Trade Wind (76 page)

He saw no sails in all that interminable week. The sea lay empty and shimmering, dotted with little coral islets basking in the heat-haze like mirages in a burning waste of desert, and there was no point in looking for the ViragOy because she, like every other sailing ship on that glassy ocean, must be lying motionless and becalmed, waiting for the wind. The
Daffodil
alone would not be affected by the failure of the Trades, but there had been no sign of her for some time past, and Rory wondered if Dan had given up and left for the coast, and why there was still no word from Batty.

He considered riding into Mkokotoni for news, but knew that it would be tempting providence to do so, and he regretted that it was so seldom necessary for old Kerbalou or his wife to go to market, since at least that way he would have heard at second-hand the gossip of the villages. But as the estate provided all they required in the way of food, Kerbalou’s visits to Mkokotoni were few and far between, and only undertaken when such commodities as oil or salt ran low, or his wife required a length of cloth or some trifle that must be purchased from a bazaar.

The sense of peace and quiet that Rory had at first enjoyed had been destroyed by the arrival of the doomed negro, and the slow, sweltering hours were heavy with a discomfort that was far more mental than physical, because an intolerable feeling of urgency and foreboding weighed on him and would not be shrugged off. The thought of the negro still obsessed him. Not because he had killed the man in cold blood, for that had been necessary and he would have done it again. But because of something that was in some way connected with him, or with the broken
kyack
that now lay sunk in the channel near the reef Something that he could not remember…

And then on the last day of that long week, after a night made tolerable by a refreshing breeze, he had remembered it. The thing he had seen and forgotten. The words he had overlooked.

It was Kerbalou’s elderly silent wife who reminded him of it, though she was unaware of having done so. Rory had been on his way to the stables when he had seen her drawing water from the well behind the house, and had gone to her assistance, for the clumsy leather bucket was heavy. She had twitched her cotton head-veil over the lower part of her face in an automatic gesture that was more a concession to convention than any attempt to hide her lined and unalluring features, and as she did so the sun glittered on the tiny piece of looking-glass that was set in a cheap silver thumb-ring that she wore on her lifted hand. And seeing it, Rory was suddenly reminded of another ring: the one that he had seen by moonlight on the negro’s hand.

But it had not been on his hand when he died, and he had said something about a ring: ‘
All but two pieces of silver with which I shall buy food, and the ring which was fair payment
…’

Payment for what?

Rory turned swiftly on Kerbalou’s wife and demanded to know where she had got the ring and how long she had had it, and was inordinately relieved when the startled woman replied that it had been a wedding gift and that she had worn it for more than thirty years. He carried the bucket to the kitchen door, and leaving it there went quickly away to fetch the wooden rake with which Kerbalou cleared away fallen leaves, and having found it went once again to the little clearing where the fisherman’s hut had stood.

The grass was already inches tall between the black ash and the charred fragments of wood and bone, and he raked it over carefully, sifting it between his fingers, and presently came across two discoloured disks of metal. The silver coins that the negro had mentioned, which had been kept aside to buy food in the nearest village. But though he searched meticulously, covering the ground inch by inch, there was no sign of anything that could have been a ring.

Returning to the house for a spade, he dug in the circle of fire-scarred earth, and eventually uncovered a heavy bundle wrapped in a length of cheap cotton cloth. He had no idea whether the taint of infection could still linger on such an object, but this was no time for caution, and he untied the clumsy knots and laid bare the accumulated wealth of all those dead men from the dhow that had sailed so short a time ago from Pangani. It was a rich haul, and enough, as the negro had said, to keep a man in affluence for the rest of his life. Gold and silver coins, a certain amount of jewellery, and a brocade bag that was heavy with pearls. But there was no ring there either.

Rory thrust it all back into the hole where it had lain, and having stamped the earth down hard above it, scattered debris over the disturbed ground and once again went down to the sea to strip and bathe and rid himself of any taint that the dead men might have left on their lost riches. But his actions were purely mechanical for his mind was busy filling the hours that the negro had spent on the Island, and he wondered why it had never occurred to him before that others might have visited the hut before he himself had done so, and why that mention of the ring should have passed him by. He should have questioned Kerbalou.

