Varlo said, "One hold is full of women, sir. All ages."
Adam looked at Cousens. "Is this your work, too? You are the master of this unspeakable vessel. What say you now?" He did not wait for an answer. "Open that hatch, Mr Varlo, but be well prepared." So calm still. The tone he might use when asking a midshipman about the weather on deck, when he already knew.
Then he walked to the hatch as two marines prised it open. The stench he had expected. He had sailed downwind of slavers before, when the world had turned its back. But you never accepted it, or became accustomed to it.
Jago was beside him; he could hear his breathing. Anger, disgust, or just glad he was out of it. Alive.
To Rist he said, "Tell them, if you can, that we are here to free them." He averted his eyes as screams and wild cries burst from the hold. What must it be like, flung aboard, chained, not knowing where they were or where hound? Days or weeks, scarcely able to breathe or move in their own filth. Until daylight found them. As slaves.
Williams called, "She wants to go down to them, sir." He sounded both anxious and protective. The same man who had helped to blow up a chebeck with his bare hands. With Galbraith, and Rist.
"Easy with her." He almost touched the girl as they carried her past, but saw her stare at him with eyes full of terror.
His fury helped in some way, or perhaps it was some lingering madness after toying with death. Vanity…
"You say you are the master?" I lis voice must have been low, for Cousens leaned forward to catch his words, and two bayonets rose level with his throat as if to some whispered command. But he managed to nod.
"You will know the name of the ship with which you intended to rendezvous, to relieve yourself of this cargo. This is too small a vessel to remain at sea for long with so many captives."
Rist called, "Three hundred an' fifty, men an' women, sir." He consulted a list in his hand and glanced at Williams. "An' children."
Cousens smiled. Relief, surprise; his confidence was returning. "My orders were to deliver them elsewhere. I will tell any government official, but not here or now. I know my rights, damn you!"
Adam saw one of the marines watching from the hatchway. It was Corporal Bloxham, the crack shot. A good man in every way, and with luck listed for sergeant at the next opportunity. Adam knew he would kill Cousens here and now at the drop of a hat.
He repeated, "The name of that ship. Tell me."
Cousens did not even shake his head.
Adam walked to the lip of the hatch again. Staring faces, eyes white in the shafted sunshine, skins like ebony, shining with sweat.
They had seen him. They would know, understand, or most of them would.
Without looking over his shoulder, he said, "As master you are expected to care for all persons carried in your vessel, at all times." Then he did look at Cousens. "We have much to do before we can get under way again. Repairs, a jury-rig, and a prize crew to be quartered aboard when we leave this place." He watched the smirk on Cousens's face fade. "I think it fair and proper that as master you should remain below with those women, to reassure them, if you will." He strode to the side. "See to it, Mr Rist, directly!"
Jago muttered, "They'll tear him apart, sir." He was staring at him, searching for something. Like that day in the church.
"I don't doubt it. Call the gig alongside. Mr Varlo can remain in charge. He is discovering a great deal today, I believe!"
The marines were dragging Cousens along the deck. Others ran to assist. He was a powerful man, but his voice, strong as it was, broke in a scream as they reached the open hatch.
The scream was almost drowned by the combined din from the hold. Like one great beast, baying for vengeance.
Rist stared at Jago and then at his captain.
"He wants to talk, sir. To tell you…" He glanced at the hatchway. "Anything but that!"
Adam looked across to Unrivalled, so bright, so clean in the sunlight.
He said, "It soils all of us. Not only the guilty!"
The master's mate strode away, and Jago said, "Would you have done it, sir?"
Adam swung around sharply, and felt the claws slackening, releasing him.
"I hope I never know." And punched his arm. "Luke."
Galbraith ducked beneath a deckhead beam and stood by the small desk. On the opposite side of the great cabin Yovell was seated at his table, absorbed in the notes he was copying unhurriedly in his round hand. No wonder they called them quill-pushers in the navy, he thought, Yovell was utterly engrossed, as if completely alone. As if this had been an ordinary day.
And the captain. Hard to believe he was the same man Galbraith had watched through a telescope climbing aboard the anchored Alhatroz, unaccompanied and vulnerable. He was still scarcely able to accept what had happened.
As if to mock him, he heard eight bells ring out from the forecastle. Noon: six hours, if that, since they had seen Paradox strike bottom, and her masts and sails fold over her on the water like a dying seabird.
Work had not stopped since. Boats plying back and forth, slaves being released on Albatroz's deck, carefully guarded and separated from the vessel's crew, some of whom were in irons. Varlo was obeying orders. Take no chances. With anyone.
The brig Seven Sisters had been busy, too, securing the other slaver, Intrepido, and kedging her into deeper water. Other boats had been ferrying guns and stores from Paradox, anything which might be used against her original owners. Paradox could not be moved, and in these currents and this climate it was doubtful if she would last much longer.
Commodore Turnbull had survived, completely unhurt. Before he had come below Galbraith had seen one last boat lying alongside the dejected topsail schooner, by then a mastless wreck. They would set her ablaze, a suitable pyre for all those who had died for one man's folly. Hastilow had been killed, among others. The wounded were shared between Unrivalled and Seven Sisters. Some would not last until Freetown.
He looked at the captain now, shirtless, his dark hair clinging to his neck and forehead. Galbraith had heard that he had stripped naked and had ordered some seamen to use a washdeck pump to drench him from head to foot. Salt water maybe, but it seemed to help. To cleanse away something foul, and not only from his body.
Adam raised his eyes from the log book on his deck. They were clear, the aftermath of what he had done fallen into place, recognised if not accepted.
They had clasped hands when he had returned aboard. Even his voice had sounded different. Hard, as if he were expecting a confrontation.
"Fast as you can, Leigh! Tell the carpenter, and have Mr Partridge send a crew across. I want us out of here today."
Shortly afterwards another brig, Kittiwake, had arrived. She had not managed to catch the third slaver; she had not even been a spectator.
She had sailed past them, heading for open water, many of her company clinging to the shrouds to cheer and wave. They were going to Freetown.
It had been then that they had seen the commodore's broadpendant streaming from the brig's masthead, and through the glass Galbraith had glimpsed Turnbull himself, aft with one of the lieutenants. He had raised his hat to Unrivalled, and he had been smiling.
Galbraith had turned to comment but had heard Adam Bolitho say, "I'll see you damned for this."
They had not been alone together again, until now.
Adam said, "How goes it, Leigh? I can see from here that the jury-rig is raised and working. And the surgeon tells me that the wounded are settled in. Are we ready?"
"One hour, sir. The wind is holding and steady. I've told Rist to remain with the prize. He's doing well."
Adam leaned back in the chair and tasted the coffee which Napier had made for him. That had been almost the worst part of his return on board. He had been only just holding on. Facing them, the captain again. And then here in the cabin, his sanctuary, Napier had taken his hand in both of his and had stammered, "I thought… I thought…" It was all he had been able to say. Even Yovell, who rarely revealed emotion, as if it was something too private to share, had said, "What you did was pure courage." lie had paused, perhaps to measure how much more Adam could take. "But if another had done as much, you would have been the first to call him foolhardy and reckless."