Crash followed crash, as the axes struck in an almost single continuous sound. The bulkhead was fixed and constructed of solid oak and there was still a great deal of work to do before it collapsed. No gap of sufficient size would open up through which they could thrust a pistol or a pikestaff. And was this merely a diversion? Would they, having got them to concentrate on the wall, drop behind them and attack in the rear as well?

  "Damn, Harry said aloud, but the expression was covered by the noise of the axes. He could come to no conclusion, given that it all depended on their numbers. Gingerly he backed into the centre of the cabin, his eyes fixed on the rectangle of starry sky above his head. He spoke quietly.

  "Pender, the pistols, if you please."

  His servant scuttled out from under the desk and handed him the pistols, never once himself taking his eyes off the skylight. No head appeared. Once he had handed the weapons over, he lifted his pike into a position that would give him a chance of hurling it at anyone who poked their head over the rim.

  Harry took the pike off him. Undo those lashings on the desk. See if you can find something else to tie them to."

  He stood there while Pender scurried about. Out of the corner of his eye he realized that his servant was tying the two door handles together with a fresh length of line, before undoing those attached to the desk.

  "James. Out here and keep your eye on this skylight. Pender, the desk into the centre of the room. Harry had to risk being heard, raising his voice over the sound of the blows to give his instructions. Swiftly he pulled out the drawers, tossing them, and their contents, all around. With Pender's help he dragged the desk into the middle of the cabin, positioning it below the skylight. Then he jumped on to the desktop and reached up, his hands easily gaining the point at which the wooden skylight surround connected with the poop deck.

  He looked down. Pender and James stood, pikes ready. Put those aside for a moment, both of you. This desk top will separate from the two bases."

  "How do you know? asked James.

  Harry responded angrily, but answered nevertheless. If you can tell me how they got it into the cabin otherwise, brother, I'll be obliged. I'm going to jump up and try and get some purchase on the rim. As I do, lift the desktop to provide me with a platform to stand on. With your arms outstretched I should be able to see over the top."

  "And if there's someone there waiting for you? asked James.

  "If I shout let go , please do just that."

  It was a gamble, and they all knew it. But with an unknown number of assailants on the other end of those boarding axes, doing nothing guaranteed their death. Harry leapt up in the air, trying desperately to get high enough for his arms to lock straight and take his weight. They didn't and he started to drop back. But the rising desk took his weight and lifted him just enough. He heard the pair below grunting at the effort of holding him up, and he knew that they would only be able to do so for a matter of seconds.

  He heaved again, pushing the desktop down as he did so. But it was just enough to allow him to lock his arms, lift his legs, and take all his weight off the makeshift platform. James and Pender straightened their arms and held the desktop steady. Harry bent his legs into a crouch as it came up, then eased himself down to allow them to take the weight. The desktop remained rock-steady, and pulling out his pistols he slowly raised himself till he was standing upright.

  He peered over the edge of the box which supported the glass canopy of the skylight, twisting quickly to see if there was anyone about. None of their attackers was on the poop, and he blessed his most uncommon luck. He'd fully expected they'd post a lookout there, as the most obvious place to keep an eye on the reaction of the prisoners to the assault on the bulkhead. Perhaps they weren't so numerous after all. The glass from the skylight was completely gone, barring a few jagged shards, and using the rim of the skylight box, he stepped gingerly on to the moonlit poop.

  There was no sound, barring the relentless crunching of the axes. Pistols out ahead of him, he made his way to the companion ladder. The moon was full up now and its light illuminated the entire main deck of the Principessa, all the way to the naked bowsprit. The black guns along each side, with the small piles of cannonballs, gleamed dully where the moon struck their barrels. He looked over the poop rail, again surprised that no one stood guard. Perhaps this crew were not as professional as he'd first supposed.

  Softly he made his way down the ladder, though the sound of the axes crashing into the oak bulkhead would have covered the approach of a herd of elephants. The poop deck extended out over the outer bulkhead of the captain's cabin, forming a canopy that provided some shelter for the doorway, be it from sunshine or foul weather. But it also cut out the moonlight, making it difficult to see, and he was almost at the bottom step before he could make out clearly the scene before him. Four men stood, feet splayed and hands on the bulkhead, heaving in a silent rhythm, trying to dislodge it. At each end the two axe men swung in that steady way, working up and down the ragged seam they'd already made in the thick wood. Calmly, taking careful aim, Harry shot one axe man in the head, then the other.

  The exploding pistols, going off within a second of each other, made the others drop to their knees. Harry was at the top of the ladder before they recovered enough to try and pursue him. He threw the pistols through the skylight and jumped after them on to the upheld desk, yelling for them to let go. As it dropped from beneath him he reached out instinctively to grab the rim of the box to break his fall. His arm felt as though it was being wrenched out of its socket. He let go, landing awkwardly, and painfully, on the desktop, intending to roll sideways. As he landed he felt the hands grab him, hindering his movements rather than aiding them, and he pushed out blindly, trying to get away from the centre of the room, out of view from the top of the skylight. A shower of missiles followed him through the gap.

