They watched the Customs Officer climb delicately over the rail. He was a tall man and, Kite thought, handsome in an ascetic way. He wore a plain grey robe and on his head a small round cap which had a red button and sported a long peacock feather. As soon as he had been handed over the rail, he shoved his hands into his sleeves and stood with a quiet dignity that compelled respect. He appeared the very antithesis of the corruptible port official. Kite for his part met him with some ceremony, according gravitas to the official which, whether merited or not, could not fail to appeal to his vanity.
Wearing blue broadcloth, white breeches and a sword, Kite swept off his tricorne in a bow that would have graced the Court of the Directors of the Honourable East India Company. Also dressed formally, Harper followed his commander and then Kite presented Sarah and Nisha who dropped elegant curtsies before turning aside and indicating a table and chairs under the awning over the stern. The shaw-bunder bowed stiffly and took his seat.
Here Rahman waited, himself wearing his finest turban, trousers and white robe, offering the shaw-bunder a glass of madeira. The Chinese official drew his hands from his robe and revealed the long, guarded finger nails of a man who did no manual labour. He was followed along the deck by four servants, one of whom stood behind him with a sword, another bore a folded umbrella and the remaining two squatted at his feet, laid ink and pens at their bare feet and drew scrolls from pouches about their waists.
As the party sat and sipped their wine, Rahman opened negotiations. He introduced the Chinese official as Lee Chew Chua, speaking to Lee in pidgin, a mixture mainly of English, Cantonese and Portuguese which was as incomprehensible as any foreign language to Kite. It reminded him of the Creole patois of the West Indies insofar as the occasional recognisable word surfaced periodically to seize the listeners’ attention.
Notwithstanding this, Kite, Harper, Sarah and Nisha kept up the expressions of interest that Rahman had begged them to fake. From time-to-time Rahman would turn to Kite and address a few words to him, feigning deep conference and asking him the Spitfire’s tonnage, the number of her crew and the identity of the two women.
‘They ask for Hooker Memsahib’s name, Kite Sahib,’ Rahman said anxiously. ‘It could be a problem, they are aware that she is, as I am Indian. I cannot say that she is my wife…’
‘But I can say that she is mine, can I not?’ Harper broke in.
Rahman threw him a glance of irritation at the interruption and went on addressing Kite. ‘It is a matter of face, Kite Sahib, quickly we must have a name, initials will do, it is sufficiently like their own script.’
Kite, divining the urgency of the impasse picked up the quill lying before him and, on a piece of paper wrote N.H. then told Rahman, ‘say she is the wife of Mr Harper.’
He avoided looking at Nisha but felt both she and Sarah move awkwardly in their chairs and was aware that Nisha had drawn her veil over the lower part of her face. Lee pronounced himself satisfied and then Rahman made a long speech which Kite divined, formed the substance of their mutual business proposition. Lee listened impassively. At one point he held up his hand and Rahman paused while Lee addressed a few words to his chief scribe. The man responded and took from his pouch a small abacus. They all watched fascinated while the fingers of the scribe flickered back and forth, sending the beads this way and that, multiplying and dividing and totting up his totals: initial cost, deduction for Lee’s cumshaw, deduction for his own cut and the silence money to his fellow scribe, the sword and the umbrella-bearer; deduction for the pirates and the several other douceurs, sweetners and unofficial taxes that the imperial system allowed under the notion of perquisites. Of course there was a levy that went directly into the imperial treasury, a cut in the transaction which explained why it was tolerated and why the distant emperor hypocritically permitted the pollution of his people by the Indian drug in contradiction to his own official proscription of the trade. Each sum was written down and verified by the second scribe while Lee sat, apparently aloof from these sordidly worldly computations.
Then the senior scribe made several staccato announcements and Lee nodded gravely. Turning to Rahman he made his offer. Rahman paused for several moments, then he counter-commented. They all knew from the drama of the moment, without knowing from a shred of comprehended fact, that this was the crux of their entire enterprise. After another ritual pause Lee consulted his scribe who bent again to the abacus, wrote some more columns of squiggly script in a vertical column and held up the paper for Lee to read. The hint of a tired and slightly exasperated emotion passed across Lee’s face, as if he signalled an accommodation which, to the foreign devils was important, but to him meant only an augmentation of his pride.
