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

horizon.’
    ‘Yes – and?’
    It wasn’t only his work, either. He had his daughter Edith to worry about, and her impending marriage, long-threatened and now imminent. Well, she was old enough, and her young man, Peter, was bright enough. Simon had persuaded her not to marry, though, until Peter had completed his apprenticeship to Master Harold, the merchant. Better not to have the expense and worry of a woman to support when he wasn’t his own man yet. Except that now Peter had succeeded in winning his position, Simon was still anxious. For some reason he could not accept that his little girl was old enough to be wed. Well, he would have to grow accustomed to the thought, and that was an end to it!
    ‘She is fully loaded,’ the clerk went on, ‘but there’s no one alive on board.’
    ‘What do you mean? She must have had a crew of ten or more!’
    ‘Eleven, Bailiff.’ Stephen shook his head a little, and then tilted it. ‘Let me send for the master of the ship that found her.’
    Master Hilary Beauley called an order, gripping the nearest shroud as he peered ahead. He shouted again, and felt the ship begin to slow. Until now she had been racing ahead while he kept his eyes on the far distance, but now he was near enough, and he bellowed a third command down to the men at the halyards and up on the sail itself. Soon the great sail was rising as the men reefed it in, clutching great handfuls and hauling it up until only a tiny fraction of the canvas was catching the wind. The ship slowed in her majestic progress, and he could feel her begin to level out.
    ‘Get my boat ready!’ he bawled down.
    This delay would hold up all those in the convoy. His was the first ship to return, but just behind him, he knew, were the others. The law said all ships were to travel in convoy, to protect them from raiders, but this particular convoy had not started out that way.
    Pyckard’s ship had been first to leave the port. His little vessel had careered away, and it was only when it was already gone that the others realised what a march he had stolen on them. Beauley had set off immediately with his own ship, with Hawley, so he felt sure, a short way after him. From that moment, time was critical. If Pyckard’s shipreached France a long time before they did, Pyckard’s merchants could make their own prices, and when the others arrived, their own cargoes would be less attractive.
    Hawley had one of the fastest and best ships available, and since the concept of the convoy was already rent asunder, it was every man for himself. Each master knew that. Beauley could make good speed, but he must be overtaken by Hawley in the end.
    So when Pyckard had gone, he quickly followed, desperate to beat his competitors. If he was to make his profit, he would have to be as quick and seamanlike as he ever had been.
    ‘Boat’s away!’
    Beauley swung down and stepped lightly across the decking. He sprang up to the wale, the thickest strake at the top of the ship’s side, and let himself down the ladder into the boat. ‘Haul away!’
    Sitting here in the rear of the boat, he felt a thrill of anticipation, which was only dulled by the lousy oar-strokes of the man in front of him. ‘Stop trying to look through the back of your head, man,’ he snapped. ‘I’ll tell you when to ship oars.’
    Alred Paviour kicked at a pebble and glowered down at the body. This was one job he should have refused. A simple hole in the road, and a few other repairs, and he’d thought he couldn’t possibly lose; they were offering a fixed contract and it had seemed too good to turn down. But he’d always had a thing about sailors, and this damn town was absolutely full of them: great horny-handed, hairy-arsed, swearingsailors reeking of fish and seaweed and other things he’d prefer not to guess at.
    ‘You might as well go to the tavern, master. There’s no point waiting here.’
    Glaring at the watchman standing guard over his hole, Alred swore softly.