Shark Island (11 page)

“The
galley?
” Wiki was flabbergasted. The galley, a shed with a chimney which was set on the forward deck to keep the smoke away from the helmsman's eyes, was the ship's kitchen. Furnished with a big iron stove, it was the realm of the cook. Though he knew very little about captains' wives at sea, he'd never imagined one using the galley as a refuge—on all the ships he'd sailed, the crew had considered the ship's cook the lowest of the low.

“You heard me—the goddamned
galley,
” Forsythe repeated. “God alone knows what drove her there, but at that moment it was probably the best place for her, considerin' her husband's mood. But when she'd just about got there the silly bitch turned around, and ran back to the quarterdeck and back down into the cabin, the devil alone knows why. Next thing, out she come yellin' bloody murder. By that time, Zack and me are just about on the foredeck. We come running back aft, Wiki hove into sight, and I asked what the noise was about.”

There was dead silence while Wiki and Rochester stared at him, but Forsythe said nothing more. “And that's it?” said George at last.

“Aye—and it's the goddamned truth!” Forsythe snapped.

“So who the devil knifed Captain Reed?”

“Not
me,
that's for bloody sure.”

“But it sounds as if no one else was there!”

There was another blank silence, while Forsythe looked aggressively from Rochester to Wiki and back again. Then he repeated, “It wasn't me,” and slammed down his mug and left the table. “I'm gettin' into uniform,” he snapped. “It's high time I got away.”

The quick equatorial dusk was falling. As Forsythe went into his stateroom off the larboard side of the saloon, Stoker came out of the pantry and drew down the lamp that hung in the skylight. He lit it, and pushed it back on its hook, and then, after lifting the coffeepot to check its weight, he headed off to refill it.

George said very quietly, “It does sound horribly like a drunken brawl, old chap. Do you think Forsythe was so drunk he's forgotten he drew a knife on Reed?”

“He wasn't
that
intoxicated,” Wiki objected, remembering that Forsythe had seemed quite rational when they checked Captain Reed's corpse. “And then there is Passed Midshipman Kingman,” he added. “It sounds as if he'll confirm his story.”

“They're close cronies,” George pointed out, still talking softly so that Forsythe, changing into uniform in his stateroom right next door, couldn't overhear.

“You think he would lie to protect his friend?”

“It has happened in the past—and I don't see how anyone else could have got into the captain's cabin without being seen. After all, according to Forsythe's account, the deck was busy, with Mrs. Reed running to the galley along one side, and Kingman with Forsythe himself hastening to the cutter on the other.”

“Ah, but there is a way,” said Wiki, and described the between-decks storage area, concluding by saying, “There are two hatches leading down into it, one close to the galley and another near the after house.”

“So it's possible to get from the foredeck to the captain's cabin by going between decks?”

“Definitely.”

“So any of the men still on board could have done it?”

“Anyone who was powerful enough to drive a knife all the way through Captain Reed's chest,” said Wiki, and nodded grimly in reply to Rochester's startled, questioning look.

Then they were interrupted by the opening of Forsythe's stateroom door. The southerner's burly form was a splendid sight in a claw hammer lieutenant's blue coat with gold trimmings, white satin breeches hugging his muscular thighs. Wiki suddenly thought he knew why he had come on board alone, and sent Kingman off with the cutter—so that he, Lieutenant Forsythe, would cut a much finer figure than his subordinate at the wake.

Annabelle had certainly worked her wiles. The thought was an ominous one.

Eleven

Forsythe had got ready just in time, because Midshipman Keith came clattering down the companionway to inform him that the cutter had arrived to take him to the schooner. As they both disappeared up to deck, Stoker arrived back in the saloon with the replenished coffeepot, filled both Wiki's and George's mugs, and then went back into the pantry.

George said to Wiki, “Let's take our coffee into my cabin. I'd like you to help me with something.”

Wiki bit back a sigh, because it had been a long day, and he had a lot to think about. When he took his customary seat on the transom sofa in the captain's cabin, however, his interest was immediately revived. A box stood on the chart desk—the same box that had been under Rochester's arm as they had left the schooner.

He said alertly, “The
Annawan
's papers?”

