The Noble Path: A relentless standalone thriller from the #1 bestseller by Peter May (electronic book reader .TXT) 📗

McCue felt a moment of pity for the slight figure in black pyjamas, as he stared hopelessly towards the shore. ‘What’ll he do?’

‘Who know?’

A sense of panic rose in McCue’s breast, a response to the fatalism in Heng’s voice. He looked at the faces around him and knew that however desperate their plight, all these people would accept the captain’s decision – to go or stay. They had, all of them, come so far and sacrificed so much, and yet he knew not one of them would raise a voice in protest if the captain should decide to return. There was utter silence on the deck, save for the sleepy murmur of a child’s voice raised in query. Angry voices drifted across the water from the quay. Still the captain faced the shore, but the fire that had burned in his eyes had gone, replaced by despair.

Suddenly he shouted an instruction to two crewmen who scuttled aft to winch up the anchor, then he turned and pushed through the silent figures to the wheelhouse. Moments later the engines spluttered to life.

McCue stood on the rear deck as they inched past the dark shape of the island that stood in the neck of the bay – the last point of risk. But no coastguard launch swooped from the shadow of the island to cut them off, and their speed increased as they drew out into the choppier waters beyond, towards the open sea and the Gulf of Thailand. A cool breeze whipped his face as the first light grew in the sky to the east. And gradually, as it receded, the coastline detached itself from the sky to form a dark barrier along the horizon. The harbour’s twinkling lights grew faint with distance, until one by one they were lost in the dawn. He lit a cigarette, and turned his back for the last time on the shores of south-east Asia.

II

Elliot’s eyes flickered open, but he could not see immediately. Where he lay was in shade, but beyond that a wide slash of brightness forced him to screw his eyes closed against its stabbing glare. Slowly he was able to focus on the interior of the wheelhouse cabin, the captain silhouetted at the wheel against the sunlight streaming low through the window. He was lying on the lower of two bunks built into the back wall. The comfort of dry soft sheets against his skin came almost as a shock.

Another silhouette moved through his peripheral vision and crouched at the bedside. Ny smiled and held out a cup of milky liquid. ‘You feel better?’

He found, with some surprise, that he did. His whole being no longer ached and, although still weak, the disabling fatigue which had held him trapped so long in his makeshift bed in the bottom of the sampan had gone. A dull ache in his belly told him he was hungry. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Much.’

Slowly he pulled himself into a sitting position and swung his legs over the edge of the bunk. She handed him the cup. ‘You drink.’

‘What is it?’ He peered at the liquid.

‘Doctor prepare. He say good for you.’

Elliot looked at her in astonishment. ‘What doctor?’

‘Chinese.’ McCue’s voice came from close by. Elliot turned to see him leaning idly against the open wheelhouse door, a cigarette dangling from his lips. ‘One of the refugees. Got a whole bagful of medicine. Done a pretty good job of patching you up.’

Elliot glanced down at his shoulder and saw that fresh clean dressings had been professionally applied to his wound. He tried moving his arm and, although stiff and still sore, found mobility returning.

Ny said, ‘He give you sed . . . seda—’

‘Sedative,’ McCue said.

‘Make you sleep. He say you need plenty sleep, plenty food.’

McCue nodded towards the cup. ‘And plenty of that stuff.’

‘So what is it?’

McCue shrugged. ‘Some kind of saline, glucose solution. Who knows. Doc reckons you lost a lot of body fluid and salt. Got to get it back in there.’

Elliot took a sip and curled his lips in distaste.

‘Good?’ Ny smiled.

‘Shit,’ Elliot said.

McCue grinned. ‘Be a good boy, now. Take your medicine like a man.’

Elliot held his breath and drained it in a single draught. He glanced up to find the captain looking back at him with narrowed eyes, his face set in studied indifference before he turned away again. ‘What’s up with him?’ Elliot asked.

McCue’s expression glazed over and he looked away out the window. ‘Nothing much. His family missed the boat, that’s all. Wife, two daughters and a son. Army lifted them, and about forty others, on the quayside.’

Elliot looked down into the cup, and its emptiness stared back. ‘How long have we been at sea?’

‘’Bout twelve hours.’

‘We made it, then.’

‘Guess so.’

Hau appeared in the doorway, carrying a makeshift tray with steaming bowls of rice, chicken and fish. He grinned at Elliot, and trotted across the cabin to place the tray on the bed beside him. Elliot frowned. ‘Who’s this for?’

Ny said, ‘For you.’

‘Chicken? Where the hell did we get chicken?’

‘Everyone give a little food for you.’

‘Why?’ Elliot shook his head in consternation.

‘Mistah Heng say they look after you, you look after them.’

Elliot glanced at McCue. ‘Their faith is touching. I just hope it’s not misplaced.’

McCue looked back at him with steady, unblinking eyes. ‘So do I. They’re good people, these, Elliot.’

Hau held out the bowl of shredded chicken, his face shining with anticipation. Elliot took it from him and tried a piece. Hau flicked a glance at his sister, then peered into Elliot’s face. ‘Good?’ he asked uncertainly.

Elliot smiled and ruffled his hair. ‘Good,’ he said. And the boy’s face broke into a wide, disarming smile of sheer pleasure.

When he had eaten all he could, Elliot rose from the bunk and lurched unsteadily to the cabin door. The air was cooler out here in the freshening breeze, the sun tilting low in the western sky. He was astonished at