‘You don’t get it, do you, Thorpe? I’m supposed to be taking Cusack to California. I haven’t got time to swan over to China.’
‘I’m not asking you to swan over to China. Captain Hawkes is presently at Thorpetown with the Avon. He can take the sandalwood to Shanghai. All I request is that you fetch the sandalwood from Erromanga to Thorpetown.’
‘If the Avon’s at Thorpetown, why not get Hawkes to fetch your damned sandalwood?’
Thorpe looked uncomfortable. ‘Because I haven’t got any trade goods to barter with the natives. And you know what that means.’
Quested grinned broadly. ‘Sure. I know exactly what that means. Hawkes wouldn’t touch our old trade goods with a set of tongs. So you need me. Sorry, Thorpe. I’m going to ’Frisco.’
‘I’ll pay you another ten thousand dollars.’
Quested stared at him. There was no mistaking the desperation in Thorpe’s voice. ‘Ten thousand dollars?’ he echoed sceptically. ‘Oh-kay. Five thousand now, the other five thousand when I deliver the wood to Thorpetown.’
‘Damn it, Quested. You know I haven’t got that money on me.’
‘How about at Thorpetown?’
‘All my money is tied up in investments.’
‘Investments my eye! You’re bankrupt, if only the banks knew it. You think I didn’t hear the rumours in Hobart Town? You’ve had one failed trading venture after another. The only reason people still think you’re a millionaire is because you put on a good show; but they’re getting wise to you.’
‘That’s why I need this cargo so desperately, Quested. If I can deliver one cargo to Shanghai when the price is right, it will renew the market’s confidence in me. Then I’ll be able to borrow the money to remunerate you.’
Quested stood up. ‘Sorry, Thorpe. I’m a sea captain, not a speculator. And even if I were a speculator, shares in Thorpe and Co. would be the last place I’d invest my hard-earned dough.’
Thorpe sank to his knees. ‘Please, Quested… Barzillai… I’m begging you. Look at me, blast your eyes! I’m down on my knees!’
‘I’m flattered. But the answer’s still no.’
Thorpe pushed himself angrily to his feet. ‘I didn’t want to resort to threats, Captain, but if you won’t be of assistance you’ll leave me no alternative but to inform the authorities of who it was who kidnapped all those natives from Tanna two years ago – and for what reason.’
Quested laughed. ‘You wouldn’t do that. You’d only incriminate yourself.'
‘If I’m going down, I’m taking you with me.’
‘What difference does it make to me? Like you said, I’m already a marked man. The authorities know I was the one who rescued Cusack from Norfolk Island.’
‘It doesn’t have to be that way. I can give you new ship’s papers; you know I’ve got the facilities at Thorpetown so you can alter the Lucy Ann’s appearance. She’ll look like a completely different ship.’
‘Keep whistling.’ Quested crossed to the door and opened it. ‘Come on, you pathetic old fool. Much as it amuses me to have you grovelling on your knees before me like the fat sack of turds you are, you’ve got to get back to the Wanderer. Otherwise Mrs Cafferty is going to get mighty suspicious about what it was we had to discuss for so long.’ He smirked. ‘She might even get the notion you and I were old friends; and I fancy that would hurt you a good deal more than it would hurt me.’
Struck by a sudden inspiration, Thorpe realised he had one more card left to play; and it was a trump. ‘I’ll give you Killigrew.’
‘What?’
‘You heard me. You said you had a score to settle with him; I can tell you how to do it.’
Quested closed the door again. He was smiling. ‘You know something? Maybe I could develop a taste for speculation after all.’
* * *
It was ten o’clock the following morning by the time Killigrew’s shore party had unloaded sufficient provisions from the Tisiphone to last them two weeks. Robertson looked as though he was having misgivings about their plan when Killigrew walked him to where his gig waited on the beach to take him back to the Tisiphone. ‘I’m well aware that asking you not to take unnecessary risks is like asking a lawyer to work for free, Second, but… well, just try not to get yourself killed.’
