Chapter 15

Bad Medicine

‘What?’ Salazar said with amusement. ‘No heated denials? No protestations of innocence?’

‘You seem to be pretty sure of your information,’ Killigrew said mildly, although his mind was reeling. ‘May I enquire how you came by it?’

‘So you can return to England and exact your revenge on the one who betrayed you? Put such thoughts from your mind, Mr Killigrew. You will not be seeing England again.’

‘You mean to say he was a spy all along? Spying on me?’

‘Spying on us, Captain Madison,’ said Salazar. ‘It’s the name of your financial backers he’s really interested in, although I’m sure his navy would be grateful for the name of your ship and the location of this barracoon.’

‘Goddamn it, didn’t I always say that sonuvabitch wasn’t on the level?’ exclaimed Coffin, banging his fist on the table.

‘Is it true, then?’ Madison asked Killigrew, more in sorrow than in anger. ‘Have you been a viper in my bosom all this time? I am sorely disappointed in you, Mr Killigrew.’

‘I think we should congratulate him for carrying out his imposture so successfully,’ said Salazar. ‘It was a courageous effort, although doomed to failure. I must say, Mr Killigrew, you seem to be taking your defeat with remarkable composure.’

‘I’ve lost this trick, but not the hand.’

‘I think you’ll find that you’ve played your last card.’

‘Oh, I may have a few more left up my sleeve…’ Killigrew suddenly leaped up from his chair, knocking it over backwards, and whirled, snatching the carving knife from the sideboard behind him. He hauled Salazar out of his seat and held the knife’s serrated edge to his throat.

Madison, Coffin and Khari all jumped to their feet, but they were too slow. Too slow, that is, compared to Assata. In the blink of an eye she had drawn both her pistols and now levelled them, unwavering, at Killigrew’s head.

‘No!’ Salazar called to her in panic. ‘Don’t shoot.’

Killigrew grinned nervously. ‘Don’t worry, Mr Salazar. If Miss Assata knows how to use those things – and from the look of her, she does – then she knows she’s got as much chance of hitting you as she has of killing me.’

‘I doubt it,’ Salazar returned mildly. ‘Assata is an excellent shot and she would have no difficulty putting out both your eyes at that range. No, my concern was for the Tintoretto on the wall behind you. So please, Mr Killigrew, do both art and yourself a favour and resume your seat so we can finish dinner like civilised gentlemen.’ He held out a hand, palm upwards, and Killigrew, seeing the futility of further resistance, hesitated only for a moment before he surrendered the carving knife. Everyone sat down once more, the footman hurrying forwards to right Killigrew’s chair for him.

‘Better we kill him now and be done with it,’ snarled Coffin. ‘I’ll do it myself if you like.’

‘Please, please!’ said Salazar. ‘Nothing so uncouth as bloodshed at the dinner table, I pray you. Besides, I think it would be better if Mr Killigrew here informed us exactly how much Rear-Admiral Napier knows of our activities before we see to it that he takes his final leave of this world.’

‘Torture, I suppose,’ Miss Chance said coldly. ‘Have you people no consciences?’

‘I used to have one,’ said Salazar. ‘But I outgrew it. The vast wealth I have earned as a consequence is more than adequate compensation.’

Coffin shook his head. ‘He won’t tell you a thing. I know his sort. He’s dangerous. Better to kill him now and be done with it, as I said before.’

‘Oh, I’m sure Mr Killigrew can be persuaded to tell us everything he knows. Have you ever studied the history of the Spanish Inquisition, Miss Chance? Some of the techniques they used were really quite sophisticated. But tell me, Captain Madison: you have still not yet revealed the reason for Miss Chance’s presence.’

‘It was sheer mischance which brought Miss Chance to us, if you’ll pardon the pun,’ said Madison, oblivious to the look she shot him which suggested that pardoning the pun was not on her personal agenda. ‘Her ship went down in a storm about a week ago. We found her, her brother and a sailor floating in the water the next morning. Mr Coffin was for leaving them to their fate; foolishly, I chose to be guided by Mr Killigrew’s advice. I should have guessed then, when I realised he was still a sentimentalist at heart, that he was up to no good. Mr Coffin was kind enough to dispose of the sailor as soon as they realised we were slavers. Miss Chance’s brother, the Reverend Chance, is so sick he doesn’t even know his own name, so he’s no threat; in fact I’ve a feeling he won’t last the night,’ he added with a sly smile which made Killigrew fear for the missionary’s life.

