Doctor Who_ Enlightenment - Barbara Clegg [21]
‘Look!’ Jackson shouted, triumphantly. ‘The Buccaneer!
She’s putting her sails back!’
The Doctor made a dive for the telescope, and swung it frantically towards the ship astern. Marriner simply stared in disbelief. ‘She can’t be!’ he said in a surprised voice.
‘She is!’ came from the Doctor at the telescope. ‘She’s heaving to!’
To Turlough, drifting hopelessly, the great hull looming over him seemed like a cliff face. From somewhere above, a net floated down and enveloped him. He was already finding it difficult to breathe, and as he felt himself being swung up and saw the side of the ship flashing past him, he lost consciousness.
‘He’s safe!’ the Doctor said, and turning away from the telescope, he hurried towards the hatch. ‘Where are you going?’ Tegan demanded. But the Doctor was already out of sight. ‘To talk to Striker,’ his voice floated back up the ladder. ‘We must get to that ship.’
Tegan turned to look at the Buccaneer, and caught sight of Marriner’s puzzled expression. ‘Surprising of Captain Wrack,’ he commented mildly.
‘Surprising?’ Tegan blazed at him. ‘To save someone’s life?’
‘To turn aside from the race,’ he answered.
‘At least Turlough’s safe,’ she said triumphantly. But Marriner did not seem to share her relief.
‘Is he?’ he answered in a detached voice. ‘Your friend might be better dead than with the captain of that ship.’
Turlough was only vaguely aware of lying on a deck and of faces peering at him. He heard strange voices, but faint and far away through the roaring in his ears. It was all like a nightmare: and when he surfaced and his senses returned to him, it was to find himself being dragged along a companionway by two seamen. They were a ruffianly-looking pair, one with a long scar up his arm, the other with gold earrings and broken teeth, and they did not handle him gently. His knees were scraped and bruised before he managed to find his own feet. It was not until then that he took in the man walking ahead of them. He was obviously an officer of some sort, his brocaded coat flashed with gold thread, but it appeared to have belonged once to someone else, for it fitted him poorly. His broad shoulders were nearly bursting the seams. He walked with the lithe power of a black athlete, and even as Turlough noticed the burnished ebony skin and the panther-like tread, the man flung open a door ahead of them. The room into which he was dragged was very different from Striker’s. He caught a glimpse of Persian rugs and a negro statue holding a great candelabra, and then he was thrown to the floor. The officer gave him a shove with his boot.
‘Crawl!’ he said. ‘Lick the Captain’s boots.’ The booted feet were just ahead of him. He raised his eyes to see velvet breeches, a wide sash with a dagger stuck in it, and then, as he came to the face, he got the surprise of his life. Captain Wrack was a woman. She was also beautiful, with white skin and auburn curls, and a smile. ‘Just what I’ve been waiting for,’ she said lazily. From an ivory-inlaid table next to her, she picked up a cutlass, unsheathed, with a jewelled hilt. Still smiling, she tested the blade, and then raised it above her head as though to decapitate him. Turlough closed his eyes. He heard it swishing through the air an inch from his ear, but when he looked again, she was smiling even more charmingly. ‘The balance is perfect,’
she said. Then, as if losing interest in him, she turned to the officer. ‘Mansell –’ there was sudden authority in her voice, and the man stepped forward smartly. ‘For Captain Davey,’ she continued, handing him the cutlass ceremonially. ‘With my compliments.’ And as he took the weapon, she added, ‘A handsome gift, don’t you think?’
‘A staggering jewel – for a rival,’ Mansell answered. He smiled