Dying Trade

by David Donachie

  ‘What the devil’s all this?’

  Harry was leafing through the rest of the papers. They were all new, with the portion for the name of the certificate holder left blank. Harry thought back to the way Broadbridge had dunned them for a hundred guineas. ‘I’m not sure, Pender. But I would say that there’s more to Captain Broadbridge than meets the eye. I had half wondered if we’d find some money, but there’s not even a brass farthing in here.’

  Apart from all the papers the good captain had been a man of few possessions, and fewer pleasures, apparently, save the bottle.

  ‘He was hard up and no mistake.’

  ‘You saw James and I advance him a hundred guineas. There’s no sign of that either.’

  ‘Perhaps he had it about his person, Captain. Or maybe it’s aboard his ship.’

  ‘That’s possible. Mind, only a fool would be parted from their valuables around these parts.’

  Harry closed the chest and asked Pender to relock it while he finished dressing. His buff coat was too heavy for the climate, but it was all he had. Another look in the mirror confirmed that he had once more returned to decent society.

  ‘Happen it’s at the bottom of the harbour,’ said Pender.

  ‘I searched him before we wrapped him in those flags. He may well have had the money with him when he set out.’

  ‘What now?’

  ‘Get my brother’s things together. I shall go and call on Bartholomew. See if you can locate Crosby. I want a word with him. Then we’ll go aboard the Dido. Once we’ve done that you can carry onto Swiftsure. I want you to afford me a proper introduction to Sutton. We can then find out if he knows anything.’

  Harry banged on Bartholomew’s door, perhaps a shade too heavily in his impatience. But there was no response. He went back down to the side entrance and reluctantly sought out Ma Thomas. Daylight did nothing for her appearance or her temper, and she coldly informed him that other people’s movements were none of her affair. This was followed by a few more imprecations at the nature of captains conspiring to impoverish her, leaving Harry no wiser. He was halfway back to the room to fetch Pender, when he ran into Bartholomew coming down.

  ‘Why, Captain Bartholomew. I have just been looking to find you.’

  Bartholomew favoured him with a half-smile. ‘Then you have achieved your purpose, Ludlow.’

  ‘I wonder if we could return to your rooms; I would like to speak with you alone?’

  The other man nodded, and turned round to make his way back up the stairs. Harry followed, his nose wrinkling as he was engulfed in the odour of Bartholomew’s freshly scented body. He’d obviously been at his toilet when Harry knocked. As he opened the door, Harry recalled his heavy banging, and apologised for it. Bartholomew turned quickly and looked at him, causing Harry to pull up sharply. But no words followed the look, and Harry was left wondering why he had the impression that he had alarmed Bartholomew, rather than angered him. He was shutting the door behind them when Harry spoke, and the words made him freeze with his hand still on the door handle.

  ‘Broadbridge is dead.’

  Bartholomew turned slowly, looking at the ground. He said nothing for a few seconds, then lifted his hooded eyes to meet those of his guest. ‘Dead?’

  ‘Murdered, along with a couple of local sailors.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Aboard a ship called the Principessa. She’s moored outside the harbour.’

  Bartholomew said nothing, so Harry kept talking, outlining how he had found the body, and the subsequent attack on them in the cabin; his discovery of the two local sailors; and his continued suspicions of French involvement. Bartholomew didn’t move throughout. Nor did he interrupt. He just stood, one hand on his chin, his eyes focused on a point behind Harry, listening.

  ‘If my suspicions are correct, you must ask yourself, Captain Bartholomew, what action they will take next.’

  ‘I can see that it’s a matter of some concern. Does anyone else know of this?’

  Harry shook his head, curious at the man’s detachment. ‘Not yet. I thought that you ought to be the first to be informed.’

  That mocking half-smile came back on his face. It was as though he had dismissed the matter from his mind. ‘Is telling me first in any way connected with the conversation we had the other night?’

  Harry didn’t blink. The lack of feeling for the death of one of his partners was telling. They looked at each other in silence for a few moments, as Harry waited for any further response. Bartholomew seemed in no mood to give anything away. Harry knew that it would be wise to adopt the same tone. Yet he felt he ought to register some disapproval of the lack of even the faintest sign of grief.

