‘I had a dream,’ said King Nldamak, and then grimaced. ‘Well, actually it was more of a nightmare.’ He glanced at the three white men in the cabin bashfully, as if worried they might be laughing at him for being superstitious, but all three met his gaze gravely. He continued. ‘I dreamed that one day the white man would rule all of Africa, from the Barbary Coast to the Cape of Good Hope.’
‘Great Britain has no territorial ambitions in Africa,’ Killigrew assured him, truthfully enough. ‘Colonies are expensive to run and more trouble than they’re worth.’
‘Expensive to run, Mr Killigrew?’ mocked Nldamak. ‘Has not your country plundered India for its riches? Is it not Indian wealth which has made Britain great, while enslaving the Indians?’
Killigrew flushed. ‘Britain only wants to trade. Fair trade is mutually beneficial to both parties. Sometimes it is necessary to protect trade with force of arms. Sometimes it is necessary to displace corrupt local rulers and set up an administration until such time as government can be handed back to the local people…’
‘And how long until you hand back local government to the Indians, Mr Killigrew? Ten years? Fifty years? A hundred years?’
Killigrew held up a hand. ‘I’m not saying that the East India Company hasn’t made mistakes by allowing itself to be drawn into a greater and greater role in the government of India, your majesty. But we British have learned from that experience. We won’t make the same mistake again.’
‘Won’t you? Perhaps you are wise enough to see that, but what about your government? Is that wise?’
Killigrew thought of men like Sir George Grafton, and decided it was probably best to say nothing.
‘Africa is a rich land, Mr Killigrew. One day your people, and the people of the other nations of Europe, will realise that. Some already do. The only thing which prevents the white man from penetrating further into this continent is the white man’s fever. But I hear now that Jesuit’s bark is being proved to be a cure for the fever. The bad airs which now prove so fatal to the white man’s constitution will not protect us for ever, and when the time comes the white man will come in force to plunder Africa’s riches. Africa must defend herself, Mr Killigrew. Not just the Vai, the Mende and the Temne, but all the peoples of Africa. We must stop allowing the white man to carry off the best and strongest of our people to slavery in the Americas.’
‘I couldn’t agree with you more, your majesty. That is why I must fight against your son.’
Nldamak looked away. ‘Khari and I went our separate ways many years ago, Mr Killigrew. He believes the only way the African can defeat the white man is to accept the white man’s ways and learn to beat him at his own games. But the white man’s ways are not the ways of Africa.’
‘There was slavery in Africa long before the white man came, your majesty,’ said Masterson.
Nldamak looked up at him sharply. ‘If a wrong has been done for hundreds of years, Lieutenant, does that make it more or less of a wrong? Let Africa make her own mistakes. If she must suffer, let it be through her own fault rather than the fault of the white man. But my son – who is no longer my son – does not see these things the way I do. He has spent too much time in the company of white men, and it has corrupted him. Now his cause is the white man’s cause, and he would betray his own people if it were to his own advantage. I do not mean to insult you gentlemen. I know that your hearts are good. I thank you for working to stop the slave trade; you have seen for yourselves the suffering it causes. But there are others in your country who do not understand and do not care. They are the ones I fear. They are the ones who will one day decide that Africa must be plundered for her wealth, as she has already been plundered for her people.
‘And as for my son, who is no longer my son… he chose his path a long time ago. Let it lead him where it will. He must do what he must do, just as you must do what you must do. If you kill him, I shall grieve, as any father must. But I will not stand in your way. And now, gentlemen, you must excuse me.’
They ushered him out of the great cabin and stood and watched from the deck as Nldamak climbed down to the captain’s gig and was rowed back to the waterfront, his shoulders slumped dejectedly. Killigrew saw a man who predicted only pain and suffering as the future for his people, and his heart went out to him.
‘He speaks well enough, I’ll grant you,’ said Masterson. ‘But can we be sure he won’t send word to Khari and Salazar to warn them of our imminent attack?’
