The slaves were shouting now, and Jaki prayed there were no other guards aboard. The whip lashed again, caught Jaki's knife hand, and ripped the dagger from his grip. He dashed for it, and the whip bit his thigh and dropped him flat. His fingers curled on the dagger, and he writhed to avoid the downsweeping parang, which shattered the plank behind his head. Jaki struck with his knife, catching the guard's swordarm. The Dutchman howled and dropped his weapon.
Kota, back on his feet, spotted the parang stuck in the deck and bounded for it. The whip garroted him — and Jaki seized the leather lash, pulled himself along it, and drove his dagger into the guard's chest.
Jaki searched the charred faces of the slaves for a leader. He found three men not cheering, simply watching. He knelt before them and shook their chains. They pointed to the post of the mainmast, and Jaki retrieved the keys from there. He freed a dozen men who seemed to have the clarity and strength he would need to get the ship out of the harbor. The black men, naked but for loincloths and grimed in their own feces, stood and staggered like drunks. They signed that the others should be freed, and Jaki shook his head and with his hands made them understand the boat had first to flee the slavers and return to sea. Reluctantly, the enfeebled black men agreed and quieted the frenzied slaves.
Jaki guided them up the companionway to the top deck and showed them the dead guards. With Kota's help he communicated that the officers and crew waited ashore. "Stay with these Africans," Jaki told Kota. "And try to make them understand what we have to do to raise anchor. See if there are any fit enough to climb the masts. I'm going for the women."
Jaki removed his torn caftan, revealing the doublet and breeches of a gentleman, smoothed back his hair, and walked down the gangway from the ship to the tidewall. The crowd stood aside as if he were a Dutchman, and he hurried through them and jogged up the cobbled wharf street toward the inn on the hill.
Jaki found the feast boisterously well-received by the Dutch. The factor's secretary presided at one end of the banquet table with Lucinda next to him, and the captain and his first officer sat opposite. Officers crowded around raising tankards in toast while the crew ranged through the gallery, gorging themselves on the food that Maud and the unsuspecting innkeeper served from trays. Jaki caught Maud's eye from the doorway. She signaled Lucinda. With a courteous smile, she excused herself to the secretary, chatted briefly with an officer, nodded to the captain, and exited the room with Maud.
Lucinda and Maud took one door and Jaki the other, and they swiftly closed the room. The laughing and happy yelling continued even as the wedges slammed into place. Only as they fled down the stairs did they hear the first shout of alarm. The doors rattled, the plank held firm, and the festive noise in the gallery shattered to angry cries. Jaki located the fuses to the charkhi, and they heard trays crashing as the Dutch cleared the banquet table. The first battering blows of the table elicited splintering groans from the gallery, muffled suddenly by the explosions of the charkhi.
Following Jaki, Lucinda and Maud sprinted down the hill toward the wharf. Behind them, the night erupted into flowers of fire and sirens of rocket flares. People from surrounding houses emerged, and the crowd at the wharves turned and began to climb the hill toward the splashing flames. At the gangway to the ship, Jaki looked back at the inn lit eerily by garlands of silver fire. Hope brightened when he saw that the curious mob had gathered so densely the Dutchmen would have trouble leaving the building.
The freed slaves slipped the moorings. Kota had sent three men up into the masts already and had deployed eight at the anchor wynch. As they had planned, Lucinda took the helm, Maud at her side to help her handle the whipstaff, while Jaki and Kota climbed the shrouds and began to unfurl canvas.
The wind streamed low and steady from over the grasslands, and the sails filled quickly and tugged the big ship into the river's current running with the ebb tide. Small boats peeled aside, and the open sea climbed before them.
From the spars, Jaki watched smoke from the charkhi dissolving in moonlight. The Dutchmen broke through the crowd and scrambled to the wharf to watch their vessel sailing away. Jaki crossed among the spars, shifting canvas, until the ship glided through the moonslick estuary and gained the seaway.
Lucinda sobbed at the whipstaff. When Jaki stepped onto the quarterdeck, she relinquished the helm to Maud and clutched at him. "We're free, and I am truly a brigand now." She wept, and he held her to him.
