Free Seaflower by Julian Stockwin

unfit
for sea and .. . What was he
thinking? Who was there to man any craft he could find? And how would it be
seen by others? That he was running away from a hopeless situation to save
himself? There was no alternative: he had his duty. He stiffened. 'What are ye
waitin* for, Nicholas? Let's get our dunnage.'
    Their
room seemed a fragile relic of gentler times, Louise's fragrance soothing and
poignant. Their sea-bags were stuffed in a trice, but the two women were at the
door, the maid nowhere to be seen. At the sight of their set faces, Madame
Vernou broke into weeping and Louise simply stared — neither accusing nor
forgiving.
    'We
- that's t' say - we have t' go,' Kydd said awkwardly. To his consternation
Madame Vernou fell to her knees and clutched at him, sobbing. Her words had no
need of translation. Gently he disengaged her. Louise stood like a statue and,
on an impulse, he tore off a button from his short blue seaman's jacket and
pressed it into her hand. She took it, raised it to her lips and kissed it.
Kydd saw her eyes glisten. 'We go now, Nicholas,' he said.
     
    'Good.
Just in time — you go with Mr Jowett.' The lieutenant was harassed and fretful,
but his brow cleared at the sight of Kydd and Renzi. The square was crowded
with men, milling about in anxious groups.
    Jowett
turned out to be a master's mate of uncertain temper. His men, including Kydd
and Renzi, were formed up and the little band moved out They marched swiftly,
Jowett eyeing the streets warily for trouble. Only the four marines had
muskets.
    'Where
're we headed?' Kydd asked the tattooed sailor next to him.
    The
man shifted the tobacco quid in his mouth and said, with satisfaction, 'Ter th'
wharf, ter get the brig t' sea.'
    Kydd
hefted his sea-bag, a dawning thought lifting his hopes. Yes, they were turning
into the last street — and would pass the Vernou shop!
    'Mr
Jowett!' called Kydd. 'C'n I check on m' billet, as was, when we pass?'
    Reluctantly,
Jowett halted the band. Kydd knew he would be inclined to trust that a petty officer
had good reason to delay the party. Now Jowett would find he had two women
passengers on the brig. Kydd called out to the family, but no one emerged.
Jowett hailed him peremptorily.
    Kydd
went in hastily. When his eyes became accustomed to the dark interior he
noticed the charring on the steps to his room, tiny wisps of blue smoke still
spiralling — then the blood, trickling over the edge of the floor above. The
door darkened and Jowett's angry face swam into his vision. 'Well, spread some
canvas an' let's be goin'!'
    Kydd
stumbled out and, seeing his appalled expression, Renzi grabbed his arm. 'Too
late!' Kydd muttered. He was too shaken to look Renzi in the eye. They trudged
on, Kydd in a haze of grief.
    The
brig had been warped a hundred yards offshore and the wharf was filling
rapidly with crowds of frantic humanity, beseeching, imploring and fighting to
get passage on the vessel. Jowett established a secure position at the water's
edge, the marines making free with their bayonet points. A boat was signalled
ashore from the three men aboard. When it arrived it became clear that the brig
was in no fit state to sail. Under refit, it had no need for sails: they had
all been sent down and kept somewhere ashore.
    The
strain was beginning to tell: seamen snarled at each other and snapped at the
weeping, frenzied mob. Kydd found himself crudely brushing aside an old woman,
feeling her withered skin and frail bones, her ancient face distorted with
terror.
    The
sail-loft was found, and sails quickly stowed in the boat. A flat thud sounded
above the chaos, then another. Gunsmoke wreathed a ridge above the capital.
"They're bombarding the town,' yelled Renzi.
    Blood
appeared in the mass of hysterical bodies as the marines wielded their bayonets
more brutally. The guns on the ridge spoke in chorus, but where the shot went
was not obvious.
    The
sailors boarded the boat in a rush, making it pitch alarmingly. The sails