don't
want
to take it to London.” I had to look up at him, feeling small and childish. “I want to take the brandy right where the smugglers would. To the cross on the map.But I'll go ashore–or someone will–and we'll have the revenue waiting. A trap, Captain Crowe. I want to set a trap.”
His face began to soften, and the redness swiftly left it, the way a bit of metal cools when it's taken from a forge. I pointed at Larson. “He had no one else to turn to; I have to do this. Or I have to try. And when it's done, I want to take the
Dragon
home.” I stared up at Captain Crowe, and already he was smiling. “That's all I meant,” I said.
“Weel, it's a' for ye to say, Mr. Spencer. Ye're the owner's son.” At last he lifted his boot from the deck. And with a gesture that I was sure was meant to be kindly, he nudged the book toward me with his toe. “She's your own ship, more or less,” he said. “And I'm just a lowly sailor.”
I didn't know how to reply. A moment before, he was the master and I a boy. One moment he was livid with anger, and the next he was doing all he could to please me.
“It's best to take the proper course,” he continued as he helped me up with a tug on my collar. His smile had become a grin. “And if good King George thinks it fit to say a little 'thank ye' wi' a purse full o' guineas, then it's a' the better. But it's no for that I'll do it.”
He was a scoundrel, I thought. It was
just
for that he'd do it.
“And now,” he said happily, “let's get your friend over the side.”
I put the book back in the envelope and shoved it in my pocket. We went back to the dreary task of wrapping Larson in his shroud. But Captain Crowe seemed more cheerful than he ever had, as though a tremendous burden hadbeen taken from him. He laughed, and he tweaked the dead man's cheek before he covered up that poor white face. Then the body lay between us like a big cocoon, and the captain sent me down to fetch a weight. “A ballast stone,” he said. “And mind ye get one big enough.”
I fetched a lantern and went right to the depths of the ship, where water, brown and fetid, slurped among the timbers. I went through the darkness in a circle of light, frightening cockroaches into shelter, hearing the groans and creaks of the hull as it worked. The places where I had to go were small and cramped, and I slithered through them as the lantern made the shadows zoom and tilt.
And someone came behind me.
When I stopped, he was silent. When I moved, so did he. I heard a faint creaking of wood as he crept up, closing the distance. He was quiet as a cat. And suddenly I felt a hand touch my shoulder. I cried out, startled, as he pushed me down against the hull.
“You're in danger, boy,” said he.
I tried to lift myself, to turn and see him, but the sailor held me down.
“Watch yourself,” he said. “There's one aboard who'll kill you.”
“Who?”
For a moment I only heard him breathing. He said, “The one who seems least likely.”
“But who?” I asked again.
He pressed harder on my shoulder. “He'll want the dead man's secrets. See you keep them safe.”
“Who are you?” I asked.
“A man you never saw.” And then the hand was gone.
I struggled around and raised my lantern. But the sailor had vanished so quickly there was nothing to see but shadows. It was as though he had never come at all. Yet some-how I could
feel
him in the damp air, and for a long, long time I stayed still, listening and watching. But only shadows moved; only wood and water made a sound. And finally I carried on, down toward the stern.
I made my way to the lazarette, to a gloomy place below the wheel, where the tiller–as big as a ceiling beam–shook and rattled as it swung to turn the rudder post. The steering lines were badly slack, and they squealed through the blocks with the sound of frightened pigs. It was there I found a pile of stones, worn smooth and round, and began to take one from the top.
The
want
to take it to London.” I had to look up at him, feeling small and childish. “I want to take the brandy right where the smugglers would. To the cross on the map.But I'll go ashore–or someone will–and we'll have the revenue waiting. A trap, Captain Crowe. I want to set a trap.”
His face began to soften, and the redness swiftly left it, the way a bit of metal cools when it's taken from a forge. I pointed at Larson. “He had no one else to turn to; I have to do this. Or I have to try. And when it's done, I want to take the
Dragon
home.” I stared up at Captain Crowe, and already he was smiling. “That's all I meant,” I said.
“Weel, it's a' for ye to say, Mr. Spencer. Ye're the owner's son.” At last he lifted his boot from the deck. And with a gesture that I was sure was meant to be kindly, he nudged the book toward me with his toe. “She's your own ship, more or less,” he said. “And I'm just a lowly sailor.”
I didn't know how to reply. A moment before, he was the master and I a boy. One moment he was livid with anger, and the next he was doing all he could to please me.
“It's best to take the proper course,” he continued as he helped me up with a tug on my collar. His smile had become a grin. “And if good King George thinks it fit to say a little 'thank ye' wi' a purse full o' guineas, then it's a' the better. But it's no for that I'll do it.”
He was a scoundrel, I thought. It was
just
for that he'd do it.
“And now,” he said happily, “let's get your friend over the side.”
I put the book back in the envelope and shoved it in my pocket. We went back to the dreary task of wrapping Larson in his shroud. But Captain Crowe seemed more cheerful than he ever had, as though a tremendous burden hadbeen taken from him. He laughed, and he tweaked the dead man's cheek before he covered up that poor white face. Then the body lay between us like a big cocoon, and the captain sent me down to fetch a weight. “A ballast stone,” he said. “And mind ye get one big enough.”
I fetched a lantern and went right to the depths of the ship, where water, brown and fetid, slurped among the timbers. I went through the darkness in a circle of light, frightening cockroaches into shelter, hearing the groans and creaks of the hull as it worked. The places where I had to go were small and cramped, and I slithered through them as the lantern made the shadows zoom and tilt.
And someone came behind me.
When I stopped, he was silent. When I moved, so did he. I heard a faint creaking of wood as he crept up, closing the distance. He was quiet as a cat. And suddenly I felt a hand touch my shoulder. I cried out, startled, as he pushed me down against the hull.
“You're in danger, boy,” said he.
I tried to lift myself, to turn and see him, but the sailor held me down.
“Watch yourself,” he said. “There's one aboard who'll kill you.”
“Who?”
For a moment I only heard him breathing. He said, “The one who seems least likely.”
“But who?” I asked again.
He pressed harder on my shoulder. “He'll want the dead man's secrets. See you keep them safe.”
“Who are you?” I asked.
“A man you never saw.” And then the hand was gone.
I struggled around and raised my lantern. But the sailor had vanished so quickly there was nothing to see but shadows. It was as though he had never come at all. Yet some-how I could
feel
him in the damp air, and for a long, long time I stayed still, listening and watching. But only shadows moved; only wood and water made a sound. And finally I carried on, down toward the stern.
I made my way to the lazarette, to a gloomy place below the wheel, where the tiller–as big as a ceiling beam–shook and rattled as it swung to turn the rudder post. The steering lines were badly slack, and they squealed through the blocks with the sound of frightened pigs. It was there I found a pile of stones, worn smooth and round, and began to take one from the top.
The
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