Monsoon

by Wilbur Smith

  A servant answered Tom’s ring at the outer gates in the wall, and Tom sent him with a note to his master. After a few minutes the man returned. Tom left Aboli to wait for him in the courtyard and followed him.

  The main house was laid out around gardens and fountains in the Oriental style of architecture. The ceilings were high but the rooms sparsely furnished. There were, however, vases of tropical flowers in the rooms through which the servant led Tom, and these floral decorations and the arrangement of cushions on the austere hardwood furniture suggested a feminine hand. At last the servant led Tom into a large room with stone floors and bookcases lining the walls.

  ‘Please to wait here, effendi. The master will come soon.’

  Left to himself, Tom looked up at the slowly revolving fan and the arrangement of lines and pulleys that led through a hole in the wall to where a slave pulled rhythmically on a line to keep the fan turning.

  Tom walked to the writing-desk in the centre of the floor, and glanced at the quill stand and ink-pot, set out precisely, and at the piles of documents bound with red ribbon and stacked with military precision. Then he turned from the desk and wandered along the bookshelves, trying to divine from their contents the character of the man he had come to meet. The shelves were filled with heavy ledgers and bound reports with the Company emblem embossed on the spine. There was nothing of a personal nature on display and the room had a soulless feel to it.

  He was alerted by a footstep on the flags on the terrace outside the entrance to the inner courtyard, and he turned just as a tall, lean figure appeared in the doorway. The bright tropical sun was behind him, so Tom did not recognize him at once. The consul stopped and let his eyes adjust to the gloom of the room after the brilliant sunshine outside. He was dressed in a sober black serge costume with a white lace collar.

  Then he stepped into the room and removed the wide-brimmed black hat from his head. Tom saw his face clearly for the first time. For a long moment his astonishment was so intense that he could neither move nor speak. Then he laughed and started forward. ‘Guy! Is it really you?’ Impulsively he opened his arms to embrace his twin brother.

  It was obvious that Guy Courtney’s surprise was as great as Tom’s. A host of differing emotions showed briefly on his face, then were gone. His features became cold and stiff, and he stepped back from Tom’s embrace.

  ‘Thomas,’ he said. ‘I had no idea that it was you. You signed a false name on your note.’

  ‘Neither had I any idea that it was you,’ Tom said, and let his welcoming arms fall to his sides. He avoided the accusation of using a false name. He had deemed it wise not to use his real name here, in case by some strange chance a warrant for the murder of William had reached Zanzibar ahead of him. He watched Guy’s expression for some sign that this had happened, and judged that he could not rely on his twin to shelter him from justice.

  They stared at each other in silence for a minute, which seemed to Tom like all eternity. Then Guy held out his right hand. With relief Tom took it.

  Guy’s grip was limp and hisfleshascool ashis expression. He dropped Tom’s hand after only a brief contact, then turned away to his desk. ‘Please be seated, Thomas.’ He indicated the high-backed chair across the room, without looking directly at his brother. ‘I trust that you have not returned to these waters to indulge in any form of trade. The fact that you use an assumed name makes me think that that may be the case.’ When Tom did not reply at once, he went on, ‘I must warn you that my first loyalty is to the Company,’ he made it sound as though he was invoking the name of God, ‘and I will immediately send a report to London.’

  Tom stared at him, feeling his anger boil up swiftly. ‘Merciful heavens, Guy, is that your first concern? Are we not brothers? Do you not want to know about Father and Dorian?’

  ‘I am already aware of Father’s death. The Company ship that lies in the harbour this day brought me a letter from Lord Childs and from our brother William in England,’ Guy replied. Tom felt a surge of relief at this confirmation that he had not yet heard of William’s death.

  Guy replaced the quill in its holder, and went on, ‘I have mourned Father’s passing in my own way so there is nothing more to say on that score.’ His mouth hardened. ‘Besides, you were always his favourite. I meant little to him.’

  ‘That is not true, Guy. Father loved us all equally,’ Tom burst out.

  ‘So you say.’ Guy shrugged. ‘As for Dorian, I heard that he was lost at sea, drowned and dead.’

  ‘No, he was not.’ Tom made no effort to keep his voice down. ‘He was captured by the Mussulmen and sold into slavery.’

