“They be ruined with salt water,” she remarked. “What happened to you, hell-rat?”
Blueneck paused before he spoke. His pride forbade him to tell the truth, and his prudence warned him against a lie. Finally he made a compromise between the two and told a fairly plausible story of two men setting upon him, of a fearful fight, and finished up with a faithful account of the ducking which he had received.
Pet seemed satisfied. How much she believed is another matter but, as she often told Ben Farran, she understood sea-folk and all their tricks.
She put up the knife somewhere in her rags and set down the lantern.
“Try and stand,” she commanded.
Blueneck obeyed as one in a dream; slowly and painfully he staggered to his feet, only to drop again almost immediately.
Pet waddled after him.
“Rub your legs,” she said, “and hurry. You’ve got to work for me before the cocks crow.”
Wearily Blueneck did as he was bid, and the old woman hobbled to the bank of seaweed where she set to work unearthing the kegs. With a grunt of satisfaction she set the last one beside the others and turned to the sailor.
“Come on,” she said.