To All Eternity Read online

  “I understand. I will support you against these people. Give me a gun. I can shoot as well as Mother.”

  “I have her own gun with me.” He smiled. “I hope you will not use it to shoot me.”

  “I will use it to shoot these people,” she said, seriously.

  “Right. But please don’t shoot anybody until I say so.”

  *

  Berkeley was well pleased with the way things were turning out. Although Caterina remained cold to him physically – they slept in separate bunks, she in the upper – she gave every appearance of being a faithful and loving wife when they were in the presence of Lukeman or his crew. Nor, remarkably, did she suffer from seasickness; although by morning the wind had freshened quite a lot and the seas had become lumpy. Berkeley stuck with his plan that the three of them should remain together at all times, and he gave Caterina her mother’s revolver, loaded, which she placed in her handbag.

  The Wanderer continued to waddle to the south; she only made about seven knots, but with the wind behind her she was quite comfortable. It was not until that evening when they rounded Cape Malea to take a westerly course with the wind on the beam, that she began to roll heavily. The breeze had freshened as Lukeman had suggested it might.

  Dinner was amusing, with plates and glasses and bottles and cutlery sliding to and fro; and the steward, whose name was Perryman, staggering around the saloon as he tried to serve the meal.

  “Is it going to be like this all the way to Marseilles?” Caterina asked.

  “I shouldn’t think so,’ Berkeley said. “But I’ve a notion it’ll get worse before it gets better.”

  He had spent the day finding out what he could about the ship, without appearing too inquisitive. He deduced that there were twelve deckhands, and about six crew in the engine room; plus the two officers, of course, together with the steward and the cook. But with the seas quite heavy and the ship in a fairly busy lane, he reckoned they were safe for the time being.

  “Tell me about England,” Caterina said, as they lay in their cabin in the dark that night, while the ship thumped and rolled and the wind howled. “Are there great mountains?”

  “None at all, I’m afraid. Nothing you would call a mountain. In Wales and Scotland, maybe. But we will live in Northamptonshire.”

  “Is it a big town?”

  “Well, what I am talking about isn’t a town at all. It’s a county: what you would call an administrative district. There is a town called Northampton, but we’re some distance away from it.”

  “I have only ever lived in a town,” she commented.

  Berkeley wondered how she would find the peace and quiet of Northampton and the surrounding farmland compared to the narrow streets of Sabac, crowded with desperadoes.

  She was thinking along the same lines. “Is there much anarchy in England?” she asked.

  “There is no anarchy at all. Unless you consider the Suffragettes to be anarchists.”

  “What are the Suffragettes?”

  “Women who want the vote.”

  “The vote for what?”

  “The vote for who is elected to parliament.”

  “Why do they wish this?”

  “Well, you see, parliament makes the laws, and there are a lot of women who feel that the laws in Britain unfairly discriminate against women. Thus they feel that if they could have a say in who is elected, they could perhaps have some of the laws changed, or at least modified.”

  “Laws are made by men,” Caterina said, with some finality.

  “Quite,” he agreed. “But these women feel so strongly about it that they throw stones and smash things up, whenever they can. They don’t shoot people, though.”

  “Then it is not a matter of life or death to them. Are they executed when they are caught?”

  “Good Lord, no. There would be no possible reason for it. They do not threaten the state.”

  “You English are fortunate,” she remarked. “You have no Austrians sitting on your border, waiting to take your land.”

  He found himself wondering what might happen if she did settle in England and joined the Suffragettes.

  *

  Next morning they were well clear of Greece, and crossing the southern end of the Ionian Sea towards the channel between Sicily and the Maltese Islands. The wind had dropped, but there remained heavy clouds and a high swell: from crest to trough was some thirty feet, Berkeley reckoned.

  “There is more bad weather ahead,” Lukeman said at breakfast. “A mistral, out of the Gulf of Lyons.”

  “That’s a good way away, isn’t it?” Berkeley asked.