Killigrew gestured to where he had set his bluejackets to work building a large marquee to serve themselves and Corporal Summerbee’s marines as a barracks for the duration of their sojourn on Tanna, using canvas and spare spars from the sloop; a second, smaller tent had already been erected for the use of Killigrew, Strachan and Cavan. ‘I’ll wager any one of those lads against ten slavers any day. Don’t worry, sir. Even with the convicts, he’s still got only twenty-seven men. Twenty-five bluejackets and marines against a rag-tag mob of spouters and convicts? We’ll slaughter ’em.’
‘Metaphorically speaking, I hope,’ Robertson reminded him sternly. ‘I don’t want this becoming a personal matter. If Cusack and the convicts turn up here and you can take them alive, kindly do so. I don’t want my officers taking the law into their own hands. The same goes for any slavers who have the misfortune to make an appearance while you’re here. Kill them if there’s no other choice – I’m sure we both agree that scum like that deserve nothing better – but there are laws, even here in the South Seas, and it’s part of our job to enforce those laws, not break them. Oh, and while you’re here, try to give the kava a wide berth, there’s a good chap.’ He massaged his temples. ‘That stuff’s worse than absinthe, and you’ll need a clear head if the Lucy Ann does turn up. I’ll wish you good luck.’
‘I never rely on it, sir.’
‘Perhaps not, but you’ve had need of it in the past, nonetheless. If we’re not back by the end of the month, commandeer the Vanguard and sail to Thorpetown. If our pursuit of these convicts leads us deeper into the Pacific, we’ll try to leave word for you there.’
‘I’ll see you in two weeks, sir. If not before.’
Robertson nodded and climbed into his gig. ‘Shove off!’ he ordered the oarsmen.
Killigrew lit a cheroot and stood watching as Robertson was rowed back to the Tisiphone. The chief engineer already had steam up, and Killigrew watched the sloop move out of the bay until it disappeared to the left, heading north towards the northern tip of Tanna where it would turn north-west by north for Éfaté.
Killigrew strode back across the black sand to where the bluejackets were erecting the marquee next to Richards’ shack. Strachan had insisted on giving each and every man a full medical examination before permitting him to go ashore with a clean bill of health. None of them had turned out to have any nasty social diseases, which Killigrew suspected was a testament to the effectiveness of Strachan’s approach of assuming that boys would be boys, and teaching them how to take precautions accordingly. Mr Westlake scoffed at the practice – his philosophy was that abstinence was the best protection – and insisted that teaching such things to seamen only encouraged them to misbehave. But Robertson approved of Strachan’s approach: a seaman who could not work because he was suffering from the Haymarket gout was no use to anyone.
Not that the seamen would be permitted to sneak into the trees and get up to no good with the native girls. So far Moltata’s people had shown them nothing but hospitality, but all that might change if someone tried to seduce the chief’s daughter. So Killigrew watched the men like a hawk to make sure none of them tried to sneak away from the beach with carnal intentions in mind.
Between the marquee and the shack, Strachan was checking the equipment he had unloaded from the Tisiphone. The assistant surgeon seemed to have brought more personal belongings ashore than the rest of Killigrew’s shore party put together. The lieutenant was about to ask Strachan if all this equipment was really necessary when he heard a strange twanging sound somewhere above his head. He glanced up, twisted around, and saw an apparition so alarming he took a step back, tripping over the tripod of Strachan’s camera and falling on his back in the sand.
‘Oh, do be careful, Killigrew!’ chided Strachan. ‘You almost fell on my microscope!’
Killigrew was still staring at the apparition that squatted on the roof of Richards’ shack. Strachan followed his gaze. ‘Jings!’
It was a man – at least, more like a man than any other creature in God’s creation – a native from his physiognomy, except that his skin was a pale, ash-grey in colour, his eyes were pink, and his hair, plaited into hundreds of queues three or four inches long which stood up across his scalp, was white. He was naked but for the traditional penis-wrapper and tortoiseshell earrings. He was tattooed with raised cicatrices on his stomach and upper arms, and wore a reed through his nose. In his mouth he had a jew’s-harp, and he plucked on it; unless Killigrew was very much mistaken, the tune was ‘Oh, Susannah!’
