The Monsoon (8 page)

“Under no circumstances. I cannot agree to that. It would set a dangerous precedent.” Then he saw that Hal had prepared the trap and that he had walked straight into it.

“Very well,” Hal said quietly.

“I will forgo that right, if you grant me the half-share of the prize.” Childs gulped and spluttered.

at his effrontery, but Hyde smiled lugubriously.

“He has you there, Nicholas. One or the other, which is it to be?

The prize money or the right to trade?” Childs was thinking furiously.

The prize money might far outstrip any trading profit that even this cunning and resourceful mariner might garner along the Asian and African coasts, but the right to trade was sacred and reserved to the Company alone.

“Very well,” he agreed at last.

“Half the prize but none of the trading profits.” Hal scowled, but was well content. He nodded apparently reluctantly.

“I will need a week to think on it.”

“You do not have a week,” Hyde remonstrated.

“We need your answer this very night. His Majesty needs my reply at the meeting of his cabinet in the morning.”

“There is too much for me to consider before I can take up the commission.” Hal sat back and folded his arms in a gesture of finality. If he delayed there was a chance he might squeeze other concessions out of them.

“Henry Courtney, Baron Dartmouth,” Hyde murmured.

“Does not the title have a satisfying ring?” Hal unfolded his arms and leaned forward, taken so off guard that he allowed his eagerness to light his features. A peerage! He had never before allowed himself to think of it. Yet it was one of the few things in this world he lacked.

“You mock me, sir?” he murmured.

“Please make clear your meaning.”

“Take up the commission we offer immediately, and bring back the head of this Jangiri rogue in a pickle barrel, and I give you my solemn word that a barony is yours.

What say you, Sir HaV Hal began to grin. He was a commoner, albeit of the highest rank, but this next step up the ladder would enter him into the nobility and the House of Lords.

“You are the one who drives a hard bargain, my lord. I can no longer resist either your blandishments or my duty.” He raised his glass and the other two followed his example.

“Fair winds, and a good chase,” he suggested as the toast.

“Bright gold and glory!” Hyde made a better one and they drained their glasses.

When they lowered their glasses, Hyde dabbed his lips with his napkin and asked, “You have not yet been presented at court, have you, Sir?”. When Hal shook his head he went on, “If you are one day to become a peer of the realm, we must see to that before you leave London.

Two of the clock in the afternoon on this coming Friday, at St. James’s Palace. The King is holding a levee before he sails for Ireland to take charge of the campaign against his father-in-law. I shall send a man to your lodgings, to guide you to the palace.” Ifred Wilson was a surprise. With such a name Hal had expected a stalwart English tar with a Yorkshire or Somerset accent. At Hal’s request Childs had released the seaman from wherever he was being held and sent him to Hal at the inn. He stood in the centre of the floor of the private salon and twisted his cap in his slim dark hands.

“You are English?” Hal demanded.

Wilson respectfully touched the hank of thick dark hair that spilled onto his forehead.

“My father was born in Bristol, Captain.”

“But your mother was not?” Hal guessed.

“She was an Indian, a Mogul, a Mussulman, sir.” Wilson was darker even than Hal’s own William, and as handsome.

“Do you speak her language, Wilson?”

“Yes, sir, and write it. My mother was of high birth, begging your pardon, sir.”

“Then you write English also?” Hal liked the look of him, and if his story of the escape from Jangiri were true he was indeed resourceful and clever to boot.

“Yes, sir.” Hal was surprised, few seamen were literate. He considered him thoughtfully.

“Do you speak any other language?”

“Only Arabic.” Wilson shrugged self-deprecatingly.

“Better and better.” Hal smiled and switched into Arabic to test him. He had been taught it by his first wife, Judith, and had honed his knowledge of it on many voyages along the coasts of Africa and Araby.

“Where did you team?” His tongue was a little rusty from disuse of the guttural tones of Arabia.

“I sailed many years before the mast, with a crew that was mostly Arab.” Wilson’s command of the language was rapid and fluent.

“What rating did you hold on the Minotaur?”

“Warrant officer, sir.” Hal was delighted. To hold the rank of a watch keeping officer, at his age, he must be a bright one. I must have him, Hal decided.

“I want to hear from you everything you can tell me of the taking of the Minotaur. But more important, I want you to tell me about Jangiri.”

