Agent Provocateur

by Christopher C Tubbs

Both men were sweating and grinning as they disengaged. Marty looked around and saw Sihng in the crowd, who looked him in the eyes, clapped his hands, and bowed slightly. Marty walked over to him as he put his blade back in its sheath.

  “You are an exceptional knife fighter, my Lord,” he observed wryly, “Do they teach officers in the British Navy that?”

  “Not the officers,” Marty replied

  Sihng raised his eyebrow at that and cocked his head slightly to one side.

  “I came up from the ranks.”

  “Oh, I didn’t know.”

  “Why should you. My past isn’t public knowledge. Do you want to join me and my men at weapons practice?”

  Sihng looked surprised and then nodded.

  “I would be honoured to. Do you practice every day?”

  “We try to. It pays to be honed in our profession, doesn’t it?”

  “I will change into something more suitable and join you directly,” Sihng said as he turned away.

  Marty had the boys pair up for sword drill next and found that a number of passengers were asking if they could join in. Marty was organizing pairings when Sihng returned. He was dressed in a blue coat that was longer at the back than the front, white, baggy, knee-length trousers, and a conical turban with a trident mounted on it. He wore his knife and a straight bladed sword.

  “Are you rested?” He asked Marty.

  Marty grinned and said,

  “You want to fence?”

  “I doubt you fence.” Sign grinned back.

  “Well, you are a site bigger than me, but I’ll give yer a go.” Marty laughed.

  Marty drew his hanger and Sihng his Khanda. Marty evaluated it in a glance. The blade was broader at the point than the hilt and the point was blunt, both edges were sharp, and one side had a strengthening plate along most of its length. The hilt had a large plate and finger guard connected to the pommel, which was round and flat with a spike projecting from its center.

  Marty was also evaluating Sihng. He had extraordinary reach due to his height. He looked balanced in his stance with his weight evenly spread and knees bent. He held his sword upright with his left hand flat against the blade. His eyes were fixed on Marty’s.

  Marty held his sword low and circled to his left.

  Sihng matched him.

  Marty feigned an attack from low to high.

  Sihng swayed away and attacked with a wide sweep of his sword at Marty’s head.

  Marty ducked under it and made a backhand swing of his own, forcing him to jump back.

  Sihng smiled and went back into guard position.

  Marty settled again.

  Sihng stamped and yelled and launched a flurry of slashing blows, which Marty parried or deflected as he waited for an opening.

  There! He over extended a fraction, and Marty launched a counter attack.

  Alternate high and low then a swing to his sternum.

  Sihng swung away and kept spinning bringing his sword around in a spiral from above his head to…

  Plant the point firmly against Marty’s breastbone.

  Marty sat down with a thud all the wind knocked out of him.

  Sihng stepped forward, sheathing his sword and held out his hand. Marty took it and was helped to his feet.

  “You fight well, my Lord,” Sihng said, “But you should expect the unexpected.”

  Marty looked down and said,

  “So should you.”

  Sihng looked down and saw the fighting knife in Marty’s left hand just touching his coat under his ribs.

  He burst out laughing and clapped Marty on the shoulder.

  “So I should! So I should! I think we can call that a draw.”

  Marty put the knife away and shook the big man’s hand.

  “Would you and Lady Candor give me the pleasure of your company at dinner tonight?” asked Sihng. “My cook is especially talented.”

  Marty grinned and replied,

  “It would be our pleasure, and my name is Martin and my wife is Caroline.”

  “And mine is Ranjit. Would seven thirty suit?”

  “Perfectly.”

  “I will see you in my suite then.”

  “Dinner with the Indian? What do they eat? Can we eat the same food as them?” Caroline asked with concern as she put the finishing touches to her hair.

  “I am sure we can, and I don’t expect they eat anything that different from us,” Marty replied as he tried to tie his cravat.

  Caroline took over, got it in place, and pinned it with a diamond tipped silver pin.

  “Do they even eat at the table like we do?”

  “Well, we will find out soon, its time to go,” Marty said as he pulled on his jacket.

  They left their suit and found their way to Ranjit’s. Marty knocked, and the door was opened by a servant. They were bowed in. Inside the living room, a dining table and chairs had been set up and there was a wonderful smell coming from what must have been the kitchen in what, in their suit, was the second bedroom.

  Ranjit was there and greeted them with a smile and a bow with his hands together over his heart like he was praying.

  “Namaste!” he said to each of them then explained that it was the traditional greeting in India and translated to “I bow to you.”

  Marty filed that away as the first word in his new Hindi dictionary.

  They were shown to the table and served a glass of dry white wine.

  “An indulgence,” Ranjit explained, “I developed a taste for wine during my travels around Europe. In India, we drink an alcoholic beverage made from sugar cane juice. It is more alcoholic but nowhere near as nice.”

  Just then, a beautiful woman entered from the bedroom. She was moderately tall, probably about five feet six, slender and dressed in a silk dress that was wrapped around her in an intricate style. She had gold jewellery on her hair and face with an opal drop hanging to the middle of her forehead. There was a gold chain running from her left ear to a stud in the side of her nose. She had huge brown eyes and was delicately made up.

