Seaflower (19 page)

Weakness
forced Kydd back into the pillow, but he was content. In a week or two he would
be back in the world he knew.

'Lignum vitae
- the hardest wood we know,' said Caird, stroking
the piece of smooth, olive-green timber. 'You will see it as the sheave in
every block aboard your ship and it grows right here in Antigua. There are some
trees of that sort that we will see on our next Sunday mission,' he added,
matter-of-factly.

The
rain slackened its furious assault, but did not stop altogether, the steamy
smell of vegetation heavy on the air. They would wait a little longer in the
boat-house before going out to the new-captured French cutter. 'You might
remark this heavy wood - it is from the mastwood tree, the one with the yellow
flowers that the honey-bee favours so. And there, the large pieces in the
corner, the Anteegans term it "Black Gregory" and we use it much for
its endurance; the guns at the fort have their carriages wrought from its
strength.'

Kydd
nodded, his thoughts far from indigenous trees. His recent experience had
thrown his perceptions of life and his place in it into a spin, and he longed
hopelessly for Renzi to apply his logic to it all.

'Beatrice
tells me you are progressing admirably with your servant's learning,' Caird
said.

'Aye,
the younker does try, that I'll grant,' said Kydd.

'I'd
be obliged if you'd consider another matter,' Caird said, looking at him
candidly.

'Sir?'

'In
the matter of my stores. Peculation in a dockyard is an insidious evil,
consuming its vitals, rendering the thief insensible to sin.' He paused, eyeing
Kydd speculatively. 'I would be most grateful if you could do me a service that
strikes at the heart of this abomination.' He went on, 'Take this key. It is to
the stores office in the boat-house. Be so good as to enter it discreetly after
work ceases and make a true copy of the day's proceedings. This will be
compared to the one rendered to me directly.'

Kydd
understood: this way it would be easy to detect where and how defalcations
occurred in the dockyard. 'Yes, Mr Caird,' he replied, pocketing the heavy key.

It
was a simple matter, just a couple of pages of short-form notes and figures.
Kydd laid down the quill. Stretching, he gathered up the papers and stepped
into the early evening. Crickets started up, and from somewhere on a nearby
tree came the complacent
wheek-wheek
of a tree-frog.

As
he turned on to the road to his lodging, he glanced up. A fine sunset was
building, but as usual it was obscured by the close-in scrubby ridge
overlooking the dockyard. Then something seized him. This time, he swore, he
would take his fill of the sight. Scrabbling at the crumbling rocks he
clambered through the bushes to the top of the ridge. There, the full beauty of
the sunset was in view, only distant islands to include in the broad,
breathtaking panorama of sea and sky.

A
scattering of low clouds hung far away about the setting sun, tinged by the
yellow gilding that radiated out. Kydd found a flat rock and sat to watch. The
sun sank lower, the clouds progressed slowly from yellow to orange, and began
to stretch in delicate tendrils half across the sky, the dying day converging
on the central spectacle.

It
held Kydd in a trance, the stark beauty entering his soul. An upwelling of
emotion took hold, Ufting his spirit to soar free above the world. He had made a
journey from death to life: he would not waste his existence on vain striving
or useless repine. The surge of feeling brought a lump to his throat, but no
focus or resolution. It left him ardent but confused. When the smoky violet
dusk had settled and the horizon had assumed a hard blue-black line, he got up
and stumbled back down the ridge.

The
usual evening sights and sounds of Antigua dockyard met him, happy bedlam
around the capstan house. It was
Terrier
sloop this time, after a successful cruise to San
Domingo. Rather more genteel sounds of revelry came from the brightly lit
officers' quarters ahead, from some sort of assembly in honour of the new major
of Fort Berkeley. But to Kydd's intensified senses it was the loveliness of the
scene that impacted the most. Lantern-light was not merely a dim flame, it was
a wash of tawny gold; the darkness was not evening, it was a warm electric
sensuousness. The dark shapes of vessels at anchor had tiny golden stars of
light about them. This faraway land's dark-blue presence hinted at mystery —
life and vitality tugged at him mercilessly.

A
swell of hilarity came from the capstan house. Its open warmth held a strong
appeal to Kydd, the warm-heartedness of company, of human interaction, and he
felt a sudden, urgent need. Abruptly, he turned on his heel and hurried toward
the boisterous gathering. Curious glances came his way at first, but the
sailors quickly resumed their companionable roistering.

Kydd
stood irresolute, doubts nagging at him, but they were swamped by one
overriding thought: if he could not freely taste the delights of life, then
what was life for? 'What cheer, mateys!' he said loudly. 'Do ye have a glass as
will allow me t' hob-a-nob with th' Terriers?'

It
was punch from a cauldron, a swirling mix of rum, pineapple and coconut. It
slipped down easily, and as he had been unable to take strong drink for some
time, it went speedily to his head. He looked round, savouring the energy, the
vitality around him: this was what it was to seize life! Yet as the rum took
hold he felt somehow unfulfilled, aimless, restless.

'How
do, Massa Keed!' There was no mistaking the low purr. The woman fingered the
polished dark bean she wore around her neck. It lay against the twin swell of
her dark breasts, and a predatory gleam showed briefly in her eyes.

'Sukey,'
Kydd said, feeling the impact of the lazy swing of her hips as she moved
towards him. She came very close and her musky feminine odour invaded his
senses as she slowly reached out, letting her hand slide down his arm to the
tankard, which she silently detached from his grip with a teasing smile.

The
colour, light and noise around him fell away as the centre of his vision was
filled with one thing: a focus at last for the burning thoughts that took his
reason.

