The Scent of Betrayal Read Online Free PDF Page A

nearby shore, the barge shot forward and was swiftly out of danger.
    The water beneath Bucephalas was no longer even pale blue. The colour of the sandy bottom had turned it to something approaching milk. Fronds of weed bent and twisted in the current, occasionally revealing the black jagged shape of a rock. Others, even larger where the undersea vegetation was thicker, would remain hidden from view. Whatever Caufield said about deep soundings, this was going to require a degree of good fortune. A ship drifting sedately into this part of the harbour stood in little danger of damage, but that did not apply to one running at speed. Bucephalas was barely making three knots, but that was enough to rip her bottom out if she made contact.
    The bowsprit inched over a particularly dense patch of greenery. Harry, counting off the seconds till the deepest part of his keel made contact, was suddenly aware that he was holding his breath. It seemed like an eternity as all other sounds around him faded. His heart nearly stopped as the topmast swayed forward, until he realised that it was merely the effect of the thick weed slowing the ship, something barely noticeable on deck but very exaggerated aloft. Lifting his eyes he saw another patch dead ahead, and for reasons that added up to nothing but guesswork, called down to Caufield to change course slightly to avoid it. This took him too close to the other vessels and forced the men below to haul the yards round so that they lay nearly fore and aft. The pressure of the wind pushed Bucephalas over and she juddered as her bulwarks grazed into the side planking of a merchantman.
    Here the fenders proved their worth, even if they were ripped off by the pressure of the rough wood as his men fought to pole their way past. On the merchantman’s deck every member of the crew was shouting imprecations and abuse in a language he couldn’t understand. He would have paid them no heed even if they’d cursed him in English. All his attention was directed to those using the capstan bars, calling orders to pole hard and create a thin strip of blue water between the ships so he could trim his sails to take a bit of wind. That and the efforts of the men fending them along the merchantman’s side finally pushed them past its high forecastle. The sight of the empty outer roadstead spurred them toeven greater efforts. Bucephalas rose, then dipped forward as she breasted the first gentle wave, telling Harry that they’d cleared their first hurdle. The sandy bottom receded and now the bowsprit swayed over a mass of deep blue water. Within half a minute they were clear and Harry turned his attention to the next problem.
    There was no time for a leisurely examination. He’d never stay out of range of Villemin’s guns with what he had aloft, so thirty seconds were allotted to an impression of the two brigs’ sailing qualities. A sudden deep thud made him look down in alarm, but it was only Pender, who’d brought the barge alongside. Hooked onto the chains, he’d allowed the sea to swing his boat into the ship, yelling all the while to those on deck. Lines were thrown over the side, one to lash the boat, others to provide an escape for the barge crew. Once the men were clear it was eased towards the stern till it spun into position just ahead of the other boats. All this took place while Harry slid to the deck. He landed, this time steadily, on the piled canvas that had been fetched out of the hold, some of it already being bent onto the lines that would carry it aloft. His brother’s head appeared just above the companionway and he shouted to tell him that all the guns were in slings, ready to be hauled up when he needed them. Harry waved in reply, with a pleasure that was pure fiction. He still needed all the pulling power at his disposal to get his sails aloft. There would be none to spare for guns.
    As soon as he approached Caufield surrendered the wheel. Pender, back aboard, took station behind him. The