Monsoon

by Wilbur Smith

  Tom made plans to lay out the forecastle so that it would accommodate twenty men. He moderated his original estimate of the number of men he would need to sail and fight the ship in an emergency, and still carry a sufficient cargo of stores for a three-year cruise and trade goods to ensure a profit at the end of that time.

  As it was, the conditions in the crew’s quarters would be crowded even in fine weather when most of the men would sleep on the open deck, but in foul weather, when they were all forced below, it would become too cramped even for hardened old sea salts like the men Alf and Aboli had recruited.

  Once the new interior had been planned and the carpenters put to work, Tom and Aboli hired a ferryboat to take them downriver. When they called at Leadenhall Street, the secretary told them that Lord Childs was at the House of Lords, and would be there all day. However, he had received Tom’s note and was expecting Tom to call. His secretary handed Tom a note he had left.

  My dear Thomas,

  I was not expecting to receive word of your successes at such an early date. The cargo from your prize has already been sold to the Admiralty, and we have received a goodly price for the entire amount. I need to discuss this with you. Please attend me at the Lords, where a steward will bring a message to me in the House.

  Your servant,

  N.C.

  Tom and Aboli made their way down the embankment to where the enormous edifice of government, the Palace of Westminster, stood on the bank of the Thames. The steward accepted the letter that Tom proffered at the visitors’ door of the House of Lords, and he waited for a remarkably short time before Lord Childs, looking flustered and distraught, came puffing down the stairs and seized Tom’s arm. Without any preamble he blurted out, ‘Your brother, William, is in the House. I left him not ten minutes hence. You should have given me warning of the state of affairs that exists between you.’ He shouted for his carriage. ‘I think you should be warned that he is intent on retribution for the injuries you have done him.’

  ‘’Tis Billy who was to blame,’ Tom started angrily, but Childs bundled him in through the door of the carriage as it drew up at the entrance. ‘Bombay House!’ he ordered the driver. ‘As fast as you like.’ Then he tumbled onto the seat beside Tom. ‘Your boatswain can ride up with the footman,’ he said, and Tom shouted to Aboli to climb on the footplate.

  The carriage started off with a jerk, and Childs lifted his wig to mop his pate. ‘Your brother is a major shareholder in the Company. Not a man to trifle with. He must not see us together. For the sake of good order, I have told him that I have had no dealings with you.’

  ‘He cannot do anything to me,’ Tom said, with more certainty than he felt. He had to cling to the side strap of the lurching carriage and raise his voice above the clatter of hoofs and the thunder of the steel-shod wheels over the cobbles.

  ‘I think you underestimate the strength of your brother’s animosity, Courtney,’ said Childs, and he stuffed the wig back on his shaven head. ‘No matter what the right and wrong of the situation, if a person in my position – dare I say a man of certain influence? – does not wish to fall foul of him, then how much more should you, a disinherited younger son, keep out of the path of his vengeance?’ Childs was silent a little while, then said reflectively, ‘I have seldom heard such malice, such pure venom, from any other human being.’

  They were silent for the rest of the drive to Bombay House. However, when they drove in through the gates Childs leaned out of the window and called to the driver, ‘Take us to the stables, not the main door.’

  In the stableyard he led Tom to a small rear door into the mansion. ‘I know your brother has spies out looking for you. It is best that he does not learn of our meeting today.’

  Tom hurried after Childs along what seemed an endless series of passages and stairways, until he found himself in a small cabinet with tapestry-hung walls and a large ormolu and gilt escritoire in the centre of the floor. Childs waved him to a chair beside his own, then scrabbled through the documents that covered the top of the desk and picked out one. ‘Here is the bill of sale of the cargo of canvas from the French sloop Hirondelle to the Admiralty.’ He passed it to Tom. ‘You will see that I have deducted the usual handling fee from the total.’

  ‘Twenty per cent!’ Tom burst out in amazement.

  ‘It is customary,’ Childs said briskly. ‘If you care to reread our agreement, you will see it is covered in clause fifteen.’

  Tom made a gesture of resignation. ‘What about the Hirondelle, herself? Will you take your twenty per cent on her value also?’

