Inferno Read Free

after end. Not hesitating, Kydd did the same.
    Jeb looked on with respect. ‘As ye’ve been a sailor, then, Mr Paine,’ he said, as he alighted and went forward to see to the lines.
    Before he threw off the tiller beckets, Stirk lifted up a corner of the untidy mass of nets to reveal three small casks. He spluttered an oath. ‘Ye just can’t leave it alone, can ye, y’ clinking fool?’ He let the nets drop and spat pointedly over the side. ‘I see any more an’ you’re out o’ here, cully!’
    A black mood descended, and Stirk set sullenly about the hoisting of sails and casting off. Kydd took the main-sheet and they leaned to the wind and out into the choppy waters of the firth.
    The scenery was dramatic. Caught by the sun the bare Hebridean islands lay with spreading pale beaches and black rocks stretching seaward, throwing up surf in vivid white against the deep green of the sea, the more distant islands scattered in a romantic misty blue-grey. Despite its beauty, the seaman in Kydd knew it could all change within minutes: the dark skerries at the edge of the islets would turn to cruel fangs to tear out the bowels of any vessel lost in the murk.
    They made good speed, the red sails board-taut, and the breeding of the plain but stout Scottish fishing boat shone through.
    Kydd slid along to Stirk at the tiller. ‘What’s her name?’
    He thought the big man hadn’t heard but then came a gruff, ‘
Maid o’ Lorne
. As belongs t’ my sister’s husband.’
    â€˜Sister?’
    â€˜It’s what I said, didn’t I?’ Stirk caught himself and turned to him, stricken. ‘Sorry, Mr K—Paine. Didn’t mean t’ go ye. Ain’t m’self lately.’ His hand fidgeted on the tiller. ‘Jeb’s to take her out wi’ some island younkers as crew, like. Herring, and long-lining for haddock and whiting, mebbe some cod.’
    At the fore Jeb looked obstinately away. He’d given up the helm and authority of the boat without question to Stirk, and Kydd sensed there was much not being said.
    â€˜How far’s your Dunlochry?’ Kydd asked Stirk.
    â€˜This’n is the Sound o’ Mull.’ He gestured at the long sea passage ahead. ‘We’s on the outer coast t’ larb’d.’
    They emerged into the open waters and the power of the Atlantic’s vast reaches: a massive swell, wind-driven to surging white-tipped waves. As though born to it,
Maid
conformed in an easy long lift and fall, effortless in her economic movements.
    This was a different realm from the close lochs and firths of the inner isles – more remote, a wildness Kydd had never seen before. He suppressed a smile at the thought of how Renzi would react to them: the sublimity would, without a doubt, have brought on a paean or two, even if his friend was as aware as he himself was of their deadly character to the unwary mariner.

Chapter 4

Dunlochry, Isle of Mull, Scotland
    B y the time they had reached the sharp foreland pointed out as the entrance to Dunlochry, Kydd had prised most of the story out of Stirk.
    His sister, Constance, had married a Scot who held a valuable position as gamekeeper to the laird of the Isle of Mull. They lived in an estate cottage. When Jeb’s difficulties with the Revenue had cropped up, he had thought to come here and lie low with his sister, the understanding being that he would make his way by working the
Maid
. It had not been a complete success, Stirk’s younger brother being so headstrong and unreliable.
    â€˜And your folks?’ Kydd asked politely.
    â€˜A year or so back, in Kent. Ain’t no more.’
    â€˜And so …’
    â€˜These ’ere are all the kin I got.’
    Around the point a deeply indented bay opened up, snugly sheltered between weathered dark cliffs by a twist of topography. Steep tree-stippled slopes converged on a small village with a tiny