  “Ah, sir, a big mistral can stretch all the way down to below Sardinia. September is a bad time to be at sea in the Mediterranean.”

  “What’s a mistral?” Caterina asked. She had picked up enough English to understand the gist of what was being said.

  “A north-westerly wind which comes out of France. It can be quite strong, and sometimes lasts for days.”

  “Will it be bad for us?”

  “Not dangerous. But uncomfortable, as we’ll be going into it.”

  Lukeman grinned. “You know a lot about the sea, Mr Jones.”

  “I’ve travelled a bit,” Berkeley conceded.

  Lukeman made his play that afternoon. It was actually quite a pleasant day, with patches of blue sky and the sun from time to time visible as it sank to the west. The wind remained fresh and cold, however, and the sea lumpy, and it was more comfortable to stay in the saloon, where Berkeley continued to teach Caterina English. She was an alert and quick-witted pupil, and appeared keen to master her new language.

  Lockwood had retired to his cabin, but the door was hooked open.

  It was four o’clock when the captain appeared, followed by Arnold and two of the crew. “It is my decision, Mr Jones,” Lukeman said without preamble, “that you should pay the remainder of the passage money now.”

  Berkeley leaned back in his chair and let his hands droop; they were within inches of his holstered pistol which was invisible to the captain. “And it is my principle, Captain, never to alter an agreed procedure.”

  “But I must insist,” Lukeman said. “You wouldn’t like us to harm the little lady, now, would you?”

  “I think you’d be very unwise to try,” Berkeley said, and whistled.

  Lukeman’s head jerked, but before he could react, Lockwood stood in the doorway, shotgun in his hands. The captain stepped back, as did his men.

  “I think,” Berkeley said, “in the circumstances, that we will have to change our plans after all. We’ll put in to Valletta, tomorrow morning, Captain. There I will pay you a further fifty pounds.”

  Lukeman licked his lips.

  “The agreement was for a hundred.”

  “For delivery to Marseilles. But you are only taking us halfway, you see. So you only get half.”

  Lukeman glared at him. “You are trying to take over my ship. I will hand you over to the authorities.”

  “You have it backwards, old man. If you deliver us to Valletta without any more trouble, I may just refrain from handing you over to the authorities. You are flying the Red Ensign. That means you are subject to English law. And I happen to be an officer in His Majesty’s army, travelling on official business. I am fully entitled to requisition this ship. Now . . .” He drew his Browning, and Lukeman gaped. “We will come with you, Captain, and you will show me what arms you have on board. And please, no funny business.”

  “I have no arms,” Lukeman growled.

  “Show me, anyway.”

  “Well, there is a rifle in my cabin.”

  “Show me.” He signalled Lockwood and Caterina to stay close to him.

  The rifle turned out to be an old Mauser, rusty and badly in need of a cleaning.

  “I reckon anyone firing this would be in more danger than his target,” Lockwood commented.

  “So get rid of it,” Berkeley said.

  Lockwood threw it over the side.

  �
�Hey,” Lukeman complained. “That’s my property.”

  “It was,” Berkeley agreed. “Now, Captain, alter course for Malta. And remember that I know enough about navigation to check you out. We shall stay on the bridge, with you, for the night. You can have our dinner sent up.”

  Lukeman muttered to himself, but set the new course. The motion eased as the Wanderer turned slightly away from the wind and waddled up and down the troughs.

  “That was well done,” Caterina said. “I can see why my mother valued you so highly.”

  “Unfortunately, we’re not in Malta yet,” Berkeley reminded her.

  “Do you think they will try something?”

  “I’d be very surprised if they didn’t.”

  “But we have the captain.”

  “Yes,” he said thoughtfully. That they would try something was as certain as anything in this life; they would rely on the fact that an English army officer would never shoot someone in cold blood. They did not know that he was also a professional anarchist as well as a spy.

  The helmsman was changed every four hours, as if everything was normal. Their dinner was brought up, as requested. It included a bottle of wine, but just to be sure, Berkeley made Lukeman drink some of it first.

