“Not so tight,” he mumbled. “Stop being so tight.”
Janet pushed him away. “Not here,” she said, short-breathed. “It won’t be comfortable here. There’s nowhere for me to lie.”
Costas backed off slightly: she could see that his head was uncertainly to one side. He said: “Down below. There’s down below.”
“Bunks?”
“Sort of.”
“Let’s go below.”
With absurd courtesy the man offered his hand, to guide her. Repelled, Janet still took it and allowed herself to be led from the restriction of the wheelhouse, actually gulping at the air the moment she got beyond the door. She stopped. He stopped with her, his free hand groping at her breast again, trying to get his fingers into the opening of her shirt to touch her flesh. Janet let him because it was not an immediate danger: the tiny cowl to her right, leading down into God knows where, was the immediate danger.
“I like a party,” she said.
Costas sniggered, popping a button to make room for his hand, and said: “I’ll give you a party: I’ll give you a party you’ve never had before.”
“Here,” offered Janet, raising the bottle between them. “Have a drink yourself.”
Still with one hand loosely inside her shirt Costas took the brandy with the other, tilting his head in a gesture of macho bravado to take a swig. Janet was perfectly able to see. She waited until his throat visibly started to move, to take the liquor, and then drove her hand upwards with all the fear-driven force she could manage. Which was a lot. The heel of her hand precisely caught the bottle at its very bottom, ramming the neck of the bottle fully up into the man’s mouth. There was a snap, of breaking teeth, and a scream of agony, and still Janet kept thrusting, holding the bottle now and screwing it further into his mouth, wanting to drive it down his throat. Costas floundered backwards, gagging, and tripped over something littering the deck, going down. The bottle was jerked out of her hands, smashing as he threw his head sideways: the man lay on his side, choking. Janet looked desperately around, for some other weapon, whimpering with fresh fear as she was grabbed from behind. Dimitri’s arms wrapped around her, trapping her own. It was not a sexual attack. He was restraining her, trying to pull her away. In front she saw Costas pushing himself from the planking, struggling to get up: he was still spitting the blood from his mouth. Janet strained outwards, to break the older man’s grip, but couldn’t.
Dimitri spoke, directly into her ear and not to her but to Costas and in Arabic now.
“ Ya himar! Al-lak titrik-ha I’al ba-i’-een! ”
Briefly, for no more than secounds, Janet stopped struggling. Why should she have been left? What did it mean, that she was for the others? Her stopping deceived the man holding her. She was aware of his slight relaxation and she jerked suddenly, turning to bring Dimitri around between herself and the younger man. Dimitri moved with her and at once there was an angonized yell and the grip fell away, freeing her.
Janet turned, to face the man. He was hopping on one foot and in the heel of the other she could see embedded the jagged base of the broken brandy bottle, and Janet remembered their being barefoot during the voyage. Costas was almost upright now, crouched and about to run at her. Janet shoved out, driven by anger as well as fear. She caught Dimitri fully in the back and without any balance Dimitri hurtled into the other man. They both fell and there were fresh yells. She guessed they’d gone on to more broken glass and hoped they were pieces that hurt badly, like the base embedded in Dimitri’s foot.
Janet gazed frantically around, not knowing what to do. There was scuffling, from behind, and she saw Costas pulling himself upright once more. She ran without thought to the stern, grunting as she hit against something. She felt out, not able to tell from the feel what it was, and then realized it was the frame holding the gutting knives she had seen when she boarded that afternoon. She grabbed at one, holding it outwards between both her hands, level with her waist, turning back towards Costas.
He was coming towards her cautiously, crab-like, bent and with his body half turned. His face appeared covered with something black and Janet guessed it was blood.
When he spoke the words were slurred by the damage she had caused to his mouth. “Hurt you,” he said. “You can’t believe how I’m going to hurt you. Break you in, that’s what I’m going to do. Really break you in.”
Dimitri’s voice came from behind, still in Arabic: Janet couldn’t see him and guessed he was lying where he’d fallen. “Homme bidhum yaha. Ma bit-’oud tiswa.”
Who wanted her for themselves? How would she be no good, split apart? Janet thought she knew and felt the vomit rise, to her throat.
“ Anna biddi ya-ha abil-il kill! ” Costas shouted back.
He wasn’t going to have her first, Janet determined. No one was going to have her. She stood where the boat was darkest: she’d just be a black outline. So he wouldn’t have seen the knife. Could she kill him: intentionally drive the knife into his body? Hurt her, he’d said: hurt her badly. Yes, she could kill him: stab him at least, to make him stop. He was very close now, no more than a yard or two: she was aware of his tensing, to jump at her.
“ Trickni. Hill ’anni! ”
Janet spoke-told him to stay away-in Arabic and he did stop, surprised she knew the language. The halt was only brief. She saw his crushed lips pull back, in the grimace of a smile, and he answered her in Arabic, calling her a whore. And then he came at her. He just rushed, arms stretched forward to grab her, and he actually had her shoulders before he ran on to the knife.
He gave a great gasp, sucking in his breath, in pain and in shock, and staggered backwards, looking down. The knife was in very deep: Janet was only able to see the handle, protruding from the left-hand side of his body. Costas sagged, as if he were about to collapse at the knees, tried to straighten but couldn’t, not completely, and finally toppled over. His legs quivered upwards, forming his body into a ball, and a long groan gurgled from him.
Janet ran.
She used one of the mooring ropes as a hand-hold, balanced herself on the rail and then jumped over the narrow ditch of sea on to the jetty. After the hours on the ship Janet felt immediately unsteady on a solid footing and had to snatch out for a bollard for support. It gave her the opportunity to orientate herself.
She was about halfway along a narrow mooring finger maybe two hundred yards long and ten yards wide. Underfoot she detected cobbles and guessed it was a very old part of the harbor construction. There were bollards like the one she was holding, roughly twenty yards apart along either side, and every so often small sheds and buildings which she supposed accommodated the fishing tackle and equipment of boats permanently using the berths. The mooring on either side of where they had tied up was empty, which would have accounted for the noise of her struggling not being overhead: she doubted if anyone would have bothered to intrude if they had been detected.
Her mind was disjointed, thoughts only half forming before others presented themselves to get in the way. Janet tried to concentrate, to assess the situation she was in and to find a way out. Confronting literally the need to find a way out, she realized, abruptly, she was still trapped: she had to clear the jetty.
Feeling steadier at last she set out towards the port, the sea to her back, heading into the shadow of the first storage hut. It was fortunate she did because she was completely hidden when she saw the movement ahead. Three men, maybe four, walking in a group with their heads close in conversation. Janet stopped, easing slightly backwards and then around the tiny building, keeping it between herself and the group. The mumble of words came to her as they got closer: she strained, not sure at first, then definitely identified Stavos’s voice. The talk was in Arabic. There was something about a problem and then she heard “taught” and the slap of a fist being driven into the palm of a hand and the splatter of laughter. She missed the beginning of a sentence but caught “morale of the men” and there was more laughter. Someone said they were very pleased and Stavos replied that he would like to be able to do more business.