  Marty stood and Ranjit introduced her as Surinda, his wife. Looking past her to the bedroom, he could see a small face peering at them. Seeing him look, Ranjit spotted the boy and went to the door and picked him up.

  “This is my son, ApaRanjit, he is four years old and it is time for him to be in bed.” With that, he went to the door and handed him over to a woman they assumed was his Nany.

  The door to the kitchen opened, and the servant brought in a tray with what looked like pastries and fritters on. It was placed on the table with small bowls of different coloured condiments.

  “These are little appetisers,” Surinda explained in a deep and strongly accented voice. “The triangular ones are Samosa and are pastries filled with spiced vegetables and fried. The round ones are pakoras, which are batter balls with vegetables. The last is Onion Bhaji. That is onion coated in a spiced gram batter. You can dip them in the different chutneys. She went on to describe each of the different chutneys and whether they were sweet, or sour or spicy or cooling.”

  Marty found them all wonderful except the lime chutney that was also very, very hot!

  They chatted as they grazed and soon realized that an Indian meal was as much about chatting and getting to know each other than just eating.

  They found out that Ranjit was an emissary for one of the major Maharajas who was a strong supporter of the British. He had many dealings with the company and was privy to Martin’s real purpose for being on this trip. He was a font of knowledge and was generous with it.

  The second course arrived and was a selection of fragrant dishes of meat in rich sauces. Surinda explained what each was.

  “Here we have Murgh Makhani,” she said, pointing to a dish of chicken in an ochre coloured sauce. “It is quite mild and has a lot of butter in it.” The next dish looked like pieces of red roasted chicken.

  “This is Tandoori chicken. It is chicken that has been marinated in yoghurt and spices and then roasted
in a Tandoor oven at a very high temperature. It is difficult to make on a wooden ship and we had to make a special oven with extra layers of firebrick to protect the floor.”

  She went on to describe the other eight dishes on the table. Some were made of something called lentils and looked like a paste but tasted wonderful. There was rice flavoured with saffron. There were potato and vegetable dishes and breads. It was a feast!

  They tried everything. One of the Dahl dishes was fiery, causing Marty to reach for his wine but Ranjit stopped him and passed him a glass of what looked like milk but tasted of fruit with a slightly sour taste. It was called lassi, was delicious, and killed the fire.

  After they had finished and thought they could eat no more, a tray of sweets was brought out. There were spirals of batter soaked in sugar syrup called Jilebi, balls of dough made from whey also soaked in fragrantly spiced sugar syrup called Gulab Jamun, Pistachio flavoured sweet cakes and many more.

  The servants quickly cleared the table, and they sat in comfortable chairs to talk. The ladies together and the men slightly apart from them so they could talk.

  “Do you have any ideas where the French might be based?” Marty asked after they had talked about the political situation for a few minutes.

  “Nothing definite.” Ranjit replied. “The discontent is centred in Tamil Nadu. Madras is the headquarters of the Company in that area. There are a number of leaders.

  Oomaithurai. The younger brother of Kattabomman who led the uprising last year and was captured by the British.

  Marutha Pandiyar. He and his brothers are chieftains in Sivagangai province.

  And the most dangerous of them all Kerala Simham, The Lion of Kerala. That is a province to the west of Tamil Nadu.

  They are getting arms and advice on modern tactics from somewhere and we believe it is the French supplying it.”

  “Who is on charge over there?”

  “Arthur Wellesley is the Governor of `Mysore, and he will take command of the joint British army and Company regiments. He is an officer making a name for himself.”

  “So, I am to cut off the French supply of arms and advice.”

  Ranjit nodded.

  The next few weeks went by slowly. Marty wasn’t suited to be a passenger. He ran regular weapons training classes but felt in need of more exercise so in a moment of frustration, he challenged the ship’s crew to a race to the top of each of the three masts in turn.

  The captain was persuaded to agree to it and he chose four of his topmen to compete against Marty and the three Basques.

  This type of entertainment was rare onboard ship and it prompted a rash of betting amongst the passengers with some extremely large sums being laid down. Rumour had it that the general had bet the captain a thousand pounds, which was an incredible amount.

  They were in the Tropics by the time the race came due and with due ceremony Ranjit, as a neutral, got to flip the coin to choose which side of the mast each team would take. Marty lost, and the ship’s team chose the weather side. That gave them a small advantage as the heal of the ship would give them a less steep climb.

  General Lake had the honour of starting the race that would be a relay. Matai would go first and take the foremast, Antton the main, Garai the mizzen and finally Marty the main. He stood on the quarterdeck next to the captain with pistol raised. All the passengers were gathered along the rails and cheering for their favourites.

  “Are you ready?” Called the general.

  “Aye!” the contestants roared back.

  “Set!”

  Bang!

  Matai leapt onto the ratlines and shot upwards and his opponent matched him step for step. Up and over the futtock shrouds hanging almost forty-five degrees out by their fingers and toes. Then up the foretopmast to the fore royal and finally to the fore truck then back to the deck by the mainstay.

  As soon as their feet touched the deck, a mate blew a whistle and the next could go. Matai had created a small lead so Antton was a couple of yards up the main by the time the crewman got started.