  The captain grinned. “You think I would drug your wine, Mr Jones? How am I to do that?”

  “I was thinking more of poison, old man,” Berkeley said. “But as you’re still breathing . . .”

  It was now getting dark, the sun having disappeared behind a bank of cloud on the horizon. The sea seemed absolutely empty. So did the ship; from the bridge none of the crew, not even the mate Arnold, were to be seen, but Berkeley posted Lockwood and his shotgun at the top of the ladder to discourage anyone coming up, save for the relief coxswain.

  Just aft of the bridge was the captain’s cabin, and Berkeley sent Caterina to sleep in there. She didn’t want to go, but he insisted. “You can be up at the first sign of trouble,” he told her.

  There was also a toilet and washbasin, which was useful.

  Then it was just a matter of waiting, as the ship muttered on its way. Lukeman sat on the deck and appeared to go to sleep. Berkeley, well used to sleepless nights, patrolled the bridge and watched the compass. He remained certain that the crew were going to try something rather than steam tamely into what was virtually a British seaport, but he didn’t see what they were going to try and by dawn they should be well within sight of the islands.

  The answer should have been predictable. At midnight the engine stopped.

  “Eh, eh?” Lukeman jerked awake and scrambled to his feet.

  The helmsman released the wheel and the roll increased.

  “Your play,” Berkeley commented. Lockwood looked in from the ladder. “Stay alert, Harry.”

  “I knew nothing of this,” Lukeman protested.

  “Well, call down and find out what the trouble is, and how long it’ll take to fix.”

  Lukeman blew down the voice tube.

  Caterina appeared from the cabin, carrying her revolver. Lukeman blinked at it; he had not realised that she too was armed.

  “Joseph,” he said. “Are you there Joseph?”

  An unintelligible sound came up the pipe. Lukeman listened, then raised his head. “He says it is a serious matter. He wishes me to go down and see for myself.”

  “No chance,” Berkeley told him.

  Lukeman blew down the pipe again. “You know the ship has been taken over by these people,” the captain shouted down. “They will not let me come down. You will have to come up.”

  More unintelligible gargle, then Lukeman replaced the cap. “He says it is very serious. He says we are making water. He is coming up.”

  “Just him,” Berkeley warned. “You mean he has opened a seacock?”

  “You think I would scuttle my own ship?”

  “I’d bet on it, to keep out of gaol.”

  “There’s this fellow on the ladder, sir,” Lockwood called.

  “Let him through,” Berkeley said.

  The heavy-shouldered engineer appeared on the bridge, looking curiously from Lockwood’s shotgun to Berkeley’s pistol to Caterina’s revolver, then more appreciatively at Caterina herself.

  “So what’s the problem, Chief?” Berkeley asked.

  The engineer looked at the captain.

  Lukeman shrugged. “He’s taken command. Tell him.”

  Joseph, who also appeared to be Egyptian, wiped his brow. “We have thrown a propeller blade and it has cut into the hull. We are making water.”

  “You are a lying bastard,” Berkeley told him. “Had we thrown a propeller blade, the engine would have half shaken itself to pieces, not just stopped.”

  “I tell you we are making water. If you do not believe me, come down and see for yourself.”

  “You can forget that idea as well,” Berkeley told him. “I recommend you get the pumps working, shut that seacock, and restart your engine.”

  “We are sinking,” Joseph declared. “The pumps are broken. We must abandon ship.”

  Presuming they were prepared to sacrifice the ship, it was such a simple plan. And so effective. If the passengers were to enter the lifeboat with the crew, at such close quarters they could very easily be overpowered and murdered. At the same time, none of them could risk running the gauntlet of the entire crew by going down to the engine room to close the cocks themselves.

  “I will give the command to break out the boat,” Lukeman volunteered.

  “No one is launching the boat,” Berkeley told him. “If the ship goes down, then we all go down. You’d better tell this fellow to go turn off that seacock.”

