The Golden Reef (1969) (16 page)

Soon after midnight they hauled up the anchor and eased the yawl away from the reef. There was a light breeze to help them, and the sails rustled softly. There was no moon and they showed no lights. The ghostly shape of the reef was dimly visible in the starlight, and away to port, a deeper shadow in the engulfing shadow of the night, was the launch, her riding lights glittering.

‘They may spot our sails‚’ Dring said, keeping his voice low.

‘It’s possible - if they’re keeping a sharp look-out‚’ Keeton answered. ‘But I doubt it. Rains was always a slack officer. If we can once put a mile or so between us and them we should be pretty safe.’

The riding lights of the launch could have been stars very low in the sky. They did not appear to be receding at all.

‘We’re not moving‚’ Valerie whispered. ‘We can’t be.’

‘We are‚’ Keeton assured her. ‘But it’s slow work. You have to be patient.’

He could sense the sluggishness of the yawl; she was so weighed down with her precious cargo that all the life seemed to have departed from her and she moved like a dead thing.

Suddenly a voice broke the silence of the night, a voice made faint by distance. ‘Ahoy there! Ahoy!’

‘It’s Rains‚’ Keeton said. ‘So he was awake.’

‘
Roomer
ahoy!’ Rains shouted. ‘Where away?’

‘Down sail‚’ Keeton said sharply. ‘It’s the engine now. We may lose them yet.’

They acted quickly. The sails came down with a rush; the engine burst into life and the yawl began to move through the water with a firmer purpose.

‘We’re away now‚’ Dring said, and he began to furl the sails.

But Keeton, glancing over the stern, could see the lights of the launch dancing, and he could imagine the activity taking place on board. In a moment the pursuit would be on, and what chance had the low-powered, overladen yawl against the speedy launch?

When Dring came back aft Keeton said: ‘It’s going to be a fight, Ben. Are you still game?’

‘What do you think?’ Dring said. ‘With all that gold at stake.’

From the start it was no race at all. The launch overhauled them as though they had been hove to. Keeton accepted the inevitable. He stopped the engine and let the yawl’s speed fade to nothing.

The launch approached rapidly and they could hear the heavy beat of its engines. Then another sound broke in, a sharp staccato sound, followed by the whine of a bullet ricochetting off the water.

‘Get down‚’ Keeton said. ‘They’ve got a rifle.’

He pulled the girl down with him and crouched in the shelter of the cockpit. He heard the rifle crack again, and then a much closer report, almost in his ear. It was Dring firing his Luger.

‘Get down, you fool!’ Keeton shouted. ‘You’ll do no good with that.’

Dring took no notice. He fired again.

Keeton got a grip on Dring’s legs and tried to pull him down into the cockpit. He heard the rifle fire again, and Dring gave a yell and the Luger fell from his hand and clattered on the deck. Dring sat down suddenly, clutching at his right arm and cursing.

‘You fool!’ Keeton said again. ‘You asked for it.’

‘Where’s my gun?’ Dring muttered. ‘Gimme my gun.’

His right arm hung limply and he was groping for the automatic with his left hand. Keeton grabbed the pistol before Dring could get his fingers on it. The launch was very close now. He fired three shots at it and felt the Luger kick in his hand.

Suddenly he was blinded by a powerful beam of light shining
directly in his face. He heard Smith’s high-pitched voice as the beat of the launch’s engine died down.

‘Drop the gun, Charles. Drop it before I blast your head off.’

Keeton realized that Smith must be standing behind the light with the rifle in his hands. He knew that if he did not obey Smith would not hesitate to put a bullet in his brain. He dropped the Luger.

A moment later the launch bumped heavily against the side of the yawl. It was Ferguson who made the two fast with the rope.

Smith was standing with his back to the cabin top, and the rifle was pointing at the yawl. ‘I’m keeping you boys covered‚’ he said. ‘So don’t try any more tricks.’

Rains stepped across to the deck of the yawl. He was carrying a short-barrelled revolver in his right hand. It looked deadly.

‘Get into the cabin - all of you.’ He gestured with the revolver. ‘Put a snap in it.’

