Sea of Fire

Chapter Forty-five

He hurt.

Everywhere.

Peter Kannaday suffered pain with every breath. It was dull and warm and it was everywhere. He felt it spiritually as well as physically. The captain lay on his bed in a bruised heap, belly down, face to the wall. He had slept on and off since Hawke's thugs had brought him here. Kannaday's eyes and mouth were open, but it was dark. He did not see, nor speak, nor swallow. His stomach was rumbling from hunger. His tongue was swollen and dry. The only liquid he had tasted lately was his own blood.

Sometime during the night Kannaday had roused himself briefly to see if the door was locked. It was not. He checked to see if his gun was still there. It was not. He was free to walk the deck, broken and humiliated but unarmed. He would probably be able to radio Jervis Darling because he was free and he was still the captain. But what would he say? That he had been minimized, reduced to a figurehead? That he had not been able to enforce his authority or hold what was his? That he had no idea what to expect or what to do?

Kannaday closed his mouth. Even his neck muscles hurt. He must have strained them when he struggled with the men who were holding him. He had to get past the pain and think. It was clear that Hawke would not kill him. He wanted Kannaday as a buffer between himself and the law. But Kannaday had no idea what Darling might do. Darling did not like dealing with weak men. Kannaday would be kept around no longer than necessary. Then he would be dismissed or, more likely, eliminated. Darling was a man of absolutes.

From the slow rocking of the swells, Kannaday could tell that they were close to shore. No doubt Hawke had reported back to the cove and was now following their cruising course along the Great Barrier Reef. Kannaday had time to act, but not a lot.

Kannaday forced himself to move. He got his arms under him and pushed up. Slowly. His upper arms trembled as he worked himself into a sitting position. He eased his back against the wall at the side of the bed. The solid support felt good. His head throbbed as blood fought to reach it. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. Miraculously, it did not feel as if any ribs were broken. He flexed his fingers. They were swollen. Maybe he had punched someone. He could not remember. The last thing he remembered clearly was running down the stairs. That moment was so immediate he felt as though he could go back there. Do things differently.

But it would still come out the same, Kannaday realized. Unlike Hawke, he had been predictable. On top of that, there was an unusual dynamic. Hawke was not after something that Kannaday had. He wanted to preserve the hierarchy exactly as it was. But with privileges. And he had succeeded. The fact that the rest of the crew had not come down to check on him was telling. If the cook had come by, Kannaday did not hear him. But he doubted it. Either the crew had been told to stay away or did so from fear.

Kannaday's body was beginning to accept the pain as a fact of life. It felt as though he had strained every muscle in his arms, torso, and neck. It was that kind of taut, deep-muscle ache. Kannaday knew that the more he moved, the more it would hurt. But he had no choice. He had to get out of here. Somehow, he had to take charge.

The captain waited another few minutes before trying to move again. He shifted to the edge of the bed and put his feet on the floor. He rose slowly. Most of the damage had been done north of Kannaday's waist. His legs felt all right. He felt a little light-headed as he took a few shuffling steps toward the door. The sensation passed after a few moments. It was not pleasant, but Kannaday had his footing. What he did not have was something just as important.

A plan.

Kannaday reached the door. He turned and leaned his back against it. Standing in the dark, he pondered his next steps, both literally and figuratively. As he did, something occurred to him. The events that had brought Kannaday here could be useful. After all, he made the same mistake twice. He had acted just as Hawke had expected him to.

Hawke would probably expect him to do it again. Especially after the beating he had taken.

Kannaday went back to the bed. He sat down. He tried not to think the way he usually did, as if he were going down a checklist of things to do before leaving port.

He let himself contemplate all the scenarios that would surprise Hawke. And Darling, for that matter. Everything from setting fire to the Hosannah to taking the dinghy and vanishing into the night sea.

How far are you willing to go? he asked himself.

More important than that, Kannaday needed to find out exactly what he wanted.

Kannaday was doing the job he had agreed to do. The crew had suffered a setback because of the sampan attack. Not a dramatic one, but Darling's reputation for absolute efficiency had been tarnished. Darling would be able to absorb the blow. The gentry knew how to talk to the gentry. He would explain it all to Mahathir bin Dahman. Darling would blame it on the serfs. But Darling would also want to make the head villain pay. Darling had known precisely how Hawke would respond to a threat or challenge. He had sent Kannaday back to be humiliated.

Kannaday realized that he was not interested in recapturing Darling's respect. He wanted to hurt Hawke, and he wanted to hurt Darling. The question was how to do that without hurting himself.

Or was it?

There is flaw in your thinking, he admonished himself. The question itself made him vulnerable. It cost him the advantage of surprise.

The question itself held the answer.