‘What does he offer?’ Kite asked quietly, unable to hold his tongue any longer. Rahman turned to him with slow and contrived gravity. In a tone of voice so uncharacteristic that they all knew the Indian intermediary was putting on a skilful theatrical act for the benefit of the shaw-bunder, Rahman said, ‘It is absolutely necessary that you should trust me, Kite Sahib, and not interfere, I beg you. There is much face at stake, yours included.’
Kite inclined his head as he had seen Lee do and Sarah stifled a giggle. Harper, bored with the long-winded affair, had been regarding Nisha’s breasts which rose and fell under his gaze with a wondrously distracting undulation.
Rahman spoke a few words and suddenly, in a flurry of movement the scribe flourished his paper and placed it in front of Lee. Then the second scribe rose to his feet holding a small wooden box from which an ivory stamp was taken, inked up in red and held over the paper. Slowly Lee extended his long nailed right hand and, placing it over the waiting hand of his scribe, pressed his chop down onto the paper. As the stamp was removed, the complex red monogram lay over the black script.
Rahman sighed with satisfaction and leaning forward, poured more wine. After a few moments of pleasantries Lee rose. Turning to Kite he bowed and addressed a few words. Rahman translated. ‘He is appointing Chang, his senior secretary to act on his behalf. Chang will oversee the exchange of opium for cash and we shall not see Lee again. Chang will return as our hostage.’
Kite bowed his understanding. It had clouded over now and began to rain. As Lee rose to take his departure, his umbrella-bearer extended his apparatus above his master. Kite walked forward with the Chinese official to see him and his party over the side. Clear of the encircling shelter of the umbrella Kite felt the weight of the rain which had become suddenly heavy, hissing into the sea surrounding them. he watched, fascinated despite the downpour, as Lee, mindful of his delicate finger-nails, gingerly hoisted himself over the rail.
Aboard the waiting sampan the crew had donned straw hats and strange capes of reeds, which, like thatch, shot the rain off in tiny silver runnels. Unhurried and sheltered by his bearer, Lee moved aft with his sodden entourage in train. While his menials squatted down about him, he sat under an awning as the sampan cast off, the sword-bearer took up his station behind his master’s chair, gongs rang and the oarsmen bent to their task.
Kite, his shoulders wet through under the heavy broadcloth, walked back to the party under the awning and watched Lee’s sampan pull away. ‘Well, Mister Rahman,’ he asked, refilling his glass, ‘for how much have you sold my soul?’
The others sat expectantly, staring at Rahman.
‘For a clear profit to yourself of five hundred per centum.’
‘A clear profit?’ Kite queried incredulously. He had never felt so vulnerable, placing his entire fortune in the hands of a man of short acquaintance.
Rahman explained the ramifications of squeeze and cumshaw, alluding to the various recipients and beneficiaries of the transaction, including the emperor on his golden throne in distant Peking.
‘Governments approve all they can tax,’ he commented, sagely adding, ‘as men will do anything they can obtain payment for.’
‘So there is no morality at all,’ Sarah said dryly.
Rahman smiled and shook
his head. ‘No Memsahib; men must eat and feed their families. There can only be a few holy-men to admire. What would the world be if any damn-fool was held up as a virtuous example?’
‘What indeed,’ interjected Kite, ‘but we shall hold you up as a virtuous man, if not a holy one, Mister Rahman, if we see such a quantity of silver come aboard.’
‘It will come, Kite Sahib, and fall upon your head like this rain…’ and Rahman, smiling broadly, gestured out over the grey waters of the bay into which the heavy rain drops fell like millions and millions of tiny silver coins.
‘And it will fall upon your head too,’ Kite grinned back.
‘That is thanks to you, Kite Sahib.’
Kite shook his head. ‘I could not have accomplished anything without your help.’ Rahman rocked his head in self-deprecation and Kite, sensing his embarrassment, turned to Harper. ‘Nor yours Zachariah…’ he began, but stopped when he beheld the two lovers. His gaze was followed by that of Sarah and Rahman and, feeling themselves the cynosure, both Nisha and Zachariah looked up.