‘But as for Miss Chance herself, well… you can see we have a problem. Call me old-fashioned, Mr Salazar, yet I still balk at the thought of killing a woman. But as you can understand, we can’t very well let her go. Least of all now that she’s been here and seen this place. Then I thought of you. Might there be a place in your harem for her?’

Miss Chance leaped to her feet and flushed bright crimson. ‘What? How dare you!’ Assata quickly stepped up behind her and forced her back down into her chair. Miss Chance struggled against her, but the Dahomey amazon was bigger and stronger than her, and twisted her arm up into the small of her back until she cried out in pain. ‘Let go of me, you… evil woman!’

‘Enough, Assata!’ snapped Salazar, and the woman released Miss Chance with a contemptuous curl of her lip.

‘Let the girl go on her word of honour that she’ll breathe nothing of what she’s seen to a living soul, and I’ll tell you everything you want to know,’ Killigrew said tightly.

‘But you are going to do that anyway, whether you like it or not,’ Salazar pointed out reasonably. ‘You are in no position to bargain, Mr Killigrew.’ He turned back to Madison and Coffin. ‘It is a generous gift, my friends.’

‘The least we can do, under the circumstances,’ said Madison. ‘If it hadn’t been for your informant in England, my carelessness in having Killigrew in my crew could have ruined us all.’

‘Then I shall accept your gift. She will be a fine addition to my little menagerie.’

‘For the love of mercy, Mr Killigrew!’ implored Miss Chance. ‘Surely you cannot mean to sit there and say nothing while these evil swine treat me like… like some kind of chattel?’

‘There is not a lot Mr Killigrew can do about it,’ said Salazar. ‘If I were you, Miss Chance, I should not look to him for help. He is as good as dead. Whether that death comes swiftly and painlessly, or is lingering and agonising, is entirely up to him. The sooner you accept that and resign yourself to your fate, the happier you will be, I assure you. I pride myself on how well I treat my concubines, and I hope I am not without my charms…’

‘You have all the charm of a rattlesnake, Mr Salazar. I wouldn’t willingly associate with you if you were the last man in the world.’

Killigrew chuckled.

‘That amuses you, Mr Killigrew?’ said Salazar, evidently hurt by her rebuff. ‘Laugh while you can. You will have nothing to laugh about tomorrow, I assure you.’

‘I believe it’s customary to give the condemned man a last request?’ asked Killigrew.

‘Of course, within reason. Perhaps you would like the pick of my harem? I often treat honoured guests so, and your bravery deserves reward. But not Miss Chance, however. I prefer my meat fresh, and do not care to taste of another man’s leavings.’

‘What a charming way of looking at things you have, Mr Salazar. Actually, I was thinking more along the lines of something to drink, since I’ve been on the wagon for about a month now and there’s no longer any need for me to maintain the pretence of being teetotal.’

Salazar laughed. ‘Of course. Some wine for Mr Killigrew, Henriques?’

‘Actually, I know it’s a little early in the meal, but I wondered if I might trouble you for something a little stronger? To help calm my nerves, you understand.’

‘Then I entreat you to try my cognac. It was left in the cellars of Bonaparte’s home on the island of Saint-Helena. I purchased it at auction for no less than five thousand pounds per bottle. A fitting last request, would you not say?’

‘Genuine Napoleon brandy,’ Killigrew remarked with a smile, as Henriques leaned over him to place a balloon glass on the table.

‘It was well worth every penny I paid for it,’ said Salazar.

‘It has a splendidly smoky flavour.’

As Henriques leaned over the table with the bottle of cognac, Killigrew shifted his chair slightly and a moment later the footman had dropped the bottle and was hopping about, clutching his foot.

‘Oh, I’m sorry, did I hurt you?’ Killigrew quickly righted the bottle and mopped up the puddle of spilt cognac from the surface of the table with his napkin. ‘My apologies. How clumsy of me.’ He made as if to wring out the napkin, twisting it between his hands, and then thrust it into the neck of the bottle and touched the cognac-soaked cloth to one of the candles in the nearest candelabra. The cognac flamed at once and then Killigrew hurled the bottle at Assata. She ducked and the bottle smashed against the wall, spraying the far end of the room with flaming cognac.

Killigrew rammed his elbow into Salazar’s face, knocking him backwards over his chair, and then tipped the table over sideways against Coffin, pinning him in his seat. He grabbed Miss Chance by the wrist and dragged her through the door leading to the kitchen before any of the others could recover in time to react. They slammed the door behind them and a moment later two bullets smashed the panels in quick succession.