  Lukeman and Joseph exchanged glances, then they and the helmsman acted together. Joseph charged Lockwood, Lukeman went for Berkeley, and the helmsman dived at Caterina. As they did so, the rest of the crew, led by Arnold, who had been crouching in the darkness at the foot of the ladder, came swarming up.

  But they had no idea with whom they were dealing. Lockwood fired his shotgun, and Joseph screamed as he arched backwards, his chest blasted into flying red. Caterina also fired without hesitation, and the helmsman tumbled back, shot through the head. Berkeley had also fired, and the captain went down, but from his curses he was only wounded.

  The other crewmen came to the head of the ladder, but they could only do so one at a time, and Lockwood fired the second barrel of his shotgun to send Arnold screaming back down, taking several men with him. Lockwood felt in his jacket pocket and reloaded, moving back to the top of the ladder.

  “Cease firing,” Berkeley commanded. “Are you all right, Caterina?”

  She was panting, and he realised that for all his plans, she had still killed a man.

  “You are murderers,” Lukeman shrieked. “Murderers.”

  “You had better hope we are not,” Berkeley said.

  “There’s a bit of a list, sir,” Lockwood shouted. “Think those people have any fight left in them?”

  “I would say so. Lukeman, if you want to live, tell your people to shut down that seacock.”

  “I am bleeding to death,” Lukeman complained. “You have broken my bones.”

  “Give the order, and we’ll look after you.”

  “They will not obey me now.”

  “Have a go,” Berkeley recommended. “Caterina, have a hunt in the cabin and see if you can find some first-aid kit.”

  Lukeman dragged himself to the rail and began shouting, presumably in Arabic. Someone shouted back out of the darkness.

  “They’re launching the boat, sir,” Lockwood said. “Shall I fire into them?”

  Berkeley sighed. The sailors were unarmed, they were terrified, and they were not posing a threat. “Let them go,” he said.

  “They are leaving me here,” Lukeman complained.

  “You’re safer with us,” Berkeley told him. “Besides, you’re going to gaol. With them, when they’re picked up.”

  The boat splashed into the water and the men swarmed down the
sides of the steamer, each carrying a bundle of belongings.

  Caterina returned from the cabin. “I can find nothing.”

  “We’ll have to use the sheets from the bunk. He’s bleeding pretty heavily.”

  Lukeman had again subsided down the rail and was lying against it, groaning.

  “Are they away, Harry?” Berkeley asked.

  “Well away, sir.”

  “Right. Come here, tear up the those sheets and bind up the captain. But keep an eye out, and if those fellows try to come back, then you fire into them.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The ship was now definitely taking on a list. Berkeley slid down the ladder, ran along the deck to the engine room hatch. This was open, and from below there came an ominous swish of rising water. It was utterly dark down here, and although he found the light switches and threw them, all that happened was a faint fizzling sound as the fuses went.

  As he had absolutely no idea where the seacocks were situated, even if he could get to them beneath the already considerable amount of water in the hull, it was clear that the ship was going to founder. And fairly soon.

  He went on deck and had to hold on against the increasing slope. There had only been one boat, but on the upper deck there was a wooden slatted life-raft. It would have to do.

  He climbed the ladder to the bridge. Caterina and Lockwood had between them bound up the captain, and he seemed to have fainted.

  “There’s a couple of ribs broken, I’d say, sir,” Lockwood remarked.

  “Well, he’ll have to suffer. We have to get off this ship before she goes down.”

  Between them, he and Lockwood lifted the captain down the ladder and to the lower deck. Caterina followed, hanging on to the rail as the ship went ever further over. Berkeley climbed back up to the life-raft, and secured a retaining line which he passed back down to Lockwood. Then he cut the raft free.

  It slid over the side and went into the water with a splash, but Lockwood had made the line fast and it was a simple matter to pull it back to the side of the ship, although it rose and fell on the still considerable swell. The rail was now close to the water, and there were considerable groanings and creakings from the ancient hull.