  They began to bargain, and Tom soon discovered why Nicholas Childs had risen so high in the world of trade and commerce. He had the sinking feeling that he was matched against a swordsman far out of his class. At one point Childs excused himself and left Tom alone for so long that he began to fidget and finally jumped up from the chair to pace the room impatiently.

  Meanwhile, in the room next door Childs dashed off a long message on a sheet of parchment. While he sanded and folded it, he told his secretary quietly, ‘Send Barnes to me.’

  When the coachman stood before him, Childs said, ‘Barnes, this message is for Lord Courtney at the House of Lords. You must see it safely into his hands. ’Tis a matter of life and death.’

  ‘Very good, my lord.’

  ‘When you return, I shall want you to take my guest and his servant to the river landing at the Tower of London. However, you are not to proceed there immediately. This is what you are to do . . .’ Childs gave the driver detailed instructions, and when he had finished asked, ‘Do you understand, Barnes?’

  ‘Perfectly, my lord.’

  Childs bustled back into the cabinet where Tom waited and made his apologies. ‘Forgive me, but there were demanding matters to which I had to attend with despatch.’ He patted Tom’s arm genially. ‘Now, back to business.’

  By the middle of that afternoon Tom found that he had the deeds of ownership to the Hirondelle, but that he would receive no monies from the sale of the cargo. In addition, Nicholas Childs had wanted to retain a 25 per cent interest in any future profits that Tom accrued under the commission Childs had procured for him. Tom knew that he was a chicken to Childs’s fox, but he held out stubbornly.

  The one thing Tom had in his favour was that Childs had not seen the Swallow, and the description he had been given did not do the sloop justice, so did not excite his avarice. Childs had no employment for such a tiny craft and Tom sensed that he was willing to let her go. He stood his ground and, in the end, Childs dropped his exorbitant demands, and agreed to deliver the deeds of the sloop to Tom clear of any impediment to the title. In exchange Childs retained the proceeds of the cargo.

  Childs looked well pleased with his bargain, as well he should, Tom thought grimly. He wondered how he was going to be able to explain to the men who had fought to seize the Hirondelle in Calais Roads that they would not be seeing any monetary rewards for their efforts.

  ‘You would be a wise man, Courtney, to leave England as soon as you can hoist a sail, and to stay at the ends of the ocean as long as your brother’s memory lasts.’ Childs smiled magnanimously. ‘I am offering the means for you to escape from a dangerous situation with your hide intact.’

  At that juncture there was a soft tap on the door of the cabinet, and the secretary stepped in at Childs’s command. ‘The matter has been attended to, my lord. Barnes has returned and is waiting to convey your guests.’

  ‘Very good.’ Childs nodded. ‘Excellent, indeed.’ He rose at once to his feet and smiled at Tom. ‘I think that concludes our business, Courtney. I understand you wish to take a ferry-boat from the Tower?’

  In friendly fashion he saw Tom to the front door of the mansion, where Barnes waited with the carriage. As they shook hands, Childs asked guilelessly, ‘Where will you take your new ship? And when will you sail?’

  Tom knew that the question was barbed and he sidestepped the thrust. ‘I have only this minute become her new ow
ner.’ He laughed. ‘I have not yet had time to consider that question.’ Childs was staring into his eyes, watching for any attempt to prevaricate, and Tom was forced to go on. ‘I think the ports of southern France on the Mediterranean would be my best area of endeavour. Or perhaps the French territory of Louisiana on the Gulf of Mexico. I might take the Swallow, for that is her new name, across the Atlantic.’

  Childs grunted, not entirely convinced. ‘I do most sincerely hope, Courtney, that you do not harbour any thought of rounding the Cape of Good Hope and searching for your lost brother in the Ocean of the Indies?’

  ‘Sweet Jesus, no, sir!’ Tom laughed again. ‘I am not fool enough to try the Cape of Storms in a paper hat like the Swallow.’

  ‘All the territories beyond the Cape have been granted by royal charter to the Honourable Company. Any interloper will be dealt with in the harshest manner the law allows.’ It was clear from the steely gleam in his blue eyes that he would not be bound by the law in his retribution. There was an old maritime saying that ‘There is no law beyond the line’, which meant that civilized law did not always apply at the ends of the ocean.