  ‘I was rather hoping to discuss with you what action to take against Captain Broadbridge’s murderers before discussing business matters.’

  Bartholomew’s smile widened, for to him, Harry’s words spoke volumes. ‘I just wondered if you’d thought on it.’

  The frown that appeared on Harry’s face did nothing to dent his smile. ‘If you are waiting for expressions of remorse, Ludlow, I will not play the hypocrite and oblige. You may have seen Broadbridge as a rescuer. Indeed, you may have esteemed the fellow. I saw him as a liability.’

  ‘The man is dead,’ said Harry coldly.

  For the first time the other man’s voice betrayed a hint of emotion. As he spoke he rubbed his fingers gently across his brow, as though troubled by an unwanted thought. ‘And I am sorry for it. I would wish him still alive, but out of my way.’

  ‘Yet you agreed to advance him the money to buy that ship.’

  Bartholomew was genuinely surprised. He shook his head slowly, looking Harry in the eye, as he thought about what to say next. ‘Sit down, Ludlow, and stop frowning at me so.’

  Harry paused, then turned round and sat in one of the deep armchairs. It faced the open door of the bedroom, dominated by a great four-poster of dark carved oak, the made-up bed covered in a lace counterpane. That room was panelled as well, heightening the atmosphere of life in an earlier age. He noted also that the suite was devoid of any signs of habitation. Obviously his host, pacing up and down before him, was a man who liked his rooms cleaned early. Bartholomew didn’t speak for a while, marshalling his thoughts.

  ‘When Broadbridge first arrived he led me, and my compatriots, to believe that he was a real prizeman. He had money in his pocket, and a tall tale of exploits he’d undertaken in half the oceans of the world. And he’d heard about us. The man was afire to join, and prepared to pay good money to buy his way in.’

  ‘Is it that simple?’

  ‘We are in a strange business. Care must be exercised to ensure that we’re dealing with the right sort. Anyway, Broadbridge kept on at us. Said he’d settle for a share of the inn, and a chance to prove his mettle when the time came. So after some discussion, we agreed.’

  ‘We? I have been told that you decide.’

  Harry hadn’t meant to sound disapproving, but he must have given that impression, for Bartholomew bristled slightly. ‘Lovers of Classical Greece speak of the benefits of democracy, Ludlow. But if you’ve commanded a ship, you’ll know that such notions are useless.’

  ‘Forgive me. I thought we were talking about a syndicate of businessmen.’

  ‘We are, but their assets float.’ Bartholomew smiled at his own pun. ‘Let’s say I’m the senior officer. Broadbridge showed right away that he was useless. The plan was for one of us, once we’d got him the right to sail out of here, to take him on a short cruise, to see what he was made of. We were out of the port for near six weeks. Despite my instructions to wait, he set off on his own, telling all and sundry, it seems, that he was going to return with his fortune made.’

  ‘But it wasn’t a success.’

  ‘And no wonder, Ludlow. The man could barely read a chart, and he would brook no interference from anyone aboard, even though some of his hands have spent their lives at sea. And what did he do? He sailed right in the direction of a fleet of t
he king’s ships, and that with half his crew deserters from the very same. Only a fool’s luck saved him from losing the lot to the navy.’

  Bartholomew stopped, and shook his head slowly, wearing the smile of a parent amused at some childish misdemeanour. ‘He sailed right through them in the dark, you know. And he was so drunk he held his course, singing at the top of his voice, and forcing even the biggest warships to sheer off.’

  ‘Then why advance him the money to buy the Principessa?’

  Bartholomew sat down, and looked Harry right in the eye. ‘But I didn’t. I point-blank refused to do so.’

  ‘Did you mention your offer to me?’

  ‘I think it was somewhat less than an offer, Ludlow.’

  ‘But it is that now?’

  Bartholomew shrugged. ‘It’s not that simple. First off there needs to be a vacancy. And before you mention Broadbridge, let me say he doesn’t count.’

  ‘And if there was a vacancy?’