There was no point in arguing. Dring stumbled down the companionway and Keeton and the girl followed.

Rains halted at the top of the companionway. The cabin was in darkness.

‘Light the lamp.’

Keeton was cursing himself for leaving his revolver in the cockpit. If it had been in the cabin he might have grabbed it and shot Rains. He struck a match and lit the lamp. The glass misted and then cleared; the yellow light reached into the corners of the cabin.

The right sleeve of Dring’s gaberdine jacket was soaked with blood. Rains came heavily down into the cabin and glanced at the blood with a satisfied grin.

‘That was good shooting. Smithie’s quite a boy with a rifle.’

Dring sat down on the port settee as though his legs had suddenly given way. The girl went quickly to him and helped him off with the gaberdine. Dring’s face was twisted with pain and his shirt was drenched with blood. The bullet had gone in above the elbow and it looked as though the bone was shattered. Valerie cut away the sleeve, fetched a bowl of water and the first-aid kit, and went to work on the arm.

Rains turned and yelled up the companionway: ‘Come here, Smithie.’

He advanced further into the cabin, keeping the revolver ready. Smith appeared, carrying the rifle. Rains pointed at Dring’s arm.

‘See what you did with your gun.’

Smith grinned. ‘I told you I could shoot. Now maybe you’ll believe me.’

‘Damn you!’ Dring said.

‘Why damn me?’ Smith asked. ‘You’d have shot me if you could of done. I got in first, that’s all.’ He looked at Rains. ‘What’s next on the agenda?’

Rains had noticed the sea-stained wooden cases cluttering the cabin. ‘Do you see what I see?’

The ex-steward made a delighted smacking noise with his mouth. ‘The goods!’

‘Get one and bring it here.’

Smith stood his rifle against the chart table, pushed past Keeton and grabbed one of the boxes. He carried it back to where Rains was standing.

‘Want me to rip the lid off?’

‘Just that‚’ Rains said.

‘I’ll get something.’

Smith left the cabin and came back with an iron marlinespike. Ferguson came with him. Ferguson gave a scared glance at Dring’s arm, which the girl was bandaging, and then looked away.

Rains sneered. ‘It’s only a bullet wound. No need to puke. What’s wrong with you?’

Smith was already working on the box. In a moment he had the lid off and the gold was revealed.

‘If you don’t like blood‚’ Rains said, ‘take a gander at that. There’s something to bring the colour back to your cheeks.’

Keeton took a step towards him, and Rains made a warning gesture with the revolver. ‘Don’t try it, boy. You’ve lost. Better make the best of a bad job.’

He spoke again to Smith and Ferguson: ‘Get this stuff on board the launch. Take a look for’ard too. There’ll be more than this lot.’

Keeton said: ‘Do you think you can get away with this?’

Rains laughed. ‘What’s to stop me? Not you, boy. Nor our wounded hero over there. I reckon I ought to thank you really. You’ve done the donkey work. Maybe I’ll leave you one bar of gold as a token of my appreciation.’ His chin shook as the laughter vibrated in him, but his eyes were watchful. ‘And again, maybe I won’t. You might put it to bad uses. What you say, Smithie?’

‘You talk too much‚’ Smith said. ‘Hey, Ferg; gimme a hand, can’t you?’

Ferguson gave a hand, and between them they carried the first case of gold up the companionway. Keeton could hear them hauling it across to the launch, and the yawl rolled slightly.

Rains sat down near the chart table with the revolver resting on his lap.

‘And don’t think of jumping me, Keeton‚’ he said. ‘At this range I’m deadly.’

‘He’s right, Charlie‚’ Valerie said. ‘One broken arm is enough.’ She seemed anxious about what Keeton might do.

Rains grinned. ‘Now there’s a young lady with sense. Pretty too. How would you like to come with the gold, kiddo? Come with me and live like a queen. Nothing too good for my judy.’

The girl looked at him contemptuously, but said nothing. Rains shrugged. ‘Have it your own way. It’s a good offer though.’

The others came back. Smith looked at Rains without love. ‘Taking it easy, ain’t you? Do we have to do all the work?’

