The Devil to Pay by David Donachie Read Free Book Online

heard the cries from the masthead.’
    The natural instinct was to say no, to minimise any notion of risk, but that would not wash with Emily so it was with a bit of a forced smile that he replied. ‘We may be in need of some providential assistance.’
    ‘It must be serious if you are relying on divine intervention.’
    ‘That is not what I meant,’ he replied, for that would stray too close to religion, a subject on which they fundamentally disagreed, ‘and please don’t engage with me. Right now I have no time for theological dispute.’
    The appearance of Dorling, with his rolled-up charts, killed any chance of that and giving him a smile, Emily eased past the young master. Pearce wondered if she had noticed what he had observed; the smile had not been returned which, if it was worrying, had to be put to one side as the appropriate charts were laid out. Dorling had fetchedhis logs as well as the slate bearing the latest information on course and speed.
    They had to aid them a pair of chronometers, one set to Greenwich, the other to the local noon they had just established and if the instruments were far from new, they were, as far as Pearce could guess, accurate. Certainly the latter was so, having been regularly checked in Palermo harbour against the noonday gun. It took no great time in looking at maps, nor much use of the dividers, to form an obvious conclusion.
    ‘What would we lose by changing our course to due east?’ Pearce asked.
    ‘What wind we have is sou’ westerly.’
    ‘So it would be better over our beam?’
    ‘What there is of it?’
    ‘But we might gain a fraction of speed?’
    ‘As will those devils who have waited for us all this time.’
    ‘Mr Dorling,’ responded, in an exasperated tone, ‘we are not so much of a prize that two fellows who make their way in the world by thievery would take so much trouble. What happened, there being in the same patch of ocean as us, it mere coincidence.’
    ‘You really think that?’
    The tone was larded with both pessimism and a lack of the required respect. Just as depressing was the way the master kept his eyes on the chart, refusing to engage with his superior, as if Dorling was wondering at him not being able to discern the obvious truth? This encounter was fated to happen and what would follow could not be avoided. Pearce was having none of it.
    ‘We will alter course and make the quickest landfallopen to us south of Naples. As to a final destination, that will have to wait. And, Mr Dorling, I think it best that I have possession of the key to the spirit store.’
    Dorling’s head came up sharp enough then and there was at least a degree of hurt in his look. A wounded and otherwise occupied John Pearce had handed over to him the task of giving out the daily ration of grog, which Dorling had held on to given the captain was living ashore. It had been a mark of respect that it should be so and the man had carried out the duty properly. This task was not being withdrawn for any lack of faith in his honesty or ability, but for an absence of a different kind of trust. Worn on his waist, along with the keys to the cubicle that passed for his cabin, it was removed and handed over.
    ‘Please ask my servant to attend on me at once.’
    The charts were slowly, indeed deliberately, rolled up as though by the action Dorling was trying to communicate something. What Pearce saw was a man in brooding mood and that had him speaking in a growling way that was at odds with the words.
    ‘If you have something you wish to impart to me, I hope you know that however unpleasant it may be you are free to do so?’
    A violent shake of the head was all Pearce got before the master departed. As the cabin door closed, Pearce turned to look at one of the other artefacts that cramped the interior space, the padlocked rack of muskets and pistols over which he had sole control, the thought that they might be needed a disturbing one. He was still lost in that when O’Hagan