“Begging your pardon, Captain, but that will take a while.”

“We have all day, Wilson.” Hal pointed to the bench against the far wall.

“Sit there.” When he hesitated, Hal went on, “You said it would take time. Sit down, man, and get on with it.” It took almost four hours, and Walsh, the tutor, sat at the table and made notes as Hal instructed him.

Wilson spoke quietly and without emotion until he had to describe the murder of his shipmates by the pirates.

Then his voice choked, and when Hal looked up, he was surprise to see that Wilson’s eyes were bright with tears. He sent for a pot of beer to soothe the man’s throat and give him a chance to regain his composure. Wilson pushed the tankard aside.

“I don’t take strong liquor, sir.” Hal was delighted. Drink was the demon of most seamen.

“Never?” he asked.

“No, sir. My mother, you understand, sir.”

“You are a Christian?”

“Yes, sir, but I can’t forget my mother’s teaching.”

“Yes, I understand.” By God, I need this one, Hal thought. He’s a gem among men. Then an idea occurred to him: During the voyage out I will have him teach my lads Arabic. They will need it on the coast.

By the time they had finished Hal had a vivid picture of what had happened on board the Minotaur, and of the man he was going out to confront.

“I want you to go over all this again in your mind, Wilson.

If there is anything you have forgotten, any detail that may be useful, I want you to come back and tell me.”

“Very well, Captain.”

Wilson stood up to leave.

“Where will I find you, sir?” Hal hesitated.

“I hope you can keep your tongue from wagging?” he asked, and when the man nodded, he went on, “I know that you have been kept from telling the story of the taking of the Minotaur. If you can give me your word that you’ll not be spouting your story into every flapping ear, then you can join my crew. I am looking for good watch-keeping officers. Will you sign up with me, lad?” Wilson smiled almost shyly.

“I have heard of you afore, Captain,” he said.

“You see, my uncle sailed with your father aboard the Lady Edwina, and with you on the Golden Bough. He told tales of you.”

“Who was your uncle?”

“Ned Tyler, Captain, and he still is.”

“Ned Tyler!” Hal exclaimed. He had not heard that name in five years.

“Where is he?”

“On his farm near Bristol. He bought it with the prize money he won on board your ship, Captain.” Ned Tyler was one of the best men Hal had ever sailed with, and he marvelled yet again at how small and close-knit was the brotherhood of the sea.

“So what do you say, then, Wilson? Will you sign the watch-bill on the Seraph?”

“I would like it well to sail with you, Captain.” Hal felt a lift of pleasure at his acceptance.

“Tell my boatswain Daniel Fisher to find lodgings for you until we can move into our quarters on the ship. Then you can exercise your penmanship by composing a letter to your uncle Ned. Tell him to stop milking cows and shovelling muck, and get on his sea boots again. I need him.” After Wilson had clumped down the narrow wooden stairs to the parlour below, Hal moved to the small window that overlooked the cobbled stableyard. He stood there, hands clasped behind his back, and watched Aboli instruct the twins with the blade. Guy sat on a pile of hay with Dorian next to him. He must have finished his turn for he was red in the face and sweating in dark patches through his shirt. Dorian was patting his back in congratulation.

Hal watched while Aboli exercised Tom in the manual of arms, the six parries and the full repertoire of cuts and thrusts. Tom was sweating lightly when at last Aboli faced him and nodded to begin the bout.

“On guard, KlebeP They fought half a dozen inconclusive engagements.

Hal could see that Aboli was moderating his power to match Tom, but the boy was tiring and slowing down when Aboli called to him, “Last one, Klebe. This time I mean to hit you!” Tom’s expression hardened, and he went on guard in quarte, point high, watching Aboli’s dark eyes to read his move before he launched. They touched sabres and Aboli came at him, right foot leading, graceful as a dancer, a feint into the high line and then, as Tom parried fierce and made the riposte, Aboli fluidly recoiled and made a counter-riposte in the line of engagement, fast as a striking viper. Tom attempted the correct parry low quarte, but his hand still lacked an inch of speed. There was a slither of steel over steel and Aboli’s blade stopped an inch from his nipple as it showed through the white shirt.

