The boat accelerated and the well within me dilated, flooding my muscles with power. My body sang with it and I sped forward, heading for the end of the sea wall. As the boat crossed into open water, I leapt up off the harbour wall, sailing out into space, my legs still pumping, the boat coming up fast beneath me so that I landed with a whump!, crashing on to the cabin roof, rolling forward, carried by my own momentum. I tipped over the side, momentarily airborne again. Thump! I hit the side of the boat as it rose on the swell, grabbed the rope mesh draped over the side, my body hanging over so that my feet dangled in the frothing water.
"What were that!" a voice called out of the cabin.
"What were what?"
The answering voice came towards me and I tightened my grip on the mesh and deepened the concealment that hid me.
"That thump. Sounded like we hit something."
There was a pause. "Driftwood maybe? Somethin' in t' water, most like."
"Any damage?"
A figure passed by above me and headed for the bow. While they were busy, I hauled myself up on to the rail. The boat started oscillating as it met the swell from the open sea. It ducked and tipped, the bow sending up a shot of spray into the last light of the day. My lips tasted salt where I licked them and my jacket clung to me. I hauled myself over the rail and limped towards the stern, still wrapped in concealing power. My side hurt where I had hit the rail and the nerves on my left side still jangled from the impact.
Now that I was aboard I could see that this was more of a work-boat than a trawler. It didn't have the spars and the drapery of nets ready to haul over and drag through the sea on the end of booms, but rather piles of wire pots and smaller nets that could be cast overboard by hand. It still had the tall prow and deep stern of a deep-water boat, and there was a small nest of radio aerials rising from a mounting bar above the cabin. It would be seaworthy for days at a time, and as I watched the harbour dimming behind me, I wondered how far they planned to go.
The wind was cold now, chilling the water that had soaked into my trousers and sleeves, and I pressed my hand to my side. I didn't think I'd broken anything but I would have bruises to match anything I'd acquired in training. The three men gathered ahead of me under the electric lights in the cabin. The occasional red-point glow of a cigarette glowed through the dirty glass. They ignored me, intent on the water ahead, but even so I kept my concealment close.
The diesel engine thrummed in a slow rhythm as I looked back over the stern, watching the harbour wall recede and the town lights come on behind us. Above the hills, the last light flared under the wispy clouds, turning them pink, then purple. I turned my back on the town.
If Shelley was on board, it wasn't obvious where. I crept forward, using my magic to hide me, and climbed on to the raised half-deck behind the cabin to peek inside. Lights on the instrument panel illuminated the faces of the men, staring forward. There was no banter or chat. Each stood apart, unable or unwilling to break the mood. To one side were steps leading down into the bow of the boat. If I wanted to get to them I would need to go through the men and even if I were invisible they would notice me. Treading carefully and avoiding the line of sight from the cabin, I crept forward up on to the bow area. There were hatch coverings opening down into the bows, but no obvious catches to release them. I slid forward on my belly, pressing my ear to the nearest hatch while I watched the men to make sure they stayed in the cabin. All I could hear was the thrum of the engine and the hiss and hush as the bow thrust into the waves. I slid backwards, retreating to the stern while the light died over the hilltops behind us and the foam merged back into the dark water.
I didn't have long to wait. The boat began turning, drawing a slow arc with the luminous foam of the wake. It steered a half circle until it faced back towards the town. The engine died, and the wind died with it, the boat drifting on the rocking swell.
The men were active now, busy in the cabin and under the foredeck. I watched two of them carry out a long bundle between them, guided by the third. It kicked and struggled, and the two men swore that they would drop her over the side if she wasn't still. That was when I knew I had not been wrong.
She struggled again and one of them dropped an end, uttering a profanity.
"Keep hold of her, Freddy."
Freddy tried to catch her legs, but each time she kicked and thrashed.
The other shoved him aside, picked her up bodily and threw her over his shoulder. He kept one arm wrapped round her legs while she grunted and wriggled. She wasn't making it easy; good for her.
The lights on the gantry above the cabin blazed into life, illuminating the bow of the boat. Another man emerged from the cabin, dressed in orange waterproofs, flicking a cigarette butt into the water with a practised gesture. His hair was grey and his face lined. He looked vaguely familiar.
They had brought this girl – and she was a girl, younger than any of the other missing young women, barely more than a child – out on to the open sea. For what? Even after long days of searching, of investigation, of rebuffed enquiries and cold shoulders, I still had no idea what they were doing. Was this some dark perversion shared between these three? Were they planning to rape her and then toss her over the side? I crept up on to the half deck, up behind the aerials and the lights where the shadows would hide me. From there, the boat rocked like a giant cradle beneath me. I watched them take the girl to the bow and lower her carefully to the deck. If they meant to harm her, why were they treating her so gently?
The older man came forward and bid the others stand back. I recognised the voice. I knew this man. I had met him in the past few days. The hard tone, low and rough, was distinctive. He took a bright blade from his belt and slashed into the silver-grey tape wrapping the bundle. The bundle kicked out, but he was careful. In moments she was struggling free from the coarse blankets in which she'd been rolled, pulling away sticky strands of tape. She tugged at the tape over her mouth and ripped it away in a single swipe.
"You BASTARDS!"
The man with the rough voice stepped forward. "Now then. No need for a foul tongue."
"You fucking bastards. My dad's gonna have you, I'm tellin' ya. He's gonna do you proper!"
She struggled to her feet. I admired her spirit. These were big men, used to rough work. They could pick her up in one hand, easy, but she was undaunted. She shook out her hair and wrapped her cardigan close around her.
"You bedda take me back, right now! You're all in deep shit."
The leader stepped up to her and casually backhanded her across the face. There was a yelp as her head snapped back and she went down, curled into the bow against further blows. I would have intervened then, but he stepped back again, leaving her.
"I told you to keep a civil tongue," he growled.
Shelley was crying softly, a snuffling noise that showed just how thin the bravado was. She pushed herself up with one arm, pressing her hand to the side of her face where he'd hit her.
"My dad… my dad… he'll…"
"He won't do nothin'. You just wait. When he sees how we turn things round he'll do precisely nothing."
"He'll fuck you up good," she muttered into her hand.
He stepped forward again and my hand slipped down to my belt, and my sword. My fingers found nothing. My sword was lying on my bed, back in the guest house, disguised as an umbrella.
She shrank back, but he didn't hit her, though the warning was clear.
"He won't, because his girl's going to be a star. She's going to save the town. She's gonna be at front of all the parades and in all the papers. She'll be headline news."