He did so as soon as he returned to the house, and the old man replied placidly that the derelict hut in the thickets was often used by a woman of low class from Marubati, who made a living by collecting coconut fibre and fallen palm fronds from the surrounding plantations, and selling them to be made into baskets, mats and rope. He himself had seen her gleaning a bundle of such debris on the day before the last rains fell, and no doubt she had visited the hut and rested there in the noonday heat.

The day after the kyack’s arrival
, thought Rory. She would have found it tenanted by the last survivor of the doomed dhow, and she had probably shared her meal with him, and granted him other favours in exchange for the thumb-ring. He would have to send Kerbalou to her village to find out: and if it were true, the old man must ride to Zanzibar city with a message to Majid, warning him that the cholera might already be loose on the Island and that the village should be isolated at once.

Kerbalou had listened to the tale with a lengthening face and agreed to make enquiries. But he would not take the mare into the village, since it was known that he did not possess such a horse, and some spy of Colonel Edwards’ might remark the fact and ask awkward questions.

“He has spies everywhere,” said Kerbalou, “and it is better to be careful. But if what you suspect is true and the woman met with this man from the dhow, I will take the mare and ride to the city by night.”

He threw a folded blanket over the donkey, and mounting it, plodded off in the hot afternoon sunlight. By nightfall he had not returned, and when Rory heard men beat upon the outer gate and went down, pistol in hand, to see who called at such an hour, it was to find Jumah and Hadir waiting for him outside the wall.

Hajji Ralub had taken advantage of the winds of the previous week to return to the island, and the
Virago
had been lying becalmed off Pemba for several days. But last night’s breeze had enabled them to reach a secluded anchorage on the east coast of the Island, where they had heard news of such grave import that Ralub would have sailed on by daylight and risked being seen by the
Daffodil
y except that the breeze had failed again and he did not know how long it would take him to reach Tumbatu. Therefore he had sent Jumah and Hadir on foot, and was bringing the
Virago
as soon as he could—perhaps before sunrise if the breeze were kind—and when he came the Captain must embark at once and they would immediately sail eastward. For the black cholera had reached the Island.

“And once it has gained a foothold here,” said Jumah, “it will spread with the speed of oil thrown upon water. I have seen it strike once before, and it was deadlier than an army with swords and spears. Where is Bwana Potter and the child?”

“In the city,” said Rory; and his face greyed as he thought of the teeming labyrinth of narrow streets that turned and twisted through the capital of Zanzibar, hemmed in by houses so high that they excluded the sunlight and fresh air and held fast the heat and the stench of ordure and garbage. He too had seen what cholera could do in an overcrowded Eastern town.

Jumah said: “Then I will bear the news and bring them here with all speed, for once the sickness reaches the Black Town there will be little hope for any, and there is not one moment to be lost.”

“No,” said Rory, “I will go myself.”

“And be taken prisoner by the white men? Folly!” said Hadir scornfully. “I have heard that the Baluchis and the Bwana Colonel’s spies still watch The Dolphins’ House.”

“In that case, neither you nor Jumah will ever get through the gate, since they know you too.”

“Maybe,” shrugged Jumah. “But if I cannot gain entrance myself I can get word to them. Is there a horse in these stables?”

“Yes. You had better take it.”

