Snake Bite Read Free Page B

missing, and it took him a moment to work out what it was. Birds. The ever-present
seabirds had vanished. Knowing there was a storm coming, they had probably taken their chance to get out of the way, riding the precursor winds to a calmer area. Very sensible too, Sherlock
thought.
    It seemed suddenly a lot colder on deck, and the light had taken on an ominous shade. Glancing back, towards the ship’s stern, Sherlock saw that purple clouds were obscuring half the sky
now. A smattering of raindrops splashed across his cheeks and forehead – not cold and needle-like, as he would have expected back in England, but fat and warm. Sherlock braced himself with
his arm wound through the rigging and looked around, trying to work out if there was anything he could be doing to help. He saw something that made his heart clench in sudden fear. As the front of
the boat was twisting one way, the back of the boat was twisting the other. The whole structure of the ship was
flexing
in the grip of the wind and the waves. For Sherlock, who had been
thinking of the ship as something solid, it was a revelation, and not a good one. He suddenly realized how fragile was this little structure of wood and cloth that had become his world.
    ‘Sherlock!’ a voice called. ‘Sherlock! Over here!’
    He glanced towards where the voice was coming from. One of the hatches was still unbattened, and a figure was poking out of it, black hair plastered across his face and eyes. It was Wu Chung,
the ship’s Chinese cook. He was a big, jolly man with a black ponytail, a long moustache that hung down on either side of his mouth and skin that was pockmarked by some disease. He had become
the closest thing to a friend Sherlock had on the
Gloria Scott
, and he was even patiently teaching Sherlock how to speak Cantonese – the language that was spoken in Shanghai, where
they were headed.
    Sherlock released his grip on the rigging and staggered over to the hatch, trying to anticipate which way the deck was going to pitch as he did so.
    The cook caught his arm to stop him from being blown past. ‘Need you in the galley,’ he shouted against the roaring of the wind. ‘My pots and pans, they are all over place.
Need to get them secured.’
    ‘All right!’ Sherlock shouted, and followed Wu down the hatchway ladder and into the interior of the ship.
    The corridors were a flickering mass of shadows, as the pitching and tossing of the
Gloria Scott
caused the lanterns, which were attached to hooks along the walls, to roll back and forth.
The light from the candles inside them made everything look yellow and sick. Without the sight of the horizon to keep his sense of balance intact, Sherlock was beginning to feel the same. The smell
down there was the usual combination of unwashed humans and candle tallow. Water sloshed across the decks as the ship moved. Usually it was only in the black depths of the hold that water
penetrated, but it seemed to be present everywhere.
    Sherlock followed Wu to the galley, which was a narrow room at the end of one of the corridors. The stove had already been doused, Sherlock noted, otherwise sparks might spill out and set fire
to something. The copper pans which Wu used were supposed to be hanging from hooks on the ceiling, but most of them had fallen off and were rolling around the floor. The few remaining ones were
swinging dangerously. A blow from one of them could knock a man out cold. Cupboards and drawers were built into every available nook and cranny, and as the ship lurched from side to side the doors
were swinging open and then shut again, and the drawers were sliding out and back. It was as if a malevolent poltergeist was trying to cause chaos. The sound was deafening.
    Wu shoved a hand towards Sherlock. ‘Take!’ he said. Sherlock raised his cupped hands up, and Wu dropped ten or more thin wooden wedges into them. ‘Make drawers and doors
fast,’ he said. ‘Do it now!’
    Sherlock got the idea. Quickly,