ring.’
Kirsty tried to cover it.
‘Show me.’
‘Oh that,’ Polly said, ‘it’s her father’s. She won’t let you touch it. Or even mention it.’
But the Doctor firmly took Kirsty’s hand and she reluctantly let him see the ring.
‘I see why,’ he said, looking her in the eye.
‘What’s the secret?’ said Polly.
‘It’s not her father’s ring,’ said the Doctor.
‘You lie.’
‘Then why has it got the Stuart seal on it?’ said the Doctor.
‘My father bade me not to tell where he got it.’
‘Until the right time,’ countered the Doctor, ‘and that time has now arrived, Kirsty.’
There was a moment’s hesitation. The girl looked down at the ring, obviously struggling with her feelings, and then said, ‘The Prince gave it to my father off his own finger in the heat of battle.’ She raised her head proudly.
‘He saved the Prince’s life, ye ken.’
‘Then it is right and proper that it should now save his life.’ He held out his hand. ‘May I have it, please?’
Kirsty looked at him for a moment and then, showing her newfound trust in this strange man who had come from... where?... Somewhere beyond Kirsty’s limited experience, she slowly pulled the ring off her finger and gave it to him.
The Doctor studied it carefully. ‘Ah,’ he said, ‘I wonder.’ And then, snapping his fingers, he said, ‘Of course, bait!’
‘Pardon, Doctor?’ said Polly.
The Doctor winked at her. ‘Bait. For a very greedy man.’ He tried the ring on his finger, and then held his hand up, admiring it. He turned to the girls. ‘Now,’ he said, ‘we have to think about how to get this lot’ – he indicated the barrow of weapons – ‘to the quayside undetected.’
Ben, his arms and legs bound, was standing on deck as a sailor adjusted a rope around his waist. The rope was suspended from one of the booms, which protruded over the side of the ship. At a signal from Trask, Ben was hauled six foot in the air and then, as the sailors worked the pulleys, the boom swung out over the dark waters of the firth. Trask looked over at Grey, who nodded, and at Trask’s signal, the sailors released the rope. Ben plummeted down with a splash into the dark, cold waters.
The watching men waited for the signal from Trask to bring the young sailor back to the surface, but Trask, his arm upraised, waited. The seconds ticked by. Finally, Grey, who saw the loss of the several hundred pounds that Ben would fetch in the labour markets of the West Indies, nodded impatiently to Trask, and Trask dropped his hand.
The men hauled, and then fell over backwards on the deck, as the rope snaked up–with no Ben on the end!
‘What on earth!’ Grey stepped forward and stared at the water, but there was no sign of the young Cockney. They waited for the tell-tale bubbles, but again nothing broke the surface.
Finally Trask shrugged his shoulders. ‘Good riddance,’
he said. ‘It’ll be a warning to the rest.’
Grey shrugged his shoulders. ‘Perkins should have finished getting the contracts signed,’ he said. He turned away, heading for the companionway to the hold, followed by Trask.
If their eyes could have penetrated the dark, murky sea water, they would have seen Ben swimming strongly towards the shore. He had managed to get out of his bonds by an old trick, often practised by sailors in the Royal Navy. Now, his lungs bursting, he came up for air behind a moored rowing boat, a safe distance away from the brig.
When his tortured lungs had finally had their fill of air, he turned and, despite the chilling cold, set out with a long, steady overarm stroke for the shore.
Luckily Ben was a very strong swimmer, and during the icy half-mile stretch was able to vary his stroke: first the crawl, then the breast stroke, the back stroke to give him a much-needed respite, and then a stroke his father had taught him, that was rarely used or taught at the London baths where Ben had learned his swimming – the side
Kirsty tried to cover it.
‘Show me.’
‘Oh that,’ Polly said, ‘it’s her father’s. She won’t let you touch it. Or even mention it.’
But the Doctor firmly took Kirsty’s hand and she reluctantly let him see the ring.
‘I see why,’ he said, looking her in the eye.
‘What’s the secret?’ said Polly.
‘It’s not her father’s ring,’ said the Doctor.
‘You lie.’
‘Then why has it got the Stuart seal on it?’ said the Doctor.
‘My father bade me not to tell where he got it.’
‘Until the right time,’ countered the Doctor, ‘and that time has now arrived, Kirsty.’
There was a moment’s hesitation. The girl looked down at the ring, obviously struggling with her feelings, and then said, ‘The Prince gave it to my father off his own finger in the heat of battle.’ She raised her head proudly.
‘He saved the Prince’s life, ye ken.’
‘Then it is right and proper that it should now save his life.’ He held out his hand. ‘May I have it, please?’
Kirsty looked at him for a moment and then, showing her newfound trust in this strange man who had come from... where?... Somewhere beyond Kirsty’s limited experience, she slowly pulled the ring off her finger and gave it to him.
The Doctor studied it carefully. ‘Ah,’ he said, ‘I wonder.’ And then, snapping his fingers, he said, ‘Of course, bait!’
‘Pardon, Doctor?’ said Polly.
The Doctor winked at her. ‘Bait. For a very greedy man.’ He tried the ring on his finger, and then held his hand up, admiring it. He turned to the girls. ‘Now,’ he said, ‘we have to think about how to get this lot’ – he indicated the barrow of weapons – ‘to the quayside undetected.’
Ben, his arms and legs bound, was standing on deck as a sailor adjusted a rope around his waist. The rope was suspended from one of the booms, which protruded over the side of the ship. At a signal from Trask, Ben was hauled six foot in the air and then, as the sailors worked the pulleys, the boom swung out over the dark waters of the firth. Trask looked over at Grey, who nodded, and at Trask’s signal, the sailors released the rope. Ben plummeted down with a splash into the dark, cold waters.
The watching men waited for the signal from Trask to bring the young sailor back to the surface, but Trask, his arm upraised, waited. The seconds ticked by. Finally, Grey, who saw the loss of the several hundred pounds that Ben would fetch in the labour markets of the West Indies, nodded impatiently to Trask, and Trask dropped his hand.
The men hauled, and then fell over backwards on the deck, as the rope snaked up–with no Ben on the end!
‘What on earth!’ Grey stepped forward and stared at the water, but there was no sign of the young Cockney. They waited for the tell-tale bubbles, but again nothing broke the surface.
Finally Trask shrugged his shoulders. ‘Good riddance,’
he said. ‘It’ll be a warning to the rest.’
Grey shrugged his shoulders. ‘Perkins should have finished getting the contracts signed,’ he said. He turned away, heading for the companionway to the hold, followed by Trask.
If their eyes could have penetrated the dark, murky sea water, they would have seen Ben swimming strongly towards the shore. He had managed to get out of his bonds by an old trick, often practised by sailors in the Royal Navy. Now, his lungs bursting, he came up for air behind a moored rowing boat, a safe distance away from the brig.
When his tortured lungs had finally had their fill of air, he turned and, despite the chilling cold, set out with a long, steady overarm stroke for the shore.
Luckily Ben was a very strong swimmer, and during the icy half-mile stretch was able to vary his stroke: first the crawl, then the breast stroke, the back stroke to give him a much-needed respite, and then a stroke his father had taught him, that was rarely used or taught at the London baths where Ben had learned his swimming – the side
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