Frey's returning footsteps pounded on the ladder and Drinkwater already knew he was right in his suspicions.
'Gone, sir ... taken his effects and gone ...'
'What about those chests?'
'Didn't see them, sir, but,' Frey gasped from his exertion, 'I didn't search his cabin properly ...'
'No matter. Mr Mount!'
'Sir?' The marine lieutenant stepped forward. He was in his night-shirt but wore baldric and hanger.
'Which of your men was on duty at Morris's door?'
'I ...' Mount drew a step forward and lowered his voice. 'I withdrew the sentry there, sir ... I had not thought him to be necessary after the cordiality you showed Mr Morris and he was removed from the presence of Captain Rakitin. I beg your pardon ...'
'God damn it, Mount, cordiality? God's bones, you had no authority! No orders to ... to do such a thing!' Drinkwater met Mount's confidential tone with his own muted fury. 'You have let me down, sir ...'
'Sir, I beg your pardon ...' The agony of Mount's sincerity twisted the stock phrase. 'I merely thought ...'
Recriminations were of no avail now and in his heart Drinkwater perceived the logic of Mount's misplaced initiative. It was not really the marine officer's fault. How could he have communicated his worst fears when he had not admitted them to himself? In any case the time for dithering was past. He raised his voice: 'Get your men to turn the ship inside out. I want every store and locker thoroughly searched. I want to know if any clue exists as to where the three missing men have gone ...'
He called for the purser and surgeon to get their keys and assist. What he did not say was that he sought the body of his coxswain.
'Mr Frey, get a fresh crew told off for the barge. The minute you can see what you are doing I want you to carry out a search for those boats. Mr Fraser, you will remain here with the people until Mount's search is completed. Then you may pipe 'em below.' He paused, considering addressing the patient multitude that still waited, then thought better of it. Instead he caught sight of Ballantyne's figure in the gloom.
'Mr Ballantyne, you attend me. Do you get a lantern upon the instant.'
'Aye, aye, sir.'
He waited for Ballantyne to return, remarking to Fraser, 'Tregembo's a victim, Mr Fraser, not a causative factor in this mystery. Morris is a man of consummate evil. Tregembo and I knew him thirty years ago. We may find Tregembo on board, in which case he will be dead. But we may yet find him alive, for Morris could not have got far in a cutter with only a boy to help him ...'
'I don't understand, sir, are you suggesting ... ?'
But Fraser was denied a word of explanation, for Drinkwater, seeing Ballantyne with a lantern, disappeared below. He led the master to the cabin Ballantyne himself should rightfully have occupied, had the accommodation aboard Patrician not been so disrupted.
'Hold the lantern up.'
Drinkwater examined the louvred door, then pushed it open. There were no signs of struggle. Morris's cot was rumpled, a single sheet thrown aside. The boy's bedroll almost bore the curled, foetal shape of the creature. A robe, a heavy brocaded mantle of crimson silk lay in a crumpled heap, the only sign of hurried departure, but the heavy leather portmanteau with which Morris had come aboard was empty, its lid flung back and its interior void. The smell of opium, which was for Drinkwater the very scent of Morris's corruption, filled the stale air in the tiny cabin.
'Lower,' Drinkwater commanded, bending and wrenching open the lockers built below the cot. The lantern light fell on the dull gleam of brass locks and bronze banding.
'Ahhh ...' Ballantyne could hold his tongue no longer.
'D'you have a pistol, Mr Ballantyne?'
'In my cabin, sir ...'
'Get it,' Drinkwater snapped, adding 'loaded ... here, give me the lantern.'
He set the lantern on the deck as Ballantyne scrambled off excitedly in search of his pistol. Reaching into the locker Drinkwater's hand found the corner of a chest and dragged it out of the locker beside the lantern. It was heavy, very heavy. He struggled with the second and was panting slightly as Ballantyne returned. He had Mount with him.
'I've found nothing, sir,' said the marine officer.
'It's loaded and primed, sir. Shall I?'
Yes.'
Drinkwater drew back into the doorway and felt Mount's breath on his neck. Ballantyne squeezed himself into a corner of the cabin and held the pistol with both hands, arms extended. It was a heavy, double-barrelled weapon. Ballantyne's thumbs cocked the hammers. He braced himself. Drinkwater saw for the first time that the bronze bands on the chests were low reliefs of fantastically writhing dragons. Each lock was shaped in the head of a Chinese lion, their hasps of steel.
Ballantyne squeezed the trigger of the first barrel. The hammer struck the frizzen and the brief flash became a sharp bang that momentarily deafened them in the confined space. The small discharge of smoke cleared to reveal the first lock shattered. Shifting his aim Ballantyne blew the second apart.
'Reload,' commanded Drinkwater. 'Your hanger, Mount.'
Drinkwater took the marine officer's sword and inserted its point under the bent hasp of the lock and twisted it. Mount drew his breath in at the outrageous use of his prized weapon.
Damn Mount! Half of this was his fault!
The lock fell to the deck and Drinkwater attacked the second; it too gave way.
'Ready, sir.' Ballantyne raised the pistol to repeat the process on the second chest.
'Wait!'
Drinkwater gave a final jerk with Mount's sword and passed it backwards without turning. He felt a mean satisfaction at the damage he had inflicted to the perfection of its pointe. Then, with both hands, he lifted the curved lid of the chest. He had expected the glitter of silver or even the soft gleam of gold.
'What the hell ... ?'
Drinkwater ignored the comments of the impatiently watching officers and put out a hand. The dull metallic sheen resolved itself into irregular lumps of mineral. As he lifted one and half turned to show it to Mount and Ballantyne he felt his hand move under a curious impulse.
It was irresistibly drawn towards the blued steel barrels of Ballantyne's pistol.
'Lodestone, gentlemen,' he said, standing and tossing the lump of magnetic ore back where it came from.
CHAPTER 16
Blow-pipe Creek
'It's pointless going any further, Belchambers, put your helm down.' Frey turned aft from his position in the bow of the barge. 'This is a cul-de-sac' He slapped the insect stabbing his cheek and swore as the mosquito buzzed away unharmed. The dry leaves of the mangroves plucked at him, like the claws of hideous succubi in a nightmare.
'Backwater larboard, pull starboard.' Belchambers was having difficulty turning the barge in the root-choked gullet, a green and slimy inlet that wound out of the bay and into the jungle. It was one of the innumerable such creeks that they had attempted to penetrate since dawn.
Already the sun was lifting above the shelter of the overhanging branches, and the coils of mist that had clung like samite to the water were evaporating. Occasional birds, bright flashes of brilliant hue, whirred across the thin finger of water, shrieking or rasping alarm with a noise that had, at first, frightened them with its raucous suddenness. When they rested upon their oars they could hear the strange burp of trumpet fish coming to them through the planking of the boat and the distant chatter of monkeys was once interrupted by the sullen roar of a tiger cheated of its prey.