  Childs gripped his arm hard to make the point unmistakable. ‘In fact, I think you would be wise to fear me more than your brother, if you were rash enough to sail across my bows.’

  ‘I assure you, my lord, that I look upon you as my good friend and that I would do nothing to change that,’ Tom told him earnestly.

  ‘Then we understand each other.’ Childs masked his hard expression with a smile as earnest as Tom’s, and they shook hands. It matters not a jot, Childs told himself smugly. I think this lad’s final destination is in the hands of his elder brother now. Aloud he said, ‘Go with God,’ and added silently, Or the devil! and waved a pudgy white hand.

  Tom leaped lightly into the carriage and beckoned Aboli to take the seat beside him. Childs stepped back and nodded at the coachman, who returned a significant look then touched the brim of his hat with the whip. He shook up the reins, and the carriage rolled away.

  Tom and Aboli were so deep in conversation that neither noticed the route the driver followed. The narrow streets were so homogeneous that there were no landmarks for them to orientate themselves. As the carriage lurched along, Tom related to Aboli all the details of the meeting with Childs.

  At the end Aboli said, ‘It is not as bad a bargain as you think, Klebe. You have the Swallow, and a crew to sail her.’

  ‘I have to pay Luke Jervis and the men who came with us to Calais out of my own purse,’ Tom demurred. ‘They are expecting a share of the cargo.’

  ‘Offer them a share and a berth in this next voyage. It will make them more eager to serve.’

  ‘I have but six hundred pounds left of my prize money from the Seraph to fit out the Swallow and provision her.’

  ‘No,’ said Aboli. ‘You have twelve hundred pounds.’

  ‘What nonsense is this, Aboli?’ Tom turned in the seat to stare at him.

  ‘I have the prize money I earned with your father during all the years we sailed together. I will add it to yours.’ Aboli shrugged. ‘I have no other use for it.’

  ‘You will be my full partner. I will sign a deed.’ Tom made no effort to hide his delight.

  ‘If I cannot trust you by now,’ Aboli almost smiled, ‘what good will a piece of paper do me? It is only money, Klebe.’

  ‘With twelve hundred pounds we can refit and provision the Swallow, and fill her holds with trade goods. You will not regret this, my old friend, I swear it to you.’

  ‘I regret few things in my life,’ Aboli said impassively. ‘And when we find Dorian I will have no regrets at all. Now, if you have done chattering, I will sleep a little.’

  He leaned back in the seat and closed his eyes. Tom studied his face surreptitiously, musing on the simple philosophy and inner strength that made Aboli a man content and complete in himself. He is without vice, Tom thought, not driven by the need to command or to amass wealth, possessed of a strong sense of loyalty and honour, a stoic and a man of deep natural wisdom, a man at peace with himself, able to enjoy all the gifts he has been given by his strange forest gods, and to endure without complaint all the ills and hardships the world can hurl against him.

  He studied the polished black cranium on which grew not a single hair, neither black nor silver, to betray his age. Then he looked closer at the face. The elaborate patterns of the tattoo that covered it hid any ravages that time might have left upon it. I wonder how old he truly is? He seemed as ageless as a cliff of black obsidian, although he must have been a great deal older than Tom’s father, none of his faculties or strength had been impaired by the passing of the years. He is all I have left now, Tom thought, and found himself in awe at the depth of his respect and affection for the big man. He is my father and my counsellor. More than that, he is my friend.

  Without opening his eyes, Aboli spoke suddenly, startling Tom from his reverie. ‘This is not the way to the river.’

  ‘How do you know that?’ Tom glanced out of the window, and saw only dark buildings that seemed derelict in the eerie fading light. The narrow streets were deserted, except for a few stray heavily cloaked figures hurrying he knew not where, or standing, sinister and still, in dark doorways, their faces hidden so he could not tell if they were man or woman. ‘How do you know?’ he repeated.

  ‘We have been travelling away from the river,’ Aboli said. ‘Long ago we should have reached the landing at the Tower, if that is where he is taking us.’

