say anything; he saw the wonder in my eyes. His yellow teeth were exposed in a knowing, triumphant grin. A valuable lesson. My conceit after having defeated the four men in Southwark had led me to fancy myself as something of a fighter. But against such a one as the Turk, I was no warrior at all!
Now the effects of the beating were stiffening my muscles. Every time I moved I was in pain. 'You carry on,' I said. 'I will search for Mr Holby on my own.'
We split up. I had little doubt that Mr Holby had gone overboard the previous night, and that there was a murderer in our midst. But following Mr Harriot's instructions, I could say nothing about this.
It soon became clear that a man could stow away in the ship with ease. There must have been a hundred quiet corners where a body could have been concealed. I grew more and more confused in direction as I stumbled through storerooms and along dark passages, up and down ladders, sometimes coming across sacks of food, sometimes piles of wood, huge jars of olive oil, meat pickled in salt water, heaps of rope, bales of sailcloth, barrels of water and beer, racks of cannonballs. Rats were everywhere, in their hundreds or thousands. And when I thought I had explored every inch of the ship, I would find another room with another cargo. My tarred rope had all but burned out, and I was seeking a ladder to take me up to the fresh air, when there came a cry from the forward part of the ship.
There was already a crowd of sailors clustered around the barrels when I reached the unfortunate Mr Holby. At least I assumed it was Mr Holby. All we could actually see was a pair of bare, blotchy feet protruding from under a stack of beer barrels twice the height of a man. The dark liquid oozing out from around his feet was not, I believe, beer. It was blood from his crushed body.
CHAPTER 9
I had been spared the task of extricating Mr Holby's squashed body from under the barrels. A bell had summoned everyone on deck. Mr Salter was standing as we emerged from the hatch. There was more work to be done on the sails, and he bawled instructions at us. I did not think that the man knew how to speak in a normal voice. The wind was stronger but I no longer felt the mal de mer, as the French call it, of the day before, and wondered whether the beating had removed it from my body.
I could scarcely walk, let alone set about climbing. Mr Salter, seeing my predicament, approached me. 'Do you need help up the ratline, Ogilvie?'
I knew what the help would be. 'No, sir,' I said in a humble tone which by no means came naturally to me. I forced my limbs to haul my body up the ropes. At least I would be out of range of the cudgel.
I had not been aloft ten minutes when Mr Salter called me down, iron in his voice. I thought of his cudgel hammering at my already painfully bruised ribs and limbs, and was gripped with such fear that I thought to jump off the foremast to my death rather than face another beating. But when I stood before him, close to fainting, he said simply, 'The captain wishes to see you this moment.'
I cannot describe the emotions which flowed through me as I stood at the desk of Sir Richard Grenville in his great cabin. The man had a face of granite. Mr Harriot stood next to me. I told my story exactly as I had given it earlier, of my beating by Mr Salter, my sleeplessness because of the pain, and my hearing a strange noise, like something heavy being dragged on the deck overhead. And when I had finished, he stared at me coldly and then both men spoke of me as if I was elsewhere. 'What do we know of this boy?'
'You see as much as I do, Richard. There is one thing. He seems to have acquired learning in patches, his mind is lively and he has a mathematical ability, perhaps considerable, which I have yet to test to its limit.'
'Another damned sorcerer in the making, by the sound of it,' growled Sir Richard. 'But what we need to know is, can we rely on his testimony? Is he reliable?'
'Damn me,
Now the effects of the beating were stiffening my muscles. Every time I moved I was in pain. 'You carry on,' I said. 'I will search for Mr Holby on my own.'
We split up. I had little doubt that Mr Holby had gone overboard the previous night, and that there was a murderer in our midst. But following Mr Harriot's instructions, I could say nothing about this.
It soon became clear that a man could stow away in the ship with ease. There must have been a hundred quiet corners where a body could have been concealed. I grew more and more confused in direction as I stumbled through storerooms and along dark passages, up and down ladders, sometimes coming across sacks of food, sometimes piles of wood, huge jars of olive oil, meat pickled in salt water, heaps of rope, bales of sailcloth, barrels of water and beer, racks of cannonballs. Rats were everywhere, in their hundreds or thousands. And when I thought I had explored every inch of the ship, I would find another room with another cargo. My tarred rope had all but burned out, and I was seeking a ladder to take me up to the fresh air, when there came a cry from the forward part of the ship.
There was already a crowd of sailors clustered around the barrels when I reached the unfortunate Mr Holby. At least I assumed it was Mr Holby. All we could actually see was a pair of bare, blotchy feet protruding from under a stack of beer barrels twice the height of a man. The dark liquid oozing out from around his feet was not, I believe, beer. It was blood from his crushed body.
CHAPTER 9
I had been spared the task of extricating Mr Holby's squashed body from under the barrels. A bell had summoned everyone on deck. Mr Salter was standing as we emerged from the hatch. There was more work to be done on the sails, and he bawled instructions at us. I did not think that the man knew how to speak in a normal voice. The wind was stronger but I no longer felt the mal de mer, as the French call it, of the day before, and wondered whether the beating had removed it from my body.
I could scarcely walk, let alone set about climbing. Mr Salter, seeing my predicament, approached me. 'Do you need help up the ratline, Ogilvie?'
I knew what the help would be. 'No, sir,' I said in a humble tone which by no means came naturally to me. I forced my limbs to haul my body up the ropes. At least I would be out of range of the cudgel.
I had not been aloft ten minutes when Mr Salter called me down, iron in his voice. I thought of his cudgel hammering at my already painfully bruised ribs and limbs, and was gripped with such fear that I thought to jump off the foremast to my death rather than face another beating. But when I stood before him, close to fainting, he said simply, 'The captain wishes to see you this moment.'
I cannot describe the emotions which flowed through me as I stood at the desk of Sir Richard Grenville in his great cabin. The man had a face of granite. Mr Harriot stood next to me. I told my story exactly as I had given it earlier, of my beating by Mr Salter, my sleeplessness because of the pain, and my hearing a strange noise, like something heavy being dragged on the deck overhead. And when I had finished, he stared at me coldly and then both men spoke of me as if I was elsewhere. 'What do we know of this boy?'
'You see as much as I do, Richard. There is one thing. He seems to have acquired learning in patches, his mind is lively and he has a mathematical ability, perhaps considerable, which I have yet to test to its limit.'
'Another damned sorcerer in the making, by the sound of it,' growled Sir Richard. 'But what we need to know is, can we rely on his testimony? Is he reliable?'
'Damn me,
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