Captain Crichton nodded slowly. ‘Oh, I think we can trust him, Lieutenant.’
Killigrew nodded. Nose-Biter Crichton might have a reputation for being as mad as a hatter, but Killigrew knew the captain was a good deal wiser than he let on. ‘Besides, if we set sail at once we can attack the barracoon long before he can get word there,’ he said. He was concerned that every moment they delayed increased the chances of more slavers coming to take away the captives in the barracoon’s stockade.
‘Weigh anchor and set sail, Masterson,’ ordered Crichton. ‘Set a course for the Owodunni Barracoon. Mr Killigrew here will give you directions.’
Within an hour they gathered together in the day cabin for a council of war: Killigrew, Crichton, Masterson, Tip-Top, Dguma and the captain of the Thor’s marines, Captain Reynolds. Killigrew showed them the sketch map he had just finished.
‘This is the barracoon, or at least as much of it as I saw. Salazar gave me a pretty good guided tour. The sandbar here prevents any ships from approaching within half a mile of the coast. There are watchtowers here, here, here and here. The men in them have telescopes, so it’s a fair bet they’ll see you coming the moment you round the headland two miles to the south. Salazar’s house is here, at the centre. Over here we have administration blocks, these are the barracks, and this is the harem.’
‘Sounds to me like this fellow Salazar knows how to live,’ remarked Masterson.
Killigrew nodded. ‘Let’s just hope he knows how to die. If he doesn’t, I know how to teach him.’ He was aware of Crichton and Masterson exchanging worried glances at his bloodthirsty talk, but pretended not to have seen and concentrated on the plan. ‘Over here is the stockade where the slaves are kept, at the eastern end of the delta, away from the shore. The barracoon’s well laid out and easily defensible – Salazar’s no fool – but he’s made one fatal flaw. Provided you don’t elevate your long guns above five degrees, if you anchor just outside the bar you can bombard the whole barracoon and hit everything but the stockade itself.’
‘What about the harem?’ asked Crichton. ‘Wouldn’t want to bombard innocent women.’
‘And Miss Chance,’ added Masterson. ‘Odds are she’ll either be in the harem or in Salazar’s house.’
Killigrew nodded. ‘That’s where your marines come in, Captain Reynolds. I’ll go with you to guide you. Ndawa – Chief Momolu’s son – promised to meet me there with some of his men and enough canoes to get us through the creeks. We’ll hit the barracoon at midnight. We use stealth. With any luck we’ll be able to get the women out of there before Salazar even knows we’ve been and gone. The other slaves will be safe in the stockade. At two bells in the middle watch you can start the bombardment.’
‘Then you’d better make sure you’re out of there by then,’ said Crichton. ‘Because I’m going to throw every shell I’ve got on board at that barracoon, and when I’m done there won’t be so much as a termite left alive in that delta.’
Captain Reynolds nodded. ‘If there are any survivors amongst Salazar’s men, we’ll pick them up. I’ve done this kind of thing enough times before.’
Killigrew shook his head. ‘Make no mistake, gentlemen. This is far and away the biggest barracoon I’ve ever seen. Salazar himself told me he employs over three hundred men.’
‘That’s a lot of people,’ said Crichton. ‘What arrangements are we going to make for prisoners?’
Killigrew looked up at him, his dark eyes glittering coldly in the light of the oil lamp. ‘Who said anything about taking prisoners?’
HMS Thor hove to a few miles to the south of the Owodunni delta at sunset the following evening and the anchor was dropped into the sea with a splash. The crew prepared to lower the launch.
‘Remember, you’ve got to be out of there by two bells in the middle watch,’ Masterson told Killigrew. ‘Do you have a watch?’
‘Yes, but it’s broken. I think some water must have spoiled the workings. Damn it, you’d think someone would come up with a way to make these things impervious to water.’
‘You’d better take mine. Shall we synchronise watches, sir?’