  Bartholomew made a dismissive gesture with his hands. ‘There are terms.’

  ‘And profits. You are getting ready to set sail now, I hear.’

  ‘Word spreads quickly.’

  ‘You have a rendezvous arranged, I believe.’

  Bartholomew pursed his lips and remained silent.

  ‘Perhaps if you were to outline that I would have a better idea of what’s on offer,’ said Harry, well aware that somehow the invitation to join the syndicate had been watered down, if not withdrawn.

  ‘That information is vouchsafed only to members of the syndicate.’

  ‘That sounds remarkably like a blind investment.’

  ‘Half blind.’ Bartholomew waved his arm to indicate the tavern. ‘They get a share of this too. When I first heard your name, I had a feeling I’d come across it before. Did you have a father in the navy?’

  If Crosby hadn’t already told him that, Harry would have been amazed. But he nodded anyway. ‘To return to Captain Broadbridge’s death. Did you take my point about the French?’

  ‘I’m not convinced your theories are correct.’

  ‘Do you have any others to put against them?’

  ‘No. But then I don’t have your burning wish to speculate.’

  Harry felt slightly angry. It all seemed plain enough to him. ‘You don’t feel threatened?’

  Bartholomew shook his head slowly. ‘Not in the least. Besides, I have more pressing matters to attend to.’

  ‘I wonder that your patrons allow that French ship to stay in the harbour in any case.’

  ‘Patrons?’

  It was now Harry’s turn to smile. ‘I know little about Genoa, but I doubt you could support this, and your activities, without powerful local interests combining to aid you.’

  If he’d hoped to dent the man’s assurance, he signally failed. ‘I flatter myself that the contacts we have here are adequate.’

  ‘Merely adequate?’

  ‘Sometimes the exercise of power has the contrary effect to that which is intended. I have often observed that when interests compete, mutual respect achieves more than belligerence.’

  The way that Bartholomew admitted his own connections was wonderfully succinct, while acknowledging that there were others equally powerful.

  ‘Can you rely on those who favour France to show such restraint? And with all the pressure from below, can you be sure that the Genoese Republic will still be in the hands of those people next week?’

  Bartholomew’s mocking smile looked very like pity. ‘I should not attach much importance to rumours of popular uprisings. They are much exaggerated. And if we’re going to discuss the politics of this part of the world, we should fetch an abacus.’

  Bartholomew’s refusal to accept his conclusions was merely a minor irritation, for it left him with the one option to achieve a solution, and that was the one he’d favoured all along. But he couldn’t help feeling that he’d been on the receiving end of a degree of condescension.

  On first sitting in these rooms, Bartholomew, having spoken to whoever came to the door, had definitely hinted that joining the syndicate was possible. Now, by his manner and his words, he was virtually telling Harry that if he chose to apply it would not even be considered.

  They had both been playing the same game, Bartholomew dangling a carrot to see if he could find out what Harry was after, and his guest pretending an interest for his own purposes. Neither had achieved much success, but Harry couldn’t help feeling that, left as it was, Bartholomew would see himself as master of the game. That mocking look was still there. The man still saw him as a supplicant. He hadn’t smoked that Harry Ludlow had no desire to join his damned syndicate in the first place. There was no purchase in letting on, but he didn’t want to leave this room with Bartholomew hanging onto his smug air. Time to wipe the mockery out of that smile.

  ‘I’m glad we understand each other, Bartholomew. I feared you would seek to enrol me. You have saved me some embarrassment, for a blunt refusal often offends.’

  Nothing in the man’s demeanour changed, so Harry decided it would do no harm to let him know that Harry Ludlow was no fool. ‘One thing I did wonder at …’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘I wondered where it is you land your cargoes and dispose of your captures. And I wonder that you get away with it. There must be those in Genoa who would dearly love to see you pay something, if only to exercise their abacus. Should I decide to sail from here, I must put some effort into finding out how it is done.’

  It was very smooth, for Bartholomew’s voice didn’t really change. But a look into his eyes, no longer hooded, was enough to tell Harry he was angry. He stood up abruptly.