A tall wooden dresser piled with crockery stood beside the door, and Killigrew at once tried to pull it over in front of the door. Seeing his intention, Miss Chance helped him and a moment later it crashed into place, scattering shards of broken crockery across the floor. The door opened an inch a moment later, and was then brought up short as the dresser blocked it. On the other side, someone started to throw their shoulder against it.

Killigrew and Miss Chance turned away from the door to see a heavily built chef with a scar down one side of his face staring at them in astonishment. Recovering quickly, the chef snatched up a large triangular-bladed knife and lunged at them.

Killigrew dodged the thrust and backed away around the kitchen table. A cauldron of consommé was gently warming over the hearth; Killigrew grabbed a butcher’s hook, using it to tip up the cauldron so that a tidal wave of soup splashed across the floor towards the chef. Even further enraged at seeing his creation treated in such a cavalier manner, he charged forwards. As he thrust at Killigrew’s throat, Killigrew caught him by the wrist. The two of them struggled chest-to-chest with the knife between them. The chef was the stronger of the two, and he forced Killigrew back into the flames in the hearth at the same time that he turned the blade’s point towards Killigrew’s left eye.

Then there was a dull thump and the chef’s head jerked. His eyes rolled up and he slid down to the floor to reveal Miss Chance standing behind him wielding a heavy wooden chopping board in both hands.

The men on the other side of the door had stopped trying to open it and were now trying to smash it, the panels splintering as they attacked them with some sharp, heavy object. Killigrew grabbed Miss Chance by the hand. ‘Come on.’

There was another door on the far side of the kitchen. It was locked but the key was in the hole. Killigrew unlocked it, took out the key and hustled Miss Chance through, before following her out and locking the door behind them. He looked around to get his bearings, and then dragged her after him as he dashed across the lawn. There was a brick wall nearly eight feet high at the far end of the garden. He leaped up and got his hands over the top of it, his feet scrabbling against the bricks until he was able to pull himself up. Sitting astride the wall he glanced down to help Miss Chance up after him, but there was no sign of her.

‘Miss Chance?’ he hissed urgently into the darkness.

‘Behind you.’

He twisted, and saw her seated on the wall beside him. ‘How did you…?’

‘What?’

‘Never mind.’ His hand found hers in the darkness and the two of them jumped from the wall, rolling over on the compacted earth below.

A bell tolled sonorously in the darkness, some kind of alarm, and in the glow of torches off to their right they could see armed men emerging from the low barracks they had seen earlier. ‘Maybe they don’t want us to leave after all,’ mused Killigrew, leading the way between two single-storey thatched buildings.

Behind them torches and lanterns were being lit throughout the barracoon. Killigrew was tempted to find the slave pens to release all the slaves, using the confusion he would thus cause to effect his own escape. But the slaves would be locked in, fettered and shackled and under heavy guard. Releasing them would have to wait for another day, when he came back with reinforcements to destroy the barracoon once and for all. The only way he could make sure of that was to get out alive.

They plunged into the bushes beneath some trees, blundering through the thick undergrowth until he was sure they had lost their pursuers. He became aware that Miss Chance was pulling back against him, trying to slow him. ‘Stop!’ she hissed. ‘We can’t go anywhere without my brother!’

‘I don’t intend to.’ He stopped to get his bearings. All around them the jungle was alive with the croaking of frogs and the chirruping of insects, but the sounds of pursuit were distant. ‘They can’t search the whole jungle for us and they won’t be able to follow our tracks until it gets light, so we’ve got a few hours at least. They’ll expect us to make for the shore and follow the coast south to Monrovia.’ He glanced around. There were no less than four watchtowers, one at each corner of the barracoon, and he could just make them out against the purple night sky. Using his trained seaman’s eye, he took a bearing on each of them so he could find his way back to where he stood now.

She suddenly pecked him on the cheek. He regarded her with gentle amusement. ‘What was that for?’

‘Thank you. You were wonderful back there.’

‘You were rather splendid yourself, if I may say so. Can’t say I’ve known many young ladies who’d’ve handled themselves as well as you did tonight. But we’re not out of it yet. Do you think you can climb up this tree?’

She looked up at the branches overhead. ‘Certainly, but why?’

‘You’ll be safe up there. If anyone does come by, just stay very still and keep quiet. You’d be amazed by how few people ever bother to look upwards when they’re searching for someone.’

