hoisted the silk bale over his shoulder and stole up the companionway. The longboat was still ashore, but there was a small jolly boat he could row single-handed. He took out his knife and started sawing through the ropes that held it.
‘Where do you think you’re going?’ growled Crawford. He stood silhouetted against the stern lantern, casting a long shadow across the deck. ‘Are you stealing from me again? Didn’t I beat it out of you last time?’
He had come aboard without Christopher hearing. Whether because he did not trust Christopher, or because he had come back to finish the boy without witnesses, Christopher never found out. The captain stepped forward and punched Christopher in the face so hard he flew backwards into the rigging.
‘You’ll have to hit me harder than that,’ Christopher told him. A dangerous wildness had come over him. ‘You hit like a small girl or an old woman.’
With a grunt, Crawford charged. Christopher stood his ground. He put up his hands, forgetting for a moment he was still holding his knife. In the dark, rushing like an enraged bull, Crawford didn’t see it either.
Instinct took over. Christopher swayed out of the way of Crawford’s lunging fist, and as the big man grappled him he thrust forward.
The knife slid into Crawford’s belly almost before Christopher realized it. Hot blood gushed out. Crawford screamed and writhed; he tried to pull away, but only succeeded in opening the wound further. His guts spilled out over Christopher’s hand.
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