The hold smelled of rum, rot, and rat droppings. The place lay in half-darkness, lit only poorly by the lantern Sammy carried, which she hung from a hook on one of the beams. Kayin did the same with another lantern on a nearby pillar, throwing a wavering light across the hold. It was crammed with barrels, crates and sacks that creaked and knocked against one another with every roll of the ship; now and then came the thin squeal of a rat.
"I feel like Orpheus going down into Hell," Cody muttered.
"You can't complain—it comes with its own spectre," Kayin shot back, dry as salt. "A cat would be fat and happy here," he added, pointing to a few rats that scurried under the barrels.
"All right, gentlemen, we're not here for a literary salon… to work!" said Sammy, moving on.
"Yes, boss," the boys chorused, mocking and obedient at once.
Then they set to it. As the sea struck harder, the three youngsters tightened the lashings and reinforced the knots with hemp lines, making sure no barrel lay loose. The sound of ropes drawing taut and wood thudding against wood filled the air, along with the rumble of thunder drawing nearer. Cody went along the row of barrels to make them fast—until his shoes splashed into a dark puddle. He stopped, puzzled, as a string of words drifted to him between snores:
"Bring her to starboard… seven degrees… and the rocks are coming…" —a snore— "Leeward… look at the poor devil… the ship's going down…" —a whistle.
His heart kicked; a cold shiver ran through him. The thought of seeing the ghost of Price terrified him. Not wishing to be the only one to lose his wits, he turned to Sammy and Kayin, who were making fast a few barrels.
Meanwhile, the girl was cinching the ropes around a cluster of smaller casks and knotting them to an eyebolt set in the floor. When she was done, she straightened and wiped her brow. In that instant she felt a hiss at her ear and heard a low, rough whisper:
"Do you see me…?"
Sammy spun, fist cocked to clip the joker, and found only the narrow passage empty and dim. A chill ran over her and she stepped out. She saw Kayin at the far end of the hold, busy tightening lines around another group of barrels. She went to him, seized him by the shoulders and spun him round, gripping him by the front of his shirt.
"What's the matter with you—did a rabid rat bite you?" Kayin said.
"What's the matter with you—playing tricks on me," Sammy snapped.
"I've no idea what you're talking about."
"Don't pretend you don't know…"
Kayin caught her wrist and made her let go, sighing in exasperation.
"Has Cody's fever got to you as well?" He looked at her—then his expression changed. "You're serious?"
Sammy arched a brow and pressed her lips together.
"I don't know… maybe I imagined it, but… I heard something. Perhaps my mind's playing me false."
Kayin studied her, then glanced both ways, trying to catch something moving in the shadows. One heard the timbers groan, the ropes strain, the thud of barrels still loose, while the shadows danced to the lanterns' sway.
"Best not tell Cody," he murmured. "He'll wet his breeches."
Sammy drew a deep breath to steady herself. Before she could speak, they heard Cody's steps and saw the flicker of his lantern drawing near.
"There's something… back there," he panted, face white, eyes glassy.
Kayin and Sammy exchanged a look; there was no trace of mirth or irony in either face.
"Did you look to see what it was?" Sammy asked, keeping her voice even.
Cody shook his head, nervous. The three advanced with their lanterns, moving warily, swaying with the ship's motion, until they reached the puddle.
"Leak from somewhere?" Kayin asked.
"Is it blood?" Cody whispered, horrified.
Sammy crouched, touched the liquid with her fingers, and brought them to her nose.
"Rum… one of the barrels is leaking," she said, just as the casks knocked together again.
The voice came again, clearer now, threading through the ship's creak:
"Three pieces of eight… three degrees to starboard…"
"Hush," Sammy said. "Someone's there."
Cody began to shake.
"I'm off… I'm off… even if they give me a hundred lashes," he quavered.
Sammy caught him by the sleeve, and Kayin put an arm round his shoulders.
"Steady, lad," he murmured in his ear. "Whatever's there… it can't be worse than the cat."
They edged forward and threw their light into a gap. There, sprawled on the planks, lay a fat man, dead asleep, mouth agape, snoring and mumbling in his dreams:
"The charts… if they only knew what they say… but they're all a pack of fools…"
Beside him, a barrel bled a thin thread of liquor that dripped to the floor. Now and then the man shifted and, when the liquid ran over his face, he stuck out his tongue to lap it up.
"It's the pilot," said Kayin.
"Good heavens… Mr Wells," Sammy breathed, astonished.
"The bastard's been milking the barrels," Cody said, recovering his nerve. "You know what that means?"
"If the captain hears of it, he'll have him thrown overboard," Kayin remarked.
"We've got to get him out of here before anyone sees," Sammy ordered.
"Are you mad? The old lump weighs more than two tuns… and we've to finish making the cargo fast," Cody protested.
"You always have excuses… Come on, Kayin, help me get the poor devil up," Sammy said, trying to heave him.
"Samantha, do you know what you're about?" Kayin asked.
She leaned in and pinched his shoulder.
"I'm Sam Worthy, and I know exactly what I'm about."
"I don't think it's wise…"
"I'm not turning him in! Come on—give me a hand!"
Between the three of them they began to drag the pilot and shove him up the ladder while he grumbled and snorted.
"I don't know why you care for this drunk," Cody muttered. "Everyone hates him; up top they speak ill enough of him."
"He's a fat fellow, and arrogant with it," Kayin added.
"He's been a good teacher to me—showed me how to read the charts better and handle the instruments," Sammy said. "I wish him no harm, though his conduct surprises me."
"It isn't the first time," Kayin said. "Since we got into this rum trade, the man's gone daft."
"Now I see why he was so keen to teach me—so he could slip off with a pretext," Sammy said, sweating as they hauled him along. "Though one day he told me I'd never have a future as a pilot, that it's a profession for educated men—and white ones."
"And you'll risk your hide for him all the same?" Cody grunted, heaving.
"That… and he owes me money."
At last they got him to an upper deck and hurried back to the hold, but a sudden lurch of the ship sent the unsecured barrels rolling to and fro, battering the cargo, bursting several casks and pouring rum across the floor, putting the youngsters in danger.
"Cody, go for help," Kayin called, sheltering behind a pillar just as a barrel smashed itself to staves and splashed him with liquor.
"No!" Sammy shouted from where she crouched behind a rack of casks, dodging the ones that rolled past. "We can manage it!"
Cody dodged aside as several barrels thundered toward him. The ship's motion slowed them just enough for them to slam into a stack and shatter it to pieces.
"Sammy, your way of solving problems always makes more of them," Cody said—and, seizing his chance, tore down the passage with a string of loose barrels chasing after him, and gained the stairs to fetch help.
A few minutes later a knot of men clattered down, the Boatswain and his mate at their head. They found broken casks and a hold awash with rum, the liquor running to and fro with the ship's sway. The three youngsters clung where they could, soaked and shaken, while the fumes of alcohol filled the decks.
"And it smells the part!" one of them said, drawing in the sour air of the hold.
"Mr Knox," the Boatswain said to his mate, "send for hands. Get them down here to make fast every last barrel—and if any man has no business here, keep him from licking the floor clean. As for you three…" he added, fixing the youngsters with a hard look. "Fetch buckets and mop the lot. After that, you'll answer to the captain."
The three exchanged looks from behind the pillars that had kept the rolling barrels at bay, drenched in rum and bracing for what was to come, while the sweet reek of liquor drifted on and seeped into every seam of the hold.