"Three hundred men won freedom with us," Jaki said into her hair, his heart thudding with energy. "Get everyone out of the holds! Every soul on deck! All of us brigands and free! We'll tack north from here. In Karachi or Gwadar we'll sell the diamonds to buy more boats so these Africans can sail as men." He reached out and put an arm around Maud, too. "We are free because we strove together."
"Fare thee, India," Maud called to the retreating lights of Bharoch. "Fare thee, land. Amaranth is our home now."
Part Four:
The Moon Is a Horn We Blow with Our Last Breath
Later, when Adam wondered how light had been created, God gave him two stones—of Darkness and of the Shadow of Death, which he struck together. Fire issued from them. "Thus it was done," said God.
—Midrash Tehillim
Wind sizzled across grasslands under tangled stars. William Quarles lay on his back in his tent, retracing the miles he had traveled. Hands crossed atop his chest, fingers locked in the tiger's beard he wore over his shoulders, he burned to know, Where is Lucinda? He had traveled the road to Surat emptying his coffers among the Rajput chieftains, expecting them to snare Lucinda and her heathen lover. But the anarchy the pirate had left behind in Mandu rode ahead of him: marauding gangs loyal to the new Moghul swarmed the districts, challenging every rajah's authority and provoking uprisings. All of the search parties that Quarles had meticulously organized dissolved quickly, and he reached Surat without having caught even a rumor of his daughter.
Quarles ignored the cold spanglings of malaria that occupied his body and lay staring through the open flap of his tent, pondering where to turn next. He had hired porters and skilled hunters to accompany him into the cattle savannah along the Tapti River east of Surat. He had read Lucinda's journal, and he knew that she had resolved to complete her business agreement with the Dutch. The goods she had earned on her caravan loitered in Mandu in the Subhadar’s entrepôt, and her only hope of claiming that fortune required authorization from the new Moghul through the Dutch factor in Surat. The Tapti coursed directly to that port city.
The knowledge that the pirate still had diamonds robbed Quarles of sleep. Boeck had marveled at them and assessed them big as radishes. The Subahdar had seen them, too — as well as the monstrous Wyvern colors. Both the banner and the diamonds had been missing from the pirate's sack. The mystery of their disappearance troubled Quarles with visions of his daughter suckling her baby in the shadow of the dragon flag while her pirate lover commanded a frigate bought from the Portuguese with his diamonds.
Hoofbeats mumbled under the wind, and Quarles sat up and crawled out of his tent, cursing the inner cold that jarred his muscles. He put on hat and boots, seized the saber, and trudged through the tall grass under the spangled night to the trail that led from Surat. Most of the camp followed.
The lead horsemen pulled aside at the sight of Quarles, and the gharry they led rolled to a stop. The door opened, and a pallid, sunken face under a broad hat swam into the fluttery torchlight. Quarles recognized the English factor from whom he had learned of Lucinda's disappearance a year earlier in Bantam and who had met him in Dagon after his horrific journey up the Irrawaddy. The factor frowned. "William, what are you doing out here on the moors? I had to learn from the Dutch where you were. Have you entirely abandoned England along with your good sense?"
"Sir!" Quarles almost shouted with surprise, and removed his hat. He passed his saber to a porter and helped the elderly man from the carriage. "I am searching for my daughter. She eluded me in Mandu. I—"
"I k
now all about Mandu." With gingerly disdain the factor touched the tiger's beard hanging from Quarles' neck. "And this? You sleep with this native gear every night? You look a frightful woolly-head." He gestured impatiently toward the camp, and the horsemen dismounted. Quarles noted their elite rank: Rajput soldiers in billowy trousers and brocaded vests, with knives at their hips and flintlocks strapped to their backs. The soldiers marched into the camp, and the factor took Quarles' arm to steady himself in the dark. In an annoyed voice, he said, "I have received a full report from the porters who returned with you from Mandu. I would have preferred to learn of your failure from you directly."
"The weapons were delivered," Quarles replied with a flash of indignation. "I fulfilled my diplomatic mission."
