Bolitho fingered his sheathed hanger and strained his ears, expecting to hear something.
Pyke nodded. `This way.' He hurried on again, the track levelling off as the little group of men left the sea behind them.
The cottage loomed out of the sleet like a pale rock. It was little more than the size of a large room, Bolitho thought, with very low walls, some kind of thatched roof and small, sightless windows.
Who would want to live here? he wondered. It must be quite a walk to the nearest hamlet or village.
Pyke was peering at the little cottage with professional interest. To Bolitho he said, `Man's name is Portlock. Bit of everything 'e is. Poacher, crimp for the press gangs, 'e can turn 'is 'and to most trades.' He laughed shortly. 'Ow 'e's escaped the noose all these years I'll not know.' He sighed. `Robins, go 'alf a cable along the track and watch out. Coote, round the back. There's no door, but you never knows.' He looked at Bolitho. `Better if you knocks the door.'
`But I thought we were supposed to be quiet about it?'
`Up to a point. We've come this far safe an'.sound.' He approached the cottage calmly. `But if we are bein' watched, Mr Bolitho, we got to make it look good, or Mister bloody Portlock will soon be gutted like a fish!'
Bolitho nodded. He was learning.
Then he drew his curved hanger and after a fur
ther hesitation he banged it sharply on the door. For a moment longer nothing happened. Just the
patter of sleet across the thatch and their wet clothing,
the irregular breathing of the seamen.
Then a voice called, `W-who be it at this hour?' Bolitho swallowed hard. He had been expecting a
gruff voice to match Pyke's description. But it was a
No Choice
female.Young by the sound of her, and frightened too.
He heard the rustle of expectancy from the sailors and said firmly, `Open the door, ma'am. In the King's name!'
Slowly and reluctantly the door was pulled back, a shuttered lantern barely making more than a soft orange glow across their feet.
Pyke pushed past impatiently and said, `One of you stay outside.' He snatched the lantern and fiddled with it, adding, `Like a bloody tomb!'
Bolitho held his breath as the light spread out from the lantern and laid the cottage bare.
Even in the poor light he could see it was filthy. Old casks and boxes littered the floor, while pieces of flotsam and driftwood were piled against the walls and around the dying fire like a barricade.
Bolitho looked at the girl who had opened the door. She was dressed in little more than rags, and her feet, despite the cold earth floor, were bare. He felt sick. She was about Nancy 's age, he thought.
The man, whom he guessed was Portlock, was standing near the rear wall. He was exactly as Bolitho had imagined. Brutal, coarse-featured, a man who would do anything for money.
He exclaimed thickly, 'Oi done nothin'! What right be yours to come a-burstin' in 'ere?'
When nobody answered he became braver and seemingly larger.
He shouted, `An' what sort o' officer are you?'
He glared at Bolitho, his eyes filled with such hatred and evil that he could almost feel the man's strength.
'Oi'll not take such from no boy!'
Pyke crossed the room like a shadow. The first blow brought Portlock gasping to his knees, the second knocked him on to his side, a thread of scarlet running from his chin.
Pyke was not even out of breath. `There now. We understand each other, eh?' He stood back, balanced on his toes, as Portlock rose groaning from the floor. `In future you will treat a King's officer with respect, no matter what age 'e's at, see?'
Bolitho felt that things were getting beyond him. `You know why we are here.' He saw the eyes watching him, changing from fury to servility in seconds…
'Oi 'ad to be certain, young sir.'
Bolitho turned away, angry and sickened. `Oh, ask him, for God's sake.'
He looked down as a hand touched his arm. It was the girl, feeling his sodden coat, crooning to herself like a mother to a child.
A seaman said harshly, `Stand away, girl!' To Bolitho he added vehemently, `I seen that look afore, sir. When they strips the clothes off the poor devils on the gibbet!'
Pyke said smoothly, `Or off those unlucky enough to be shipwrecked, eh?'
Portlock said, `Oi don't know nothin' about that, sirP
'We shall see.' Pyke regarded the man coldly. `Tell me, is the cargo still there?'
Portlock nodded, his gaze on the boatswain like a stricken rabbit. `Aye.'
No Choice
`Good. And when will they come for it?' His tone sharpened. `No lies now.'
`Tomorrow mornin'. On th' ebb.'
Pyke looked at Bolitho. `I believe him. At low tide it's easier to get the cargo 'ooked.' He grimaced. `Also, it keeps the revenue boats in deeper water.'
Bolitho said, `We had better get the men together.'
But Pyke was still watching the other man. Eventually he said, `You will stay 'ere.'
Portlock protested, `But me money! I was promised…'
`Damn your money!' Bolitho could not stop himself even though he knew Pyke was looking at him with something like amusement. `If you betray us your fate will be as certain as that meted out by those you are b.traying now!'
He looked at the girl, seeing the bruise -on her cheek, the cold sores on her mouth. But when he reached out to comfort her she recoiled, and would have spat at him but for a burly seaman's intervention.
Pyke walked out of the cottage and mopped his face. `Save yer sympathy, Mr Bolitho. Scum breeds on scum.'
Bolitho fell in step beside him. Broadsides and towering pyramids of canvas in a ship of the line seemed even further away now. This was squalor at its lowest, where even the smallest decency was regarded as weakness.
He heard himself say, `Let us be about it then. I want no more of this place.'
The sleety snow swirled down to greet them, and when he glanced back Bolitho saw that the cottage had disappeared.
`This be as good a place to wait as any.' Pyke rubbed his hands together and then blew on them. It was the first time he had shown any discomfort.
Bolitho felt his shoes sinking into slush and halffrozen grass, and tried not to think of Mrs Tremayne's hot soup or one of her bedtime possets. Only this was real now. For over two hours they had wended their way along the cliffs, conscious of the wind as it tried to push them into some unknown darkness, of the wretched cold, of their complete dependence on Pyke.
Pyke said, `The cove is yonder. Not much to look at, but 'tis well sheltered, an' some big rocks 'ide the entrance from all but the nosiest. At low water it'll be firm an' shelvin'.' He nodded, his mind made up. `That's when it will be. Or another day.'
One of the seamen groaned, and the boatswain snarled, `What d'you expect? A warm 'ammock and a gallon o' beer?'
Bolitho steeled himself and sat down on a hummock of earth. On either side his small party of seamen, seven in all, arranged themselves as best they could. Three more with the jolly boat somewhere behind them. It was not much of a force if things went wrong. On the other hand, these were all professional seamen. Hard, disciplined, ready for a fight.
Pyke took out a bottle from his coat and passed it to Bolitho. `Brandy.' He shook with a silent laugh.
'Yer brother took it off a smuggler a while back.'
Bolitho swallowed and held his breath. It was like fire, but found just the right place.
Pyke offered, `You can pass it along. We've quite a wait yet.'
Bolitho heard the bottle going from hand to hand, the grunts of approval with each swallow.