  Guy laughed without humour. ‘You were always one for a wild tale. I assure you as His Majesty’s consul in these territories I have access to the most reliable sources of information.’

  Despite his denial, Tom thought he detected a shiftiness in his expression. ‘I was there, damn you, Guy. I saw it with my own eyes.’

  Guy seated himself behind the desk and fiddled with the quill, stroking his own cheek with the plume. ‘Ah, you actually saw him sold into slavery? How surprising that you did nothing to prevent it.’

  ‘No, you puffed-up jackanapes!’ Tom bellowed. ‘I know that he was in the power of the Mussulman pirates, captured and not dead or drowned. I also know for certain that he was sold into slavery.’

  ‘What proof do you—’ Guy started, but Tom strode to the desk and slammed his hands on the top so that ink spurted up and splattered the piles of documents.

  ‘The testimony of the Arabs we captured at Flor de la Mar, and proof of my own eyes and senses. Dorian is alive, I tell you, and it is your duty as a brother and an Englishman to help me find him.’

  Guy leaped to his feet. His face was icy pale, his eyes blazing. ‘How dare you come here into my house, into my territory, in your old overweening, blustering style and dictate to me what I must do?’ he screamed at Tom, drops of spittle flying from his lips.

  ‘Sweet Christ, Guy, don’t tempt me further. I’ll whip the hide off your craven back if you don’t do your duty by our little brother.’

  ‘Those days are long past, Thomas Courtney. I am the master here, the chosen representative of His Majesty and of the Company. You will find yourself thrown into prison, your fine ship seized and confiscated if you raise a hand to me.’ He was shaking with rage. ‘Don’t you dare preach to me, not after what you did to Caroline!’ His voice rose to a shriek at her name, and Tom recoiled as though struck in the chest by a musket-ball.

  At the same time Guy stepped back, clearly appalled by what he had allowed to slip past his tongue in anger. Tom was cast into confusion by the accusation, which had struck home. They stared at each other speechlessly, and in the silence a small sound made them both turn to the door that led in from the garden.

  A woman stood there. She was dressed in a pale green dress of Chinese silk, with slashed sleeves and high neck. Her full skirts covered her ankles and only the toes of her slippers showed. She was staring at Tom as though at her own ghost. One hand clutched her throat, the other held the hand of the child who toddled beside her.

  ‘What are you doing here, Caroline?’ Guy roared. ‘You know well that you may not come here when I have visitors.’

  ‘I heard voices.’ Caroline faltered. Her hair was piled high in curls upon her head and ringlets hung down on her cheeks, but Tom saw that she was sallow of countenance, as though she had recently risen from a sick-bed. ‘I heard my name called out.’ She was still staring at Tom.

  The child was in a smock and ribbons. His head was covered with blond curls and Tom had the impression of an angelic little face and perfect pink lips.

  ‘Who’s that man?’ said the infant, and pointed at Tom with a chuckle.

  ‘Take Christopher out of here,’ Guy shouted at Caroline. ‘Immediately!’

  Caroline seemed not to have heard him. ‘Tom?’ she said, in a wondering, bemused tone. ‘I never thought to see you again.’ Christopher hung on her hand and tr
ied to take an unsteady step towards him, but she pulled him back gently. ‘How are you, Tom?’

  ‘In good health,’ Tom replied awkwardly, ‘as I trust you are.’

  ‘I have been ill,’ Caroline whispered, staring at him. She moistened her lips. ‘Since the birth of our—’ She paused, blushing and thrown into confusion. ‘The birth of Christopher.’

  ‘I am sorry.’ A shadow of regret passed over Tom’s face. ‘Your family. How are your parents and your sisters?’ He had to think of their names. ‘Agnes and Sarah?’

  ‘My father was appointed Governor of Bombay. He arranged the post of consul here in Zanzibar for Guy.’ She glanced nervously at her husband, who was still glaring at her. ‘My mother died of the cholera a year ago.’

  ‘I am so sorry,’ Tom interjected. ‘She was a delightful lady.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Caroline inclined her head sadly. ‘My sister Agnes married in Bombay.’

  ‘But she was so young!’ Tom protested, remembering those two tomboy sisters from the Seraph.

  ‘She is no longer a child. She is seventeen,’ Caroline corrected him. They were silent again, and Guy sank down into his chair, no longer trying to assert his authority over his wife.

