Act of Mercy by Peter Tremayne Read Free Book Online Page A

and one straight ahead. The boy opened the door to the right of the entrance, the starboard side of the ship – Fidelma registered the term.
    ‘Here we are, lady,’ he announced cheerfully as he opened it and stood back to allow her to go inside.
    The cabin was still gloomy, compared with the brightness on deck, but not as gloomy as the stifling cabins below decks. There was a grilled window covered with a linen curtain for privacy which could be drawn aside to allowed more light within. The cabin was furnished with a single bunk and a table and chair. It was frugal but functional and, at least, there was fresh air. Fidelma looked around with approval. It was better than she had been expecting.
    ‘Who usually sleeps here?’ she asked.
    The boy deposited her bag on the bunk and shrugged.
    ‘We sometimes take special passengers,’ he said, as if brushing the subject aside.
    ‘Who sleeps in the cabin across the corridor?’
    ‘On the port side? That’s Gurvan’s cabin,’ replied the boy. ‘He is the mate and a Breton.’ He pointed towards the bow where she had noticed a third door. ‘The privy is in there. We call it the head, because it is at the head of the ship. There is a bucket in there.’
    ‘Does everyone use it?’ Fidelma asked, wrinkling her nose a little in distaste and mentally calculating the number of people on the ship.

    Wenbrit grinned as he realised why she was asking the question.
    ‘We try to restrict the use of this one. I have mentioned that there is another privy at the stern of the ship so you should not be bothered much.’
    ‘What is the position with regard to washing?’
    ‘Washing?’ The boy frowned as if it were something he had not considered.
    ‘Does no one wash on board this ship?’ she pressed. Fidelma was used, as with most people of her background, to having a full bath in the evening and a brief wash in the morning.
    The boy grinned slyly.
    ‘I can always bring a bucket of seawater for a morning wash. But if you are talking of bathing … why, when we are in harbour, or if we get a calm sea, we can take a swim over the side. There are no baths aboard The Barnacle Goose , lady.’
    Fidelma accepted this resignedly. From her previous voyages by sea she had suspected that washing would not be a priority on shipboard.
    ‘Can I tell the captain that you are satisfied with the cabin, lady?’
    Fidelma realised that the boy was anxious. She gave him a reassuring smile.
    ‘I will see the captain at midday.’
    ‘But the cabin?’ pressed the boy.
    ‘It is very satisfactory, Wenbrit. But do try to call me Sister in front of the others.’
    Wenbrit raised his hand to place his knuckles at his forehead in a form of salute and grinned. He turned and scurried off about his duties.
    Fidelma shut the cabin door and looked around. So this was to be her home for the next week, provided that they had a fair wind. It was no more than seven feet in length and five feet in width. The table, now that she was able to examine it more closely, was a hinged piece of wood attached to one wall. A three-legged stool stood in one corner. A bucket filled with water stood in another. She presumed that this was for drinking or washing. She tasted the water on her finger. It was freshwater, not seawater – for drinking, she decided. The window, which was at chest-level and which looked onto the main deck, was eighteen inches broad by a foot high, with two struts across it. A lantern hung on a metal hook in one corner; a tinder box and a stump of candle were visible on a small shelf beneath it.
    The cabin was well-equipped.
    She had a moment of guilt, thinking of her fellow religieux crammed
in their airless, lightless cabins below decks. However, the moment passed into thankfulness that she would, at least, be able to breathe fresh air on the voyage and not have to put up with someone else sharing her living-quarters.
    She turned to her bag and took out her spare clothes for she saw that there were