Realising he was the subject of Killigrew’s scrutiny, the apparition took the jew’s-harp from his mouth and grinned at them, revealing a mouth full of teeth filed to sharp points, like the Krumen Killigrew had encountered on the Guinea Coast.
On the verandah in front of the shack, Richards was laughing. ‘Don’t mind him. That’s Sharky. He’s from Paama,’ he added, as if that explained everything.
Killigrew picked himself up and dusted himself down. ‘Parma?’ he echoed, thinking of ham and grated cheese.
‘It’s a small island just south of Ambrym. Sharky was the head nakaimo on the island, until he got soft on the bigman’s daughter. Unfortunately she was already betrothed to another man. When the man was killed in a shark attack, Sharky got the blame and the chief banished him.’
‘He got the blame for a shark attack?’ stammered Strachan. ‘Because his name’s Sharky?’
Richards laughed. ‘Sharky’s not his real name. His real name’s…’ Richards frowned. ‘Hey, Sharky! What the hell is your real name, anyhow?’
‘Me Sharky,’ asserted the albino, jabbing a thumb at his chest before reinserting his jew’s-harp in his mouth and plucking away tunelessly.
Richards shrugged. ‘Sharky got blamed for the shark attack because he’s a nakaimo.’
‘A nakaimo?’ said Killigrew. ‘What’s that?’
‘It’s a kind of witch doctor they have on Paama. Nakaimos are men who can turn themselves into sharks.’
‘Primitive superstitious nonsense!’ snorted Strachan. ‘Surely you don’t believe that, Captain Richards?’
‘What I believe ain’t important,’ said Richards. ‘What matters is that he believes it. And so do the rest of the kanakas.’
‘Sounds a lot like them leopard people they had on the Guinea Coast, sir,’ said Molineaux, walking over from where the rest of the bluejackets were putting the finishing touches to the marquee.
Killigrew nodded. ‘What mattered was that many of the natives actually believed that the leopard people could turn themselves into leopards to attack their enemies: the real weapon they used was fear.’
Sharky jumped down from the roof and picked up one of the complicated-looking scientific instruments Strachan had laid out on the sand. ‘Put that down!’ snapped the assistant surgeon. ‘That’s a very expensive piece of equipment!’
Angered by the assistant surgeon’s terse tone, Sharky glowered at him. Then, without taking his eyes off Strachan’s, he tossed the instrument over his shoulder. Fortunately there was nothing wrong with Richards’ reflexes, and he caught it before it hit the ground. Sharky leaped into the air, flailing his arms and legs with a wild yell, and then turned his back on Strachan and bent forwards, waggling his buttocks at him. Finally he turned, ran across to the water’s edge and dived into the sea.
‘What extraordinary behaviour!’ exclaimed Strachan.
‘You made him pretty mad, Mr Strachan,’ said Richards. ‘I shouldn’t go swimming for a while until he’s had a chance to cool off.’
‘What’s he going to do? Bite my legs off?’
Killigrew smiled. ‘With those teeth, he could probably make a fair go of it.’
Molineaux was gazing out to sea, shading his eyes with one hand. ‘I’ll say one thing for that witch doctor cove: he can hold his breath a long time.’
‘That’s the skill of being a witch doctor,’ Strachan said dismissively. ‘They don’t have any real powers, but they give the impression of having them. It’s the same as with your sleight-of-hand tricks, Molineaux. It’s nothing to do with the quickness of the hand deceiving the eye. It’s all about misdirection.’
‘There’s no misdirection in my magic tricks,’ asserted Molineaux, and produced a deck of cards from inside his jacket. He fanned them and presented them to Strachan. ‘Pick a card, sir.’
‘All right.’ Strachan took a card and glanced at it.
‘Now put it back.’
Strachan complied and Molineaux shuffled the deck. ‘Perhaps you’d like to shuffle the deck?’
‘Aye, that I would.’
The assistant surgeon was still shuffling the cards when Molineaux said: ‘Eight of hearts.’
Strachan’s jaw dropped. ‘How does he do that?’ he demanded.
‘It’s magic,’ said Molineaux.
