Free Inferno by Julian Stockwin

ferment of elation to hear the details. Mr Paine was cheered as the hero of the hour, and in the bedlam his fatigue and headache fled.
    An embarrassment of ladies clustered around him with wide eyes as he tried to tell of the magic allure of an undersea world, and the moment he had held gold that had last known a Spanish nobleman’s hands. He spoke guardedly of his hopes for the treasure chest itself – after all, if the little baubles he’d found had survived it couldn’t be that far off.
    A glowering fisherman had to be reassured that the diving engine was not about to put him out of business – he couldn’t see how Kydd, right there in the middle of the fish, wouldn’t simply reach out and snatch them one by one as they passed.
    Eventually a great weariness descended on Kydd and he had to make his excuses – even the merriment in the taphouse below failed to prevent a fathoms-deep sleep.

Chapter 21

    T o foil any crafty attempt to follow them, it was given out that they would sail with the tide at ten. Instead
Aileen
and
Maid
set off while it was still dark. With the same feint to the south-west, they raised the Skerryvore at daybreak and were comfortably moored by the wreck at an early hour.
    The barrel was readied and Kydd was impatient to start again. He knew exactly what to expect and where he would resume the search. At the seabed he quickly found his place. The early daylight entered at an angle, and eerie patterns of light shafted down, leaving the underwater reaches to the cavern in a baleful gloom. But, caught up in treasure-hunting, he had no time for gawking – he had to make every minute count.
    The diving engine was well designed for the work. Unlike a diving bell, where men sat about its edge with long-handled tools hoping to fish things up, he was actually on the sea-bottom feeling and manipulating with his hands.
    He turned up more finds: a scatter of bullets, a small bucket and an object of intricate contriving that was socorroded as to be impossible to make out. The cannon would be too heavy to be washed down the slope and were probably buried where they had fallen, beside the wreck.
    After refreshing for air and giving the usual instruction for a move of a further six feet he descended again and, almost immediately, spotted the outline of a crucifix and many small personal items of a quality that Kydd felt could only have come from the captain’s cabin. He probed carefully, waving aside clouds of silt and wielding his pick on anything likely-looking. There was an oval framed miniature portrait, much corroded silverware – and an attractive marble statuette, only a foot or more long but barely affected by centuries under the sea.
    A little further on a small triangular protrusion took his eye. He hauled himself over and prodded around it, an easy task as it was immersed in a depression of silt. It grew bigger – and Kydd breathed deeply in a wash of shock as he stared at the corner of what any captain could identify instantly, then chipped away to expose its iron straps and antique bronze locks.
    It was the ship’s strongbox – and of substantial size. Kept in the captain’s quarters, it would contain all the official valuables the ship possessed.
    Kydd dug away feverishly until it lay exposed in all its muddy glory.
    They had done it!
    He forced a calm to his thudding heart.
    Noting exactly where it was located he signalled a refresh.
    On the surface he told Stirk to prepare a double strop to go down with him. Back at the box he eased a rope over either end and bowsed them tight, with turns for a doublysecure hoisting tackle. Then he signalled another refresh: he wasn’t going to miss the great event.
    Stirk’s face broke into a broad grin when Kydd demanded to be released and helped out.
    With a squeal of protesting sheaves the load was hauled in – and for the first time in centuries the coffer was kissed by