Free Craddock by Neil Jackson, Paul Finch Page A

creaking of old woodwork, both above and below, and a sense that in every hidden space unseen things were happening. Craddock wasn’t given to flights of fancy, but he could easily imagine they were being observed, their every move scrutinised by silent spectators in the deep black recesses.
    “ I wish that bugger Burnwood would attack us, sir,” came Palmer’s tremulous voice. “We know there’s a fight coming. Why can’t we just get on with it?”
    Craddock looked him over. Palmer was young and raw-boned, and,unlike many of the major’s constables, he had not come direct to the civilian police from the armed services. So, brave or not – and he was brave, otherwise Craddock would never have kept him on the payroll – he was bound to be softer in the belly than some of the older hands. The young copper’s eyes were now wide in their sockets. Despite the cold, he’d unfastened the button on the collar of his tunic. His breath came in short, sharp gasps. To his credit, when he realised he was being watched he tried to smile. “Sorry if I’m letting you down, Major Craddock, sir.”
    “ You’re not letting me down. At least, you haven’t done yet. Just concentrate on the job in hand, and you’ll be fine.”
    “ Sir.”
    “ Let’s keep moving.”
    They reached the top of another companionway. The light of their lanterns filtered down it, showing what looked like piles of sacked goods.
    “ That could be the orlop-deck down there,” Craddock said. “We’re not too far above the hold, I shouldn’t think.”
    “ Be a good place for him to hide, I suppose,” the constable muttered. “The very bottom of the ship.”
    “ My thoughts too. Come along.”
    They descended slowly, acutely aware of how loud their feet sounded on the treads. Each thudding impact echoed and re-echoed.
    It seemed to take an age before they were on level decking again. This was a far more spacious area than the cell-passages they’d explored above; in fact it was cavernous. As the major had suspected, it was the orlop-deck – in other words the deck that ‘overlapped’ the hold. The sacked goods they’d spied had apparently been abandoned down here. There were great heaps of them, with only narrow aisles passing between.
    “ What is all this stuff?” Palmer wondered. “Why hasn’t it been taken away?”
    The major shook his head, then said: “Put your lamp down.”
    “ Sir?”
    “ Do as I say, Palmer. No need to make ourselves easier targets than we already are.” Craddock placed his own lantern near the foot of the stairway. “Leave it here. We can see enough to look around.”
    The constable did as he was told.
    The major wasn’t quite sure why this particular part of the ship made him more nervous than any other, but his soldierly sixth sense had put him on guard. The vastness of the room – the fact that they would be sitting-targets once they were out in the middle of it – was unsettling, but in addition to that, a bulkhead door stood open at the far side. There was nothing unusual in that perhaps, but briefly, for an hallucinatory half-second, he imagined he’d seen a flicker of green light in the darkness beyond it.
    As they prowled forwards, Craddock watched for this again, his eyes straining to penetrate the gloom. For a feverishly intense moment, he almost convinced himself he could see someone lurking there; he visualised a misshapen body, large and twisted limbs. Then he realised that he was letting his nerves run away with him, and he made a conscious effort to relax.
    And that was when someone did appear in the doorway.
    It was the figure of a man, suddenly silhouetted on a glaring green background.
    He’d come from nowhere, at startling speed. Though both officers were alert, they were taken by surprise. He’d appeared in the blinking of an eye – and had begun to fire.
    He was equipped with two pistols, both of which roared repeatedly, the gun-flashes blinding in their brilliance. Though Craddock