Free Stormtide by Bill Knox

anyway, sir?’
    ‘I tried to tackle the character who started this.’ Carrick winced at the pain throbbing through his head. ‘Don’t ask me what he hit me with, but it felt like half of Portcoig.’
    In the background the outer fishing boat’s engine coughed to life and her mooring lines were slipped. She edged out, then waited, ready to tow her sister boat clear if the fire looked like spreading.
    ‘Somebody’s usin’ his head,’ grunted Bell. ‘Come on now – it’s our turn.’
    Ignoring Carrick’s protests, he steered him back through the milling fire-fighters, across the inner seine-netter’s deck then half-pushed, half-lifted him back up to the pier. As they reached it a portable floodlamp flared to life at Marlin ’s bow. Another moment and a hose-jet projected beside it. There was a warning shout, the fire-fighters scattered, and the hose began lancing water.
    ‘First things first,’ declared Bell, grinning again. He dragged a small flask from his hip pocket and uncapped it carefully. ‘Here, sir.’
    Sitting thankfully on a bollard, Carrick took a long swallow from the flask. It was neat rum, which sent him coughing. But the fierce spirit helped blast the last of the mist from his mind. He sat for a moment watching the hose-jet at work, seeing it make fast work of extinguishing the flames on the seine-netter.
    ‘Panic over,’ said Bell confidently. He retrieved the flask and took a quick swallow before he tucked it away again. ‘Our bloke on gangway duty saw flames an’ rang the alarm bell, so we turned out. The locals started arrivin’ about the same time. Some o’ them think they saw a man headin’ away from the pier.’ He stopped, looking past Carrick, and his expressionchanged. ‘Here’s the Old Man comin’, sir. He looks fit to be tied.’
    It was a reasonable description. Wearing a duffel coat over brightly patterned pyjamas, the pyjama legs tucked into sea-boots and his moon-shaped face still heavy with sleep, Captain Shannon had all the appearance of an ageing, homicidally inclined teddy bear.
    Carrick tried to get to his feet as he reached them. Scowling, Shannon waved him down again.
    ‘Stay there, mister. Stagger like that and the locals will have you drunk by morning.’ He glared across at the hose-jet still playing on the seine-netter. ‘All right, spell it out for me.’
    Carrick did. As he finished the hose-jet was finally turned off and the waiting fishermen and Marlin ’s fire-fighters moved in again, slapping busily with wet sacking at the last lingering tongues of flame.
    Grunting, Shannon glanced along the pier, where a thickening crowd was gathering.
    ‘Bo’sun …’
    ‘Sir?’ Bell stiffened, being careful not to breathe in Shannon’s direction.
    ‘Put a couple of men on keeping that mob from spilling any nearer. Then get over to that boat again and see what you can find.’
    ‘Aye aye, sir.’
    As the burly figure set off, Shannon turned to Carrick again and chewed ill-naturedly on a stray tendril of beard. ‘First Rother has his sharks set adrift, then this happens over here. Tit for tat – or that’s how I’d read it.’ He grunted under his breath. ‘Other people will too, mister. This man you saw would you know him again?’
    Carrick shook his head.
    Muttering under his breath, Shannon looked around then bellowed, ‘Master Wills …’
    A moment passed, then a smoke-blackened Jumbo Wills trotted to join them.
    ‘Sir?’
    ‘Finished playing at fire brigades?’
    ‘Yes, sir.’ Wills grinned uneasily. ‘The damage isn’t too bad actually and …’
    ‘I’ll take your word for it,’ snapped Shannon, cutting him short. ‘Gather up half a dozen of the hands. Make sure nothing that floats leaves this pier unless I know first.’
    ‘Aye aye, sir.’ Wills moistened his lips and hesitated. ‘Suppose someone tries?’
    ‘You stop them. Throw them off the pier. Now move!’
    Wills gulped, nodded, and trotted off. Watching him go, Shannon drew