‘Uh?’ I jerked my head up, spluttering and streaming. ‘What? Where?’ But I saw it even as she pointed, a dark streak between the sea and a strangely luminous skyline.
‘We’ve run up a signal for aid. That’s what purpose the guns serve, to call attention to it – and a’looks as though we’ve snared our hare!’
I wiped my streaming eyes and peered out; something was there, something like a glowing coal across the low swell, and growing slowly larger. The hands were lining the sides, laughing and pointing. I shivered, though the night was warm; it looked uncomfortably close to my dream. But when it rolled a little closer, and Pierce hailed it, I laughed myself. It was a little steamship, craziest-looking thing I’d ever seen with its immense crowned smokestack, tethered by stays just like a mast, and huge uncovered paddlewheels at either side of the little wheel-house that was all its superstructure. When it tooted its whistle and hove-to alongside I’d have expected Mickey Mouse to look out. Instead a vision of white whiskers and brass buttons appeared with a megaphone, rubbing his hands, and greeted Pierce with the cheerful sympathy of a man about to profit from his neighbour’s problem. They began a spirited negotiation, only about half intelligible – which was probably just as well, given the half I could make out; terms like ‘raggedy-ass lime-juice freebooter’ and ‘pinch-penny tea-kettle sailor’ were flying back and forth quite freely. Unless I was much mistaken, each challenged the other to a duel at one point. But all at once they came to a friendly accord, and the steamboat began chugging laboriously around, paddles churning in opposite directions. Pierce and Jyp came striding aft, sounding very cheerful.
‘A stroke of high fortune, by Jove!’ the captain rumbled. ‘A steam tug for our tow, and at a most reasonable rate.’
‘That’s so,’ agreed Jyp placidly. ‘Last one, I recall you solemnly vowed
if he didn’t come down two bits a mile you’d rape his wife and burn his
house down.
‘And whom they wedded, I’ve no doubt. The wheel’s to yourself, pilot!
I’ve a mind to rest me awhile.’ With a friendly wave she trotted lightly
down to the maindeck. Seeing the spring in her stride as she threaded
her way through the growing snarl-up there, you wouldn’t have thought
she needed any rest at all. The mate was struggling to organize the
reefing of the makeshift mainsail; without proper rigging this was a
murderously difficult job, and even these hardened sailors were so tired
they were tripping over and tangling lines everywhere you looked. Pierce
glared and seized his speaking trumpet. ‘Deck, there! Belay, all! One
fall at a time! Haul by turns, you pox ’spital outsweepings!’ They
stared up stupidly, and he began to thump time on the rail, ‘
A clear musical note picked up the rhythm of his shout and wove it into a mocking little rise-and-fall tune. Laughter rippled, and one of the women sang along with the line.
The men picked up the song, hoarse as corncrakes but with reviving energy. Order seemed to flow across the deck, and they threw their weight on the falls in time to the repeated lines.
Miracle of miracles, the snarl-up was beginning to clear, and men could shin up the makeshift mast and out on the yard – gingerly, since there wasn’t any footrope.
I glanced round for the source of the music, and was astonished to see Mall appear at the door of her cabin, a violin at her shoulder, swaying with each bold sweep of her bow. Out into the tangle she stepped, skipping over snags and kicking stray ends of rope aside without missing a note, and perched herself nimbly upon the rail. As they finished hauling she shifted almost imperceptibly to another tune, a strange sad reflective melody with an oddly Elizabethan sound – or not so oddly, when you thought about it. It was incredibly calm and beautiful.
‘Great little fiddler, isn’t she?’ said Jyp softly.
‘The best – not that I’m any expert. Doesn’t she ever sleep?’
‘Not often. I’ve seen her, once or twice. Never for long.’
‘Do you?’
Jyp chuckled softly. ‘Now and again.’