Crichton checked his own watch. ‘I make it six thirty-seven, on the dot.’ Six hours and twenty-three minutes to one o’clock, or two bells in the middle watch.
‘Same here,’ said Masterson, and handed his watch to Killigrew, who tucked it into the fob pocket of the borrowed waistcoat he was wearing along with a borrowed dirk and a borrowed cutlass. ‘You’d better take this as well,’ he added, handing Killigrew some kind of pistol.
Killigrew studied the weapon curiously. It was like a pepperbox, but whereas the pepperbox had six distinct barrels for each shot, this weapon had only one barrel, with a cylinder in the middle containing several chambers, each of which was brought into line with the barrel as the cylinder turned.
‘Colonel Colt’s invention,’ explained Masterson.
Killigrew cocked the hammer experimentally, saw that it worked, and then lowered the hammer back into place. ‘Ingenious.’
‘Each chamber’s already primed and loaded. All you have to do is cock, aim and fire. Effective range is about fifty yards.’
‘Thanks, but if I have to use it I’ll have failed. Stealth is the order of the evening, gentlemen.’
‘Take it anyway,’ said Masterson. ‘Just in case.’ Killigrew nodded and buckled on the gun belt Masterson handed him before climbing into the launch. ‘Good luck,’ Masterson called down to them as the boat was lowered to the water.
‘I’ll see you in seven hours,’ Killigrew told him.
Masterson grinned. ‘I’ll have a bottle of whisky standing by.’
‘I’ll probably need it by then.’ In fact Killigrew would have liked to have a drink or two there and then, to stiffen resolve, but he knew he needed to keep a clear head.
It was a tight squeeze in the launch with Tip-Top, Dguma and Reynolds and his squad of twenty marines. The jollies looked smart in their red coats and white crossbelts. They rowed proficiently across the bar and through the breakers, jumping out to drag the boat a few feet up on to dry sand so that the officers would not have to get their feet wet. The squad moved quickly across the beach with Tip-Top and Dguma while Killigrew gave one last glance to where the Thor rode at anchor, silhouetted by the last rays of the sunset.
‘No turning back now,’ said Reynolds. ‘We’re going to have to move fast now to get to the barracoon in time. My men are in first-rate condition, Killigrew. You’d better not slow us down.’
‘I’ll certainly try to keep up,’ Killigrew promised him gravely. ‘Let’s just hope this breeze keeps up, otherwise we’ll be left without naval support at the eleventh hour.’ Without the bombardment from the Thor, even if the marines did succeed in rescuing the slaves from the barracoon, there was nothing to stop Prince Khari’s leopard men from pursuing them as they escaped.
‘I just hope that these natives are there with the canoes,’ grunted Reynolds.
Dguma and Tip-Top exchanged a few words. ‘What did he say?’ asked Killigrew.
Tip-Top grinned, his pointed teeth showing white in the bosky gloom. ‘He says the word of a Mende is as good as the word of an Englishman. They’ll be there.’
As the light faded they headed inland through the jungle. Dguma led the way, used to moving stealthily through the forest at night. It was a clear night and a half-moon rose shortly after sunset, but beneath the trees it was pitch black. The marines were well disciplined and they marched silently, without talking. However irritating the jollies might be on board ship, there were no soldiers in the world Killigrew would have preferred to have around him in a scrap.
Nevertheless it took them nearly five hours to cover the few miles to the edge of the delta. They paused by a thick band of undergrowth beyond which Killigrew could hear the gentle trickle of water.
‘Well, we’re here. Where are they?’ His ankle was throbbing again after the trek and he unlaced his half-boot to massage it.
Reynolds looked at him. ‘Are you sure you’re up to this, Killigrew?’
‘Never felt better.’ Killigrew laced his boot up tightly.
Tip-Top translated his question into Mande for Dguma.
