Tyger: A Kydd Sea Adventure (Kydd Sea Adventures) by Stockwin Julian

Author:Stockwin, Julian [Stockwin, Julian]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: McBooks Press
Published: 2015-11-01T04:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 13

“No, AN’ THAT’S M’ LAST WORD on it!” Horner folded his arms and returned Kydd’s gaze defiantly.

“Sir, you’re engaged to be this ship’s pilot in polar waters. I fail to see why Spitzbergen is not to be included in such.”

The sturdy whaleman said nothing.

“And I have a duty to the admiral to satisfy myself that there are no Frenchmen there. The only way to do that is go and find out,” Kydd added.

“Cap’n, this is y’r true Arctic. Ice floes, wind blast as’ll freeze your soul, ice mountains bigger’n a ship-of-the-line—it’s no place for a King’s ship, I’m telling you!”

“You’ve been to Spitzbergen.”

“Aye. Mate of a Scowegian whaler f’r two year. That’s how I knows—”

“I’ll double your fee.”

“I got no charts o’ the place. No one has. Whaling seamen know it by eye, hand on the lore down the generations. You have to, your lives depend on it.”

“As that may be, but—”

“Double and a half.” Horner bit his lip, hesitating. “And a certificate sayin’ as how I’m agin the voyage and I’m t’ be cleared o’ blame should we run afoul of the ice or such.”

“Done,” Kydd reluctantly conceded.

In the senior petty officers’ mess Stirk slapped down his cards in annoyance. “Matt, stick y’r head out an’ see what all that fuckin’ noise is about.”

Brewer, captain of the main-top, leaned over and pulled aside the painted canvas screen. “Hoi! Jemmy, what’s to do, as you’re disturbin’ the peace, like?”

A tow-haired ship’s boy detached himself from an excited group and raced across. “You ain’t heard? We’s going t’ the North Pole an’ all!”

“What’s he say?” grunted Pollard, the hard-faced boatswain’s mate, fingering his cards impatiently.

“Says we’re goin’ to the North Pole, Kip.”

“He what? Squeaker, get y’r arse in here an’ explain y’self!”

“We are an’ all, Mr Pollard. I heard the sailing master say as we ain’t got no charts for the North Pole.”

“He’s joshing, is all,” Brewer said, grunting. “An’ where’s he say we’re really off to?”

“T’ the north, Spitsbugger or somewheres,” the boy came back.

“An’ where the hell’s that?” Pollard growled, looking at the others.

“Spitsbuggen,” Brewer said loftily. “I heard on it from m’ dad. Was in Carcass when they went explorin’ in the High North thirty, forty year ago. Had along Our Nel as a younker, nearly lost the number of his mess to a polar bear an’ then they all gets trapped in the ice, ready to be froze t’ death, when the wind changes and they gets out.”

The thought of Horatio Nelson taken by a bear before ever he could go on to glory made them blink.

“What’s he say it’s like, cully?”

“Straight outa Hell!” Brewer said. “As no man wants t’ go back. Cold as’ll freeze your tears, quit calm in the forenoon, ragin’ black storm in the afternoon. I could tell ye a yarn or three as’ll curl your whiskers—”

“What we goin’ up there for?” Pollard snarled. “Bears an’ ice—we’s a frigate. Mongseers are what we’re after and we ain’t seen a hair o’ one since we came t’ this turdacious hole!”

“Stow it, Kip,” Stirk said.

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