  Involuntarily, Tom looked down at the child who clung to Caroline’s skirts. ‘He is a beautiful child.’ He raised his eyes back to her face.

  She nodded, as though to a question that had not been uttered. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘He is like his father.’

  Tom had an almost irresistible urge to go to the laughing infant and pick him up. Instead he stepped back a pace to prevent himself doing so.

  ‘Caroline!’ Guy intervened again, even more forcibly. ‘I have business to conduct. Please take Christopher away.’

  Caroline seemed to droop, and a desperate look came into her eyes as she studied Tom’s face. ‘It was good to see you again, Tom. Perhaps you will be able to visit us while you are in Zanzibar. Could you come to dine with us here at the consulate one evening?’ There was a wistful note in the question.

  ‘I do not think Thomas will be here long enough to make social calls.’ Guy came to his feet again, and frowned at her, as if to silence her.

  ‘That is a great pity,’ Caroline said. ‘Then I will say farewell now.’ She picked up the little boy. ‘Goodbye, Tom.’

  ‘Goodbye, Caroline.’

  Carrying Christopher, she went through the door with a swish of silken skirts. The child looked back solemnly over his mother’s shoulder at Tom.

  For long after they had gone, both brothers were silent. Then Guy said, in a controlled, cold voice, ‘You are to keep away from my family. I will not tolerate you speaking to my wife again. I challenged you to a duel once before. I will again, if you provoke me.’

  ‘It would give me little pleasure to have to kill you. You were never a swordsman, Guy,’ Tom said, and he thought of William. The guilt was still a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. ‘I have no wish to intrude on your private life. From now on, we will touch only on matters of business. Can we agree on that?’

  ‘Distasteful as I find any contact with you, I agree,’ Guy replied. ‘And the first matter of business is for me to repeat my question. Do you intend to indulge in any form of trade in these waters? I have reports from the harbour that your ship is heavily laden. Do you have a trading licence from the Company? Do you carry trade goods?’

  ‘We are eight thousand miles from London. We are beyond the line, sir, and I do not recognize your authority in English law to interfere with me or question my intentions.’ Tom kept his temper under control with an effort. ‘My first concern is only with Dorian. Have you made enquiry with the Sultan of Zanzibar concerning him?’

  Guy became agitated. ‘I have had no reason to approach the Sultan on the subject, and I forbid you to do so. I have managed to establish cordial relations with him. He is now favourably inclined towards England and the Company. I do not wish to have that state of affairs disturbed by anyone making accusations against his sovereign lord, Prince al-Malik.’

  Tom’s expression changed abruptly. ‘How did you know that al-Malik was the one who bought Dorian as a slave? I never mentioned that name.’

  Guy looked confused, and was silent for many seconds as he searched for a reply. ‘Al-Malik is the sovereign overlord of this coast. It was natural for me to assume—’

  ‘By God, Guy! It was not natural for you to assume anything! You know something about what has happened to Dorian. If you don’t tell me, I will go to the Sultan myself.’

  ‘You will not!’ Guy sprang to his feet. ‘I will not have you destroying all my work here.’

  ‘You cannot stop me.’

  ‘Listen to me.’ Guy changed his tone. ‘Very well, I will tell you the truth. I also heard these rumours about a white boy with red hair in the hands of the Arabs. Naturally I thought of Dorian, so I made enquiries of the Sultan. He promised to send a messenger to Prince al-Malik to find out the truth. I am waiting to hear from the Prince.’

  ‘Why did you lie to me? Why did you not tell me this at once?’ Tom demanded. ‘Why did I have to force it out of you?’

  ‘Because I know you well. I did not want you rushing in and antagonizing the Sultan. My dealings with him are very sensitive.’

  ‘How long ago did you make these enquiries?’ Tom demanded.

  ‘I want you to keep out of this.’ Guy sidestepped the question in spite of Tom’s insistence. ‘I have the whole business in my own hands.’

  ‘How long ago?’

  ‘Some time ago.’ Guy looked down at his desk. ‘Dealings with the Arabs take time.’

  ‘When?’ Tom came to him and thrust his face to Guy’s.

  ‘When I first arrived here on the island,’ Guy admitted. ‘A year ago.’

