The Death Ship of Dartmouth: (Knights Templar 21) Read Online Free PDF Page A

Simon said, and he set off for the pie shop down near his chamber, where his clerk would be waiting for him.
    As he crossed the street, he saw old Will the gaoler – a tatty, degenerate-looking man with a paunch like a bishop and a threadbare white beard – walking up to the gaol in the market square. There was no one there so far as Simon remembered, but Will was a dedicated man. The gaoler was generally amiable, and called ‘old Widecombe Will’ because he had been the youngest son of a farmer from that little vill. Bored with prodding cattle to pull the plough, he had preferred to run away to sea. At least, that was his tale.
    It was not entirely true. He
had
been a farmer’s boy, although the legitimacy of his birth left a little to be desired. Also, rather than leaving his home from boredom, there was the matter of Millicent, the maid from the neighbouring hamlet, who had grown suddenly large with child. Still, in essence he had not lied. Now the father of six other (legal) children, and four grandchildren, he had a certain position in the town, and he was immensely proud of it. And part of his responsibilities for this year was the maintenance of the simple gaol.
    The Bailiff sighed. Another day of numbers and reportslay ahead. Oh well. He knew he must remain patient. Before long, with fortune, he would be able to go back to Lydford. To his home, his beautiful wife Meg and their children. They would be missing him, as he missed them. He was needed there.
    At the door to the pie shop, he hesitated, recalling that body in the hole. There were some details that looked out of place. Surely … but no. The fool of a sergeant must have moved him; there was nothing to worry about. Yet the scene stuck in his head, even as he entered and chose a good beef pie.
    Henry splashed through the water, running his hands over the strakes. There was no apparent leaking, and as he passed down the hull, he began to relax. All about him was the constant noise of running water, trickling, dripping, slopping about, but that was the normal sound of a working ship. The important thing was, he could see no holes or broken strakes, and by the time he had reached the stern, and had stumbled only once over a rib, he was feeling much happier. The second side of the ship appeared to be as safe, but he was nothing if not assiduous.
    It was as he stepped over the rib, planting his foot carefully down in the water, that he felt something brush against him. He screamed shrilly as he took in the sight of the corpse under the water, with its gaping mouth, pale, dead eyes and the hand that moved gently as though beckoning Henry to join him in death.

Chapter Three
    By the time Simon had entered his little counting-house, his latest clerk was already sitting at the trestle table, an anxious frown marring his brow as he added figures from a row of tally-sticks. Seeing Simon, he looked up and his mouth moved into a smile of welcome which somehow didn’t touch his eyes.
    ‘Bailiff – oh, right. Good. We’ve a lot to get through today. There’s a new ship come in.’
    ‘The burned one?’ Simon asked, crossing the room. At the far side there was a broad window which was shuttered most of the winter, but now in the late-summer was more often opened. He pulled up the heavy bar and set it on the floor, then pushed the shutters wide on their hinges. ‘It is one of the few advantages of this job, you know, that I have this marvellous view. And you, Stephen, persist in closing the shutters at every opportunity!’
    Stephen, a thin young man of two-and-twenty, smiled nervously. ‘I feel the chill so much, Master Bailiff, and—’
    ‘Chill? Look out there at the sun,’ Simon scoffed. ‘It’s a beautiful day, perfect weather. You could ride across the whole forest of Dartmoor to South Zeal market and back today.’
    ‘As you wish, sir,’ Stephen said. ‘Yet the open window will let in every gust and gale, and it blows my parchments all about the