Read Online In the King's Name by Alexander Kent - Free Book Online

heard somebody shout and his companion answer, glass breaking as it fell to the deck. Then silence.
    The hull swayed again and Napier moved carefully along the side of the hold and waited for the deck to right itself. It did not.
    He shouted, “Anything, Lucas?” and heard the muffled reply. “Nuthin’ yet!” Anxious, even scared.
    â€œJoin the others!” and he heard the thud of feet, a hatch slamming. People had died, and they might never discover how or why. It was pointless to risk any more.
    Vincent would be ready to leave, for his own reasons. One of the carelessly tied bundles of canvas thudded against his legs. He told himself to remain calm, but it was like a shouted warning. The time was now.
    He turned to look for the ladder. It was in shadow, or perhaps the light was going anyway. He recalled what Vincent had said about the clouds. One squall bursting over
Moonstone
‘s deck, and she would be on her way to the bottom.
    The fabric of his breeches caught on the edge of something that must have been shielded by the canvas and other debris, a small door or screen where tools or tackle might be stowed for unloading cargo.
    He called, “Wait, Lucas!” but there was no answer. What was the point, anyway? He felt the water swilling across his feet again. It seemed deeper.
Go now
.
    He had known fear in the past. This was different. He simply could not move.
    The deck lurched again; perhaps he cried out, but there was only silence. Any second now … And then he heard it.
    At first he thought it was only in his mind, the last cry, like when
Audacity
had gone down, but then he heard it again. A tapping, a scraping, hesitant but close. Human? He was scrabbling against the little door now, tugging at the rough clip, leaving blood on the frame but feeling nothing, only a wild desperation. Water was surging around his legs; this could be the final plunge, but it was all out of reach, unreal. Only the faint sound was vital.
    Another coaming, and he almost fell. He tried to wedge the door open; otherwise he would be in complete darkness. There was very little light anyway. More fallen canvas and coils of rope, sodden papers floating like leaves, clinging to his hands as he steadied himself. The furtive scrabbling had stopped, if it had ever existed. Maybe it was in an adjoining space or hold. There was a muffled echo, as if something had reverberated against the hull, and he knew it was a shot. From
Onward
, from another world. The pre-arranged recall.
    He pushed his shoulder against the door but it did not shift.
If only
. Then he froze, unable to think or breathe as something groped at his thigh and fastened to his wet clothing. Like a claw, and it was alive.
    He saw the face for the first time, only the eyes catching the feeble light when the door moved slightly.
    Napier struggled to move closer until their faces were almost touching, felt the shocked gasp of pain as he tried to push the debris away from the twisted limbs, heard the ragged breathing. The coat was torn and matted, not only with water but with blood, and Napier could see the faint shine of gilt buttons. When his hands fumbled against the ice-cold fingers, he felt the pistol they still gripped. It would never fire again.
    Napier leaned closer, overwhelmed by the man’s pain and the smell of the filth in which he had been sprawled. How could he have hoped and lived so long after all he had seen and suffered?
    The other hand fell against Napier’s wrist, clutched it, and for a few more seconds clung like iron.
    â€œKnew … you’d … come.” He coughed and swallowed, then was silent again. Only the eyes seemed alive. Wild.
    Napier thought he heard a shout. Maybe the gig was about to cast off. Leave him … He felt no fear.
    He asked quietly, “How long have you—” and got no further, feeling the hand move to his throat, his face, limp now, but determined.
    â€œTell them, matey,