  He focused on going up and over the futtock shrouds and was surprised when he saw the legs of his opponent level with his eyes. He upped his efforts, but the man was half monkey and reached the top a good four body lengths ahead of him. He was half way down a stay before Antton started down. Antton did the only thing he could. He slid down the stay rather than go hand over hand.

  The consequence was that he landed only two seconds behind, but his hands were burnt from the friction.

  Garai shot up the mizzen mast. If anything, he was the most agile of the three. He overtook the other man by the time they got into the futtock shrouds. As they got into the mizzen topgallant shrouds, he had a length on him. As he passed him on his way down the mizzen truck, he felt a blow to the side of his head. That bastard just kicked me, he thought as he shook his head to clear it.

  By the time he recovered and got moving again, his lead was gone and it was a straight race to the bottom via the stays.

  Marty waited at the foot of the Mainmast ratlines. His opponent opposite him. He was watching Garai and saw the kick and held his breath as he regained his hold. The two men hit the deck almost at the same time and he turned to climb and saw his opponent had already left.

  He set off fast but made sure he paced himself. It was a long climb and he needed to keep the pace up all the way to the top. The gap to the other man was about two body lengths and holding. Up and over the main futtock shrouds hanging by his fingers and toes at forty-five degrees. Then up the main topmast to the topgallant and the royal. He was now neck and neck. He looked at the other man who was red in the face and blowing hard.

  Marty put on a sprint and reached the masthead first. He started down heading for a backstay passing the other man and watching him carefully for any kicks. He hit the backstay and started down. His opponent, in desperation, started to slide and howled in pain as his hands burnt.

  Then as he was level with Marty, he let go! He fell the forty feet to the deck landing with a sickening thud. There were screams from the onlookers as Marty got to the bottom and ran to him.

  He was still alive, but both his legs were broken and Marty wasn’t sure he hadn’t broken his back as well. Caroline was suddenly beside him, knelt beside the stricken man and cradled his head.

  “What is your name?” she asked.

  “Eddings, Andrew Eddings mam,” he croaked in reply.

  “Someone call the surgeon!” Marty cried.

  “I am here, sir,” said a grey haired man in a dark suit who knelt beside him and started an examination. He felt Eddings’ legs then took a pin from his lapel and stuck it in at several points running up from his thigh to his chest. There was no response until he got to just above his sternum.

  “Bring a plank,” he ordered.

  They gently manoeuvred him onto the plank, and his mates took him down to the Orlop.

  The captain and general had been watching the whole drama unfold from the quarterdeck. As the man was taken below, he called for everyone’s attention.

  “What should have been a contest between men has had a tragic end,” he said in a voice that carried to everyone on the deck. “By the rules, the Hindostan crew forfeit the race as they didn’t complete the climb.”

  Marty looked up and was about to say something, but the general stopped him by raising a hand.

  “Our decision is that the result,” he paused and cast an eye across the deck, “Will stand!”

  There were cheers and groans from the passengers and crew as money changed hands.

  Chapter 18: Stormed

  Marty had protested that he felt that the result should have been declared void, but the two older men had stood their ground.

  “We had to let the result stand,” explained the General over dinner, “To void the result just because a man was hurt wouldn’t have gone down at all well. We have to think of the passengers as well.”

  “I could have saved myself a lot of money,” ch
ipped in the captain with a wry smile, “That fall cost me a thousand pounds.”

  Just then, a crewman entered the dining room and made his way to the captain and whispered something to him.

  “Excuse me,” he apologized as he folded his napkin onto his plate. “There is bad weather building ,and I am needed on deck.”

  He left, and Marty could feel the deck beginning to move as the sea picked up. They were in the South Atlantic, nine weeks into their journey and had been lucky with the weather so far. That, it seemed, was about to change.

  Before brandy was served, the ship was beginning to roll and pitch heavily and a crewman came and asked all passengers to return to their suites. That in itself would have been difficult with the ship’s motion but as half of the passengers were drunk it became quite chaotic.

  Marty got Caroline back to theirs and then went to help some of the others. He returned after an hour and gave her a wicked grin.

  “Some of them are regretting the extra brandies.” He laughed, “It doesn’t sit well in a storm.”

  “I can imagine,” Caroline said, looking pale and holding one hand to her stomach.

  “You too?” Marty grinned as he led her into the bedroom and got her sat on the bed. He got the washbowl from the stand and put it on the pillow beside her.

  “Go away!” She said wretchedly as she cast the first of her accounts.

  He left her to it and went to check on Bethany and her nurse, who was bearing up better than Caroline. He then gave instructions to the maid of all works to attend her ladyship.

  He pulled on a coat and went to see what was going on up in deck. The storm was building, and the wind was screeching through the rigging. Waves were crashing over the bow and he could see that they had only got storm sails set.

  “Permission to come on the quarterdeck,” he shouted towards the captain, who was hanging on to a stay on the weather side.

  “Granted!” he shouted back.

  Marty made his way over.

  “Cutting up a bit!” he grinned.

  “You must be the only passenger enjoying it. How is her ladyship?”

  “Casting offerings to God the last time I saw her.”