‘Where are you going?’

‘To fetch your brother. And to make sure they don’t use the Leopardo to ship any slaves out of here before I can come back to destroy this place.’

‘Why can’t I come with you?’

‘Do you think you can swim half a mile?’

‘No,’ she admitted. ‘Can you?’

‘I’ll have to. Sit tight. I’ll be back, I promise,’ he added, conscious that time was against them.

Fronds and creepers lashed at him as he stumbled through the darkness. He knew he might blunder into the trunk of a tree at any moment, but he was racing against time now, knowing he had to get well away from the barracoon with Miss Chance and her brother by sun-up. The unmistakable sound of the surf booming on the shore guided him. He crashed through the undergrowth, tripped over a root, and suddenly found himself rolling over and over on fine, dry sand.

He stopped himself and scrambled back into the trees in case anyone was watching the beach. A full tropical moon cast its pale yellow light over the scene, and he could see the Leopardo anchored about half a mile out to sea. He hoped that the Reverend Chance was sufficiently recovered from his blow on the head for Killigrew to get him off the ship.

He sat down and unlaced his half-boots. He was not worried about sharks, at least not much. He was more worried that Salazar’s men might be expecting him and Miss Chance to make for the beach; perhaps they were already watching the sand from the trees further up the beach, with their rifles primed and loaded. Still, the longer Killigrew left it the greater the danger became. He knew his chances of salvaging any kind of victory against the slavers were now slim, but he had reached the stage where there was nothing he could do but plough on and hope for the best. It was his duty to get out of this alive, not only for his sake and that of the Chances, but also for the slaves in the pens, both present and future.

He dashed out of the trees and sprinted across the white sand, half expecting a fusillade of shots to blast out of the night behind him. But there were no shots, no shouts, nothing. When Salazar and his men came to the beach – as they must do, sooner or later – they would see his footsteps in the sand. What would they make of them? Would they guess what he was up to? Perhaps not: it was so bold, he could hardly believe he was attempting it himself.

He splashed through the surf, deeper and deeper, until he could dive into the water and pull himself through the breakers with a strong crawl stroke. There was a strong current running across the coast and he had to stop every few minutes, pacing himself and redirecting himself towards the ship again. When it was only a cable’s length away he used a silent breast-stroke so as not to alert anyone on deck of his approach, but as the Leopardo’s hull loomed above him a better idea occurred to him.

He trod water alongside the hull and waved an arm above his head. ‘Hey, Covilhã! Ahoy there! Anyone up there?’

A man’s head appeared silhouetted above him. ‘Who’s there?’

‘That you, Covilhã? Throw me a line, for God’s sake. Then weigh anchor and make sail. We’ve got to get out of here.’

A rope was thrown down from the side and Killigrew pulled himself up it, his stockinged feet braced against the brig’s side. He was surprised by how much effort it took him just to climb aboard: the swim had drained him more than he had realised. As he scrambled over the bulwark, he saw the other members of the crew gathered on deck. ‘Don’t just stand there, for Christ’s sake! Man the capstan! We’ve got to get moving straight away.’

‘I take my orders from the capitão, not you,’ snarled Covilhã.

‘Not any more. He’s dead. So are Coffin and the others. Wake up and look lively there, man! It’s an ambush – the British were waiting for us. They must’ve taken the barracoon before we got here. There’s no sign of Salazar and the others. I was lucky to get away with my life.’

Killigrew managed to project the right amount of urgency and panic into his voice to convince the boatswain, who turned to his men: ‘You heard Senhor Killigrew! Man the capstan!’ he ordered. ‘Away aloft! Which way do we sail?’

‘I don’t know,’ snapped Killigrew. ‘Away from the coast, out to sea, to start with. There’s probably a British cruiser waiting up the coast to close the trap, a steamer like as not. I’ll go down to the chart room and plot us a new course.’ Covilhã nodded and Killigrew left him and the crew busily preparing to set sail while he went below deck. He made his way forward to the sick bay where the Reverend Chance lay on the cot. Dr Pereira was dozing in his chair. Killigrew went to the cot and tried to shake Chance awake, but at once saw by the light of the oil lamp that nothing would ever wake the clergyman again. He was dead, as stiff as a board, his face twisted into a ghastly rictus. He had not died easily.

Pereira stirred and looked up at him. ‘What… what’s wrong?’

‘What happened here?’

Pereira looked puzzled. ‘He… he’s dead, senhor.'

