"We split the lock," he said. "Tom Tilley did it with an issue cutlass, and smashed that too. I doubt the Navy Board will charge it to him, eh! I did not run exactly, sir, but I had to hide my face. When we dashed in the hut, I knew the men and they'd have recognised me, my village is three mile away, that's all. Bad enough I joined the Navy, but if they knew I was an Impress man, and hunting down the night-time gents to boot, well! I ran to save myself, in hope of saving you two later. I'd said to John and Tilley, merely, that I'd lead them to a water hole when we'd done our business. But they were thirstier than me."
His voice was low, but as they approached a side doorway he touched his lip for silence. He was not a large man, but powerful and full of sense, so they let themselves be guided without demur. Will remembered he had thought him stolid when they'd met, silent and unwilling. He had rather changed his mind.
"I will not go in, an't please you," Eaton breathed. "I left it to the shipmates who aren't known. Please God they haven't murdered them."
Will went in first, in trepidation, but no one was dead. Eaton need not have feared recognition, either, for the three men there, tied back to back, legs thrust out in star pattern, had their shirts pulled up and over their faces and their heads and knotted. They were wriggling and thrashing violently, but sailors' knots even drunken sailors' knots were more than a match for that. The sailors, though, were gone.
After a look, both Will and Sam went out again to Eaton, who was standing at the broken entrance door. It was still dark, but the light of morning was rising in the sky.
"They've gone," said Will. "Did you give them more instructions?"
Eaton's laugh was short and harsh.
"Instructions is it, sir? I said I had to fight to get them here. I found them in a barn with drink they'd stole, so maybe they've gone back, or more like they've gone to meet Rat Baines down at the creek. We'd better leg it, sirs, and lively."
"Will Baines be there?" said Sam. "He's a sorry coward, ain't he?"
Eaton, not asking their opinion, was pushing down the lane at cracking pace. Sam's legs were man enough, but Will was forced to jog to stay with them.
"If he's good at anything it's staying alive," said Eaton. "He'll have hauled offshore and hidden in case anyone was looking, but he knows not to have left them two in the lurch. It's us I'm worried over. Be quick, or they'll have gone without us, if they 'ant already."
He skirted dark houses on the edge of the town, and led through marsh and wood without hesitation or a doubt. When they reached the lagoon, though, it was dark and still as death. All three listened, when their breath had eased, but the only sounds were air and water, and a distant, peaceful barking. The tide was about full, all mud covered, last evening's wind quite gone. But even in the stillness they could hear no oars or voices.
"Should we call?" asked Will.
No one replied. They strained their ears. Sam made a small note of disgust.
"They'd not call back is my guess. What think you, Mr. Eaton?"
"Less noise the better, sir. Dawn's not far off and they may find you missing anytime. London's your best chance, ain't it? If you've got money you could get horses, you could do it in two days. Sooner if you're quick and lucky."
"But Lieutenant Kaye," said William. "Do you not think he'll come in for us? At least they'll tell him what has happened, and that we're out of jail."
"Aye, and there's a justice and militia after us," Sam said. "Attempted murder, was it? Assaulting protected citizens for the Press? No warrant for a start-off? Some captains might care to start a civil war for two bloody midshipmen, but Mr. Kaye ain't that man, or am I wrong?"
"Any road," said Eaton, "Slack Dickie's caught some men this time out. Beg pardon, sirs, I mean Lieutenant Kaye. He'll likely want to go and spend the profit." He showed them a frank challenge with his eyes, alive with humour. "Piss it up against the wall, or shag some top-notch doxies. Begging it again, if you think me forward." He gave a grunt of mirth. "No room to call him, really, have I? I'll stay down here a day or three myself, though Maggie would not thank me to hear me dub her whore."
"A village maid?" said Sam. "So that was where you run to, was it? Afraid of being recognised, my arse!"
Eaton denied it, but without any heat. Will found this joking, officer and man, extraordinary. And was the boatswain's mate, in theory sadly missed by Biter, planning to take a few days' furlough, for some tumbles with a wench?
"By God," he said. "I know captains who would flog a man for less. Running's a hanging matter, come to that."
"Aye, but you'd stand up for me," Eaton replied, chuckling. "Didn't I just spring you from the choke? In any way, Slack Dickie don't flog, he can't be bothered. Sir," he then said, 'we must none of us be found round here so go, for mercy's sake. I'll show you the best ways to cut inland to where you can lie up as long as you think fit. Flaxton's the place to get a horse if you've the wherewithal, I have a kinsman who will set you right. He might even take your Navy clothes off you, for safety's sake. God's eyes, though let's be off."
In twenty minutes it was light, and Sam and Will were alone in a narrow country road. They had a long hard way ahead of them, but figured on safety once they'd cleared off the coastal parts. They did not look like gentlemen; indeed, either one of them could have gone apprentice to a tramp. It was too cold to throw away their blue, though, and replacements were too costly. In these parts any sight of them could mean danger, quick and deadly. They thought to spend a lot of time in ditches.
Eighteen
They laid Charles Warren's body what was left of it in the parlour of a small inn at the village near Joe Simple's father's house. Joe had found it on a Friday, but it was Monday night before the local justice and the coroner were told. When they arrived, with a constable and the undertaker's men, the corpse was in a sorry state, there having been, it seemed, some attempts at dismemberment. Joe's father insisted that he'd found the man that very day, and had not touched his poor remains in any way. In fact, the men he'd called in to his house had wanted it reburied, gone for good, but could not bring themselves to help him move it. When he had tried, an arm had pulled clear off, while the leg he'd dragged on had broken at the charred knee joint. Sickened, he had told them his boy Joe would never keep a secret such as this which turned out not so, although it was believed -and who could track them by discovering a cadaver in a field? In the end they'd ridden off, telling him to keep it secret for as long as he thought fit, in hope the dogs would scatter it.
The inn was thronged with gawping Johns and Jills, and the landlord, despite the foul smell, did a most satisfactory trade. The justice had knowledge of the Customs search for missing men, although they were quite far from any sea, so despatched a man to Portsmouth on a reasonable horse and told him to seek out the collector at the Customs House on Point. Within half a day the little inn was bursting at the seams with officers near as lathered as the horses being tended in the yard, and their fury and upset at the dreadful state of their dead colleague meant an increase in the already roaring trade. More villagers poured in because of the commotion and reports of gruesome sights, the news spreading like a fire in dry grass. By early evening it was riotous. Three landlords from houses within five miles brought extra beer in hired carts, and got a handsome price from their lucky colleague, despite the ale was churned up and undrinkable by normal standards (not prevailing). Charles Warren, in his latter life an undercover man, became in death a wild celebrity.