two hulls, reached the seine-netter’s wheelhouse, and found the fuel can lying on its side next to a kerosene-soaked pile of old fish-boxes and sacking. Beyond it, the wheelhouse door lay open, the interior an ink-black darkness broken only by the faint luminous glow from the compass binnacle.
But there was someone in there. He could sense it, could almost feel the other man’s presence. Hesitating, he glanced towards Marlin . All the help heneeded was there, but he couldn’t take time to fetch it – not without giving his quarry a chance to escape.
Easing nearer the doorway he took a deep breath, tensed, then made a sudden dive forward into the wheelhouse gloom. As he did, a figure sprang from the shadows and a club sliced down at him – but the sheer speed of his entry saved Carrick. The blow intended for his head smashed against his shoulder, numbing it with pain, but still leaving him free to grapple the attacker before the club could be used again.
Struggling, the other man cursing, they went down together and grappled, rolling on the deck. Carrick collided with a metal stanchion, twisted his body away as the club slammed down again, then desperately slammed a fist into his attacker’s stomach.
The blow brought a low whoop of pain. It was too dark to see the man’s face, but he was medium height and strong – strong enough to come straight back in again. Carrick dodged a hand which clawed for his eyes, pistoned another blow into the man’s stomach in reply, then managed to tear himself free.
Rolling clear, he started to scramble up. Then something exploded against his head and he felt himself falling while the whole world whirled. Hitting the deck planking, dazed and semi-conscious, he heard quick, heavy breathing and a scuffle of feet. A match rasped outside, there was a grunt, then the kerosene-soaked bonfire ignited in a searing blast of heat and yellow flame. Suddenly it was brighter than day around him – and the scorching tongues of fire were already leaping higher, spreading fast.
Groggily, Carrick groped around for support, felt the wood of a locker, and managed to heave himself upright. Swaying, coughing as smoke and heat seared at his lungs, he clung there for a moment in a dazewhile the crackling flames began to grow to a roar and the wheelhouse glass cracked and shattered with a sound like pistol-shots.
Gradually his head began to clear and he became vaguely aware of voices shouting somewhere outside. There was a fire extinguisher clipped to the bulkhead and he staggered across, pulled it loose, then turned back towards the flames.
A billow of sparks greeted Carrick as he neared the doorway. Throwing up an arm to protect his face, he lurched through into the open air and stood coughing, gasping for breath while he tried to bring the extinguisher round.
Before he could succeed, a pair of powerful arms suddenly grabbed him. Spun round bodily, he was smashed back against the deckrail.
‘Here’s one o’ the devils,’ bellowed a voice almost in his ear.
Through smoke-stung eyes he saw an angry, bearded face and a massive fist swinging back to hit him. But the blow didn’t land. An even larger hand grabbed the man’s arm and held it. Then Clapper Bell’s face swam into his vision. The bo’sun peered incredulously, then grinned.
‘It’s one o’ our officers, friend,’ declared Bell loudly. ‘Take that ruddy fire extinguisher he’s got. We’ll need it.’
Gladly, Carrick surrendered the fire extinguisher as the bearded fisherman released him with a muttered apology. Putting a steadying arm around him, Bell guided him back from the flames. Gradually, Carrick took in the rest. Several figures, some from Marlin , and the others fishermen, were already battling the blaze with extinguishers, water buckets and hastily wetted sacking. Others were on the outermost seine-netter, starting up her engine.
‘We’ll get you out o’ this,’ decided Clapper Bell. ‘What the hell happened
But there was someone in there. He could sense it, could almost feel the other man’s presence. Hesitating, he glanced towards Marlin . All the help heneeded was there, but he couldn’t take time to fetch it – not without giving his quarry a chance to escape.
Easing nearer the doorway he took a deep breath, tensed, then made a sudden dive forward into the wheelhouse gloom. As he did, a figure sprang from the shadows and a club sliced down at him – but the sheer speed of his entry saved Carrick. The blow intended for his head smashed against his shoulder, numbing it with pain, but still leaving him free to grapple the attacker before the club could be used again.
Struggling, the other man cursing, they went down together and grappled, rolling on the deck. Carrick collided with a metal stanchion, twisted his body away as the club slammed down again, then desperately slammed a fist into his attacker’s stomach.
The blow brought a low whoop of pain. It was too dark to see the man’s face, but he was medium height and strong – strong enough to come straight back in again. Carrick dodged a hand which clawed for his eyes, pistoned another blow into the man’s stomach in reply, then managed to tear himself free.
Rolling clear, he started to scramble up. Then something exploded against his head and he felt himself falling while the whole world whirled. Hitting the deck planking, dazed and semi-conscious, he heard quick, heavy breathing and a scuffle of feet. A match rasped outside, there was a grunt, then the kerosene-soaked bonfire ignited in a searing blast of heat and yellow flame. Suddenly it was brighter than day around him – and the scorching tongues of fire were already leaping higher, spreading fast.
Groggily, Carrick groped around for support, felt the wood of a locker, and managed to heave himself upright. Swaying, coughing as smoke and heat seared at his lungs, he clung there for a moment in a dazewhile the crackling flames began to grow to a roar and the wheelhouse glass cracked and shattered with a sound like pistol-shots.
Gradually his head began to clear and he became vaguely aware of voices shouting somewhere outside. There was a fire extinguisher clipped to the bulkhead and he staggered across, pulled it loose, then turned back towards the flames.
A billow of sparks greeted Carrick as he neared the doorway. Throwing up an arm to protect his face, he lurched through into the open air and stood coughing, gasping for breath while he tried to bring the extinguisher round.
Before he could succeed, a pair of powerful arms suddenly grabbed him. Spun round bodily, he was smashed back against the deckrail.
‘Here’s one o’ the devils,’ bellowed a voice almost in his ear.
Through smoke-stung eyes he saw an angry, bearded face and a massive fist swinging back to hit him. But the blow didn’t land. An even larger hand grabbed the man’s arm and held it. Then Clapper Bell’s face swam into his vision. The bo’sun peered incredulously, then grinned.
‘It’s one o’ our officers, friend,’ declared Bell loudly. ‘Take that ruddy fire extinguisher he’s got. We’ll need it.’
Gladly, Carrick surrendered the fire extinguisher as the bearded fisherman released him with a muttered apology. Putting a steadying arm around him, Bell guided him back from the flames. Gradually, Carrick took in the rest. Several figures, some from Marlin , and the others fishermen, were already battling the blaze with extinguishers, water buckets and hastily wetted sacking. Others were on the outermost seine-netter, starting up her engine.
‘We’ll get you out o’ this,’ decided Clapper Bell. ‘What the hell happened
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