“Faster, Klebe. Like a hawkV Aboli admonished him, as Tom recovered smoothly, but his wrist was pronated and his blade slightly off line. It seemed he had left an opening for a cut to the right shoulder. Tom was furious and scowling at the hit against him, but he spotted the opening.

Even from the highmindow Hal saw him make the mistake of signalling his move with a slight lift of his chin.

“No, Tom, no!” he whispered. Aboli was dangling the bait that had snared Hal himself, so often, when he was Tom’s age. With consummate judgement of distance Aboli had set himself up two inches beyond the reach of Tom’s cut to the shoulder: he would hit him again if Tom tried for it.

Hal crowed with delight as his son took a double step, a feint for the shoulder, but then with the agility of a monkey and extraordinary strength of wrist for his age, he changed his angle of attack and went instead for Aboli’s hip.

“You almost had himV Hal whispered, as Aboli was forced to extreme extension to protect himself with a circular parry that gathered Tom’s blade and swept it back into the original line of engagement.

Aboli stepped back and broke off the engagement. He shook his head so that drops of sweat flew from his bald head, and flashed his teeth in a huge white smile.

“Good, Klebe. Never accept an enemy’s invitation. Good! You came close to me there.” He placed one arm around Tom’s shoulders.

“That’s enough for one day. Master Walsh is waiting for you to take up the pen rather than the sabre.”

“One more hit, AboliV Tom pleaded.

“This time I will have you, fair and square.”

But Aboli pushed the boy in the direction of the inn door.

“Aboli judges it finely,” Hal said to himself with approval.

“He will not drive them beyond their years and strength.” He touched the white scar on the lobe of his own right ear and grinned ruefully.

“But the day is not far off when he will tap a drop or two of Master Thomas’s raspberry juice, as he once did mine, to moderate the boy’s fine opinion of his own skills.” Hal opened the casement and leaned out.

“Aboli, where’s Big Danny?” Aboli wiped the sweat from his forehead with his forearm.

“He was working on the carriage. Then he went off with that new lad, Wilson.”

“Find him and bring him up here.

There is something I have to tell you.” A little later, as the two big men shuffled in, Hal looked up from the document on the writing-desk in front of him.

“Sit down both of you.” He indicated the bench and they sat side by side like two overgrown schoolboys about to be chastized.

“I had a word with Mabel.” Hal picked on Daniel first.

“She says she cannot abide another winter with you prowling around the cottage like a chained bear. She begged me to take you off somewhere, far away.”

Daniel looked stunned. Mabel was his wife, the head cook at High Weald, a plump, cheerful woman with red cheeks.

“She had no call-” Daniel began angrily, then broke off into a grin as he saw the sparkle in Hal’s eyes.

Hal turned to Aboli.

“As for you, you black devil, the mayor of Plymouth tells me there has been a plague of bald brown babies born in the town and all the husbands are loading their muskets. Its time we got you away for a while also.” Aboli rumbled and shook with laughter.

“Where are we going, Gundwane?” He used the pet name with which he had christened Hal as a boy and which meant Cane Rat in the language of the forests. He seldom used it, these days, only in moments of great affection.

“South!” Hal answered him.

“Past the Cape of Good Hope. Into that ocean you know so well.”

“And what will we do there?”

“Find a man named jangiri.”

“And when we find him?” Aboli went on.

“We will kill him, and take his treasure for our own.” Aboli pondered a moment.

“That sounds good to me.”

“What ship?” Big Daniel asked.

The Seraph. An East Indiaman, fresh off the builder’s slip.

Thirty-six guns and quick as a ferret.”

“What does Seraph mean?”

“A seraph is one of the highest order of heavenly angels.”

“That’s me to the letter Z.” Daniel showed all his pink gums in a wide smile. Of course he could not read and knew of the letter Z only by repute, which made Hal smile inwardly.

“When will we lay eyes on the Seraph?” he demanded.

“First thing tomorrow. Have the carriage ready at dawn. It’s a long haul up to the Company’s yards at Deptford.” Hal stopped them from rising.

“Before then we have much to do. To begin with we have no crew.” They both sobered immediately. Finding a crew for a new ship, even a Fifth-Rate, was always a difficult task.

He held up the document that lay on the desk in front of him. It was a poster he had drafted the day before and sent down to the printers in Cannon Street with Walsh.