Before Dguma could reply, a voice hissed at them in some African tongue, suspicious and full of menace. The marines quickly unslung their muskets, but Dguma answered the voice, and a moment later a shadowy figure emerged from the darkness. ‘One of their watchers,’ explained Tip-Top, after a brief exchange with Dguma and the stranger. ‘Ndawa and the others are about five hundred yards off that way.’
They followed the man through the trees. Killigrew kept one hand on the butt of the revolving pistol holstered at his side in case the stranger should turn out to be one of Salazar’s men, but before long they were surrounded by about a dozen Mende armed with spears, bows and war-clubs. Ndawa clapped Killigrew on the shoulders, and even Italo seemed pleased to see him. One of the Mende cupped his hands to his mouth and made some kind of bird-call, doubtless the signal to summon back the other men who had been watching for Killigrew and his companions.
Tip-Top asked Ndawa a question, to which the Mende replied evenly.
‘What did you ask him?’
‘I wanted to know if this was all the men he had with him,’ said Tip-Top. ‘He says more wanted to come, but twenty was enough.’
‘He’s right,’ said Killigrew. ‘Salazar’s men might have noticed a larger force of Mende approaching and hiding here in the woods. Tell him that the naval bombardment has been arranged.’ He hoped it was true. His worst fear – that the breeze might die and leave the Thor becalmed – had come true. But he sensed that Crichton and Masterson would not let him down and would get the frigate into position, even if that meant putting all their boats into the water to tow it.
Led by Ndawa, the Mende picked up the five bark canoes they had brought with them and moved off through the trees until they came to a spot Ndawa had reconnoitred earlier, where the bushes at the side of the channel thinned out enough for them to reach the water’s edge. With Tip-Top’s help, Reynolds and Ndawa organised their men, dividing them between the canoes. One canoe would head downstream and the men inside would silence the guards in the two watchtowers to the west, which would be the first to spy the approach of the HMS Thor as it rounded the headland to the south; another would take care of the guards in the easternmost watchtowers, which dominated the harem and the stockade. The remaining three would attack the barracoon and rescue the women in the harem.
‘Fix bayonets, men,’ ordered Reynolds. ‘No shooting unless you have to. We don’t want to raise the alarm.’
The Mende got into the canoes first and held them steady for the marines, but the marines were used to working with small boats and climbed in without fuss, four marines and four Mende to each canoe. Killigrew climbed into the largest canoe with Tip-Top, Ndawa, Dguma, Italo and Reynolds with three marines.
The canoes slipped silently through the water, the paddles making barely a sound. The jungle on either side of them was alive with the croaking of frogs and the chirruping of insects, while the sound of distant laughter floated through the night from the direction of the barracks. One of the canoes headed off down one of the main channels towards the coast, bearing the men who would kill the guards in the westernmost watchtowers; the rest headed inland, towards the harem.
Ndawa held up a hand, and the lead canoe slowed to a halt, the others doing likewise. Then he signalled one of the canoes forward to where a watchtower loomed over them about a hundred yards away. It tied up directly beneath the tower, and two of the marines got out. Killigrew took out his pocket telescope and was able to follow their progress as they ascended the ladder stealthily, silhouetted against the purple night sky. They were at their most vulnerable now, and Killigrew expected someone to see them and raise the alarm at any moment. His heart pounded in his chest, but his earlier fear had melted away and now only excitement filled him. He had been waiting for this night for a long, long time.
This was the night of the reckoning.
The first marine reached the top of the ladder, bayonet in hand. If either of the two guards made any sound as they died, Killigrew did not hear them. Their silhouettes disappeared and were quickly replaced by the marines, who put on the guards’ broad-brimmed straw hats and assumed their positions.
Ndawa signalled again and the remaining canoes glided forwards. One moved on to deal with the second watchtower, the other three passed the stockade. Killigrew could smell the stench of excrement and hear the groans of the slaves and the occasional clank of their chains. Just a few more minutes, he thought, and then you’ll be free. Just hang on until then.
