his eyes at the end of this process and wouldn’t open them until he heard the back stud click to secure the helmet to the suit.
    The pump handlers found a rhythm and their song came to Willie from far away as Sam tugged at every possible lead, knot and bolt. Willie opened his eyes as Sam screwed on the face plate. He then rapped the helmet with his knuckle.
    With a big-gloved hand, Willie took the shell bag from the deck beside the ladder, grabbed the plumper rope and stepped backwards. He saw