  Tom did not doubt Aboli’s sense of time and direction: it was infallible. He leaned out of the window and hailed the driver on the box. ‘Where are you taking us, fellow?’

  ‘Where his lordship ordered. To Spitalfields Market.’

  ‘No, you idiot,’ Tom shouted, ‘we want to go to the Tower of London.’

  ‘I must have heard wrong. I’m sure his lordship ordered—’

  ‘A pox on what his lordship said! Take us where I tell you. We need a ferry-boat to take us upriver.’

  Grumbling loudly, the driver turned the carriage, backing and filling in the narrow lane, with the footman tugging at the bridle of the lead horse to force him to obey. ‘We will not get there till after six of the clock,’ the driver warned Tom. ‘You will find no ferry-boat at that hour.’

  ‘We will take our chance on that,’ Tom snarled back at him. ‘Do as you are told, man.’

  Sullenly, the driver whipped up the horses into a trot, and they lurched and swayed through the ruts and puddles back the way they had come. Gradually they were enveloped in a soft, creeping fog that heralded the approach of evening. The buildings they passed now were wreathed in smoking grey tendrils and even the sounds of the carriage wheels and the horses’ hoofs were deadened by the thick white blanket. It was colder suddenly. Tom shivered and drew his cloak closer around his shoulders.

  ‘Is your sword loose in its scabbard, Klebe?’ Aboli asked.

  Tom looked at him in alarm. ‘Why do you ask?’ But he laid his hand upon the blue sapphire in the hilt and held the scabbard tight between his knees.

  ‘You may have need of it,’ Aboli grunted. ‘I smell treachery. The fat old man sent us out of our way for good reason.’

  ‘It was a mistake by the driver,’ Tom said, but Aboli laughed softly.

  ‘It was no mistake, Klebe.’ His eyes were open now, and he eased his own sword in its scabbard, drawing the blade an inch then reseating it with a soft, scraping sound. After another long silence he spoke again. ‘We are near the river now.’ Tom opened his mouth to ask how he knew, but Aboli forestalled him. ‘I can feel the damp and smell the water.’

  Hardly had he spoken when they came out of the narrow lane, and the coachman reined in his team on the edge of a stone wharf. Tom looked out. The surface of the river was steaming with mist so dense that he could not see the far bank. The light was going fast now, and with the darkness came a sense of icy foreboding.

  ‘This is not the landing,’ Tom challenged
the driver.

  ‘Follow the path down that way.’ The man pointed with his whip. ‘’Tis no more than two hundred paces from here.’

  ‘Drive us there, if it’s so close.’ Tom’s suspicions were fully aroused.

  ‘The coach is too wide for the path, and it is a long way round by the road. It will take you but a minute on foot.’

  Aboli touched Tom’s arm, and said softly, ‘Do as he says. If this is a trap, we are better able to defend ourselves in the open.’

  They clambered down onto the muddy verge, and the coachman smirked at them. ‘A proper gentleman would have a sixpence for my trouble.’

  ‘I am no gentleman, and you have taken no trouble,’

  Tom replied. ‘Next time listen to your orders and bring us on the right road.’

  The driver cracked his whip angrily, and the carriage rumbled away. They watched the sidelights disappear back up the lane, and Tom took a deep breath. The river stench was strong, damp and clammy cold, thick with the raw sewage that drained directly into its waters. The mist opened and closed like a curtain, playing tricks on the eye. But the towpath along the bank lay in front of them. On their left there was a drop of two fathoms or more from the edge to the water below, and a blank brick wall hedged it in on the right.

  ‘Take the right side,’ Aboli murmured. ‘I will be on the river verge.’

  Tom saw that he had shifted his scabbard on to his right hip: he had arranged it so that if he fought left-handed, which, of course, he could, they would not hamper each other’s sword arms. ‘Stay to the centre of the path.’

  They stepped onto the towpath shoulder to shoulder, their cloaks drawn up to the chin but ready to throw open in an instant and clear their sword arms. The silence and the gathering darkness pressed in upon them. There was a faint glimmer of light through the mist ahead, just sufficient to illuminate the edge of the stone wharf. As they moved towards it, Tom saw that it was a single unmasked lantern.