The three canoes tied up at the next island, at the far end from the long, low building which formed the harem. Two guards stood on duty with muskets over their shoulders at either end of the building, but they looked relaxed. Ndawa was about to ease himself out of the canoe when Killigrew put a hand on his arm to stop him.
‘Tell him to kill the guards, but not to enter the building,’ he asked Tip-Top in a low voice. ‘The women may all be there against their will, but we don’t know that for sure, and it will only take one of them to raise the alarm.’
Tip-Top passed this on, and Ndawa nodded before climbing out of the canoe with Dguma, Italo and another man. They split into two pairs, tackling each end of the building silently. The guards never knew what hit them, and Killigrew could barely hear the soft thud of the bodies as they hit the ground with arrows through their throats.
Killigrew, Tip-Top and the marines climbed out of the canoe and hurried through the moonlight to join the others outside the building. Killigrew tried the front door. It was unlocked. He eased it open a crack and peered through. A long corridor ran the length of the building, illuminated by an oil lamp hanging from the ceiling, and a guard dozed in a chair towards the middle with his straw hat tipped forward over his eyes, snoring loudly. A door led off the corridor every six feet on either side, and Killigrew could hear sobbing coming from more than one of them. He eased the door shut once more.
‘Two minutes,’ he whispered to Reynolds. Tip-Top passed the word on to Ndawa.
Killigrew made his way around the outside of the building. Each room had a small barred window set in it. Most of the rooms were dark, but even without light he could see that none of them contained Miss Chance: all the captives of the harem were black. A light showed in one window, and as Killigrew peered through he could see a fat white man he did not recognise – his bronzed face and hands in obscene contrast to the white rolls of flab of the rest of his body – holding down a slender young black woman, bending her over the grim cot which served as a bed as he thrust himself into her from behind.
Filled with revulsion, Killigrew felt himself trembling with rage, but held himself in check. Being raped was probably traumatic enough without having someone kick down the door to witness your humiliation before brutally and bloodily murdering the man who was raping you.
He finally returned to where Ndawa waited with the others. ‘No sign of Miss Chance,’ he whispered to Reynolds. ‘Salazar must have her at the house.’
‘And you’re going after her, I suppose?’
Killigrew nodded. ‘Besides, I’ve got a score to settle with Salazar.’
‘Want me to send some men with you?’
‘No, thank you. I’ll manage. Give me ten minutes, and then start getting the women out of here.’ No matter how stealthy they were, Killigrew could not imagine that releasing the women from the harem and getting them through the delta was a task which could be performed without the alarm being raised.
Ndawa nodded as Tip-Top explained, and then asked a question. ‘He wants to know what he should do if you’re not back by the time we’re ready to get back in the canoes,’ said the Kruman.
‘You go without me,’ Killigrew said simply. He checked his watch. It was a quarter past midnight. ‘You’ve got three-quarters of an hour before the bombardment starts.’ If it starts, he added to himself: there was no sign of the breeze picking up again, and the night was deadly still. ‘Don’t be here when it does.’ He hurried off into the darkness before Reynolds, Ndawa or Tip-Top could protest.
A water channel separated the island with the harem from the main island at the centre of the barracoon where Salazar’s house and the administrative blocks stood. A narrow wooden bridge arched over the water, and another guard stood on duty there with a musket over his shoulder, smoking a clay pipe. Killigrew decided to adopt the bold approach and strode up the bridge as if he had every right to be going where he was. The man looked up as his footsteps sounded on the planks of the bridge.
‘Boa noite,' said Killigrew.
‘Boa noite, senhor.'
Killigrew produced a cheroot Crichton had given him earlier. ‘Tem lume, por favor?'
‘Sîm, senhor.' The guard produced a box of lucifers, struck one on the wooden handrail of the bridge and lit Killigrew’s cheroot for him.
‘Obrigado.' Killigrew surreptitiously took out his knife and held it behind his back.
‘De nada.'
‘Onde está a casa de Senhor Salazar?'
