The Triple Goddess (40 page)

Wording
: T.b.a. leader only

Information
:

It is Sir Walter Ralegh’s intention to set sail from Plymouth bound for Guiana at a date of his choosing; there to land and search for the presumed lost city of El Dorado, and to bear thence as much quantities of gemstones, precious metals, etc. (see
Booty
above) as may be obtained either as gift or by purchase, barter, and other legal means.

Sir Walter Ralegh, a.k.a. Rawley, Rawleigh, or Raleigh, is quondam Captain of Her Majesty’s Guard, Lieutenant General of Cornwall, Lord Warden of the Stannaries, Vice Admiral of Devon and Cornwall, and Governor of the Isle of Jersey.

The Assured is a graduate of Oriel College, Oxford; a smoker (pipe and cigar only); consumer of alcohol in moderation*, and imbiber of coffee. Husband of Elizabeth Throckmorton Ralegh; father of two children, Walter (deceased) and Carew, Founder and Chairman Emeritus of Lloyd’s of London, and active underwriter of C.A.R. Marine, Inc.

* “The first draught serveth for health, the second for pleasure, the third for shame, fourth for madness.” Sir Walter Ralegh. [Arbella made a mental notation that, so as to preserve what credibility she may have with the Assured, she must not refer to her average daily intake of units of alcohol in Sir Walter’s presence, lest he pronounce her shameful or, more likely, insane, and disbar her from acting on his behalf.]

The Assured has retired from active professional life and amateur or volunteer status and engagement as Soldier, Courtier, Heretic, Author, Poet, Chemical Scientist, Geographer, Speech-writer, Clothes-Horse, Arbiter of Fashion, and Mopper-up of Puddles. Owing to his legal conviction of treasonous offence under a Statute of King Edward the Third dated 1352, and the subsequent alleged ineffectuality of capital punishment upon his allegedly indefinitely incorruptible body, the Assured continues to reside at His Majesty’s pleasure c/o The Lieutenant of the Tower at: Penthouse Suite, The Bloody Tower, the Tower of London, London EC3
N 4AB  England.

Amongst his many interests Sir Walter lists literature, philosophy, alchemy, metallurgy, carpentry, and inventing things. He is an accomplished published poet, the author of the best-selling
History of the World
, and a renowned wit and raconteur. He is the holder of patents on a well-known homeopathic remedy, the
Balsam of Guiana®
, or
Great Cordial®
; and was the first to turn brine into fresh water, which for a period was marketed under the
Ralegh Springs®
label, until it was determined that the content of mercury and PCBs exceeded Government safety levels.

Sir Walter modestly wishes it to be known that, contrary to popular belief, he is not responsible for the introduction to this country of either potatoes or tobacco; but he would like to take credit for the clay pipe, and receive an honourable mention for being one of the first Westerners to have recognized the refreshing, mood-elevating, brain-stimulating, and general salutary benefits inherent in the coffee bean.

In asserting that eight cloaks of his have been ruined including three trimmed with ermine at the behest of royalty, the cost of which he was never reimbursed for, the Assured wishes the present-day value of such garments to be included in the Limit above, for reason of his wanting to appear at his sartorial and diplomatic best abroad when negotiating and overseeing the purchase, acquisition, release, and transfer of
Booty
(see above).

Although the Assured’s loss record (available upon request or at the British Library or a City, municipal or District Council location near you) is spotty and makes for depressing reading, Sir Walter is confident that this time he shall do better. As to his physical and mental health, subject to professional evaluation as provided for above, the Assured is prepared to admit in the interests of full disclosure that he is a valetudinarian who at one time or another, either individually or some or all at once, has suffered from one or more, usually more, diseases, sicknesses, chronic ailments, bodily dysfunctions, derangements, aches, pains, fantasies, illusions, nightmares—including a funny little on-and-off sort of, it’s difficult to describe, sometimes a throbbing, or it might be a pulsating, feeling in his inner ear; which, it could be a day or a week later, turns into an intermittent singing sound—and other afflictions too numerous and difficult to explain without going into considerable detail. However, that he is still allegedly extant and capable of being, given sufficient notice, active, attentive, and reasonably chipper, after allegedly having lived considerably in excess of the term traditionally ascribed to Man’s life*, the Assured attests that he is aware of no condition either pre- or post-existent, depending on how one looks at it, that is likely in the unforeseeable future to impair or otherwise jeopardize or terminate his ability to accomplish his objective.