  He heard the crunch of breaking bone, then the scream behind him, and spinning on his knees, he was just in time to catch his brother as he fell. Ignoring the agonized cries of pain, he dragged him into a corner, out of danger and another wound as more objects came hurtling through the skylight. Cannonballs, marlin spikes eve ii a small water cask. He could hear James gasping, as he fought to contain his need to cry out.

  "Where are you wounded?"

  "Shoulder, replied James through gritted teeth. A cannonball, I think. Right arm's gone.

  James raised his head, looking towards the skylight, and the still cascading contents of the ship pouring through, thrown in a frenzied attempt to cause further damage. He fought audibly to control his voice. There is some danger, if this goes on, that this ship will sink by the stern."

  Harry nearly choked, since he was out of breath from his exertions, which made laughing difficult. But he couldn't help himself. James voice had that languid tone of the bored man-about-town which he often used to such devastating effect. He heard Pender laughing too.

  A sharp intake of breath, before James reverted to that urbane tone. Is it only the proximity of death that amuses you, Harry, or have you observed something out there that's responsible?"

  "We must get some light, said Harry. Are you bleeding?"

  "I don't think so."

  "You should have let me be, James, and looked to save yourself."

  "So it seems."

  "The heat of battle. Now remain still."

  "Pistols reloaded, said Pender. But that's the last of the shot."

  There was a lot of movement on the deck of the ship, interfering with gentle rocking motion as the waves ran underneath the counter. Harry felt the ship dip to larboard, and heard the scrape of a boat along the outer planking.

  "It may well be sufficient. The sound of oars thumping the ship's side as a boat shoved off convinced him. I think our visitors have had enough."

  "Shouldn't we pursue them? said James, struggling to sit up. Perhaps with the pistols ..

  "Just stay still, Harry snapped, already on his feet. He was undoing the door to the coach. Pender, on the other side of the cabin, grabbed the line and wrapped in around his arm to keep it taut on the other doorhandle. Gingerly, Harry pushed his door open, sword held forward in case of attack. Nothing. He swung the door right back to trap anyone standing there, but it crashed into the wall behind. In the moonlight, streaming through the stern and side casements, he could see that the room was empty. Not even a body. No sign of the man that Pender had shot. He rushed to the side gallery windows and peered out through the thick salt encrusted glass. The boat was no more than a dim shape which quickly faded. The catch was undone and he threw the casement open. He could see them clearly now, slowly pulling away towards the inner harbour. Four men sitting upright, with two rowing, the rest of the boat full of huddled, immobile figures.

  Pender hadn't moved, sensibly awaiting instructions. Harry shut the casement and walked back into the main cabin. I think that we can afford some light now."

  It was almost tangible, the way that the tension eased. Pender, now standing upright, hesitated for a moment, rubbing his hands over his sweating face, before he set to, finding the flint, match, and taper to ignite a lantern. The taper took the spark, and the flame began to rise. Harry grabbed the lantern and quickly knelt beside his brother. James upper arm was at an odd angle, clearly broken.

  "We must remove your coat, James. More light, Pender, if you can find any."

  Pender was kneeling over one of the drawers that Harry had thrown aside. A box of candles here, your honour. For the sconces on the wall, most like."

  Hurriedly he lit them, and as he did so the full extent of the damage done to the cabin was revealed. The bulkhead had great gashes in it, forming a rough rectangle. It had been close to collapse and could only have been a matter of minutes before it gave way. Paper and the various objects that had been on the desk littered the floor, mixed with the debris that had come in through the skylight. In the far corner lay the black clad body of the first attacker to try and enter the cabin.

  "If you can sit up, brother. Gingerly, Harry pulled James's coat open, and tried to ease it over his right shoulder. He stopped as he saw the pain registered in his brother's face. He pulled a knife out of his boot and started to cut the cloth from around the useless arm. Sharp as his knife was, he could not help snagging on the material, causing more pain. The linen on the shirt was an easier proposition, and as that fell away, he could see the bone protruding from under the skin.

  "No blood, he said gently. But I doubt that you will be doing any painting for a while. We need to get you to a surgeon.

  "Fairhairn? asked James.

  "No, said Harry emphatically. He tried to tell himself that he wanted James out of danger, and that was true. But he knew it wasn't the only reason. Now, more than ever, Harry needed freedom of action. The freedom that came from operating alone. Perhaps he should say that straight out. Maybe James would understand. But even as he considered it, Harry knew that he'd never ask.

  "There's Williams aboard the SwWsure, that is, if she has not already put to sea. If not, then someone local. We must bind you up now so that you cannot move your arm. I could try to set it myself, but if there is a doctor near by it is best left to him."

  "These things are better done straight away, Harry. Even I know that."

  "True. But we have nothing with which to dull the pain."

  "You decide, brother, said James. But if you feel you can manage it, go ahead."

  "Are you concerned about using it again?"

  James positively snapped at him. Of course I am. For God's sake, I'm a painter."

  Harry called Pender over, and bade him hold James's shoulder steady. Then he put the wooden handle of his knife between his brother's teeth. Bite hard on this, and make sure your tongue is out of the way.