As the guard turned away to point out Salazar’s house, Killigrew clamped a hand over his mouth and slit his throat. ‘Obrigado,’ he murmured, propping the man’s body against the handrail so it looked as though he was staring into the water below the bridge. He kicked the man’s pipe, which had fallen to the planks of the bridge, into the water, and wiped the blade of his knife clean before replacing it in the sheath at his side.
He crossed to where the palazzo stood, keeping to the shadows. There were no guards here. All the downstairs rooms were dark, although lights showed in some of the upstairs windows. He crept around the back and tried the kitchen door. Locked. Kicking it open would raise the alarm. He looked around for another way in, and saw a drainpipe leading up to the roof. He looked around again to make sure no one was watching, but a hush lay over the barracoon. Everything was preternaturally quiet. Killigrew prayed he was not about to walk into a trap.
Or rather, climb into a trap, to be precise. Ignoring his throbbing ankle, he shinned up the drainpipe to the ornate stone balustrade that ran around the top of the palazzo and scrambled over it. There were perhaps a dozen skylights set at various places across the roof, but they were all locked and barred. Making his way around the edge of the roof, he came to where a balcony jutted out in front of some French windows that were dark. He lowered himself over the balustrade and dropped. He landed lightly on the balls of his feet but pain shot through his ankle nonetheless. He crouched there for a moment and peered through the glass. The room beyond was unoccupied. He tried the handle. The door was unlocked but the catch was on. He slid his knife into the gap and jiggled it until he was able to raise the catch, slipping inside and closing the door behind him.
He crossed to the far door and pressed his ear to it. No sound came from the other side. He opened it a crack and peered out. A single oil lamp illuminated the landing. There was no one in sight. He slipped out of the room and crept cat-footed across the carpet to the door opposite. Light shone underneath the door. He crouched down to peer through the keyhole and saw Captain Madison sitting up in bed, reading the Bible. I’ll deal with you later, Killigrew thought to himself.
Voices came from a door further down. He peered through that keyhole. The occupants of the room were out of sight this time, but he could hear them talking. He recognised Salazar’s voice: ‘You should be grateful to me, Miss Chance. If it had not been for the Jesuit’s powder I gave you, you would be dead by now.’
‘If you think I’m going to surrender to your disgusting embraces just because you saved my life – after first endangering it, of course – you’ve got another think coming, Mr Salazar.’
So at least one of the captives had not been violated; that was some small relief at any rate.
‘You should be good to me, Miss Chance… May I call you Suzannah?’
‘You may not. Don’t touch me! Get your filthy hands off me!’
Killigrew straightened and was about to burst through the door when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He straightened, turned and found himself staring at Prince Khari’s chest.
‘I never took you for a peeping Tom, Mr Killigrew.’
‘I’m a man of many parts,’ Killigrew told him with a shrug, and tried to stab him in the stomach with his knife.
But Khari’s hand swept down as fast as a striking mamba and gripped him by the wrist, halting the knife’s point an inch from his skin. He span Killigrew around, slammed him against the wall and twisted his arm up into the small of his back until Killigrew gasped and dropped the knife.
Two of the bedroom doors opened and Salazar and Madison emerged, the former in white pantaloons and shirt, the latter in a blue-and-white striped nightshirt and tasselled nightcap. ‘What’s going on?’ demanded Salazar.
‘I found an intruder,’ said Khari.
‘Good evening,’ said Killigrew, speaking with difficulty because of the way Khari was pressing his cheek against the wall.
Recognising him, Salazar relaxed and smiled, leaning negligently against the wall. ‘Mr Killigrew. I’ve been expecting you…’
Killigrew groaned. ‘Somehow I had a feeling you were going to say that.’
‘…in spite of what his highness here told me about having killed you.’
‘You don’t have to call him “your highness”, you know,’ said Killigrew. ‘His father’s disinherited him. He won’t even inherit a cracked chamber-pot when King Nldamak dies, never mind a throne.’