* “…when…all our days are gone: we bring our years to an end, as it were a tale that is told. The days of our age are threescore years and ten; and though men be so strong that they come to fourscore years: yet is their strength then but labour and sorrow, so soon passeth it away, and we are gone.”
The Psalms
, 90,
Domine, refugium
, vv. 9, 10.

Mr Shrively lit another cigarette and drew the smoke into a corner of one lung that he had reserved for the purpose. ‘Carew the son of Sir Walter Ralegh? Balderdash. Horsefeathers. And all this for no brokerage. This isn’t April Fool’s Day. Don’t you know a Ponzi scheme when you see one, Arbella?’ The unfiltered tobacco glowed and crackled.

‘Ponzi, Mr Shrively?’

‘A Ponzi scheme is...’ Beachball squinted to his right at a scrap of paper that was taped to the wall of his cubicle. “A form of fraud, in which belief in the success of a non-existent enterprise is fostered by quick returns to the first investors—in this case your mysterious supplicant for insurance, whom I very much doubt has a penny to his name—from money invested by others.”

‘That’s from the
Oxford English Dictionary
. I’ve seen a few, from those who did not long thereafter remain clients of Chandler Brothers. But never have I seen one purporting to hazard the resources of an historical personage who in the most public fashion had his head chopped off over three hundred and fifty years ago.’

‘I’m not sure I follow you.’

‘There may be one born every minute, young lady, but there aren’t enough suckers in the Room to swallow a mountain of mendacity like this. I couldn’t find the insurable interest here with a microscope. I’d be fired for letting it into the market, as would you for peddling it.

‘In addition to which, although you call it Travel Indemnity, it smacks of Financial Guarantee to me, despite the hefty potential upside, and Lloyd’s doesn’t write the class. Think of Chandlers’ reputation, girl. God knows I’ve seen some Miss Frobishers in my time, but this knocks ’em all into a cocked hat.’

‘Miss Frobisher?’

‘Sussex for something that’s a loser from the get-go. A bad ’un.’

‘Mr Shrively, I assure you this is on the up-and-up. Mr Carew has already undertaken to lead it. I’ll show you his line if you like before I see anyone else.’

The veins on Beachball’s head stood out like ships’ hawsers. ‘I’m shocked, Arbella, shocked. You’ve taken leave. Your recent success has gone to the batted belfry in that lovely noggin of yours. This’d be the second risk Carew’s offered to lead for you in as many days. People’ll talk. What’s going on here, miss?’

‘And I, Mr Shrively, am surprised at you; this is strictly business.’ Arbella assumed a doe-like expression. ‘Of course it helped that the first slip was made out so very correctly; Mr Carew made a point of complimenting me on it. “Ah,” I said to him, “I can’t take credit for that. That’s Mr Shrively’s work.” “Really?,” he said; “well, you can tell your Mr Shrively that this is the classiest submission I’ve seen in…well, as long as I can remember, and that’s a very long time.”’

‘Hrrm. I haven’t spoken to that man in forty years, not since I was a broker. He didn’t write what I put in front of him, of course, but we had fishing in common. He gave me a salmon fly, a beautiful Jock Scott with jungle cock in it. I can’t imagine anyone risking losing a creation like that on a river bank. I didn’t tell him that coarse fishing for carp was as adventurous as I got, in a sport that requires one to remain motionless for hours at a time. I always had an aptitude for that.

