Doctor Who_ The Roundheads - Mark Gatiss [31]
He got up and pointed to a thick coil of rope which ran through an iron ring fixed to the side of the ship.
‘’Ere, grab a hold of that, Ben. And tie it up on the capstan yonder.’
Ben did as he was instructed, hauling on the thick rope and feeling its rough texture against his hands. As he grappled with the rope, he glanced over the ship’s rail and his eye caught a name etched carefully into the woodwork of the hull.
It was painted gold on black in a highly ornate style that was almost Elizabethan. It said ‘Teazer’.
Ben started to laugh, quietly at first and then with increasing force. Ashdown looked puzzled. ‘What ails you?’
Ben laughed loudly. ‘Oh, you wouldn’t understand, mate.
It’s a long story. It’s pretty ironic, that’s all.’
Ashdown frowned. ‘What do you mean?’
Ben glanced at the ship’s name again and shook his head.
‘I’ve been trying to get back to my ship all this time... This isn’t exactly what I had in mind.’
He thought briefly of his own Teazer, sleek, grey, metal, the peak of modem twentieth-century naval warfare. How these lads would gasp if she were to appear out of the North Sea fog banks now.
At that moment, a cabin door opened and Captain Stanislaus emerged, wolfishly handsome even in the cold light of the morning.
O’Kane, the Irishman, stood upright and stiffened.
‘Captain on deck!’ he yelled.
The entire crew, with the exception of Ben, stood to attention. Ashdown leaned over and jabbed Ben in the stomach.
Realising his folly, Ben straightened up just as Stanislaus walked by him, his red coat flapping in the wind.
He looked right through Ben and walked towards another cabin, pausing on the threshold, blinking in the bleak daylight.
He turned back, scanning the crew with cold eyes, and nodded.
‘Thank you, Master O’Kane. Carry on.’
He tapped gently on the cabin door.
‘That’s Stanislaus?’ whispered Ben.
Ashdown kept his head down. ‘Aye,’ he hissed out of the comer of his mouth. ‘Look busy, or there’ll be hell to pay.’
Stanislaus knocked again.
‘Mr Godley?’ he said, his voice deep, his accent thick and guttural. ‘Me Godley, sir. Are you awake?’
The door opened to reveal an even more exotic sight than the vulpine captain.
Godley emerged, his noble bearing disguised in plain, spartan black. He was carrying a monkey on his shoulder. It was a tiny, spindly thing, all limbs and tail, its bright eyes like beads of blood in its fragile skull. It chittered and scuttled over Godley’s shoulder as he stepped out on deck.
Stanislaus recoiled from the pet instantly and took an involuntary step backward as Godley steadied himself on the rolling deck.
‘Good day, Captain,’ said Godley with a small, tight smile.
Stanislaus nodded. ‘I trust you slept well.’
Godley patted his stomach. ‘I’ve never been the best of sailors, I fear.’
The monkey hopped from Godley’s shoulder and scampered over the deck towards a tin dish which had been set aside for it. It began to feast on the beef and fish scraps inside the bowl, looking up and down from its food to the crew with nervous speed.
Taking his passenger gently by the arm, Captain Stanislaus began to move towards the stern of the vessel.
‘How is all progressing?’ asked Godley.
Stanislaus looked around as they walked. He seemed a little more nervous and anxious than before, his head jerking about like Godley’s monkey.
‘All my communications are favourable, Mr Godley,’ he said, struggling to be heard over the sound of the swell.
Godley cocked his head inquisitively, ‘And the package?’
‘Is safe in Amsterdam,’ said the captain. ‘Come.’
He steered Godley away and they disappeared around the corner.
A big wave crashed over the deck and Ashdown prodded Ben. ‘Come on, my friend. Don’t slacken. The captain sees everything.’
Ben frowned. ‘What was all that about?’
Ashdown shook his head. ‘Best not to know. This is not a ship for inquisitive men.’
‘I wonder what they’re bringing back from Amsterdam,’
said Ben, looking down the length of the ship.
Ashdown shook