Khari punched him in the back and Killigrew gasped as pain exploded through his kidneys. ‘Do not worry, Salazar. I’ll finish the job.’
‘No. I’ll deal with Killigrew. You go down to the pens and make sure the slaves are all safely locked up for the night. Even Killigrew here isn’t foolish enough to come back alone.’ Salazar relieved Killigrew of his cutlass and revolver, keeping him covered so that Khari could release him and disappear downstairs.
‘I’ll get dressed,’ muttered Madison, going back inside his room.
Salazar motioned for Killigrew to enter Miss Chance’s room. She was sitting up in bed, her face drawn and pale with heavy bags under her eyes, but it was clear she was on the mend following her illness. ‘Kit!’ she exclaimed, spreading her arms wide.
Killigrew saw no reason not to go to her and hug her reassuringly. ‘It’s all right. Everything’s going to be just fine.’
Salazar tutted, seating himself in a chair by the door while keeping Killigrew covered with the revolving pistol. ‘You should not lie to the lady, Mr Killigrew. Or could it be you know something which yet escapes me?’
Killigrew glanced at the carriage clock on the mantelpiece. It said twenty-two minutes to one.
Salazar examined the revolving pistol, and started to knock the bullets out of their chambers, one after another, as if daring Killigrew to come around the bed at him; but the cutlass was propped against the wall close by Salazar’s hand. ‘I admire your spirit, Mr Killigrew. I would like to say you have been a worthy adversary, but I fear your puny efforts to put me out of business have hardly taxed me. I noticed you glanced at the clock just now. Am I keeping you from an urgent appointment?’
‘You know how it is. Things to do, people to see.’ Killigrew tried to sound nonchalant, but his bravado sounded hollow even to his own ears.
‘I wonder. Could it be that you managed to arrange for a naval vessel to come and bombard my little business concern? The suggestion that any man, disgraced and stripped of his naval rank, could pull off such a feat would normally make me laugh. But then, you are not just any man, are you?’ Salazar gestured with the revolver. Killigrew had counted the number of bullets he had knocked out and knew there was still one in there. ‘An ingenious little toy,’ said Salazar, and span the cylinder, before aiming the pistol between Miss Chance’s eyes. He pulled the trigger, and she flinched with a gasp as the pistol banged, flames shooting from the muzzle, but the hammer had fallen on a chamber without a bullet in it. ‘So tell me, Mr Killigrew, did you arrange for a naval bombardment, or not?’
Miss Chance clung to him. ‘Don’t tell him anything, Kit.’
‘Perhaps Miss Chance thinks I am in jest,’ said Salazar, aiming and squeezing the trigger again. The pistol banged again, but again there was no bullet in the chamber. ‘Let me assure you, I’m not.’ He aimed again, and smiled. ‘Miss Chance has four chances left. Should I make arrangements for the reception of unwelcome guests, or not?’
Killigrew knew when he was beaten. He only hoped that Reynolds’s marines had been able to get the women out of the harem in time. ‘Give it up, Salazar. A Royal Navy frigate should be anchoring off the shore in the next fifteen minutes: the bombardment commences at one o’clock. You can kill me if you like, but either way you’re finished.’
Salazar glanced down the barrel of the pistol. ‘A wise decision, Mr Killigrew. The next shot would have blown her pretty little brains out.’ He picked up the cutlass in his left hand and gestured with the revolver. ‘Now let us leave Miss Chance to get her rest, which she is much in need of following her recent illness.’
As they emerged from the bedchamber they found Madison waiting for them outside. ‘Well?’
‘There’s a British frigate coming to bombard us in a quarter of an hour.’
Madison laughed. ‘One frigate? Was that the best he could do?’
Killigrew frowned. For two men who were about to be subjected to a bombardment of shells, they were both in remarkably high spirits. ‘It should be enough to turn this barracoon into so much ploughed earth,’ he told them confidently.
Salazar smiled. ‘I think not.’
