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"I'll answer no such questions," said Nourse, trembling.
Davies picked up one of the swords from the table, walked over to Nourse and gave him a light poke in the belly with the point of it. "You'll take me there or I'll work you ill. I'm Davies," he reminded him.
Nourse had clearly heard stories about him, for the stiffness slumped out of his shoulders and he muttered, "Very well ... if you give me your word you'll not harm me, or the ship."
Davies stared at him. "You have my solemn word," he said softly. Then he turned to Shandy. "Through that door's the captain's bunk. Get blankets and wrap up old Wilson in 'em, along with that sword you've got and the other two and any primed pistols you can find. Then you and this laddie," he nodded toward the officer who was still conscious, "will carry the bundle forward to where the Jenny's boys are. Say it's my corpse. Everybody got that? Good. Now when the powder magazine goes up - and it should really go, I've been saving a couple of potent fire-sprite rhymes, and I won't lack for blood to draw their attention - when it explodes I'll appear from the forward hatch, with weapons, Mate Care-For willing, and you'll flip open the captain's blankets for a weapon or three more, and we'll fight our way to the sloop and cut out. And if I don't appear right after the explosion, don't hang around waiting for me."
Nourse was gaping at Davies. "You - " he sputtered, "you gave me your word!"
Davies laughed. "You see what it's worth. But listen, you'll lead me to the magazine or I'll cut off your ears and make you eat them. I've done that before to people who be troublesome."
Nourse looked away, and again Shandy got the impression that the midshipman was remembering some awful story about Davies. How can it be, Shandy wondered in horror, that I'm on this monster's side?
A couple of minutes later they decided they were all ready to go - Shandy and the unhappy officer had the dead captain and the swords and a set of fancy dueling pistols rolled up in a portable position that would allow Shandy to keep his pistol both concealed by a flap of fabric and aimed at the officer, and Davies had struggled into the unconscious officer's bloody-sleeved jacket - when someone knocked on the cabin door.
Shandy jumped in surprise and nearly dropped his pistol.
"It's the surgeon," hissed Davies tensely. He crossed the cabin and leaned on the bulkhead beyond the door's hinges, then beckoned to Nourse with his sword point. "Let him in."
Nourse was trembling even more than Shandy, and he rolled his eyes miserably as he unbolted the door and drew it open. "We carried the captain to his bunk," he stammered as the surgeon bustled in.
As neatly as if it were a dance move they'd been practicing, Davies stepped out and punched the old surgeon in the head with the knuckle-guard of his sword, and Nourse caught the man as he fell.
"Great," said Davies with satisfaction. "Off we go."
Chapter Eight
No more than a minute later Shandy and the trembling officer were dragging the blanket-wrapped corpse and swords across the deck. The long bundle had proved to be too heavy and awkward to carry - especially if Shandy was to keep his concealed pistol aimed at the officer, who had the feet-end of the burden - and so they'd had to simply drag it in this awkward, crouching, torturingly slow way.
Shandy was sweating heavily, and not just because of the hot tropical sun that beat down on his head and glared on the white deck - he was as acutely aware of each armed sailor as he would have been of a scorpion clinging to his clothing, and he tried to keep his mind on the task of lugging the unwieldy bundle to the forecastle, and not imagine what would happen when the powder magazine exploded, or when the sailors caught on and opened fire on them, or when it occurred to the white-lipped officer at the other end of the blanket that when pandemonium erupted he'd be caught squarely in the crossfire.
As they scuffed and shambled along, passing the midships hatch cover now, both men panting through open mouths, the officer's eyes never left Shandy's concealed right hand, and Shandy knew that if his cramping grip of the sweat-slick weapon should slip, his corpse-carrying partner would instantly be sprinting away, shouting the alarm.
The disarmed captives up on the forecastle watched their approach. They had heard that this was the corpse of Philip Davies being dragged over to them, and they were bitterly glad that Shandy was being made to bring it.
"Come just a bit closer, Shandy, you boasie raasclaat!" shouted one man. "It'll be worth missing my hanging to get my hands on your neck."
"This is how you thank Davies for letting you live?" put in another. "There'll be zombies sent after you, don't doubt it."
Some of the Navy sailors, mostly younger ones, snickered at this bit of superstition.
A long, scuffling minute later - just as they were hobbling past the forward hatch cover - Shandy actually saw his unwilling companion finally work out what would happen in the next couple of minutes.
"I won't hesitate," Shandy gasped, but the officer had suddenly dropped the captain's feet and was running back the way they'd come.
"It's a trick!" he was yelling. "Davies is below rigging a fuse to the magazine!"
Shandy breathed a sigh of what was almost relief, for at least the tight, silent suspense was over. Quickly but carefully he crouched, flipped the blanket open and rolled Captain Wilson's body flop-thudding onto the deck, kicked the weapons back onto the cloth, bundled it all up like a sack ... then paused for an instant, looking around.
Only one of the surrounding Navy men had grasped the situation and was leveling a pistol at him. Shandy fired at him without aiming - missing, but spoiling the man's aim so that the ball splintered the rail behind Shandy - and then, waving the bundle of weapons around his head, he ran headlong for the forecastle.
Gunfire banged and cracked, and he heard pistol balls buzz past and felt one whack against his whirling bundle. Just short of the raised forecastle deck he flung the bundle up at the astonished pirates, and let the momentum of the contortion carry him into a leap sideways toward the companion ladder.
Sounding like quick strokes of a hammer, two pistol balls punched the bulkhead he'd been in front of.
One foot touched a ladder rung and then he was up on the forecastle, wrenching open the dueling-pistols case. "Onto the Jenny!" he gasped, snatching the two pistols out of the velvet-lined case and turning back toward the waist.>He heard boots clumping beyond the bulkhead, and then the door opened and two officers led Philip Davies into the cabin. The pirate chief's arms were bound behind his back and the left side of his sea-wet shirt was glisteningly blotted with blood from the shoulder to the waist, and his face, half-hidden by tangled wet hair, was paler and more drawn than usual - but he grinned as he maneuvered himself into a chair, and when he noticed Shandy he winked at him. "Restored to the shop window, eh?"
"That's right," Shandy said evenly.