Rains answered coolly: ‘Somebody’s got to keep an eye on the boy. I don’t think we can trust him – not entirely.’

‘I could manage that.’

‘Don’t argue‚’ Rains said.

Smith seemed ready to be obstinate, but he decided not to be. He bent again to the work.

Dring lay back on the settee, and his face looked sickly in the lamplight. Blood was beginning to soak through the bandage on his arm.

Keeton was watching Rains. The former mate of the
Valparaiso
looked relaxed, but his eyes were wary. Only the width of the cabin lay between them, but Keeton knew that before he could
cross that space the gun would be in Rains’s hand. It was too big a risk.

But there was one chance. When Smith and Ferguson came into the cabin they had to pass between Rains and Keeton in order to get at the gold, and they were not as watchful as Rains. When they came back for the third load Keeton was ready for them.

Ferguson came in first, with Smith close behind. Keeton acted swiftly. Ferguson was taken utterly by surprise when Keeton’s shoulder crashed into his ribs and he had no chance of keeping his balance. He fell heavily on top of Rains, with Keeton still in contact.

Rains managed to get his hand on the gun, but Keeton reached over Ferguson and grabbed Rains’s wrist. He slammed it hard against the edge of the chart table, and the hand opened involuntarily. The revolver flew out of it and skidded across to where Dring was lying.

Rains was cursing and trying to push Ferguson off, but he had Keeton’s weight to contend with also and he could not manage it. Smith had been momentarily taken by surprise, but he recovered quickly and seized the marlinespike that he had used to open the case of gold. He swung it at Keeton’s head and the girl screamed a warning. Keeton flung up his left arm and the spike came down on it with numbing force.

Smith almost lost his balance, but he recovered quickly, and holding the spike like a dagger, he stabbed at Keeton’s face. Keeton shifted to one side at the last instant and the spike passed over his shoulder. He heard Ferguson give a shriek that ended in a gurgle, and when he turned his head he could see the spike projecting from Ferguson’s back.

Ferguson was still lying on top of Rains, who was increasing his efforts to get up. But he never succeeded in getting up, because there was the sound of a revolver shot, and suddenly blood started to spurt from Rains’s neck.

Keeton swung round and saw Dring with the smoking gun in his left hand and Valerie with an expression of horror on her face.

Keeton’s left arm was throbbing with pain and he felt sick.
Ferguson had fallen off Rains and was lying on the floor with the spike jutting from his back. He was making no sound, just twitching spasmodically. Rains had fallen on his side and the blood was all over his face. Keeton could see that neither of these men was going to be any more trouble. They were not going to want any of the gold; they were not going to want anything more. Not in this world.

For the moment he had forgotten Smith. When he remembered, Smith had already gone. Keeton started towards the companionway, but even as he did so he heard the engine of the launch and the churning of the propeller. He reached the cockpit only in time to see a widening gap of water between launch and yawl.

Smith had got away; he had got away with a couple of cases of gold, and he would not be coming back. Keeton was not worried; the rest of the cargo was safe. He wondered whether Smith knew anything about navigation. It was unlikely; Smith had been a steward, not an officer. He might possibly reach land; he might run the launch on a reef; he might run out of fuel and die slowly. Whatever happened, Keeton believed it was improbable that he would ever see Smith again.

He shrugged and returned to the cabin. Ferguson and Rains were not moving. The spike must have pierced Ferguson’s heart or his lungs. Smith had driven it in with all his strength – into the wrong target. Rains’s blood was soaking into the cushions of the settee. The bullet had gone into the left side of Rains’s neck, had travelled obliquely upward, and had come out just above his right eye. It had made a terrible mess of his face.

Keeton said: ‘That was nice shooting, Ben. I’m glad you were able to reach the gun.’

Dring was lying down again; his face was grey and his lips were a thin line of pain. He did not echo Keeton’s note of triumph.

Keeton looked at the dead bodies. ‘These jokers had better go overboard.’ He glanced at Valerie. ‘You feel up to giving a hand?’

She shuddered and turned away.

