Free Doctor Who: The Highlanders by Gerry Davis Page A

with you,’ replied Trask.
    ‘Now get in the boat.’ They followed the others into the boat and sat on one of the thwarts.
    Ben turned to Jamie as the boat pulled away. ‘Quick,’ he said, ‘we can swim for it.’ Jamie didn’t answer. ‘Well?’ Ben demanded.
    Jamie shook his head. ‘I canna swim,’ he admitted.
    ‘Oh cripes!’ Ben turned away disgusted.
    In the shadows at the back of the warehouse, the Doctor watched the soldiers form fours and march out, then quickly made his way along to the still-open hatch and gazed down. As he looked he saw the end of the boat making its way across the dark waters of the firth towards a black, sinister-looking brig.
    The long boat had now moved alongside the sheer black hulk of the brig. ‘Belay there!’ Trask’s hoarse voice broke across the water, and the sailors rested on their oars. Above them in the moonlight – the fog now had cleared completely – they could make out a small knot of men standing at an open space between the gunwales of the brig. In their midst was the bound figure of a man. As they watched, the crew of the brig pushed the man over the side.
    He fell straight as an arrow, hardly making a splash in the dark waters of the firth.
    As Ben and Jamie watched horrified for his return to the surface, all they could see was an explosion of bubbles.
    Trask turned round to the huddled prisoners. ‘There,’
    he said, ‘in case you think of escaping, my fine gentlemen, watch them bubbles! Once aboard the Annabelle , that’s the only way ye’ll get off it. Straight downwards. Now climb aboard.’
    With the sailors standing by with drawn cutlasses, the tired Highlanders climbed up the boat ladder and onto the deck.
     

10
    Aboard the Annabelle
    The destination of the Scots’ Highland prisoners was the ship’s hold. It had obviously been used for the slave trade at some time. There were benches, rusty shackles, and four small portholes, not large enough to get more than a hand and an arm through along each side. There were already some thirty men huddled on the benches, trying to sleep, when the hatch door at the top of the companionway opened, sending a shaft of light down a rough ladder, and the latest contingent of prisoners were shoved unceremoniously down to join their comrades in the already overcrowded hold.
    Ben was one of the last. He peered down and saw that there was barely room for anyone to sit, never mind lie down. ‘Hey,’ he said, ‘there’s no room for anybody down here.’
    ‘Room enough for rebels,’ the big voice of Trask bellowed after him. ‘Get stowed below there.’
    The three new arrivals finally made space near one of the portholes after some grumbling from the men who were first there.
    ‘How are ye?’ Jamie asked the Laird.
    Colin, his eyes brighter than they had been, nodded at him. ‘Thank you, Jamie, a mickle bit better, I fancy. My fever’s nearly gone.’
    Ben shook the man nearest him on the bench. ‘Hey, mate – got any ideas where they’re sending us?’ The man, a tough thick-set Scot in rough seaman’s canvas trousers and shirt, turned at at the sound of Ben’s English voice and moved away from him as though stung. ‘Beware of spies!’
    he called out in a loud voice.
    There was a chorus from the other prisoners who began to wake up and look around them. ‘There maen be an Englishman amongst us, Willy.’ The man spoken to, Willy MacKay, struggled to his feet: a rugged man with strong features and bright blue eyes, in his early forties. ‘We can strike one more blow for Scotland, lads, one more piece of vermin to stamp on.’
    Ben backed away to the bulkhead, a circle of fierce Highland faces around him. ‘Once down, put your boots on him. Tramp his English bones to the deck. And remember, lads,’ Willy called, ‘the first blow is mine.’
    There was a moment’s silence as MacKay raised his huge gnarled fist, then a clear voice rang out over the assembled men.
    ‘Will MacKay would ne’er