"Have you not heard?" The factor stared piteously at Quarles. "Mandu has fallen to the new Moghul. The Subahdar and his prince have been put to death, and their heads paraded on the road to Surat days after your return. Your mission was an utter failure, William. If you had reported to the British trademaster instead of hurrying off on your own you would have found this out."
"I did not think that you would come to Surat," Quarles said as they entered the camp. "I was intent on finding my daughter."
"Equally intent, I dare say, on avoiding the Admiralty's wrath." The factor motioned, and the Rajput soldiers set their torches in the earth, forming a circle in the cleared space where the camp's fire had collapsed to a ring of ash. The soldiers unfolded two canvas seats and placed them facing each other. The factor signed for Quarles to sit and lowered himself into the other chair. "William, your pursuit of your daughter is finished." From under his doublet the factor removed a flattened roll of parchment. "This is the Admiralty's order for your arrest."
Quarles stood, swept a harsh stare at the surrounding soldiers, and glowered at the old man. "You will take a corpse from this place."
"Sit down, William."
"I will not go freely."
"Sit down, I say."
Quarles sat, a malarial shiver defeating the fiery swell of his anger. "Is that why you are in Surat — and why you have hurried out here in the midst of the night — to take me defenseless?"
"I am in Surat for you," the factor acknowledged, and waved the arrest order. "This is but a copy, one of many that have been distributed to factors across Asia. I came to Surat from Dagon as soon as I received it. But not to arrest you." He tossed the parchment to Quarles. "I should not like to see you dragged in irons before the Admiralty court. After a session on the rack, you may be inclined to reveal things better kept secret. No, my friend. The Thieves' Church is responsible for your being here, and we will see that you elude capture until this unfortunate matter is resolved in your favor."
"How can that ever be?" Quarles held the open parchment to the light. "I am here charged with treason for ignoring the Admiralty's direct command. Treason!" He hurled his hat to the ground and propped his head against his fist while he read on. "This also declares that I have been found guilty in absentia for the negligent destruction of The Fateful Sisters!" He looked to the factor. "These offenses will put my head to the block."
The factor agreed with a solemn nod. "Unless the charges are refuted, you are deemed a traitor. This very day there are lawyers in England laboring to clear your name. When the time is right, you will have to make an appearance before the Admiralty. To that end, you must return to England at once. Only there can the Thieves' Church properly defend you. This will prove more difficult without the sop of a diplomatic tie to the Peacock Throne. Even so, with your outstanding prior accomplishments, I am certain that eventually you shall be exonerated."
"And my daughter? What is to become of her whilst I cower in England waiting for your lawyers to save my head?"
The factor lowered his face and stared at Quarles from under his spidery eyebrows. "William, do you not yet see? Your daughter has no love for you. She has fled you. You must relinquish her and act to save your own head."
"I will never relinquish her!" He swung his fists before him, his square knuckles white with resolve. "She is my life, my only heir. All I suffer, I endure for her."
"She has fled you."
"She is awry. Her wits are muddled. I will not abandon her to her madness."
"You are mad if you continue to defy the Admiralty. The British factor in Surat has his own copy of this warrant for your arrest, and he will certainly pursue you. That is why I have come at this dark hour. You must flee before our fellow countrymen discover that you are here."
"Then I will bribe the Rajputs for papers of passage and journey up the Tapti. Lucinda must still be in the interior."
The factor plucked at his wispy chin hairs, making a decision. "Your daughter is no longer in India," he said. "She and her pirate consort commandeered a Dutch slaver in Broach a fortnight past. They are now far at sea, bound for parts unknown."
"Broach?" Quarles rose, a trembly hand to his brow. "Then she came down the Narbada. Brassy. The Portuguese control that river."
"You regard our competitors too highly — and your daughter too lightly. Since the old Moghul died, all treaties are in question. To protect their interests, the Portuguese have moved south to Swally and Goa, and the Dutch intend to replace them. Perhaps they will reconsider now that they have lost a fully loaded slave ship." The factor frowned to see Quarles pacing, the fingers of one hand tangled in his beard, the other clutching the tiger's pelt. "You should be proud of your daughter. She has taken a vessel from the finest navy in the world. Be proud of her and release her. You cannot pursue her any farther. Who knows where she will voyage now."