‘All right‚’ he said. ‘I’ll do it myself.’

He slipped his hands under Ferguson’s armpits and dragged
him backwards up the companionway. He hoisted him out of the cockpit and rolled him over the side. He did not even see the body hit the water; he heard the splash and that was all.

Rains was a heavier job, and messier. He dragged Rains out feet first, and the head left a bloody trail. Rains went over the side like a great sack of corn; he went with a splash that sent up a fountain of water. Keeton peered down into the darkness and could see nothing but the steel-black surface of the ocean.

‘I warned you‚’ he muttered. ‘But you wouldn’t take any warning.’

He turned away from the side and went back into the cabin.

Keeton was at the helm when the girl came up out of the cabin. Looking at her, he could not help thinking how much she had matured in the few weeks since she had first come aboard. She had been shown something of the darker side of life; she had seen undisguised greed and violence and sudden death; and for her things would never seem quite the same again.

She said: ‘Ben’s arm is worse. When do you think we’ll reach port?’

‘Not yet‚’ Keeton said. ‘Not for a long while yet. We can’t run the engine now that the fuel’s all used up, and
Roamer
never was a fast ship. With this cargo she’s a whole lot slower.’

‘We’d be able to go faster without the gold, wouldn’t we?’

‘That’s true. But it so happens that we’ve got it.’

He could see what she was getting at: she was suggesting that he should jettison the cargo in order to increase the speed of the yawl. But that was too much to ask after all he had been through to get it; a lot too much.

She seemed to read his thoughts. ‘Does the gold mean more to you than Ben’s life?’

‘He won’t die‚’ Keeton said. But he did not feel nearly as certain of that as his words might have indicated. There could be no blinking the fact that Ben was in a bad way.

‘He will die if he doesn’t get proper medical attention very soon.’

Keeton felt uneasy under her unmoving gaze. It was as
though she were accusing him of trying to kill Dring.

At last he said: ‘Take over here. I’ll go and have a look at him.’

She took the helm and he went down the companionway into the cabin. There was a stain on the cushions where Rains had bled. The boards had a fresh, scrubbed look, but the stain was there also.

Dring was lying on his bunk with his eyes open. He seemed to be breathing evenly, except that now and then there was a sudden catch in his breath, as though he had felt a stab of pain.

‘How are you feeling?’ Keeton asked.

Dring turned his head slowly and stared at Keeton, screwing up his eyes as if he had some difficulty in focusing them. He spoke as slowly as he had moved, answering the question with careful deliberation.

‘I’m OK, Skipper.’

‘Val seems worried about you. She thinks I ought to lighten the ship, so as to get you to hospital sooner.’

‘How would you do that, Skipper?’ Dring’s voice was hoarse and rather faint. It seemed to cost him some effort to speak at all.

‘There’s only one way it could be done‚’ Keeton said, watching Dring’s face. ‘We’d have to jettison the cargo.’

‘The gold?’

‘That’s the only cargo we have. What do you say? Would you like me to throw the gold overboard? Your share too?’

‘Hell, no!’ Dring said. ‘The kid gets queer ideas into that pretty little head of hers. She’s scared of the gold, that’s what it is. It gives her nightmares. But I’m not scared. I want my share.’

‘Just so long as I know‚’ Keeton said.

He went back to the girl.

‘I’ve been talking to your brother‚’ he said. ‘Ben doesn’t seem to agree with you.’

She looked at him sharply. ‘In what way?’

‘He thinks he’s going to live. He doesn’t want any of his gold chucked into the sea. He seems to have taken a fancy to the idea of being a rich man.’

‘He’ll never be rich.’ Her voice sounded bitter.

‘Why not? With a quarter share of the gold—’

‘Gold! Can’t you think of anything else? He’ll never live to
have any of it.’ She spoke vehemently and there was a kind of fire in her eyes. ‘Is that what you want? To kill him so that you can have it all for yourself? Is that it?’