Richards sniggered. Unlike Strachan, he had seen Killigrew glance over the assistant surgeon’s shoulder, hold up eight fingers and tap his left breast. The lieutenant and the able seaman had worked out a code of simple signals that enabled Killigrew to describe any card in the pack without speaking, and they had been using this system to tease Strachan for several weeks.
‘My granddaddy was a West Indian juju man,’ Molineaux explained to an unconvinced Strachan.
‘I thought you said your grandfather was Tom Molineaux, the pugilist?’
‘That was my other granddaddy.’
‘Hmph!’ Strachan gingerly took the scientific instrument back from Richards.
‘What the hell is this, anyhow?’ asked the trader.
‘It’s a hygrometer,’ explained Strachan.
‘Of course it is. What does it do?’
‘It measures the humidity of the air by cooling a highly polished silver cylinder and measuring the condensation point.’
‘You had to ask,’ Killigrew chided Richards.
‘That got something to do with weather forecasting?’
‘It can be used for that,’ said Strachan. ‘I’m planning to use it to measure the water content of the gases escaping from the fumaroles in that volcano.’ He pointed to where the great plume of smoke still spiralled upwards from Mount Yasur.
Richards almost choked. ‘You’re what?’
‘Oh, don’t worry. I’ve done it plenty of times before. It’s perfectly safe. As long as the volcano doesn’t erupt while you’re up there, or there isn’t an earthquake or landslide which knocks you into the crater, or you’re not overcome by noxious gases.’ Strachan would have cowered before General Tom Thumb aggressively brandishing an ostrich plume, but give him a chance to further the cause of science and he lost all sense of discretion.
‘You can’t go up that volcano, mister,’ warned Richards. ‘It’s tabu.’
‘Tabu indeed!’ snorted Strachan. ‘Primitive native superstition.’
‘Primitive native superstition it may be, but that volcano’s sacred to the natives. How would you like it if you saw a kanaka doing a naghol dive from the tower of Westminster Abbey?’
‘I’m sure I shouldn’t care one way or the other.’
‘He’s an atheist,’ explained Killigrew.
‘Aye, well, these natives are very devout as far as their own religious convictions go,’ said Richards. ‘And if they catch him profaning the slopes of Mount Yasur… there’s only one way to cleanse the desecration, and that’s the Niel Ceremony.’
‘What’s that?’ asked Killigrew.
‘That’s where they kill you and eat you.’
‘Strachan?’
‘Aye?’
‘Stay away from Mount Yasur.’
‘If you insist.’
Chapter 15
Thorpetown
‘Wher
e the blazes is it?’ demanded Robertson. ‘A little difficult to encourage trade if traders can’t even find your blessèd trading station!’
‘Should be around this next headland, sir,’ Yelverton assured him.
With both steam and a following wind full in her sails, it had taken the Tisiphone eleven hours to reach the island of Éfaté, and now she steamed clockwise round the south coast in search of Thorpetown. The island was one of the largest in the New Hebrides, much of it dominated by low rolling hills carpeted with jungle which rose in the north-west corner of the island to a rugged peak over two thousand feet high. The coast off the starboard beam was a succession of headlands and bays, with numerous native villages like the one they had seen at Port Resolution, the surrounding hills cultivated into coconut plantations, but there was no sign of anything that could remotely be described as a trading station.
The next bay was almost triangular, with a small island in the middle, near the apex. Roughly circular in shape, the island was covered in palm trees surrounded by white sand beaches, but there were native huts amongst the trees, and a couple of mission buildings.
‘According to the chart, the entrance to the harbour is somewhere behind that island,’ said Yelverton.
‘Very well,’ sighed Robertson. ‘Steer six points to port, Holcombe.’
‘Six points to port it is, sir.’ At a nod from the quartermaster, the helmsman spun the wheel and the Tisiphone turned her head to starboard, making for the back of the bay.
‘You know, I’m inclined to think we’re wasting our time here,’ grumbled Robertson. ‘If we’re having such difficulty finding the place even with a chart, what chance does this fellow Quested have?’
‘Could be he’s been here before, sir,’ said the master. ‘If I had one of Ireland’s most wanted revolutionaries and half a dozen convicts on board my ship and I wanted to lie low, I might think this was an ideal place to head for.’
Killigrew and the Incorrigibles Page 26