William Monk 14 - The Shifting Tide

on. “Now let’s get back upriver and do it.” He took his place in the boat and motioned Monk to follow him, and almost immediately the oarsmen bent their shoulders and dug the blades deep.
    Durban did not speak again, but the other men had an obvious camaraderie, jokes and good-natured insults we swapped all the way. But when the
Maude Idris
was in sight, suddenly their concentration was complete, as if they were already in the presence of illness.
    They came alongside and Orme hailed her. Newbolt’s shaven head appeared over the rail. “River Police!” Orme called back, and the rope ladder came over a moment or two later. Durban glanced at Monk, then went up it hand over hand. Monk followed and heard Orme come up behind him.
    Newbolt stood on the deck waiting for them. A heavy coat made him look even more massive, but he was bareheaded and had no gloves on his hands.
    “Wot d’yer want this time?” he said expressionlessly. He offered no excuse or explanation, and Monk’s judgment of his intelligence was immediately revised, possibly of his knowledge as well. It was those who talked too much who gave themselves away.
    Durban stood motionless on the deck, balancing to the ship’s slight sway with an innate grace. “How many are on board?” he asked.
    “Three,” Newbolt replied. He seemed about to add something, then changed his mind. That was the moment Monk decided he knew the truth. He glanced at Durban to see if he had understood the same thing, but Durban had not moved his eyes from Newbolt.
    “Three,” Durban repeated. “That would have been four with Hodge?”
    “Right.”
    “What’s your full crew?”
    “Nine. Four men paid off downriver. Don’t need seven ter watch ’er ’ere.” He did not refer to the fact that the ivory had still been stolen, or Hodge met his death, or how that had happened, nor did he ask why Durban wanted to know. It was already a battle of wills, undeclared but intensely real.
    “Who were the three paid off?” Durban asked.
    “Captain, cook, an’ cabin boy,” Newbolt answered without hesitation.
    “Names?” Durban specified.
    “Stope, Carter, an’ Briggs,” Newbolt said. Again, he did not ask why Durban might want to know.
    “Where’d they go ashore?”
    “Gravesend.”
    It was Durban who hesitated. “Do you know their first names?”
    “No.” Newbolt did not blink, nor did he turn as the lean man with the scar came up through the hatchway from below. “There’s me an’ Atkinson an’ McKeever ’ere.”
    Durban reached a decision. “We need to contact your captain.”
    Newbolt shrugged.
    Durban looked beyond him to Atkinson. “Was Stope your captain?”
    “Yeah,” Atkinson replied. “ ’e went ashore at Gravesend. Could be anyplace by now.”
    “Did he ever say where he lived?”
    “No,” Newbolt cut across. “Captains don’ talk ter the likes o’ us; captain’s ter give orders.”
    “An’ the other men?” Durban persisted.
    “Dunno,” Newbolt replied. “If they said, I don’ ’member. Most likely got no special ’ome. At sea most o’ the time. Thought bein’ River P’lice an’ all, yer’d a know’d that.”
    “Captains have homes,” Durban replied. “Sometimes wives and families. Where’s McKeever?”
    “Below,” Newbolt answered. “ ’e in’t feelin’ good. Mebbe we should a let ’im go an’ kept the cook!” He grinned mirthlessly.
    Durban’s face lightened. “I’ll need to see him.” He looked at Atkinson. “Take me below.”
    Monk moved forward to stop him and Durban snapped at him to stay where he was. Atkinson glanced at Newbolt, then obeyed. Monk, Orme, and Newbolt remained on deck. No one spoke.
    Boats passed them; gulls circled overhead. They could hear the shouts of men working on the shore. The tide was receding, moving more and more rapidly past them, carrying flotsam and refuse out. The mudlarks were beginning to scavenge on the banks. Orme looked at Monk with suspicion, then away again.
    Finally, Durban came back up through the hatchway, Atkinson immediately behind him. He walked over to Monk with his slightly rolling gait, his face pale. “Not much to see,” he said briefly. “We could have a long search ahead of us still.” Then he turned to Newbolt. “You’ll be told when there’s a berth for you. Stay on board till then.” He did not add any explanation, simply signaled to Orme and went to the railing.
    Monk followed. Nothing more was said between them until the boat