She
half turned. 'Doan like th' loft.' She pouted. 'Too many noise — yo have a
lodgin' house or somewheres?'

Kydd's
blood roared. 'Yes!' he said thickly. His drab rooms would now know something
other than solitude. But then he remembered: Luke would be there, manfully at
work with his quill and ink, loyally transcribing his improving words.
Frustration built into a sweet but driving pain. There was no place in Antigua
that offered the privacy he knew he needed to cover his deed. Sukey let her
eyes drop and teased at his shirt.

Suddenly
a thought exploded. 'Come on!' Kydd mouthed, pulling her away. She feigned
reluctance, but her smile widened and they ran along the coral quay, past the
deserted seamen's galley, the silent, two-storeyed canvas and cordage store, the
low joiner's loft. The boat-house was still and somnolent. Kydd found the door
to the office and fumbled for his key. Sukey snuggled up behind him, her hands
sliding over his body, confident and direct in their purpose. The door creaked
open into black stillness, and he jerked her inside. Just remembering to lock
it he smiled savagely; they could be sure of their privacy now.

In
the dusky light Sukey came to him, but when his responses grew fevered,
impassioned, she pushed him away, avoiding his hands. He growled and she
pouted, then began undoing his shirt, somehow contriving at the same time to
lose her own red shift. Suddenly they were both naked. Their bodies slammed
together. Giggling, Sukey pulled him to the floor, taunting him, guiding him.
His smile turned to a snarl, his hands dug into her shoulders. Suddenly she
froze, her eyes wide open staring at the door. Panting, Kydd stopped, baffled.

The
lock turned, and into the office stepped an indistinct figure with a lantern.
The room was filled with pitiless light that fell on their locked bodies. There
was a sharp intake of breath, and the light trembled. 'Kydd!' came an outraged
shout. It was Caird.

Sukey
pushed Kydd off her, frightened and quaking, and scrabbled for her clothes,
which she held against her nakedness. Kydd didn't know where to turn in the
sickening wash of shame and horror.

With
a terrible intensity, Caird bit off his words: 'May the Good Lord have mercy on
your soul, sir — for I shall not!'

Kydd
returned to his lodging, dreading the dawn. Luke retreated, shocked at his
expression.

The
next day was every bit as bad as he had feared. Caird was controlled, but it
was with a cold ferocity that tore at Kydd's pride, his manhood, leaving him
shaking and in no doubt of his worthlessness. He was told that his employment
as a master was over in Antigua and, as of that moment, he was no longer
required in the dockyard.

'And
for your damnable depravity,' Caird concluded, 'your indulgence in lust to the
hazard of your immortal soul, sir, I will see to it you go from this island.
You shall depart on the first King's ship that chances by!' Pausing only to
draw breath he stood and said, 'By some wicked means you have ensnared my
daughter's affections. She is at this time undone in her sensibilities. You are
a desperately wicked rascal, and will very soon come to the sordid end you
deserve! Go, sir! Get you out of my sight!
Go!’

Chapter 8

T
he day Kydd and Renzi
were parted had been a bleak one for Renzi. The brig gathered way, making for
the open sea in the bright morning. Renzi looked back from the tiny foretop. He
could just make out the red coats of the marines in the panic ashore, and knew
that Kydd must be there too, watching the vessel sail away, leaving him to his
fate.

On
the crowded deck, moans and shrieks arose from the French passengers at the
realisation that they were on their way to safety but that their friends and
relations ashore would probably soon suffer a cruel death. Only Louise Vernou
stood quietly, staring at the shore, frozen in pity. She held an object to her
lips: Renzi saw that it was the anchor-embossed button Kydd had given her,
around her neck on a thin cord.

If
Kydd could escape from the clutches of the mindless rabble and keep the
marines with him, he had a chance, but the situation was critical. Despite his
cool
self-possession, Renzi felt his throat tighten. They
had seen so much together. It was characteristic of war, the arbitrary nature
of its demands of blood and grief, but he realised that he was not as detached
from the world as he had thought.

Jowett,
the master's mate in command, stumped over and told him brusquely, 'Tell th'
Frenchie bastards to go below, t' the hold!'

Renzi
cajoled and threatened them, and eventually had them crammed into it. The main
hatch was left open to give them sight of the sky.

Square
sail was set and the brig settled to a workmanlike beat to round the southern
end of Guadeloupe. 'We c'n make Antigua in a day - wi' this lot we cannot fetch
Barbados without we find water 'n' vittles,' Jowett said. 'We sets course f'r
St John's.'

There
was a dockyard in Antigua, Renzi recollected, and it was well fortified. St
John's was round the coast to the north, but had the main naval presence, the
Admiral commanding the Leeward Islands station and all the facilities for
taking their cargo of newly homeless. Later, no doubt, they would go on to the
dockyard. All they had to do was cross the short distance to the island without
encountering any of the French invasion fleet.

Some
hours later they had rounded the southern tip of Basse Terre and, well snugged
in on the starboard tack, they began to slip their way north, past the
now-hostile anonymous green-splotched coast. The distracted babble died away as
the brig met the busy waves of the open sea, responding with a lively roll that
had the passengers in the hold huddling down. A canvas awning was spread over
the hatch against the frequent spray but there was no protest from below.

By
the afternoon they had reached the northern coast of Guadeloupe and began to
stretch out over the sea to the bulk of Antigua ahead. Jowett's face -set to
the north-east, towards the build-up of cloud massing there. He sniffed the
wind distrustfully. 'I mislike bolderin' weather this time o' the year, this
bein' the season f'r hurricanoes an' all.' They would have no chance if it came
to anything like a gale: merchantmen were always looking to shave corners with
the cost of gear.