They went downstairs and Salazar pulled on a bell rope. Henriques appeared a moment later. ‘Mr Sampson and his crew are to report to their action stations at once, Henriques.’
The footman nodded and hurried outside. Salazar and Madison followed him, taking Killigrew with them. The three of them went out of the palazzo and approached another bridge which led on to the next island, the one which bordered the shore. ‘Before I kill you, Mr Killigrew, I want you to see why your pathetic attempts to destroy me have failed, so that you may die knowing that at the end you have lost, and I have won,’ said Salazar. ‘When you first came here I gave you a little guided tour, and I dare say you made good use of the knowledge you thus gained instructing the gentlemen of the Royal Navy in how to bombard this barracoon. But there is one small but important detail I was careful not to show you.’
Several dozen men emerged from the barracks at the trot, and Salazar motioned Killigrew to stand back and let them pass over the bridge first. When the last of the men had crossed over, Salazar, Killigrew and Madison followed.
They passed through an archway in a hedge and came to where an escarpment sloped up slightly. A creeper-covered wall ran along the top of the escarpment, and at each of the twelve embrasures in the wall a ninety-eight pounder pointed out to sea. Killigrew’s heart sank. If the gunnery of Salazar’s men was up to anything, then the shore battery would blast the unsuspecting HMS Thor out of the water.
Salazar saw the despondency on his face, and laughed. ‘Surely you did not think I would invest so much of my hard-earned money in an operation of this scale without spending something on the means to protect it?’
Some of the men took down the creeper-covered boards which shielded the embrasures from the sea while others crossed to a bunker about fifty feet behind the battery. One of them unlocked the door and carried an oil lamp inside. The others followed him, and had soon formed a human chain, passing out round shot and cartridge bags. As one group of men piled the shot and cartridges outside the bunker, others from the gun crews came down and fetched the first load for their cannons. They worked with startling efficiency and were clearly well drilled.
‘I told you before,’ said Salazar. ‘I like the best of everything in life. That extends to my gunners. Mr Sampson was trained in gunnery by the best teachers in the world, Mr Killigrew: your own Royal Navy. I don’t think my men will have any difficulty reducing one frigate to so much matchwood,’ he added with evident relish at the forthcoming slaughter.
Salazar stepped up to the wall and motioned for Killigrew and Madison to join him. Below the wall Killigrew could see the steep slope of the escarpment stretching down to the beach, thick with foliage. Out to sea, HMS Thor was getting into position, towed by the ship’s boats in the absence of any wind.
‘Perfect,’ said Salazar. ‘With so many men in their boats, it will take several minutes to get them back on board and ready to fire their long guns. She’s a sitting duck. Fire your first broadside as soon as you’re ready, Mr Sampson!’
‘Aye, aye, Mr Salazar!’
Killigrew had only one last card to play. ‘If you sink a British frigate, the Royal Navy is going to come looking for you. And we’ve already left word with the authorities in Monrovia as to exactly where they can find you.’
Salazar smiled. ‘I dare say you have. But I’ll be long gone by then. Sinking this ship will buy me all the time I need to clear out of here and set up my operations at a new location. It will cost me a great deal of money, but that will be a drop in the ocean compared to the profits I make from the trade. You see, Mr Killigrew, your schoolboy heroics will result in nothing more than the loss of one year’s profit for me, and the deaths of the crew of a British frigate. Oh, and your own death, of course. Which, I might add, is long overdue. Perhaps you’d like to do the honours, Captain Madison?’
‘With pleasure.’ Madison levelled the pistol at Killigrew’s forehead. ‘No pithy last words, Mr Killigrew? You disappoint me. Then let the Good Book supply your epitaph. Isaiah, chapter fifty-three, verse seven: “He was oppressed, and he was afflicted, yet he opened not his mouth: he is brought as a lamb to the slaughter”.’
‘Amen,’ said Salazar. ‘Goodbye, Mr Killigrew.’