Infernal Devices - KW Jeter [86]
A sailor, one of several I had perceived going about their mysterious tasks in the growing dawn light, approached us. "There are cabins below," he said, respectfully taking off his knitted cap, "if you'd care to rest up a bit before we set sail."
I accepted this invitation readily, the realization of just how exhausted I was coming over me in a sudden wave. The sailor led me down to a small, sparsely furnished but clean room. All that mattered to me was that it contained a bed. No sooner had I laid my head upon its pillow than all the words and voices circling behind my brow rose into the darkness above my closed eyes, and I fell into dreamless sleep.
Some time later – how long I had no way of knowing I was awakened by someone roughly shaking my shoulder. I opened my eyes and looked up into the face of the sailor who had shown me the way to the cabin; around me I could feel the ship's rolling motion, and hear the creak of its hull and the slap of waves against it.
"On your feet," ordered the sailor. His earlier courtesy had gone. "You're wanted up on deck." I rolled over on to my side. "Please convey my regrets," I said. "I'm somewhat indisposed–"
He pulled me bodily from the bed and pushed me towards the cabin's door. "Step lively! Before I lose my patience with you."
I stumbled out on the deck and saw Scape and Miss McThane, sombre now, their hilarity diminished by the sight of a grim-faced row of sailors standing at attention. The ship was still within hailing distance of the small harbour from which we had sailed.
The sailor pushed me towards Scape and Miss McThane, then joined his fellows. "What's happening here?" I said, baffled by this sudden change in attitude. "What's the matter?"
Scape turned a sour grimace towards me. "I think," he said, "that we've been screwed."
A cloaked figure emerged from one of the forward hatches and strode down the line of sailors towards us; each of the men stiffened ramrod-straight as what was evidently some chief among them passed by. He at last, stood in front of us, and surveyed us each in turn, the raised edge of his cloak concealing his own face. "Good morning, gentlemen and lady," he said softly; my heart sank within me at the words.
The cloak and the voice together sparked my memory; this figure had looked at me once before, and rendered a harsh judgment. This was the man who had ordered the ruffians already guilty of the murder of the hapless forger Fexton, to cast my fettered body into the Thames.
He dropped his cloak, and I found myself staring into the eyes of Sir Charles Wroth.
My surprise, and that of Scape and Miss McThane, evoked some amusement in his features; a bloodless smile greeted us.
"Somehow," said Scape with a hollow laugh, "I get the feeling that I'm not working for you any more."
"Be quiet," ordered Sir Charles. "There's no time for your foolishness now. You would be better occupied setting your souls at peace with the Lord. I must inform you that you are in the hands of the Godly Army." He gestured towards the line of sailors. "These men, righteous Christians all, are under my command. Consider that the day of reckoning for your sins is at hand; there is no escape now."
"You're shittin' me." Scape shook his head in disbelief. "Aren't you?"
Sir Charles' glare silenced him. "Doubtless my previous masquerade had confused you; it was successful, then. In truth, I am not the effete music-lover and godless scientist for which you took me. Though the Royal Anti-Society – that heathen aggregate! – be but a fraction of what it once was, still they are sworn to secrecy among themselves, the better to guard their devilish knowledge. Through great pains, I infiltrated their number, posing as one given to such pursuits of vain arts; even my wife did not suspect my devotion to the good Puritan cause. At last, I thought the time to strike had come; it was I who gave the signal from inside Bendray Hall for the siege to begin; I also betrayed the various defences that fool Lord