‘I can see that,’ snapped Killigrew. ‘How?’

‘I used the strychnine.’ He gestured to where a brown bottle stood on a shelf. ‘Isn’t that what Capitão Madison wanted?’

Killigrew felt sickened. He regarded the surgeon in contempt. ‘You murdered him? In cold blood?’

‘I… I was only obeying orders, senhor!’ protested Pereira.

‘Well, I’ve got new orders for you.’ Killigrew took the bottle from the shelf and removed the stopper. There was still plenty of poison left. He held it out to the surgeon. ‘Drink.’

Sweat broke out on Pereira’s brow. ‘Please, senhor… no!’

‘Drink it! All of it.’

‘Please, senhor, I beg you…’ Pereira tried to dodge past Killigrew in his panic but Killigrew tripped him up. Pereira sprawled on the deck and as he rolled over on his back Killigrew sat on his chest. As he tried to pour the poison between Pereira’s lips, the surgeon clamped his mouth firmly shut. Killigrew punched him in the throat and when he opened his mouth to gasp Killigrew thrust the neck of the bottle between his teeth. He pinched the surgeon’s nose, closing his nostrils and forcing him to swallow.

‘Have a taste of your own medicine,’ Killigrew suggested grimly.

Pereira thrashed about wildly, first in terror and then as the spasms gripped his body. Fortunately the sound of the anchor chains rattling through the hawse-hole smothered the hammering of the surgeon’s limbs against the deck. His teeth clamped down so hard on the neck of the bottle they smashed it, but by then he was already as good as dead. Killigrew snatched the pillow from under Chance’s head and smothered it over Pereira’s face to stifle his horrid gurgling and retching. After a few moments he lay still.

Killigrew stood up, as sickened by what he himself had just done as he had been by the reverend’s murder. Was he any better than the slavers were, at heart…?

Que…?’

He whirled to see Covilhã standing in the entrance to the sick bay, staring down at Pereira’s body. Killigrew glanced around for something he could use as a weapon, but Covilhã quickly pulled his pistol from his belt and levelled it at him. ‘I do not know what you are doing, senhor, but I think you were lying about the Royal Navy ambushing Capitão Madison and Senhor Coffin. I think it is you who is working for the Royal Navy…’

Killigrew raised his hands. ‘You have to trust me. You don’t understand. It was Pereira who was the spy, not me…’

‘I have had enough of your lies, senhor.’ Covilhã raised his arm and levelled the pistol between Killigrew’s eyes.

Killigrew braced himself for the shock of the ball smashing into his skull and prayed that the pain would be short-lived.

There came the sound of a soft ‘chunk’ and Covilhã’s grip on the pistol faltered as blood trickled down his face. Killigrew stared in astonishment and saw a butcher’s cleaver embedded in his skull. The boatswain’s knees gave way and he crumpled, revealing the broad-shouldered shape of the ship’s cook standing behind him.

‘Doc,’ said Killigrew. ‘I can explain everything…’

‘Don’t bother. I know exactly who you are and what you’re up to. You’re working for Rear-Admiral Napier, aren’t you?’

‘No, that’s a…’ Killigrew frowned. ‘How the devil do you know?’

Doc grinned. ‘Because I’m working for him, too.’ Doc’s pidgin-patois was gone, replaced by what sounded suspiciously like a London accent. ‘Able Seaman Wes Molineaux, at your service, sir. The rear-admiral asked me to keep an eye on you. Looks like it was a good thing he did, too.’

‘He might’ve let me know.’ Killigrew eyed Molineaux dubiously. God knows, he needed all the friends he could get right now, but he was not sure if the black could be trusted. Certainly Molineaux was not on the side of the slavers, for if he had been he had had nothing to gain and everything to lose by killing Covilhã; and it would not have been unlike Napier to have sent Killigrew such an unusual guardian angel. He decided he had no choice but to trust his new-found friend.

Molineaux eyed Chance’s corpse on the cot and then lowered his gaze to where Pereira lay beneath Covilhã. ‘Did you hush the quack?’

‘Yes.’

‘Plummy for you. Never did like him. What’s the plan, boss? You have got a plan, haven’t you?’

‘Yes. And it’s “lieutenant” or “sir” to you, Able Seaman. Not “boss”.’

Molineaux grinned. ‘I know all about you, Killigrew. You may not have killed that ankle-biter, but it was a real court-martial that cashiered you. So until the day you get your rank back – if it ever comes – I’ll call you what I like. In fact, seeing as how I’m an able seaman and you’re just a plain civilian, I reckon it should be me who’s giving the orders.’