He could not face her accusing eyes. He turned away with a sense of guilt; for the thought had occurred to him also. Though he had tried not to listen to it, somewhere inside him a voice had whispered that if Dring went, with him would go all claim to one quarter of the gold. And because of this he answered angrily:

‘You’re crazy. You get these wild ideas into your head and then you start believing them. But it’s all nonsense. Why should I want Ben to die? There’s enough gold for all of us. Plenty.’

She changed her tone suddenly. She touched his arm with her hand, pleading with him.

‘Won’t you do this for me, Charlie?’

He turned and looked at her, and saw that the fire had gone out of her eyes, quenched by tears. But the tears did not overflow. ‘For you?’

‘And for yourself too. Oh, Charlie, don’t you see what this gold is doing to you?’

‘No, I don’t see. Maybe you’d better tell me.’

‘It’s destroying you. Oh, not in the way it destroyed those other men, but in another way. Hasn’t it caused enough horror already? Haven’t there been enough deaths?’

‘You don’t know how many.’

‘I don’t want to know. All I want is to stop it causing any more. I can’t bear to see it turning you into a—’

She hesitated.

‘Go on‚’ Keeton prompted, his voice hard. ‘Why did you stop? Turn me into a what?’

She looked away from him. ‘Do I need to say it? Can’t you see for yourself?’

‘Are you trying to say that I’m some kind of monster? Just because I want to be rich. Is that such a crime? If so the world is full of criminals.’

She did not answer.

‘Anyway‚’ he said with a trace of bitterness, ‘why are you so concerned about me? What’s it to you if I am destroyed?’

‘What is it to me?’ she said. ‘Don’t you really know? Don’t you know yet that I love you?’

Two more days passed. The winds were light and variable, and the yawl moved sluggishly, utterly alone in a vast expanse of shimmering ocean.

And there could be no doubt that Dring was a very sick man. The bullet was still in his arm and the wound had festered; the entire arm was black and swollen. The very air in the hot, cluttered cabin seemed contaminated with the sickly odour of corrupting flesh.

Valerie did what she could for him, but her eyes accused Keeton. It was as if in looking at him she said: ‘Can’t you see? You are killing my brother.’

He could not meet her gaze; he felt like dirt. He watched for a sign that Dring might be getting better, a sop to ease his conscience; instead, he saw only the inescapable evidence of rapid deterioration. When Dring looked at him now there was accusation in his eyes too; he no longer spoke about his share of the gold; he seemed to know that he would not live to claim it.

That night Keeton sat in the cockpit and thought things over. He thought for a long time, swayed one way and then the other, unable to make up his mind. At last, with a curse, he got up and went down the companionway into the lamp-lit cabin. Valerie was watching beside her brother, her face haggard from lack of sleep. She looked at him when he came in, but she said nothing.

Keeton said nothing either. He picked up one of the cases of gold, carried it out of the cabin and flung it over the side. She must have heard the splash as it hit the water, but when he returned to the cabin she still had not moved, and still she said nothing.

He seized the boxes one by one and threw them into the sea; and the girl watched him in utter silence. As the work progressed he became possessed by a kind of frenzy; he was like a drunkard who, having taken one glass, is hooked and cannot leave off drinking, but must go on and on while any liquor remains. So Keeton went on, the sweat pouring from him in streams; and when he had cleared the saloon he went for’ard to
the other cabin and hauled up the gold from there also. And as each box dropped like discarded ballast into the sea so the yawl rode a little higher, became a little speedier, a little more lively in her movement. It was as though she too had felt this dead weight upon the heart and were so much lighter in spirit for the loss of it.

Dawn was beginning to break when the task was completed. There was not a single bar of gold left on board. He went back to the cockpit and found the girl waiting for him.

‘Charlie!’ she said. And then again: ‘Charlie!’

He sat down. He felt drained of emotion and utterly exhausted.

‘Well‚’ he said, ‘it’s what you wanted. We’re poor again.’

‘Don’t be bitter, Charlie, please. Don’t spoil it all now.’

He gave a laugh. ‘I’m not bitter. Why should I be? There’s still a lot of gold left in that wreck.’

She did not answer. She was staring past him, at something over his shoulder. He turned slowly and saw it too. It was a ship.