Quarles scowled at the factor. "I should be proud that my daughter scorns law and reason? Never. The pirate who stole her from me, he is responsible for seizing the Dutch ship. Of that, I am certain. Pym warned me to fear the boy."
The factor rebuked him with a stern stare. "Sit, William. You speak with an arrant tongue."
"I will not sit," Quarles said with surprising enthusiasm. "I am already on my way. And this time I will not fail."
"On your way? Where? The world is far bigger than your arrogance."
"I will find them," Quarles insisted, not looking at the factor, his mind already at sea, remembering from his daughter's journal her ambition to reach the New World.
"How? You face arrest in Surat."
"The Portuguese have ships in Swally. I have enough gold squared away for a frigate and a crew."
"Such talk will be your undoing. Your entire fortune spent for some worm-riven Portuguese timber and a crew no better than pirates. William —" The factor beseeched him with wide eyes. "You will become the very knave you despise. You will be a fugitive, flying from port to port in pursuit of—what? A daughter who loves you not."
Quarles knelt before the factor. "You must not try to stop me," he said, and cast a glance at the soldiers.
"The Church of the Two Thieves knows no cure for madness. If you insist on throwing your life away, I can do nothing."
Quarles relaxed and stroked his grizzled beard. "There is a thing you may do for me." He bit his lip, steeling himself. "When you return to England, you can arrange for my estate in Devon to be sold. I will need the funds when I have recovered my daughter."
The factor blinked. "If you flee now, you can never return to England."
Quarles nodded. "I will use the funds to make a life for my family elsewhere. Will you do this for me?"
The factor hooded his eyes against Quarles' fanatic gaze. "I will need your authorization."
"Then let us prepare a draft now. I must be away by first light. My fate is already at sea."
*
Sunlight gleamed from the sea's facets, gulls bobbled on strings of wind, and Amaranth soared. At the crown of his kingdom, Jaki stood in the crosstrees, arms open to heaven, and stared at clouds upon clouds rafting overhead.
The bright celestial fathoms enraptured him, and he hung like a bug in the gaze of the spider, frail, strumming with hopeless passio
n. He would be free. Though the world itself enclosed a cage of horizons, he would be free. The sheets below boasted of April's northeast monsoon, and the whistling strain of the spars cried freedom in the chains of the wind.
He had first heard that cry aboard Silenos high in the luminous light of the shrouds, where his fathers had hunted whales and empires. Pym had shown him the same radiant height in his own mind: the falcon-view of time called history, where ideas stalked human beings like prey among the centuries.
Jaki wondered at the future's sorcery. As a boy and a sorcerer he had known no future, only now, endlessly repeating — until he had learned he existed as the last sorcerer. After Jabalwan, time changed faster, and each generation would bewilder the next, just as he had bewildered the sorcerers at Njurat. Life is mystery. As a pirate, he had endured his ignorance with dignity. Now, with a wife, a sister, and a vessel jammed with broken tribes, he yearned to know where they belonged.
Mala, Jabalwan, Pym, Mang, Silenos, his father — all these ghosts could not help him. The visions they had shared with him would provide wings and carry him above the fangs and poisons of empire to freedom in the unconquered west.
With this conviction in April 1628, Jaki watched the clouds split above him and, below, the prow of the ship slicing the dark water to silver wings.
*
Jaki had decided against sailing to Surat, for he could not find in himself any trust for his father's people. Instead, he took Amaranth north along the Gujarat coast and came to shore in a ferny cove behind a giant bluff from which vantage sentries could peer over the horizon and warn of approaching ships.The Africans, some of whom had not been off ship in five harrowing weeks, ambled like dreamers among the scalloped dunes and windbent trees. Many buried themselves in the sand; others fashioned amulets from shells and rocks broken by the tide. No one would go back on board to help refit the ship, because they believed ghosts haunted the decks. Chains clanked in the bulwarks, they said, though all the chains, shackles, and body racks had been thrown overboard in the first hour that the Africans gained freedom. Cries snapped from the top mast with no one there. Blood dewed on the planks where people had died, and voices seeped through the hull from the bilges.
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