Betrayal Read Online Free PDF Page B

all directions. From not far away they heard a blood-freezing roar and the piercing death squeal of some animal being taken. And as they crouched together every man sensed a massive presence out in the darkness, close, moving.
    Filled with dread, they gripped their puny weapons. A cutlass against one of Renzi’s hippos? Whatever it was, there was no betraying sound and it wasn’t until long minutes had passed that they realised it had moved on.
    At last the first rosy lightening of the sky spread from the east and, with tropical swiftness, it was day. A precautionary look around gave no reason for alarm.
    The river was wreathed with rising mist, shot through with the luminous pearly light of morning, insects darting about prettily.
    Kydd got to his feet. ‘Mr Oakley, you’ve the grapnel?’
    ‘Aye, sir.’
    ‘Then let’s find ourselves an island.’
    They went to the water’s edge, the boatswain testing his swing and Kydd watching upstream, but none of the right size hove into view; any number of pieces of floating debris appeared out of the mist but none to match the stout pad Kydd had tested only the day before.
    With impatience giving way to anxiety, Kydd continued to watch for their island. The light grew and strengthened. They couldn’t delay much longer. When a rather lopsided but more substantial piece emerged from the white haze, clearly clumped about a central strong sapling, he ordered, ‘There, Mr Oakley, we’ll try him.’
    It was more than thirty yards away but Oakley’s cast was unerring and soon it was pulled into the bank.
    ‘Get aboard, Stirk – see if you like it.’
    Obediently the gunner’s mate waded out to where it was nudging the shallows and hauled himself on. It swayed but seemed to hold firm as Stirk cast about in the tall grass. ‘It’ll fadge, sir, I shouldn’t wonder,’ he finally called back.
    The harsh grass looked an excellent hiding place. ‘Right, all aboard!’ Kydd said briskly, ensuring that their weapons were passed first to Stirk. Cutlasses, a brace of pistols apiece – pitifully little to stand against a broadside of guns.
    ‘Yo-ho, an’ it’s all a-taunt in the tight little
Pollywobble
,’ clowned Pearse, once he was safely on.
    ‘Stow it, y’ idiot,’ grunted Stirk, helping the barrel-shaped Wong to clamber aboard.
    ‘I’ll be forrard,’ Kydd said, ‘Mr Oakley at the stern with the grapnel. The rest of you hunker down amidships.’ The characterless mass of undergrowth was hardly a ship but order had to be brought to an utterly unseamanlike situation, and it seemed to be accepted without question by the ‘crew’.
    ‘Cast off!’
    Oakley released his hold on the bank and the island floated free. Another cast of the grapnel enabled him to haul out to mid-stream and they were on their way. Kydd took a last look about to make sure all was concealed and, with his shaving mirror to hand, Oakley aft with the grapnel watching him expectantly, they drifted languorously up to the last bend.
    Concentrating furiously on the tightening ripples, Kydd judged the moment right and nodded to Oakley, who let the grapnel plunge to the riverbed while he paid out the line. Kydd lay full length among the rich-smelling vegetation, carefully parting the grasses to see ahead. Behind him there was muffled conversation and nervous laughter, which was brought to a sudden stop by the boatswain’s sharp growl.
    In company with scattered other oddments of flotsam the island slowly cleared the bend – and not two hundred yards ahead lay their target. A fleeting panic washed over Kydd: a lump of floating grass going head to head with a corvette of the French Navy! He fought the feeling down and took up the mirror. Glancing up at the low sun to get the angle just right and shielding it carefully he gave the signal – three times three.
    Would they respond?
    The corvette seemed utterly unconcerned, a few men idly standing on the bank, a wisp of smoke issuing from the galley funnel