‘Ah… Er, Cap’n Kite, Mrs Kite… Rahman… I, er, have just been accepted by Mistress Hooker.’
‘Nisha!’ Sarah’s voice rang out and Kite swung quickly to catch his wife’s expression. He found he could not read it, for it bore both delight and sadness, a sudden thickening in her voice and watering of the eyes which were swiftly translated into a movement as Sarah rose from her chair and embraced Nisha. Kite stood and held out his hand to his old and loyal friend.
‘I am delighted, Zachariah,’ he said gripping Harper’s massive paw. Then bending over Nisha’s hand he kissed it.
‘I am very pleased for you, my dear,’ he said, looking up into her dark and inscrutable eyes. Nisha’s hand touched his face in a strange gesture that might have been mere friendship yet, to Kite, thinking about it later in the waking hours of the night, seemed tinged with some regret.
Sarah was congratulating Harper when a confused Rahman asked, ‘She is to become your wife?’
They all turned and looked at him. All afternoon Rahman had master-minded the commercial theatricals played out on the Spitfire’s narrow quarterdeck and now, at a stroke, he was lost in the delicate conventions of an unfamiliar culture. Only Nisha felt the suppressed outrage in his tone, for Rahman knew the Brahmin woman to be an outcast whom he had himself tolerated only because of the advantages associated with his attachment to Kite Sahib. His moralisation to Sarah regarding the weakness of men for money had not entirely been aimed at Kite; Rahman was aware of the ironies of his own situation.
‘Ah yes, Mister Rahman,’ said Harper happily. ‘We are to become man and wife when we return to India.’
‘I am already a Christian, Topass,’ Nisha said coldly and Rahman inclined his head with further embarrassment.
Kite divined this and as Sarah turned again to her friend, he took Rahman’s elbow and led him forward beyond the extent of the awning. The rain had eased and Kite bent to the Indian’s ear as they walked along the deck towards the watch sheltering in the narrow rain-shadow of the foremast.
‘I am well pleased Mister Rahman. If we are successful in bringing this schooner safely to Bombay, I will increase your cut by two per centum of the whole.’
Rahman stiffened and stopped to face Kite. ‘Oh, Kite Sahib, that is most kind of you.’
‘No, it is mere prudence. We have a long way to go and much work to do. I would have you a friend.’
‘There is no need for you to buy my friendship.’
‘But there may be need for me to show it.’
Rahman met his eyes and inclined his head. ‘You are a good man, Kite Sahib.’
‘There are too few of us,’ Kite said with a wry grin. Rahman took a moment to understand the pun and then he smiled himself. ‘You are off watch and must eat with us tonight,’ Kite added, patting Rahman on his shoulder and turning in search of McClusky. The rain had made it prematurely dark and already the lights of the fishing sampans were bobbing out from the shoreline where the first oil lamps of the village were already alight.
As he walked aft Kite drank in the scent of the land and it was sweet. He had been right to feel happy that morning. It had been a good day.
Chapter Twenty
The Horns of a Dilemma
Rahman warned them that there would be an inevitable delay, that the Celestials, as he disparagingly called the Chinese, did nothing at the speed wished for by Englishmen.
‘Or Scotchmen, who are worse,’ he added didactically, ‘in their desire for the conclusion of business. We will have a few days of uncertainty before Chang joins us. This is so that Lee has our trust and gains face in Canton. More practically, he is concluding all the necessary arrangements for the transaction here. After we have our hostage, matters will move, as you will see.’
As Rahman had predicted, three days later Chang arrived in a smaller sampan than his master, but with his own entourage of tally men that precisely established his own status in the heirarchical order. Chang spoke a smattering of English and laced his pidgin, when he wished to, with colloquial phrases conducive to trade. Kite suspected him of professional eavesdropping on the part of his master. No wonder Rahman had been embarrassed by Kite’s intervention during the negotiations! He himself must have lost face before the inscrutable Celestials, but if he had, Chang gave no sign of it and was more than helpful in arranging for a sampan to come down from Canton with silks, ivories, fans and lacquer-work for the ladies to admire and purchase.
