The Way of the Warrior - Chris Bradford [6]
The block and tackle now dropped straight towards Ginsel. Barely missing him, it struck Sam who was standing right behind him. The unfortunate sailor was sent spinning into the sea.
‘Sam…!’ Jack cried out, hurriedly clambering down the rigging after him.
Back on deck, he ran to the rail but could only watch helplessly as Sam struggled against the mountainous waves, disappearing and reappearing until, with a pitiful scream, he was dragged under for a final time.
Jack turned despondently to the Bosun, who had joined him at the rail.
‘There ain’t nothing you can do, boy. Grieve for him in the morning, if we make it,’ said the Bosun.
Noting the look of despair in Jack’s face, the Bosun softened slightly.
‘You did well up there, boy. Now go and see your father – he’s in his cabin with the Captain.’
Jack bolted for the companionway, thankful to escape the raging tempest. Within the belly of the ship, the storm felt less of a threat, its unrestrained fury above becoming a muffled howl below. Jack weaved his way through the bunks to his father’s berth in the stern and quietly entered the small, low-beamed room.
His father was bent over a desk, studying a set of sea charts with the Captain.
‘Pilot, it’s in your hands to get us out of this!’ barked the Captain, pounding the desk with his fist. ‘You said you knew these waters! You said we’d make landfall two weeks ago! Two weeks ago! By the hand of God, I can sail this ship in any storm but I’ve got to know where to damn well go! Perhaps there are no Japans, eh? It could all be legend. A cursed Portuguese deception designed to ruin us.’
Jack, like every other sailor on board, knew about the fabled islands of Japan. Full of unfathomable riches and exotic spices, a trading mission to the Japans would make wealthy men of them all, but so far only the Portuguese had ever set foot on the islands and they were determined to keep the route secret.
‘The Japans exist, Captain,’ said John Fletcher, calmly opening a large leatherbound notebook. ‘My rutter says they exist between latitudes thirty and forty north. By my calculations, we’re only a few leagues off the coast. Look here.’
John pointed to a crudely drawn map on a page within the rutter.
‘We’re in striking distance of the Japanese port of Toba – here. That’s several hundred leagues off our trading destination, Nagasaki. So you can see, Captain, the storm has blown us way off course. But that’s not our only problem – I’m told this whole coastline’s rife with pirates. Toba’s not a friendly port so they’ll probably think we’re pirates too. And worse, another pilot in Bantam informed me that Portuguese Jesuits have set up a Catholic church there. They’ll have poisoned the minds of the locals. Even if we made it ashore, we’d be slaughtered as Protestant heretics!’
There was a deep boom from within the bowels of the ship, followed by the groaning of timbers as a vast wave peeled along the side of the Alexandria.
‘In a storm such as this, Pilot, we’ve little choice but to make for land, whatever the cost. It may be a choice between the devil and the deep blue sea, John, but I’d prefer to take our chances with a Jesuit devil!’
‘Captain, I’ve another suggestion. According to my rutter, there are some sheltered bays two miles south of Toba. They’ll be safer, more secluded, though their access is made treacherous by these reefs.’
Jack watched as his father pointed to a small series of jagged lines etched on to the map.
The Captain’s fierce eyes bored into John’s. ‘You think you can get us through?’
John put his hand on the rutter. ‘If God be on our side, yes.’
As the Captain turned to leave, he caught sight of Jack. ‘You’d better hope your father’s right, boy, the life of this ship and its crew are in his hands.’
He swept past, leaving Jack and his father alone.
John carefully wrapped a protective oilskin round his rutter