‘We’ll worry about that later. First of all we’ve got to destroy this ship. You go to the hold and set one of the powder kegs to explode in ten minutes’ time; I’ll see if I can break into Madison’s safe and find anything interesting.’

‘You know all about cracking peters, do you?’

‘How difficult can it be?’

‘Bearing in mind a safe is a box which has been specifically designed to stop people from breaking into them—’

‘And you’re an expert, I suppose?’ Killigrew snapped impatiently.

‘As it happens, yes. That’s why the rear-admiral chose me for this job.’

Killigrew nodded. He had already guessed from Molineaux’s use of thieves’ cant that the seaman had not always worked on the right side of the law. ‘I’m surprised he bothered to involve me in this at all. You seem to know all the wrinkles.’

‘The rear-admiral figured a ship’s officer would have a better chance of learning something from Madison than a black cook. Seems he was wrong, though.’

‘Save the sauce for later. We’ve got work to do. I’ll meet you in Madison’s day room in five minutes.’

Molineaux had sense enough not to argue. As he headed aft, Killigrew took down the oil lamp and fetched a candle from the purser’s store and a coil of rope from the boatswain’s locker. He looped the coil over one shoulder and slipped into the hold. He could hear the sailors moving about on deck above, and the timbers began to creak as the masts took up the strain of the billowing sails.

Killigrew put the oil lamp down on one of the kegs of gunpowder stowed in the hold and took his clasp knife from his pocket. He broached the top of another keg, wincing at the sound of the wood splintering, and prayed that no one on deck had heard it. Then he stirred the powder in the keg with his hands, hoping it had not separated into its constituent parts during the voyage. He scooped it up to one side, so that the surface of the powder in the keg formed as steep a slope as possible.

Now for the delicate part.

He took the candle out of his pocket, and cut it all off but for one inch. Lifting the glass cover from the oil lamp, he lit the stub of the candle. Holding his breath, he planted it in the powder. As the candle burned down, the powder would slide down to fill in the void, until at last it came into contact with the flame.

Still holding his breath, he replaced the glass cover on the oil lamp and backed away from where the candle flickered over the charcoal-covered powder. As the deck rolled the candle listed slightly and Killigrew’s heart leaped into his mouth. Then it seemed to settle down. He hurried out of the hold and headed aft to Madison’s day room.

Crouched in front of the safe, Molineaux was inserting a couple of picklocks into the keyhole when Killigrew entered. The seaman glanced up in alarm, but then recognised him and relaxed. ‘Get it open?’ Killigrew asked him.

‘Not yet. These things take time.’

‘Time is the one thing we don’t have. There’s enough powder in the hold to blow up this ship and ten more like her.’ Killigrew crossed to the window and opened it, before tying one end of the rope to an overhead beam.

‘If we don’t find something in here to tell us who’s behind this Bay Cay Trading Company, you can kiss goodbye to your commission.’

‘And if we don’t get out of here now you can kiss goodbye to that part of your anatomy on which you sit. And every other part of your anatomy, for that matter.’

‘Got it!’ The tumblers of the lock clicked, and Molineaux swung open the door.

The safe was empty.


Salazar reined in his horse on the beach to the south of the barracoon, where Madison and Coffin headed southwards with a band of Salazar’s men, holding burning torches aloft. ‘Any sign of them?’ asked Salazar.

‘No,’ snapped Coffin. ‘We’re wasting our time here. Killigrew won’t come this way, because he knows it’s the first place we’ll look.’

‘It is the only sensible way for him to come,’ Salazar pointed out reasonably. ‘The nearest settlement is Monrovia, fifty miles to the south. Either he comes this way or he makes for Freetown, which is nearer a hundred miles to the north.’

Coffin hawked and spat upon the sand. ‘You seem pretty sure he’ll stick to the coast.’

‘Of course he will. What chance do a young European and an American lady have of getting anywhere in the interior? They would not last five minutes. It would be complete madness to try that way.’

‘It was complete madness for him to try to pass himself off as a slaver,’ said Coffin. ‘But he tried it – and almost pulled it off.’

‘Prince Khari will take his leopard warriors into the interior to search for him,’ said Salazar. ‘If Killigrew has headed inland, he will not get far.’