  ‘I normally avoid giving advice. It’s very rarely accepted, however well intentioned. But I will make this exception and observe that you may find another harbour more profitable than Genoa. And if you truly ascribe to your theories it will obviously be less dangerous. Now, if you will forgive me, Ludlow, I do have other business to attend to. And since we are preparing to sail, I doubt we will have an opportunity to converse farther.’

  Harry stood up as well. ‘Come, Bartholomew. Perhaps we’ll meet again, either here, or at sea.’

  He frowned at that, for he knew what his visitor was implying. And if Crosby had told him anything about Harry Ludlow, he would have guessed that any monopoly he enjoyed could soon be challenged.

  He fixed Harry with a cold stare. ‘Perhaps we will, Ludlow.’

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  PENDER hadn’t been able to locate Crosby, so he grabbed a couple of boys from the quay and took them off to fetch James’s chest, while Harry bespoke a boat, this time with a couple of oarsmen, to take them out to Broadbridge’s ship.

  Everything Harry had heard about the Dido was true. It was no vessel to go privateering in, rather the kind of craft that plied the coastal trade, with the exception that it had been altered to carry a few cannon amidships, though even the gunports cut in the bulwarks looked as though they didn’t suit. And the comparison with what should be was made worse by the proximity of the other ships in the syndicate’s little fleet.

  They had dirty grey salt streaks down their sides, which only served to tell Harry that they moved easily through the water. Dido had salt streaks all over her hull, stem to stern, evidence that she shipped a good deal of the sea through the planking. Judging by her shape, which reminded Harry of the doggers that fished the North Sea shallows, that would pale beside the quantity of water she’d take in over her bows in any kind of sea. He was left wondering how anyone could have been persuaded to buy such a boat for such a purpose.

  ‘Avast there,’ said a voice from below the bulwark. ‘Sheer off.’

  ‘Is Carey Sutton aboard?’ shouted Pender, indicating to their boatmen that they should ship oars.

  ‘What if he is? Who’s asking?’

  ‘Tell him Pious Pender wants a word.’

  The voice growled threateningly. ‘You stay clear till I see what he says.’

&nb
sp; As if to emphasise the point, one of the gunports creaked open. They found themselves staring down the muzzle of a four-pounder cannon. The two boatmen went white, but Pender just smiled at them. They were not reassured. The four of them sat, rocking gently on the filthy water of the harbour.

  ‘Is that you, Pious?’ Sutton’s head peeked over the side. He treated Harry to a hard look, before asking Pender what they were about. Pender indicated to the boatmen to pull closer, so that he could speak quietly. They shook their heads. Pender turned, and looked meaningfully at the gun muzzle, giving a sharp gesture to indicate that they would be safer out of its way. Reluctantly the two Genoese pulled on their oars and brought them within talking distance.

  ‘We’ve come for a word, Carey, about Captain Broadbridge.’

  ‘He ain’t here. He went out to look at that ship yesterday afternoon and he’s yet to return.’

  ‘I said I wanted a word about him, not with him.’

  Sutton’s tongue was suddenly between his lips, and his brow furrowed as he tried to read into Pender’s words what the man wasn’t saying.

  Being closer, Pender kept his voice down. ‘It’d be best if we come aboard, Carey.’

  A long pause, before Sutton spoke. ‘Aye. Happen it would. I’ll ask Lubeck.’

  ‘Who’s Lubeck?’

  ‘Sort of master’s mate. Bastard’s from the Hanse, and I’m damned if I can make out half of what he says.’

  Sutton was back in a trice, a huge blond man with a craggy face beside him. Pender went through another ritual of persuasion to get the boatmen to pull alongside. Climbing aboard, he had a quick word with Sutton. Then Sutton, with a great deal of arm waving, had a word with the blond man before leaning over the side and beckoning Harry to follow. Harry looked meaningfully at the boatmen, and a hurried conversation ensued on deck. After a minute two men appeared, leaning over the side, muskets in hand, deliberately not looking at the two frightened oarsmen. Harry, sure that his brother’s possessions were safe, clambered aboard.