William Monk 14 - The Shifting Tide

going upriver, tacking back and forth. Its wake rocked the ship slightly.
    Finally, Durban’s head appeared above the hatch opening. Monk was the first to move, striding over towards him, clasping his hand and hauling him out. He looked paper-white, his eyes red-rimmed and shocked, as if he had seen hell.
    “Was it . . .” Monk said.
    “Yes.” Durban was shuddering uncontrollably. “With their throats cut, all eight of them, even the cabin boy.”
    “Not . . .”
    “No. I told you—throats cut.”
    Monk wanted to say something, but what words could possibly carry the horror that was in him?
    Durban stood on the deck breathing slowly, trying to gain control of his limbs, his racing heart, the trembling of his body. Finally he looked at Orme. “Arrest these men for murder,” he commanded, pointing at Newbolt and Atkinson. “Mass murder. If they try to escape, shoot them—not to kill, just to cripple. Shoot them in the stomach.
    “The third one is down below, possibly dead. Leave him. Just batten down the hatch. That’s an order. No one is to go below. Do you understand me?”
    Orme stared at him in disbelief, then slowly understanding came, at least partially. “They’re river pirates!”
    “Yes.”
    Orme was white. “They killed the whole crew?”
    “Except Hodge. I suppose they left him because he was married to Newbolt’s sister.”
    Orme rubbed his hands over his face, staring at Durban. Then suddenly he came to attention and did as he was commanded.
    Durban walked over to the rail and leaned against it. Monk followed him.
    “Are you going to arrest Louvain?” he asked.
    Durban stared ahead of him at the churning water and the shoreline where the tide was rising against the pier stakes and washing ever higher over the steps. “For what?” he asked.
    “Murder!”
    “The men will no doubt say he ordered them, even paid them,” Durban replied. “But he’ll say he didn’t, and there’s no proof.”
    “For God’s sake!” Monk exploded. “He knows these aren’t his crew! He has to know they murdered everyone, except Hodge! It doesn’t matter whether he knows it was because they had plague, or because they simply wanted to take the ship!” He gulped.
    Durban said nothing.
    “If Louvain paid these men,” Monk went on, turning to face Durban, the knife-edge wind stinging his face, “he must have been aboard the ship to do it. Someone would have taken him, seen him. There’ll be a chain of proof! We can’t let him get away with it. I won’t!”
    “There are a dozen arguments he can come up with,” Durban said wearily. “These are the men who killed the crew. We won’t be able to prove that Louvain even knew about it, much less ordered it. We can’t tell anyone his reason, and he knows that.”
    “I’m going to find him,” Monk said, rage almost choking the air out of his lungs.
    “Monk!”
    But Monk would not listen. If Durban would not, or could not, make Louvain answer for what he had done, then Monk would, no matter what it cost. He strode along to the ladder, swung over the rail, and scrambled down towards the boat, not caring if he skinned his knuckles or bruised his elbows. Louvain had cost Mercy her life—and seven other women theirs. It was only by the grace of God that Hester and Margaret had not died as well. It could have been half of London—it could have been half of Europe. Louvain had gambled that Hester would be prepared to give her own life to prevent it.
    He landed in the boat. “Take me ashore!” he ordered. “Now!”
    The oarsman took one look at his face and obeyed, digging the blades into the water with all his strength.
    As soon as they reached the shore, Monk thanked him and stepped out, his foot sliding on the wet stone. He grasped at the wall and went up as fast as he could. At the top he turned straight for Louvain’s office without even glancing behind him to see the boat begin its journey back.
    “You can’t go in there, sir, Mr. Louvain’s busy!” the clerk shouted at him as he went past, bumping into another clerk with a pile of ledgers and only just avoiding knocking the man over. He apologized without turning around.
    He reached Louvain’s office door, lifted his hand to knock, then changed his mind and simply opened it.
    Louvain was at his desk, a pile of papers in front of him, a pen in his hand. He looked up at the interruption, but without alarm. Then he saw Monk and his face darkened.
    “What do you want?” he said