‘I wouldn’t trust that uppity nigger and his goddamned leopard warriors to catch a dose of the clap,’ snorted Coffin. ‘Face it, Salazar. You let the Limey bastard get away.’

Salazar shrugged. ‘Perhaps. It does not matter.’

‘Doesn’t matter!’ exclaimed Madison. ‘And just how do you figure that, Mr Salazar, bearing in mind that once he gets back to civilisation he’ll tell the authorities everything: about you and me, about my ship and your barracoon…’

If he gets back, which I very much doubt. And if anyone will believe him, which I also very much doubt. You forget: in England he is disgraced as a drunk and a child-killer.’

‘He won’t be when Rear-Admiral Napier speaks up for him.’

‘Which is why I suggest someone goes to England and makes sure that an accident befalls the rear-admiral. Something fatal. Who will pay any attention to Killigrew if he does not have Napier to back him up?’

A smile spread slowly across Coffin’s face. ‘Maybe you ain’t such a dumb sonuvabitch after all, Salazar.’

‘I hope not. It would be a poor world indeed where a “dumb sonuvabitch” could amass as vast a fortune as my own. Are you volunteering to go to England to arrange the admiral’s tragic and premature demise?’

Coffin grinned. ‘It’ll be my pleasure.’

Salazar turned to Madison. ‘You see, captain? Even if Killigrew does make it back to civilisation – which is extremely unlikely – his story will not be believed. So I think that I shall be able to continue my trade uninterrupted for a few years yet, and nothing will stop you from using the profits of this voyage to fund your retirement. I don’t think Mr Killigrew will give us any more trouble…’

They heard a thump from out to sea, and turned their eyes in that direction in time to see the Leopardo disintegrate in a huge, blossoming ball of orange flame accompanied by a tremendous roar. A thousand planks of wood were hurled in all directions, most of them high into the sky, and as the ball of fire faded into a black cloud the planks rained down on the surface of the sea, some of them landing on the beach a short distance away. Of the Leopardo they could see nothing, just the expanding concentric circles in the water to show where she had recently floated.

For a few moments the men on the beach stared in stunned silence. It was Madison who spoke first. ‘And just in case that Limey bastard does get back to England,’ he told Coffin with a calmness surprising for one who had just had his livelihood blown out of the water, ‘make sure he suffers an accident, too. A very painful one.’


Both Killigrew and Molineaux duck-tailed under the water as the ship exploded less than two hundred yards behind them. The surface of the water above them burned as bright as sunrise with orange flame, and a moment later the shock wave hit them, knocking the breath from their bodies. They surfaced, gasping, just as the debris rained down about them.

‘Bang go your chances of finding out who was behind the Bay Cay Trading Company,’ gasped Molineaux as they trod water beside one another.

‘I’ll just have to hope that being able to reveal the location of Salazar’s barracoon is enough to redeem myself and win back my commission,’ said Killigrew.

‘And we’ll just have to hope that we can live that long.’ Molineaux nodded to the beach perhaps seven hundred yards away where they could see torches. ‘Looks like we’ve got a reception committee waiting for us on shore.’

‘They won’t be able to see us out here. Those torches will ruin their night-vision. We’ll be all right so long as we steer clear of the circle of light.’

They swam across the bar, the current carrying them away from where the men on the beach spread out to meet any survivors swimming from the Leopardo. At last they reached the shallows and crouched low in the surf, gasping for breath. They were perhaps two hundred yards away from the nearest man, with fifty yards of open beach between them and the cover of the trees. ‘Together, or one at a time?’ asked Molineaux.

Killigrew shook his head. ‘One at a time. Crawling. Less chance of being seen that way. You go first.’

Molineaux nodded and slithered up through the surf and out of the water, gliding with cat-like stealth over the sand while Killigrew watched the men with the torches, waiting for one of them to cry out at any moment. But they moved further away now, heading back towards the barracoon, as if they had given up any hope of catching Killigrew returning ashore; perhaps they thought he had been blown up with the Leopardo.

When he glanced back at Molineaux he saw the seaman was already near the trees, and a few moments later the black was swallowed up by the darkness beneath the trees. Killigrew did not hesitate before following him. As he crawled along in Molineaux’s tracks, he realised there was another advantage to crawling over running. Salazar’s men were bound to find their tracks with the coming of sunrise and if they had found two sets of footsteps they would have realised that Killigrew had an ally now, for there would have been no chance of mistaking Molineaux’s prints for Miss Chance’s. But crawling just left one confused track which could as easily have been the work of one man as of two.

