Jamrach's Menagerie - Carol Birch [77]
Tim was beside me at the rail. Dan Rymer stood behind, put an arm round each of our shoulders, breathing ale. “There goes our fortune, lads,” he said softly. “There goes our fortune swimming away.”
“How did it get out?” the captain roared.
“Skipton!” Rainey grabbed Skip’s shoulders. “It was you, wasn’t it?”
“It was you, wasn’t it?” Skip said, with a simpleton smile on his face.
“You were there, I saw you. You let it out, didn’t you?”
“You let it out, didn’t you?” Skip repeated.
Rainey struck him hard across the face and he went down.
“Mr. Comeragh’s got a nasty bite,” Sam Proffit said, appearing at the captain’s side. “Bloody.”
“Fool!” Rainey’s boot slammed into Skip’s side. “That thing could have killed someone. Get up! Get up, you son of a whore!”
Still vacuously smiling, Skip shakily rose, one hand vaguely hovering before his brow.
The captain’s face wore a look of exaggerated calm, but he was tight with fury. “Mr. Skipton,” he said, “you have endangered the entire ship.”
Skip laughed, a harsh, loud hack that burst from his throat. Blood burst out of his nose at the same moment and dripped down his front and onto the floor.
“Are you mad? Are you mad, Mr. Skipton?” the captain shouted. “What have you done? Do you know what you have done? You could have killed someone!”
Skip shoved his hands under his nose to catch the flow.
“Speak,” the captain said. “What the devil got into you?”
“Nothing,” said Skip.
“Nothing! Nothing! You are insane. We should have put you ashore at Cape Town.”
“It was …” Skip said.
Mr. Comeragh came walking lopsided, leaning on Abel Roper. He didn’t look too bad, but there was a lot of blood on his breeches.
“Mr. Comeragh,” the captain said, “this fool let it out.”
“Why?” asked Comeragh, looking at Skip.
“It told me to,” Skip said.
Rainey hit him across the face again.
“Do you realise the value of that creature?” the captain said.
“Value? Value?” Skip shouted right into his face.
Proctor blinked sharp and his voice went up a notch. “We have had enough of you, you, Mr. Skipton, you have ruined this endeavour. We had succeeded! We were bringing back a great new wonder of the world. Mr. Rainey! Put him in irons!”
“By all means, sir,” said Rainey.
Funny how things change in a second. Skip burst into tears, no longer a mysterious and irritatingly knowing boy, just a kid snivelling for his ma. His nose ran and his breath piled up in sobs in his throat.
“This is bad,” said Abel, meaning Comeragh’s leg.
“How bad?” snapped Rainey.
“Very, very bad.”
“Oh, God in damnation!” Rainey’s eyes looked hollow. “Kill the fool.”
“What happened?” asked Dan, his calm voice in the middle of it all. “What happened, Skip?”
Mr. Comeragh sat down on the deck suddenly, and Abel peeled back the bloody cloth. “It’s the swelling, sir,” he said, looking over his shoulder at the captain. “That’s what’s got me a bit worried.”
Mr. Comeragh’s leg had blown up like a fat sausage.
“I might want to be lancing that, I might. Looks like a snake bite sort of thing, that’s poison in there, that is.”
“Hurts like fucking mad,” said Comeragh tightly.
“Nothing to worry about, sir,” Abel said brightly. “We’ll just get you below deck and cut this boot off and you’ll be up and about quite soon. Sam, give us a hand.”
“I thought I gave orders,” Dan said. “No one goes near the beast but myself and Jaf Brown. Why was this boy allowed anywhere near?”
Not a word. It was me, I let him go there to draw.
“Allowed?” Proctor turned with a look of outrage. “He was not allowed! Surely, Mr. Rymer, it was your duty to set a watch upon such a valuable animal.”
“Certainly, if there was a man to spare twenty-four hours a day, but there isn’t,” said Dan. “An order