Stormtide by Bill Knox

Author:Bill Knox [Bill Knox]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781849019057
Publisher: Little, Brown Book Group
Published: 2010-12-04T16:00:00+00:00

‘About that five quid,’ said Dave Rother a little later. He was sprawled back on the bunk in his tiny cabin below and fractionally aft of the wheelhouse, smoking a cigarette. A mug of coffee in one hand, Carrick was leaning against a bulkhead and looking through the only porthole. The Seapearl was tossing and rolling along, heading at a plugging eight knots for Portcoig. ‘Mind waiting a few days, Webb?’

‘No, it’s all right.’ Outside the porthole the sea was becoming lumpier by the moment. But in contrast the sky had cleared to a brilliant, almost dazzling blue with only a few tendrils of white cloud being streaked along by the gusting westerly wind. ‘Money tight?’

‘If you’ve asked around you’ll know it is.’ Rother waved his cigarette expressively. ‘Nothing to worry about. I’ve a deal coming up that will take care of things, and a fat cheque due for last month’s shipment of shark-oil. But right now I’m next best thing to flat broke.’

‘What kind of deal is it?’

Rother grinned and shook his head. ‘You’ll hear when it happens. Let’s leave it that way.’ His face clouded slightly. ‘But one thing is certain, I’ll be quitting this part of the world … and to hell with it in the passing.’

Carrick raised an eyebrow. ‘Going away altogether?’

‘Uh-huh. What’s happened with young Benson puts the lid on things.’ Rother eased up on his elbows, looked ready to add something more, then tensed at a shout from the wheelhouse.

It came again, an excited bellow. ‘Sharko, boss – a big’un! Port side – do we go for him?’

Scrambling from the bunk, Rother dived for the porthole. He stared, swore, and pointed for Carrick’s benefit. A great black triangular sai1 was moving slowly through the wavecrests about four hundred yards away. It vanished briefly then reappeared, still travelling almost parallel with the Seapearl.

‘Look at that dorsal-fin!’ Eyes glinting eagerly, Rother swung round. ‘Webb, how about one try? Just one – and to hell with Shannon.’

Carrick hesitated. The great black fin out there had to be at least five feet from its limp tip to the thickening base. The creature beneath had to be a giant of its kind, a giant that could vanish again at any moment.

‘One try,’ urged Rother. ‘That’s all.’

The temptation was too much. Carrick nodded. ‘One try. Better make it good.’

‘We will.’ Rother was already at the door. Another moment and he was running along the deck, shouting orders as he went.

The shabby, paint-blistered shark-boat swung into action with a practised precision, each man of her crew knowing his task. Shoving his way behind the helm, Dave Rother swung the Seapearl’s blunt bow and almost simultaneously began juggling with the engine throttle. Slowing, shuddering as she took a couple of heavy seas broadside on, the boat first dropped back a little, then increased speed on a new, curving course, which meant she was now pursuing that still lazy black fin from astern.

Crammed beside Rother in the wheelhouse, Carrick saw two figures struggling with the harpoon gun on its crude bow platform.

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