He reached the trees and stood up beneath their boughs, dusting off the worst of the sand which clung to his sodden clothes. ‘Molineaux? You there?’

‘Yeah, I’m here,’ Molineaux’s voice came back. Killigrew found the seaman’s presence strangely reassuring. ‘I mean, it’s not as if there’s anywhere else I could go, is there? What do we do now, head down the coast towards Monrovia?’

Killigrew shook his head. ‘No. First we have to fetch Miss Chance.’

‘You managed to keep her alive, then? That’s good.’ Molineaux grinned, his teeth showing white in the darkness. ‘I was beginning to think we’d run out of Chances.’

‘Very droll.’ Killigrew led the way through the belt of trees which lay between the beach and the barracoon, heading parallel to the shore.

‘Are you going to tell me what went wrong, then?’

‘Salazar knew all about me. Someone in England talked to the wrong person.’

‘Impossible. The only people who knew what you were doing were you, me, and the rear-admiral himself. And you’re not suggesting he peached, are you?’

‘No. But I’m still not sure about you.’

‘Well, thank you very much! I saved your life back there, you know.’

‘Anyway, several people knew about my mission,’ said Killigrew. ‘Corporal Summerbee and Private Whitehead, to name but two.’ And Eulalia Fairbody to name a third, Killigrew could not help thinking as he found his half-boots and sat down to pull them on. It was inconceivable to think that she might have betrayed him, and yet…

‘Who are Corporal Summerbee and Private Whitehead when they’re at home?’

‘A couple of jollies who helped me inveigle myself on board the Madge Howlett; or the Leopardo, whichever you prefer. You still haven’t told me how you got on board her, by the way.’

‘I joined her in Havana,’ explained Molineaux. ‘Madison went to a slave market looking for a good seaman who could cook. He chose me. At least, that’s what he thinks. Actually he chose one of the other slaves and I was substituted later with the British consul’s help.’

‘And you mean to tell me Madison never noticed the switch?’

‘Of course not. Us darkies all look the same to you people.’

‘I’ll thank you not to put me in the same category as Madison, Coffin and Salazar,’ said Killigrew. ‘So the British consul in Havana knew about our plan as well?’

Molineaux shook his head. ‘He knew Napier wanted me aboard a certain slave vessel, but he didn’t know why. And I didn’t tell him.’

‘It couldn’t have been him anyway,’ mused Killigrew. ‘Salazar said his informant was in England… Wait a minute: if Napier had you join the crew of the Leopardo in Havana, he must’ve been setting this thing up for months. But he only told me about it two months ago.’ Two months! It seemed more like two years since he had played billiards in the United Service Club in London.

‘Months!’ said Molineaux. ‘Man, I’ve been on that ship for two years. Something went wrong, badly wrong. The cove I was supposed to protect was someone called Comber, but he never even turned up. I managed to get in touch with Napier the next time we landed at Liverpool and he told me to sit tight until he could get someone else. When you turned up I knew you were one of his men straight away.’

‘You’ve been living a lie for two years on that hell ship? I take my hat off to you. Or at least, I would if I were wearing one.’

‘Yes, and it hasn’t been fun either, I can tell you. You saw for yourself how Madison used to treat me.’

‘You must be dedicated to the cause of anti-slavery.’

‘To tell the truth I didn’t have much choice. But don’t believe any of that gammon I told you about not caring about the Africans. They’re human beings, at least, which is more than you can say for bastards like Madison and Coffin. I don’t know what made you so down on slavery, sir, but while Madison never had me flogged – as long as I toadied to him and grovelled and bowed and scraped like a bug-eyed watermelon-guzzling sonuvabitch – he weren’t kind to every slave that came his way, I can tell you. Some of the things I’ve seen…’

‘I’ve seen similar,’ Killigrew assured him.

‘So are we going to get those bastards and put them out of business for ever?’

‘Damned right we are.’ The two of them shook on it. ‘But first we have to get to safety. Now, where did I leave Miss Chance?’

Killigrew paused to look around. He could tell from where he stood in relation to the watchtowers that he was not far from where he had left her, but in the darkness all the trees looked the same. They were too close to the barracoon for him to want to risk calling out to her.

‘You mean you don’t know where you left her?’ Molineaux hissed incredulously.

‘She’s around here somewhere…’

A woman’s scream, loud and shrill in the darkness, sounded somewhere off to their right.

‘This way,’ said Killigrew, heading off in the direction of the scream.