“Aye. I was forced to confiscate them in the name of the U.S. Navy.”

“Confiscate them? Officially? But why?”

“Because Mrs. Reed seemed determined to destroy them.”

“What?”

“When I arrived on board she was sitting on a bench by the after house and incapable of speech, but not long after that the corpse came up in a winding sheet, and the steward went back down with a bucket and a mop. Five minutes after that, he came back up to deck and announced that the cabin was clean, and Joel Hammond persuaded Madame to return to her sanctum. I gave her a few minutes more to calm herself, and then I went down to express my sympathy and offer her any assistance that lay within my power—to find her taking papers out of this box, looking at each one briefly, and then throwing them into the cabin fire.”

“Dear God,” said Wiki, shocked. “
All
the papers, or just certain ones?”

George put his head on one side. “Interesting question,” he said at last. “I confiscated the box as soon as I realized what was happening—but I had the impression that she was looking for a certain document, and was burning everything else while she hunted.”

“But why?”

George shrugged. “No idea, old chap. Perhaps she was just clearing out what she considered rubbish while she looked for whatever was important.”

Wiki, wondering uneasily what Annabelle might consider important, watched Rochester open the box, which turned out to be an intricate affair. Inside the lid there was a special slot for the customhouse papers, crew list, and registration papers, while the body of the box itself was neatly divided by partitions. George picked up a handful from the nearest niche, gave half to Wiki, and then they settled to reading.

Wiki said at length, “These are letters relating to Ezekiel Reed's commercial dealings.”

“Mine are the same,” said Rochester, looking up with one eyebrow raised rather quizzically. “Letters from captains with reports of cargoes sold, and requests for instructions. According to what I see here, Captain Reed seems to have been what my grandfather calls a ‘substantial' man—he owned not just the
Annawan,
but at least ten other ships.”

Wiki shook his head in wonder. “I knew Ezekiel Reed was rich, but had no idea
how
rich—though probably my father did.”

“Your father?”

“Aye. He and Ezekiel Reed were great friends.”

“You knew Captain Reed?”

“My father took me to Stonington quite often.”

“And Mrs. Reed?”

“I was there when Captain Reed married Annabelle—Annabelle Green, she was then.”

“Good God. It's a small world—though I suppose that those who ply the oceans are all brothers, in a sense.” Rochester considered, and then said, “How long ago was this?”

“The wedding? Eight years ago.”

“She'd been married that long? She struck me as quite young.”

“She was only eighteen at the time.”

George said, “Ah,” and sank into thought again. Then he said, “So you attended the wedding with your father—and your stepmother?”

“My father's wife refused to attend the wedding,” Wiki said without expression.

“What? Why so?”

“She reckoned that Annabelle Green was a fortune hunter who had trapped Ezekiel Reed into a highly unsuitable match, and so she refused to honor it with her presence.”

There was a speculative pause, and then George remarked, “I haven't seen Mrs. Reed at her best, but it seems to me that she's a remarkably good-looking young woman.”

Wiki said dryly, “She was a very lovely young bride—and Ezekiel Reed was twice her age at the very least.”

“So it's easy to guess how she did trap him—if Mrs. Coffin was right. But maybe it was a love match. Did it look like a love match to you?”

Wiki paused. The tide was changing, and the brig creaked comfortably as an accompaniment to his memories. Finally he shook his head.

“You were—how old at the time? Sixteen? So it was just before you and I were sent to the college at Dartmouth—and if I remember correct, you already had an extremely well-developed appreciation of a well-turned ankle.” George said shrewdly, “Are you sure you didn't fall in love with her yourself, my friend?”

Instead of saying anything, Wiki looked down at the letters he was sorting.

Then he heard Rochester say, “Maybe she did love her husband. We have to remember that she chose to come on a sealing voyage, which is quite a test of loyalty.”

“Unless it was on his orders,” Wiki said rather quickly.

“Perhaps—but it seems bizarre that
he
should embark, for that matter. For the life of me I can't imagine why a rich old merchant would take it into his head to undertake a chilly voyage south after seals when he could be sitting in luxury counting his money at home.”

“Neither can I,” Wiki admitted, and, having finished looking through the handful of papers, he handed them to George, who put them away and then gave him more.

