Doctor Who_ The Roundheads - Mark Gatiss [56]
Whyte nodded slowly. ‘I do. A rare woman indeed.’
CHAPTER 6
The Teazer creaked and shuddered as she scraped alongside the other ships in the harbour.
Ben and Winter had clambered aboard. There was only one man on watch and he was sleeping soundly, his huge chest rising and falling like the bellows of a pipe organ.
Winter looked rapidly about. ‘I can’t think why I’ve not done this before,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘Lord knows I’ve had opportunity enough.’
‘You just needed someone to spur you on,’ whispered Ben. ‘Now, come on, let’s get to his cabin.’
The captain nodded and thrust her peg leg forward. Ben went ahead, crossing the deck on which he had so recently toiled.
As stealthily as possible and keeping flat against the woodwork, the two made their way to what was Stanislaus’s cabin. Winter turned up her nose in disgust. ‘I can smell him from here,’ she spat.
With a nod to Ben, and a sharp intake of breath, she kicked open the door and swaggered inside.
Ben followed a little more sheepishly.
The cabin was large and handsomely furnished. Rich red velvet drapes shrouded Stanislaus’s narrow bed, which occupied the whole of one corner. There were brass navigation instruments on every surface and a broad oak desk covered in papers.
A brass chandelier which was hanging from the low ceiling swung gently back and forth in time to the ship’s gentle movement.
Winter cursed and spat a great black gobbet of tobacco on to the bare floor. Ben glanced through the mullioned window at the rapidly lightening sky.
‘We’d better get a shift on,’ he muttered.
Winter leaned over the desk and peered ‘at the papers.
‘Now then, before we start looking for whatever it is we hope to find, you keep your eyes peeled for a strongbox.’
Ben was puzzled. ‘What do you mean?’
Winter began pulling books and charts from shelves, scanning the room with an intensity that was almost feverish.
‘The Pole has a strongbox somewhere,’ she insisted. ‘There’s something of mine in it that I want back.’
Ben looked a little sick and fluttered his hand over his face. ‘It’s not... ?’
Winter turned and laughed loudly. ‘No, Lord bless, it ain’t my nose!’
Still cackling, she began to sift through the charts and maps that were stacked in the corner of the cabin.
Ben joined in, though he was more concerned with the paperwork, hoping to find something that would give them a clue to the mystery.
‘So Stanislaus is sort of your Moby Dick?’ he said absently.
Winter did not pause in her search. ‘My what?’
‘Nothing,’ said Ben, moving back towards the door.
‘Found anything?’
Winter shook her head, hands grabbing at everything that wasn’t screwed down. ‘A moment, Ben. I’ve been waiting many years for this.’
Suddenly the door creaked and slammed shut, revealing a figure who had been hiding behind it the whole time.
Ben and Winter turned to see two pistols levelled at their chests.
The Doctor gazed at his reflection in the frosted-over bowl of water and then, with a resigned shrug, shattered the ice with his elbow. He rolled up his sleeves and splashed cold water over his face.
There was no towel about and he stumbled over to the bed, water dripping into his eyes, until he found his frock coat. He wiped his face dry with it and then stumbled backward on to Jamie’s bed.
The young Scot sat up with a cry and the Doctor flashed him an apologetic smile.
‘Sorry to wake you, Jamie.’
Jamie rubbed his eyes and stretched. ‘What time is it?’
‘Sixteen forty-eight,’ said the Doctor cheekily.
Jamie tutted and buried his head in the pillow.
The Doctor got up and struggled into his coat. ‘It’s about six in the morning. I think we should be ready for an early audience with Cromwell.’
Jamie groaned. ‘Och, do I have to go through all that again?’
‘I’m afraid so,’ said the Doctor sheepishly. ‘And it’s even more important now. We had a visitor last night.’
‘Yon smelly fella?’
The Doctor shook his head. ‘No. Mr Thurloe. He wanted to strike a bargain.’
Jamie sat up, interested. ‘What kind of bargain?’
Chuckling, the Doctor began to pace the room.