Free Stormtide by Bill Knox Page B

the angry, restless group of smoke-blackened figures. One of them, stocky and scowling, gave a wolfish grin as Carrick’s eyes met his own. Stepping forward, Fergie Lucas made himself spokesman.
    ‘What about it now, eh?’ he bellowed. ‘You Fishery snoops get out o’ the way an’ we’ll deal with that bastard Rother an’ his stinking sharkers. We’ll fix them, once an’ for all.’
    The men around him rumbled a noisy agreement. Shannon waited till it died, glaring at them.
    ‘Just try it,’ he invited icily. ‘Try it, and I’ll see every last one of you jailed – if I’ve got to tow you there on a raft.’ Ignoring their fresh muttering he turned to Bell and lowered his voice. ‘Clapper, you’ll find Rother along the pier or not far away. That long-haired gunner is with him. Take a couple of men and bring them aboard Marlin . Knock any heads together you have to, but get them aboard in one piece. Now.’
    Bell spat happily on his hands and set off.

Chapter Four
    Twenty minutes passed before Rother and Yogi Dunlop were brought back. By then the crowd on the pier had thinned but there were still enough of them remaining to form a threatening, jostling escort along the pier. It took half a dozen of Marlin ’s crew to keep the gangway clear once the two men had been taken aboard.
    Captain Shannon was waiting in the spartan comfort of the Fishery cruiser’s wardroom. His lack of sleep still showed, but he’d changed into uniform. Carrick joined him there, head throbbing in a lower key after a cold-water soaking, just as the shouts and jeers outside heralded the arrivals.
    ‘Good,’ said Shannon softly. Clasping his hands behind his back, he faced the wardroom door hungrily. There was a knock and it opened. Clapper Bell entered first, Dave Rother and Dunlop angrily at his heels, the seamen who’d helped bring them hovering in the companionway outside.
    ‘Any trouble, Bo’sun?’ asked Shannon curtly.
    ‘A wee job findin’ them, sir – that’s all. They were up in the village,’ reported Bell laconically. He glanced at Yogi Dunlop and grinned slightly. The long-haired gunner had a smear of blood on one corner of his mouth. ‘Mind you, they weren’t too pleased.’
    ‘Your men dragged us here,’ rasped Rother. Thin face flushed, he glared indignantly at Shannon. ‘Being in command of this tub doesn’t make you God, you fat old goat. Just how much do you think you can get away with?’
    All expression wiped from his bearded face, Shannon ignored the shark-boat skipper. ‘Stay, Bo’sun,’ he ordered. ‘But close that door.’
    Silently, Clapper Bell obeyed then took up a strategic position beside it.
    ‘You’ve some kind of complaint, Mr Rother?’ asked Shannon with an icy sarcasm.
    ‘You’ll find out the hard way,’ snarled Rother. ‘We were grabbed in the street, roughed up, then hauled up that pier like …’ Suddenly his voice died. He stared at the broken clasp-knife Shannon had left lying on the wardroom table.
    Yogi Dunlop had seen it too. He took a shuffling step nearer then stopped and glanced at Rother, his manner uneasy.
    ‘Go on, Mr Rother,’ encouraged Shannon softly.
    Rother shook his head and sighed. ‘Forget it. Where did you find that?’
    ‘It was on the seine-netter,’ said Carrick. Going over, he picked the knife up and held it in the flat of his hand. ‘Your initials, Dave.’
    ‘My knife,’ answered Rother curtly. ‘Or it was.’
    ‘Was?’ Shannon raised a cynical eyebrow. ‘Meaning you lost it?’
    ‘Gave it to someone.’ Rother scowled briefly, then, without asking, dragged one of the wardroom chairs from the table and sat down. ‘All right, Captain. No complaints. I’ll tell you why, if you’ll listen.’
    ‘I’ll listen,’ agreed Shannon woodenly.
    ‘That was my knife. Till a month ago, till I gave it to one of my crew. Correct, Yogi?’
    Dunlop grunted agreement. ‘The fool kid lost his own an’ kept moaning about it. Plenty of our