“They say that some men never think they're rich enough, no matter how much money they've got salted away,” George mused.

“True,” said Wiki.

“Did you
like
Ezekiel Reed?”

The question was so abrupt Wiki looked up in surprise. He thought about the times he and his father had visited Ezekiel Reed, and then shook his head. “He was always jovial, but I didn't really see all that much of him,” he said. “He and my father spent most of their time doing what they called ‘discussing bottles,' either together, or with ship captains close to their own age. At times he was drunk and undignified. Truth to tell, he seemed terribly old to me.”

“Hmm,” said George, and Wiki knew that he was wondering if Captain Coffin had got drunk, too. However, he said nothing more, and there was silence for a few minutes, except for the rustling of paper and the creak of the brig. Then George threw them back in the box and said, “These are letters about commercial dealings, too.”

“Likewise,” said Wiki, and wondered what Annabelle could have been hunting for that was so important that everything else could be readily burned. Surely she must have realized that these letters, being evidence of cargoes in transit and financial deals in port, could make a difference to the fortune she would inherit?

The next section of the box was devoted to accounts with impressive totals at the bottom of the columns. Rochester observed pensively, “Captain Reed's vast wealth might provide a motive for his murder. Whoever marries his widow will be doing nicely.”

“Ko nga take whawhai, he whenua, he wahine,”
Wiki agreed.

“If you want to look for trouble, look for wealth and women, ha?” said George, who even if he did not speak
te reo Maori
could recognize quite a number of Wiki's favorite proverbs. He sighed deeply, returning the accounts to the box. It was getting late, and the next section yielded nothing more interesting than provisioning receipts. Then, just as they were thinking of putting off the rest of the job until the morning, Rochester spied three folded, sealed, addressed letters that had been thrust into an inconspicuous slot at the side of the box, evidently until Reed had a chance to put them on board a States-bound ship.

“Halloa,” he said. “
This
could be what she was looking for.” As Wiki watched, he took out a knife and without the slightest compunction heated it in the lamp, worked the seals loose, and opened the pages out. Two were to captains replying to their queries about freights. George folded them up again and replaced the seals, which were still warm and sticky.

The third, which was much longer and much more informal, was addressed to Stonington, and had been written six days before. He beckoned to Wiki. “My God,” he said. “Look at this!” Then he read it more slowly, while Wiki looked over his shoulder.

*   *   *

“My dear brother,” it began:

Through the blessings of Providence I have arrived off the northeast coast of Brazil at an island group in the region of Pernambuco after a passage of ten days from Rio, where our freight of iron found a good market and no duty to pay as they do not weigh iron for the duty. Otherwise Rio is a disagreeable place to say the least and a nest of rogues and charlatans. I was in hopes of getting rid of my Mate Hammond there, he is a disagreeable thing, even if he is a Stonington man I long to get clear of him, he has no more manners than a——and I dislike the way he speaks to Mrs. Reed my wife but there were no prospects in Rio for finding another officer and so he will stay though he does not appear to care whether he gets any skins or not, he would make a better horse jockey than a first officer of a ship or a master of a sealing gang. I had two men run away in Rio, one being the cook, the other that New Jerseyman greenhand that was not good for nothing, and I had trouble enough replacing them and the new cook has addled egg instead of brains. Worst of all though I had every reason to have expected intelligence from the “Hero” which is carrying 100,000$ for the Canton venture, all in silver specie, but alas! all I found was the hardest of news, that she had been wrecked on an island off the northeast coast in the region of Pernambuco during attack by the privateers which abound on the coast. The crew all escaped in the boat and put into Pernambuco and so to Rio, and I am left to my solitary apprehensions as to whether to give up the sealing and invest in a cargo of cotton or to forge on with the venture, trusting to Providence that we shall fill the holds with skins at the Galapagos or the Leeward Islands, and then proceed to Canton and make some kind of profit, but in meantime I have taken on board 20 tons of ballast copper dross for which I paid 30$ and then steered north to see if I can find the wreck of the “Hero” and will apprise you as soon as I find anything about the fate of her specie, this is just for your information in the meantime. With best respects from your brother Ezekiel Reed.