Warner hefted the carton in his hand. He stripped the paper from the top and took a cigarette out. He lit it with the last match in his pocket and enjoyed the taste. Normally he would have tossed a cigarette of this quality but right then it tasted like the best he had ever smoked. It seemed a shame to leave the rest of the foot lockers unsearched and so, with the cigarette stuck to his bottom lip, he went to work. Once Warner had the other lockers open he threw the contents out onto the floor and raked through the contents with the cleaver; more clothes, more cigarettes, two clay bottles that Warner presumed was sake, a bottle of cheap whiskey – Piper’s Spirit brand, some chocolate bars, nick-knacks from dozens of ports, letters, and more photographs. He allowed himself a smile at the haul and wrapped it, hobo-like, in a sheet to carry back to the mess room. Lily would be pleased when she saw the cigarettes.
A huge clank made Warner drop his bundle. He turned and held up the cleaver, brandishing it like an irate butcher confronting a meat thief.
‘Who’s there?’
Warner heard the fear in his own voice. The clank came again, lower this time. Warner stared into the shadows and saw the steam pipes running around the room. He laughed and called himself a fool. The clanking became even lower and more rhythmic. Warner let the cleaver fall to his side and walked over to the pipes. The ship looked like no one had been on it for weeks, months maybe. What the hell was clanking through the pipes; oil, water, filth? Warner stood and stared, not daring to touch any of the valves or handles that were on the pipes.
The clanking came to a stop and Warner took a step closer. Silence. He took another step. There was another sound now. Warner dipped his head trying to make it out more clearly; a hissing, low and almost inaudible. He stared at the valve that seemed to be hissing. The turn ring came loose and shot across the room like a bullet. Warner ducked and when he stood back up, the pipe suddenly sprayed dark ichor into his face. Stumbling back, Warner tried to wipe the liquid from his mouth and nose. He retched against the coppery taste and spat it out onto the deck. Grabbing a sheet he had cast aside from one of the trunks Warner wiped the remainder of the liquid from his face. It was dark and thick like water from the bilges. Warner gave his face another going over with the cloth and then threw it into the corner of the room. He stared at the pipe – silent now – before gathering up his bundle and heading back to the others.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Snell pulled another door open and stepped around it with his arm extended, pistol pointed and at the ready.
‘Think we’ve found it, Putner.’
Putner stepped around and looked over the room; a chair, desk with a large radio set on it along with a note pad and metal ash tray, a cot bed in the corner. Putner moved past Snell and ran his hands over the radio like a hungry man stoking his lover’s face. He flicked a few switches and checked the valves. He lifted the headphones and placed them over his ears. Silence. He tried another switch.
‘You have experience with this type?’
‘Not so different from the one we had back on the Empire Carew. Not working as it should.’
There was a candle in a holder on the desk and Putner lit it. Checking the drawers of the desk he located a small bag of tools. While Snell watched, Putner removed the cover from the radio set and began to check the innards of the machine. Snell looked back down the corridor wanting to be back and checking on the others.
‘Go, sir,’ said Putner without looking up. He took a hammer from the tool bag and laid it on the desk. ‘I’ll be fine – just send someone with food and cigarettes.’
Snell nodded.
‘Good man. I’ll send someone back to keep you company.’
Putner nodded absent-mindedly already absorbed in his work. Snell turned and headed back the way they had come. He stopped and looked back at the candle light flickering in the doorway and wondered if he was doing the right thing leaving one of his men alone. Nothing for it unless he wanted to wait here for Connelly or, worse, Busby to come and find them. Snell walked down the corridors and then down a ladder trying to remember the way that they had come from the mess.
The smell of frying fish reached Connelly’s nose as they got closer to the mess.
‘Jesus, that smells good.’
Busby grunted and they hurried on their way back. Footsteps on a ladder close by made them pull up. Connelly extended the blade on his clasp knife and the two sailors slipped quietly into the shadows at the edges of the corridor. They watched as Warner emerged from below decks, his bundle up on his shoulder like a seaman headed off for a long shore leave. Both men breathed a sigh of relief and stepped out of the shadows. Busby expected Warner to jump as they appeared but the man simply gave them both a cold, dead-eyed, look and nodded once before carrying on his way to the mess.
Connelly looked at Busby but the big sailor merely shrugged.
‘Looks like he found a pair.’
‘Maybe he had them all along.’
‘Could just be.’
Back in the mess hall Earl Hamilton had got the stove going and was frying up the canned fish while he waited for the rice to cook, there were lanterns lit on the table, Collins lay on the furthest table with Amelia Starling sat close by him.
Warner dumped down his bundle. He tossed the cigarettes across to Lily, he retrieved one of the clay bottles and passed it to Busby before getting the whiskey out for himself.
‘Any cups in this joint?’
Hamilton gestured with a wooden spatula to one of the bolted cupboards.
‘Just tin cups, no fine crystal.’
‘This isn’t the kind of rot gut you need crystal for.’
Hamilton grinned.
‘Mind pouring me a snifter?’
‘Sure,’ replied Warner.
Connelly studied the man; there was a tension in him that hadn’t been there before, he moved with deliberate slowness, he stopped and turned feeling Connelly’s eyes on him.
‘You want a smoke, sailor?’
‘Thanks.’
Connelly pushed a half-dozen of the Golden Bats into his pocket before placing one between his lips and lighting it.
‘What happened to your shirt, Connie?’ asked Lily.
Warner rounded on her.
‘My name isn’t fucking Connie – why don’t you use my given name just one time, huh? Or is that too fucking difficult for you, you dumb fucking bitch?’
Lily’s mouth formed an O in shock. Busby paused in his partaking of the sake.
‘Watch your language when you speak to a lady.’
‘Lady!’ retorted Warner. ‘I could tell you some things…’
Busby pushed the stopper back into the sake bottle and got to his feet, tattooed arms flexing.
‘That so? Maybe I could tell you a thing or two as well, Mr Big-I-Am.’
Connelly watched Busby’s stance shift ever so slightly and stepped between the men.
‘Stressful time for us all here. You feel it? The strangeness? Let’s all take a breath.’
‘Oh, I’m breathing just fine, Mr Connelly.’
Connelly looked down and saw the cleaver that Warner held low.
‘You don’t want to do this. We all need to stick together. Three weeks in that boat didn’t have us killing each other so let’s not start now.’