  James fainted with the pain, going limp, as Harry pulled on the broken arm. There was a slight grating sound as the two broken ends came together. Harry smashed one of the desk drawers, using the two sides as splints. He lashed his brother's arm to his side with the line that had been used on the outer cabin doors. James came to as he completed this, and Harry raised him up so that he sat with his back to the outer planking.

  Having made his brother as comfortable as he could, Harry walked over to the body on the other side of the cabin and turned the man on his back. The eyes were wide open, black, and staring sightlessly in death. The mouth hung slack, exposing white teeth, stark against the dark lips and sallow, leathery skin. Blood oozed out of the hooked nose. That, with the skin and the dark patches under the eyes gave him the appearance of an Arab. Blood matted the front of his tunic, but against the black cloth it didn't show as anything other than a glistening stain.

  "Harry, said James. Have you observed his clothing?"

  "Yes."

  "Would it be too singular an idea to assume that all Genoese cut-throats wear some kind of uniform?"

  Harry turned to look into the open doorway of the coach. Just so. Just as it would be too singular, James, to assume that all such people take away their wounded. Remember last night. Not a word was exchanged between them, yet when Broadbridge and his men arrived they seemed to disappear. And they took the man I skewered with them."

  James patted the wooden slat holding his arm. Far be it from me to praise them, but is it not admirable to care for your wounded?"

  "Yes. But in an emergency, I would expect them to abandon their dead. The man that Pender shot through the door. Do you remember the sound he made?"

  It was his servant who answered. He was a goner for sure, your honour. I've heard that sound too many times to doubt it."

  "And I felt sure that the blow I struck last night was mortal. They left this fellow because they had no choice. But I'll wager that when we go out on deck, there will be no sign of the two I shot either."

  "You can't be sure you killed them, Harry, either last night or now.

  "Can't I, James? I was less than ten feet away from the furthest one, and within three feet of the nearest. I know I put a bullet straight into the back of his head. He was certainly in no condition to walk away."

  Harry was right. Leaving James in the cabin he and Pender went to investigate. The lanterns showed no shortage of blood on the deck, one pool of sticky gore not only on the planking but the axe the man had dropped when Harry shot him. There was also plenty of blood on the poop, a sure sign that the shots fired through the skylight had not been wasted. But no bodies.

  "Let's take another look at that fellow."

  They made their way back to the cabin and looked down at the still body. Black breeches, black shirt, and filthy bare feet. And that large black bandanna around the head. Pender bent and started to search him. His single pocket held a clasp fisherman's knife and a few of the local coins. Pender looked up at Harry, who nodded. His servant removed the scarf first. The man had thick black hair, curled and matted where it had been compressed. Pender ripped the shirt open next, then cutting gingerly with the man's own knife, he sliced at the breeches.

  "Harry, said James hoarsely. What are you looking for?"

  "I'm not looking for anything. But if there is some distinguishing feature, I would want to see it. If they are so careful to remove their wounded and dead, it must mean that there's something to identify them."

  "What kind of feature?"

  "A tattoo perhaps. Something that might tell me if he was a sailor, perhaps even a French one."

  "There's nothing of that sort, your honour, said Pender, lifting the man's arms to check. I think we best do the same as we did with Captain Broadbridge, and heave him over the side."

  It was when they turned him over to secure the lashings round his arms that they saw the scar. It was in the shape of a crescent, a new rising moon. Harry bent to peer at it, holding a lantern close, and he saw the deformed skin with the indistinct letters that ran down the side of it.

  James struggled awkwardly to his feet and came over to look. There's your mark, Harry. Though what you expect to learn from a scar, I cannot tell."

  "Look closer, if you can."

  James put his good hand on Harry's shoulder and knelt down beside him. That's no scar, James. It's more like some kind of brand."

  Carefully they searched the rest of his body, but there were no more scars or marks of any significance. He was slipped over the side naked, with the two cannonballs lashed to his feet without even the small ceremony that had attended the earlier disposal of Broadbridge. As he was lowered into the water, Pender reached out to slash open the man's stomach.

  For all the blood he'd seen that night, James, looking over the rail at this, gagged and pushed away. Pender looked at Harry, holding the other arm, but he just nodded and they let the assassin slip into the black water. Pender walked over to where James leant awkwardly over the side.

  "You have to do that, your honour. Otherwise the body floats up in a few days if the cannonballs work loose. There's many a villain gone to the gallows for not remembering that."

  "Spare me the lore of the dark side of our lives, if you please."

  Harry joined them, a new note of urgency in his voice. Come, James. You must rest, while Pender and I make all secure."

  It could have been pain, but it was more like a flash of alarm, almost of fear, in his brother's face.

  "I don't think they'll return. But you never know. So we'll berth in the main cabin till daylight. Pender and I will keep watch, then we can hail a boat and get you over to the Sw~ftsure."

  James was standing, head bowed, his good arm supporting his weight. I apologize, Harry. I'm obviously not cut out for this sort of thing."

  "Neither am I, James. After all, I'm just a simple sailor."

  Harry grinned at him, and James gave him a weak smile with his reply. Well, one thing I've learned, brother: when I'm around you, I am unlikely to die of boredom."

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN