Doctor Who_ The Roundheads Part 33

He ran like a man possessed, his lungs and muscles bursting, slipping and stumbling over the treacherous mud, feeling it spume over his trousers and up his shirt.

He pitched forward suddenly and put out both hands. The mud was chilly to the touch and swamped his outstretched fingers like inky glue.

Righting himself, Ben lifted his foot and made a long stride forward. He could see the firm sh.o.r.eline only a few feet away.

Suddenly, with a lurch that made his stomach flip, he felt his leg sink right up to the thigh.

Thrown off balance, he fell forward again, this time managing to stay upright and throw himself backward.

Desperately, he tried to pull his leg out of the powerful suction but it seemed only to sink deeper and he felt the clammy mud close around his backside as he stumbled forward once more.

His bent knee began to sink now and a sudden panic stole over him like a blast of cold air. Instinctively, his arms shot out and scrabbled at empty air. He was sinking.

The mud pooled around him like a living thing and he felt its gurgling grip as his body vanished up to the waist.

Coughing and whining with panic, Ben let his arms splash against the mud and tried to pull himself out.

With a jolt of horror, he felt those sinking too. There was nothing he could do. He was slipping inexorably into the black mud.

CHAPTER 10.

Stanislaus whirled about on his heel and brought his cutla.s.s crashing down on to the side of the ship. The blade sheared off a great slice of wood and, as he struggled to drag it back out, Sal Winter struck, kicking the Pole viciously in the gut.

Stanislaus doubled up in pain and fell down, his knees connecting with the deck with a report like pistol shots.

As the crew whooped and cheered, Winter spun around on her peg leg and thumped Stanislaus under the chin, sending him sprawling backward.

'You see, my friend. I am more than a match for you, imperfect as I am!'

Stanislaus glowered at her from where he lay sprawled.

'You? You're a cripple! What have I to fear from a cripple?'

Winter's face contorted with rage and she swung her cutla.s.s round in a wide are, missing Stanislaus by only a fraction as he rolled out of the way.

In seconds, the Pole was on his feet. He dashed to the side of the ship and, grasping the hilt of his cutla.s.s with both hands, tugged for all he was worth.

The blade came free in a shower of white wood and he swung round, sweat coursing down his handsome face.

Stanislaus straightened to his full height and put one hand on his hip. Then, his lip curling into a sneer, he began to advance towards Winter, his cutla.s.s flashing back and forth like a pendulum.

Winter parried every blow with expert skill, her own weapon sc.r.a.ping and clashing against the shining silver blade of her opponent.

'Ha! Who's the cripple now, Stanislaus!' cried Winter, pressing forward.

Stanislaus redoubled his efforts, attempting to deflect Winter's blows long enough to undercut her and sink his cutla.s.s into the captain's ample stomach.

But Winter was quite the Pole's match. She seemed to positively radiate confidence as she smashed repeatedly into Stanislaus's attack.

'You are nothing!' spat the Pole, breathing hard. 'A b.o.o.by! A peg-legged, one-eyed, tin-nosed b.i.t.c.h not fit to command a barge!'

G.o.dley, who had muscled his way to the front of the baying crowd, seemed amused. He dabbed his mouth with his handkerchief and raised an eyebrow.

''Sblood, if the cripple ain't got you beat, Captain Stanislaus!'

Stanislaus fell back on his haunches as the ma.s.sive woman bore down on him.

He shot G.o.dley a vicious look and rammed his cutla.s.s against Winter's, striking again and again and again, his teeth sinking into his lip until it bled.

'G.o.d d.a.m.n you, Winter!' he screeched. 'What do you want of me?'

'I want your soul, you filthy cur!' hissed Winter. 'All these years I've followed you, hounded you, waiting for the right moment to take my revenge.'

Stanislaus slid across the deck, fighting a desperate rearguard action against the onslaught of Winter's cutla.s.s.

'Revenge? Revenge for what? For breaking your heart?

Christ almighty, 'twas half a lifetime ago!'

Winter stamped her peg leg against the deck with savage fury. 'Nay, you sc.u.m. I was a mere slip of a thing. And girls get over such trifles. It is for this that I hate you!'

She placed her thumb and forefinger on the tip of her silver nose and flicked it. The strange metal shape clanged like a miniature bell.

'It is for this that I despise you. And for this that I have sworn to eviscerate your filthy Polish hide!'

Stanislaus was tiring, his arm falling further and further back as he fought off Winter's blows.

Exhausted, he glanced up and saw the shadow of the great ship's block and tackle hanging above him. His face brightened as a possible avenue of victory opened up. His gaze darted rapidly from the block and tackle to Winter and to the side of the Teazer Teazer.

He leapt to his feet and blew air out of his cheeks as though infusing himself with renewed vigour.

'That bauble?' he replied acidly. 'What have I to do with that? For, G.o.d strike me down if I lie, I have no recollection of cutting the blessed thing off.'

The crew laughed loudly, cheered by their captain's recovery.

Winter glanced quickly round and neatly sidestepped the resurgent Pole's attack.

'You did not have to cut off my nose, Stanislaus. But I nevertheless lay its loss at your door.'

Stanislaus grinned and threw another quick glance at the block and tackle. If he could only manoeuvre Winter around and then make a dash for the p.o.o.p deck...

'I'faith, I can remember our liaison,' he cried. 'She wrote me such Ietters! And I kept them, just as I promised. You cannot imagine it now, gentlemen, but she was once a pretty thing!'

Again the crowd laughed and Winter swung her sword down, catching Stanislaus on the shoulder. The blade bit into the thick cloth of his coat but the Pole ignored it, pressing on and attempting to force Winter into the position he wanted.

'I was!' shouted Winter. 'Indeed I was most comely. Until the Captain here afflicted me with Cupid's love.'

Stanislaus almost stopped in his tracks, genuinely surprised. Then he began to laugh and used this as his means to break off the fighting and jump on to the p.o.o.p deck, the block and tackle just a foot or so in front of him.

'The pox?' he said, laughing through his teeth. 'I gave you the pox? It was that which claimed your nose?'

Winter dropped her sword to her side, breathing hard.

'Aye, you hog! Rotted off half my face afore it was done, and you never bearing so much as a scab!'

Stanislaus threw back his head and laughed, and his crew laughed, too.

'Well!' he said. 'I suppose I'm just lucky.'

With that, he leapt from the p.o.o.p deck and landed on the block and tackle, swinging out across the deck with tremendous force.

He stretched out his long legs and caught Winter square in the chest, knocking her off balance so that she tottered backwards crashed into the rail and, with a startled cry, fell head over heels into the mud.

The crew gave a great cheer and Stanislaus leapt back to the main deck, sword high above his head.

G.o.dley and the Dutchman were applauding and he nodded to them as he made his way swiftly to the side of the Teazer.

He looked down into the darkness and saw Winter attempting to right herself, her wooden leg stuck fast in the slimy black mud.

Turning to his men, Stanislaus barked his orders.

'I want preparation made at once to refloat the ship. I shall finish off this business myself.'

With that, he placed one hand on the rail and jumped off, landing on the mud flats with the grace of an athlete, Reluctantly, the crew resumed their work, but G.o.dley and the Dutchman strode to the side.

G.o.dley peered out. He could see Stanislaus making his way towards the stationary figure of Winter, who was flailing about in the mud.

'I fancy this will be a sight worth seeing,' he said with a smile.

The flat of Ben's hand slapped against the mud as he made another effort to pull himself free. Yet again, his fingers sank deep into the wet slop, and he had to haul his hand out with a supreme effort.

He had sunk as far as his midriff now and his initial panic had given way to a strange calm. He knew that if he didn't manage to escape soon he would be sucked into the mud and drown. It was as simple as that and the sudden clarity of his mind was a great comfort to him.

There were no tree roots projecting through the mud on which he could get a grip, no patches of mysteriously solid ground. So his one hope was outside intervention.

Yet if he raised his voice, Stanislaus and his crew were sure to hear and he might be spared the indignity of suffocation only to find a musket ball in the back of his brain.

He strained and gasped as he tried to lift himself up. There was a tremendous, crushing pressure on his legs and stomach and a crazy image flashed into his mind of a cartoon character stuck in quick-drying concrete.

Conscious of the need to stay alert and moving, he was nevertheless aware that, every time he shifted in his muddy prison, he sank a little further.

Perhaps he could remain there till morning, then, if the tide had not claimed him, the Teazer Teazer might have gone on to London and he could scream himself hoa.r.s.e. might have gone on to London and he could scream himself hoa.r.s.e.

The mud gave a vile belching sound and Ben cried out as he felt himself slide further in, the black mire forming a slick around his ribs.

In his heart of hearts he knew he couldn't last that long.

He turned his head at a sudden and unexpected clamour some distance behind. Of course he could not turn around but he could just make out two figures splashing about in the shallows by the beached Demeter Demeter.

They must have spotted him. They were coming for him.

He was sure of it.

Seized with the desire to escape, he scrabbled at the mud, his hands burrowing deep into the sloppy sediment, but it was no use. He was left gasping for breath and sank still deeper.

'Oh, Doctor,' he wailed. 'How did I ever get into this?'

He started as a loud, bright whistle like the cry of a sea bird shattered the calm.

His head jerked from side to side as he tried to locate its source. Was it coming from the figures behind him or from the sh.o.r.e?

The whistle sounded again and then a hoa.r.s.e, whispered call. 'Can you move?'

Ben knew now that someone had seen him from the sh.o.r.e, only twenty feet or so away.

'No,' he called back as quietly as he could. 'Stuck fast.

Please help me. Quickly!'

Almost as if it knew what was planned, the mud gave a great sucking burp and Ben slid further into its grasp. He yelled with sudden fear as he sank up to his armpits, feeling the cold, clammy stuff pressing against his flesh.

'Quick!' he gasped.

There was some activity on the sh.o.r.e and then a kind of whiplash sound. Ben saw something fall in front of his eyes and recognised it suddenly as the end of a rope. He gave a great sigh of relief and grabbed at it with both hands, wrapping it repeatedly around his wrists for better purchase.

'Pull! Pull!' he squawked, feeling the pressure of the mud against his bones.

His rescuer gave a great heave and Ben waited for his body to pop from the mud.

Nothing happened.