Jumah ate a hurried meal, and was saddling up the mare when Kerbalou returned with news that was now of little importance. Rory had been right, and the woman from Marubati had gone to the hut at the cliff edge and found it tenanted by a sleeping negro who had awakened at her entrance. She had shared her food with him and fetched water, and later had lain with him in return for a silver thumb-ring set with a lump of carved crystal. Returning that same evening to her village she had sold the ring to a shopkeeper in the bazaar: explaining how she had come by it, lest he should think that she had stolen it and on that account offer less than it was worth. With the money in her hand she had begged a lift from a carter who was going to Mkokotoni, where there was to be a nagoma on the following day; and according to a report in the village, it was there that she had been attacked by the sickness and died within a few hours. Those who had gathered for the nagoma had heard the news and fled from Mkokotoni in panic, taking the infection with them, and already it had broken out in another village:

“There is no longer any need to send word to His Highness the Sultan—whom God preserve,” said Kerbalou. “For the pestilence is already loose on Zanzibar, and there is nothing that we can do save resign ourselves to the mercy of the All Merciful. Our fate is written, and if we die, we die. But here in this house I think we shall live, because it is only in the towns and villages, where men and houses crowd upon each other, that the sickness strikes hard. And you, my Lord, it may not affect—since it is well known that it steps aside for white men, and smites fiercest at the black.”

“Let us pray then to Allah that it has not yet reached the city!” said Jumah: and mounting Zafrâne he rode off into the starlit darkness.

Rory spent a sleepless night watching for the
Virago
’s sails, but dawn saw the channel between Tumbatu and the shore as empty and as smooth as the polished
chunam
that formed the floors of the silent house, and all that day no breath of wind came to ruffle its calm surface.

Towards evening he sent Hadir to watch the track that led southward to the city, and Kerbalou along the cliffs towards Mkokotoni in case Jumah and Batty should have elected to paddle a
kyack
along the coast in preference to taking to the roads. He himself went down to walk along the shore, though he knew that there was little hope of the
Virago
rounding the northern point of the Island in a flat calm, and that he was only filling in time in preference to sitting still and doing nothing.

By nightfall there was still no sign of
kyack
, schooner or horsemen; and no breeze. The starlight seemed almost as hot as the sunlight had been, and again there were no drums. Only the shrill monotonous whine of mosquitoes disturbed the silence as Rory lay naked on the string cot under a blaze of stars, feeling the stored heat of the day beat up from the flat roof and knowing what it must be like in the city.

He lay awake for the greater part of the night listening for the sound of footsteps and voices. But in the early hours of the morning the au: cooled, and he fell asleep at last; and awoke at sunrise to the dry rustle of palm fronds singing in the morning wind. There was still no sign of Jumah or Batty and no word from the city. But the breeze held, and late afternoon brought the
Virago
, picking her way delicately down the Tumbatu channel.

Hajji Ralub’s normally impassive face had fallen into harsh lines when he heard that Jumah had gone to the city and had not yet returned, but he shrugged fatalistically and busied himself by taking foodstuffs and fresh water on board, and sent a man with a telescope to keep watch on Tumbatu—a precaution that Rory noted with grim amusement, remarking that the Hajji was wasting his time, since Lieutenant Larrimore did not have to rely solely on sail, and if his ship should come upon them they would never out-distance her in these light airs.

“That is true, but we might do so in the darkness,” said Ralub.

Perhaps. But we cannot leave until Jumah returns with the old one and the child.”

“Do you sleep on board tonight?” asked Ralub.

Rory shook his head: “No, I will wait here for them. Leave a boat and two men on the shore so that we can come aboard at any hour, and be ready to sail at once.”

“And if they do not come?”

“If they are not here by morning I will send Hadir to the city to find out what has happened to them.”

They had not been there by morning, and Hadir had gone, with instructions to buy, borrow or steal a horse, and when he reached the city to keep away from The Dolphins’ House and enquire in the bazaars for news of Batty and Jumah, the doings of Colonel Edwards and his Baluchis, and the whereabouts of Lieutenant Larrimore and the
Daffodil
.

Once again the sky had been clean of clouds and the day intolerably hot, though the breeze had strengthened and the
Virago
jerked at her anchor chain as though she were consumed with impatience to leave that beautiful, tainted island and escape to clear water and cleaner air. But they could not leave without the child and the missing members of the crew. And neither could they move the schooner down the coast to a point nearer the city, since by doing so they would only increase their own danger and probably miss Batty’s party, who would make for the house on the cliffs.