‘You see, Kite Sahib,’ Rahman explained happily, ‘Chang will now himself gain a cut in the earnings of the ivory carvers, the fan-makers, the lacquer workers and the sampan owner, so everybody is able to live.’
‘Big fleas have little fleas on their backs to bite ’em,’ intoned Harper who had overheard the comment as he watched Nisha and Sarah fingering rich and brocaded silks spread out on grass matting amidships. ‘Little fleas have smaller fleas, and so, ad infinitum!’
‘You have completed the cargo-tally?’ Kite asked of the mate.
‘Aye, and signed the manifest with that Mister Chang,’ said Harper. It will be counted again on discharge, but Chang is satisfied that what we are trading is what we declared, first-rate Malwa opium.’
Chang was not the only visitor. On the third day a smart gig was seen pulling towards them and two blue coated men with black tricornes clambered aboard. Called from the cabin by McClusky, Kite went on deck to find them already peering curiously about them.
‘Trouble,’ muttered McClusky presciently as Kite passed him.
‘Gentlemen…?’ Kite began approaching the two strangers, but was cut short by one of these red-faced Europeans whose sun-reddened faces lent credibility to the Chinese nickname for the foreigners who had settled in their midst: ‘red devils’.
‘You are the master of this schooner?’ one of them asked sharply.
‘I am William Kite and both master and owner. Whom, do I have the pleasure of addressing?’
‘We are Selectmen from Canton, Captain Kite, and you, it appears, are in breach of the Honourable Company’s monopoly.’
‘If you would like to descend to the cabin, gentlemen, I am sure we can straighten this matter out.’ Without waiting for a response, Kite turned and led the way aft. ‘My departure was bruited about Bombay and I dined with President Cranbrooke…’
Kite clattered down the companionway and roused Sarah and Nisha who had been sitting quietly, Nisha at her stitch-work while Sarah toyed with a watercolour of the prospect beyond the stern windows.
‘Ladies, we have visitors.’ Having given this announcement Kite pulled the corners of his mouth down, indicating his displeasure, then stood back and ushered the two men into the cabin. ‘May I present my wife… and Mistress Hooker…’
There was a stiffly formal exchange of bows and curtsies. The Selectmen were clearly astonished to find two women aboard an interloper and there was a muttered exchange between them. One of them, apparently susceptible to
Sarah’s beauty as he lingered over her hand, introduced himself as Commissioner Blackstone and his companion as Commissioner Harrison.
Sarah rang for Maggie who was set to serving wine. During this hiatus Kite asked Nisha to ask Zachariah to join them and a moment later the large, ugly American entered the cabin. Without waiting for an introduction to the newcomer and irritated by his senior colleague’s obvious attraction for Mistress Kite, Harrison said, ‘We understand that you are trading illegally, Captain Kite.’
‘I have a letter of marque-and-reprisal…’ Kite responded, turning to his desk to present them with the document.
‘Come sir, you have women on board. You cannot pretend that you are a privateer.’
‘Oh, but we are, Commissioner, I do assure you. We have already fought an engagement with a French frigate…’
‘A French frigate, d’you say?’ Blackstone slurped his wine unalluringly in astonishment.
‘What was her name?’ Harrison interjected.
‘Alcmene, I believe. And we were fortunate enough to escape her… Ah, here, my letter-of-marque.’
Kite handed the document over and Harrison and Blackstone bent their heads over the papers, muttering secretively to themselves. Kite caught Harper’s eye over them and again pulled the corners of his mouth down in apprehension of the outcome. Harper responded with a confident grin. This silent exchange was terminated by Blackstone.
‘But these are made out in part to…’ the Commissioner looked up at Nisha, ‘to your husband?’
‘My partner in the venture,’ Kite began, but Blackstone ignored him and both Selectmen now stared at Nisha who appeared to shrink back, her bosom rising and falling under the ferocity of their scrutiny.
‘And where is your husband, Mistress Hooker?’ Harrison asked.
‘Why right behind you, gennelmen,’ Harper announced, stepping forward and placing his hands upon Nisha’s shoulders. Kite watched, touched that she responded by placing a hand over his.
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