‘That was the first and last time I saw him, for I didn’t stay broking. They put me on claims, and then took me off them too, and here is where I’ve been ever since in the backmost back of the back room.’

‘Or you could say the frontmost front, Mr Shrively, since the whole process begins with you and the layout and preparation of the slip, and ends with it, too, with the cover-note. The only things you don’t do are the talking and the wording and the accounts. A man can only do so much.

‘But about the risk, Mr Shrively: never mind the commission, think of the publicity. It’ll be the most prestigious placement in Chandlers’ history, and we’ll be inundated with new business as a result. There’ll be framed copies of the slip hanging in offices, and people will point at it and say, “You know, old Beach...Mr Shrively designed that.”’

Arbella held her breath, and then they both burst out laughing. Beachball’s phlegmatic crackle and empurplement of feature gave her momentary cause for concern, but he soon recovered. He thought for a moment and whistled faintly through one of the gaps in his dentures.

‘Not so much of the “old”, if you please, young lady. All right, all right. But I foresee my spending many long hours at the Bureau, the Lloyd’s Policy Signing Office, to get it to let this one through, should you complete it. But I’ve got a few friends there who on occasion are prepared to see things unreasonably. I can call in a few dozen favours.’

Shrively put the draft on top of the teetering pile in his in-tray, and a look of concern crossed Arbella’s face, which Beachball noticed.

‘Don’t worry, Arbella, I don’t want it sitting around here burning a hole, so I’ll do it before I go to lunch, on condition you don’t tell anyone I’m giving you preferential treatment.’

Arbella got up, planted a kiss on Mr Shrively’s head, and left.

That afternoon she wasted no time in going up to the Room to show Carew the slip. As she approached the pillar by the box, a fly-fishing line snaked around it and wrapped several times around her lower leg, like an Argentine gaucho’s bolas. There was a sharp tug and it bit into her calf.

Dropping her slipcase on the floor, Arbella grabbed the tight line, unwound it from her leg and pulled herself hand over hand towards the source of the pressure.

Rounding the column she saw that Carew was standing behind the box with his favourite split-cane trout rod arced, and playing her like a fish. He had a joyous expression on his face. As soon as he perceived what had happened he hastily set down the rod, helped Arbella to the seat opposite his, and retrieved her slipcase.

Carew reeled in the old-fashioned plaited silk of the line, the pre-synthetic sort that had to be hung on a winder after use to dry. The small old wooden spool of the reel with its brass mechanism was heavier than the modern ones of perforated lightweight metal, but it flowed very smoothly. He detached the reel, dismantled the rod, put it in its bag, and hung it from a hook at the other end of the box.

‘I am so sorry,’ he said, sitting down; ‘I got carried away. Having thirty feet of empty marble floor around me, now that I’m in Siberia again and heeding the call of the wild, proved irresistible. I was practising curling the leader in different directions. Owing to the way that light is refracted under water, at certain angles fish can see around corners. So one has to be cunning to avoid spooking them, and make things appear as natural as possible while avoiding drag on the line.’

Arbella rubbed the welt on her leg.

Carew added, ‘Fortunately there was no fly on the tippet or it would be the second time I’d hooked you.’ He smiled. ‘But even if I had I assure you that I’m a staunch advocate of catch-and-release. I hope the skin isn’t broken.’

‘Oh, no, I’m fine.’ Arbella looked around, and saw not a single broker. ‘How fickle are the ways.’

‘I much prefer it this way.’

For the next thirty minutes Carew gave Arbella a casting lesson, at the end of which she could perform quite creditably. Her tutor made approving noises. ‘Good. A sensitive touch with just enough wrist, none of that stiff-armed windmill action you see from novices flogging the water and scaring off every fish for miles. It takes finesse to tempt a rainbow trout to a
baetis
imitation. People do far too much false-casting before letting the fly land, it adds nothing to the presentation, plus you can’t catch anything when the line’s in the air except trees and bushes.’