  ‘A year ago?’ Tom shouted. ‘A year ago! Well, believe me, I will not wait that long. I will go to the Sultan this very day, and demand an answer.’

  ‘I forbid it!’ Guy cried. ‘I am the consul!’

  ‘Forbid all you will, Guy,’ Tom told him grimly. ‘I am on my way now to the fort.’

  ‘I will send a full report of your behaviour to Lord Childs in London,’ Guy threatened desperately. ‘The Company ship in the harbour now will sail within days for England. Lord Childs will bring the full wrath of the Company down upon you.’

  ‘There is no threat you can make that will stop me searching for Dorian. Send all the reports you wish, Guy, but it will be a year and more before you receive a reply. By then I will be a thousand miles away, with Dorian in my care.’

  ‘Leave this house at once, sir!’ Guy shouted. ‘And don’t dare set foot on my threshold again.’

  ‘That is an invitation very much to my taste, sir.’ Tom crammed his hat back onto his head. ‘I wish you good morrow.’

  He strode to the door without looking back, and smiled as Guy yelled after him, ‘I forbid you to go near the Sultan’s palace. I shall send word to him at once that you are an interloper and do not have the protection of His Majesty, the Company, or this office.’

  Tom strode back along the sandy path towards the harbour, and Aboli had to step out to keep up with him. Aboli had had no reply to his initial questions so he was silent as he followed Tom.

  Tom was in a black rage. He wanted to storm into the Sultan’s fort above the harbour, take the heathen swine by the throat and choke the answers out of him. But he was at least able to recognize that his emotions were out of control, that once again he was on the verge of committing some violent act that could bring disaster on his enterprise. I must get back on board the Swallow where I can do no more harm to myself, and talk to Aboli and Ned before I act, he told himself, but his hand strayed to the hilt of the blue Neptune sword, and his anger flew off on another tack. By God! If, to save Dorian, I have to take the little Swallow in against the whole Mussulman fleet, I will not flinch.

  There was a shout behind him, so faint that at first it did not penetrate his rage. Then there was the sound of galloping
hoofs and the shout came again. ‘Tom! Wait! Wait for me! I must talk to you.’

  Tom swung round and glared back down the track. The horse came racing towards him, the rider leaning low on its neck, white sand spurting from under the hoofs.

  ‘Tom!’ This time he realized that it was a woman’s voice. As the horse came closer he saw skirts billowing out behind and long hair blowing on the wind. His rage was forgotten in an instant, and he stared at her in astonishment.

  She was riding astride and bareback, and he saw the flash of pale legs gripping the horse’s flanks, naked to well above the knees where her skirts had rucked up. She lifted one slim arm and waved at him. ‘Tom!’ Despite her use of his Christian name, he did not recognize her. She brought the bay mare to a plunging halt beside where he stood, and in a rustle of skirts swung down to the ground. She tossed the reins to Aboli. ‘Hold her, please, Aboli,’ she said. The big man roused himself from his shock, and grabbed the reins.

  ‘Tom! Oh, Tom!’ The strange girl ran to him, and threw her arms around his neck. ‘I thought I would never see you again.’ She hugged him tightly, then stepped back and seized both his hands. ‘Let me look at you.’ She stared into his face, and he stared back.

  Her long hair was a soft brown, but her face was not beautiful – the jaw too strong, her mouth too wide, especially when she smiled, as she was now. Her eyes were bright English blue, sparkling at him through long lashes. He saw at once that her skin was her main ornament. It was without blemish, but lightly touched by the tropical sun to an unfashionable golden brown. She was almost as tall as he was, her eyes looking straight into his, and she held herself easily and confidently with a boyish thrust of the hips and set of the shoulders.

  ‘You don’t recognize me, do you, Tom?’ She laughed at him.

  He shook his head dumbly. He found her face riveting, her eyes full of fun and alive with intelligence. ‘Forgive me, madam,’ he faltered. ‘You have me at a disadvantage.’

  ‘Madam indeed!’ she chided him. ‘I am Sarah.’ She shook his hands. ‘Sarah Beatty, Caroline’s little sister. You used to call me the gadfly. “Why are you always buzzing around my head like a gadfly, Sarah?”’ she mimicked. ‘Now do you remember?’