Sea of Poppies (74 page)

. . . Kalua's killed Bhyro Singh . . .

. . . with his own chabuk . . .

. . . broke his neck . . .

. . . and now the silahdars are going to take their revenge . . .

The welter of witnessing made it hard to know what was true and what was not: one man said the silahdars had already killed
Kalua, but another denied this, saying he was alive, although badly beaten. Now, as yet more men came pouring down the ladder, everyone had something new to add, something else to report, so that it was almost as if Deeti were on the main deck herself, watching the events unfold: Kalua, cut loose from the frame to which he had been tethered, was being dragged across the deck by the enraged guards. The Kaptan was on the quarter-deck, with the two malums beside him, trying to reason with the silahdars, telling them it was their right to demand justice, and they would have it too, but only through a lawful execution, properly performed, not a lynching.

But this was not enough to satisfy the maddened mob on the main deck, who began to howl: Now! Now! Hang him now!

These cries set off a sudden churning, deep inside Deeti's belly: it was as if her unborn child had taken fright and was trying to shut out the voices that were clamouring for its father's death. Clapping her hands over her ears, Deeti staggered into the arms of the other women, who half dragged and half carried her to their corner of the dabusa and laid her prostrate on the planks.

‘Stand back, y'bastards!'

An instant after the roar had erupted from Mr Crowle's lips, the air was split by a report from his pistol. On the Captain's instructions, he had aimed the shot just to the left of the starboard davits, where the silahdars had dragged Kalua's almost-senseless body, with the intention of stringing him up from an improvised noose. The sound of the gun brought them abruptly to a halt and they spun around to find themselves facing not one, but three pairs of handguns. The Captain and the two mates were standing shoulder to shoulder on the quarter-deck, with their guns drawn and cocked.

‘Stand back! Stand back, I said.'

No muskets had been issued to the guards that morning, and they were armed only with spears and swords. For a minute or two, the scrape of metal on metal could be clearly heard, as they milled about on deck, fidgeting with their hilts and scabbards, trying to decide what to do next.

Later, Zachary was to remember thinking that if the silahdars had made a concerted rush upon the quarter-deck just then, there was little that they, the three officers, could have done to hold them back: they would have been defenceless after they fired their first volley. Captain Chillingworth and Mr Crowle knew this just as well as he did, but they knew also that there could be no backing down now – for if the silahdars were allowed to get away with a lynching, then there was no telling what they'd do next. That Kalua would have to hang for the killing of Bhyro Singh was clear enough – but it was clear also that the execution could not be the work of a mob. All three officers were in unspoken agreement on this: if the silahdars were of a mind to mutiny, then this was when they would have to be faced down.

It was Mr Crowle who carried the day. Squaring his shoulders, he leant over the fife-rail and wagged his guns, in invitation. ‘Come on, y'blackguards; don't stand there showing me yer teeth. Let's see if ye've got a pair of ballocks between the lot o'yer.'

No more than anyone else could Zachary deny that Mr Crowle made an imposing figure as he stood astride the quarter-deck, with a pistol in each hand and a stream of obscenities flowing from his lips – ‘. . . pack o'mollyfuckin shagbags, let's see which o'yer is going to be the first to take a bullet in yer bacon-hole . . .' In his gaze there was such a relish for bloodshed that no one could doubt that he would shoot without hesitation. The silahdars seemed to understand this, for after a minute or two, they dropped their eyes and the fight seemed to seep out of them.

Mr Crowle lost no time in pressing home his advantage. ‘Stand back; stand back, I say, step away from the coolie.'

Not without some muttering, the silahdars slowly edged away from Kalua's prostrate body and gathered in the middle of the deck. They were beaten now, and they knew it, so when Mr Crowle told them to drop their armaments they made a show of obeying in proper parade-ground fashion, laying their swords and spears in a tidy heap beneath the fife-rails.

The Captain took charge now, muttering a command to Zachary. ‘Reid – take those weapons abaft and see they're properly stowed. Get a couple of the lascars to lend a hand.'

‘Yes, sir.'

With the help of three lascars, Zachary gathered the weapons together, carried them below and locked them safely away in the armoury. Some twenty minutes passed before he came back up, and by that time an uneasy calm had descended on the quarter-deck. Zachary stepped out of the after-companionway to find the silahdars listening in subdued silence, as the Captain launched into one of his jobations.

‘I know the subedar's death has come as a great shock . . .' Here, as the gomusta translated his words, the Captain paused to wipe his streaming face. ‘. . . Believe me, I fully share your grief. The subedar was a fine man, and I am as determined as any of you to see justice done.' Now that a mutiny had been averted, it was clear that the Captain was disposed to be as generous as possible: ‘You have my word that the murderer will be hung – but you will have to wait until tomorrow, for it would be unseemly for a hanging to follow too closely upon a funeral. Till then, you must be patient. Today you must give your attention to your subedar – and after you are finished, you must retire to your quarters.'

The officers watched in silence as the silahdars performed the subedar's last rites. At the end of the ceremony, they joined together to herd the guards and overseers back into the midships-cabin. When the last of them had stepped through, the Captain breathed a sigh of relief. ‘Best keep them down there till tomorrow. Give them time to cool off.'

The Captain's strength had been failing visibly through the day, and it was with a noticeable effort that he now mopped his face. ‘Must confess I feel none too spry,' he said. ‘The deck is yours, Mr Crowle.'

‘Y'go ahead and rest as long as y'like,' said the first mate. ‘It's all in hand, sir.'

Deeti was among the last to learn of the stay on Kalua's execution, and the knowledge of this – that she had wasted precious time in venting her emotions – made her furious, and with no one so much as herself. She knew full well that if she was to be of any help to her husband, she would have to try to think as
he did – and she was aware also that his most valuable resource in moments of crisis was not his strength of limb but rather his coolness of head. As if by instinct, she turned to the one person she knew she could depend on: Pugli – come here, sit beside me.

Bhauji?

Deeti put an arm around Paulette's shoulders and leant towards her ear: Pugli, what's to be done, tell me? Unless there's a miracle, I'm going to be a widow tomorrow.

Paulette took hold of her fingers and gave them a squeeze: Bhauji, don't give up hope. It's not tomorrow yet. A lot could happen between now and then.

Oh? The girl had been frequenting the air duct all morning, Deeti had noticed: she sensed that she knew more than she was willing to say. What is it, Pugli? Is something going on?

Paulette hesitated before giving her a quick nod. Yes, Bhauji, but don't ask me about it. I can't talk.

Deeti gave her a shrewdly appraising glance. All right, Pugli: I won't ask what's going on. But tell me this: you think it's possible that my
jora
could get away alive? Before tomorrow?

Who can tell, Bhauji? said Paulette. All I can say is that there's a chance.

Hé Rám!
Deeti took hold Paulette's cheeks and shook them, in gratitude. Oh Pugli, I knew I could trust you.

Don't say that, Bhauji! Paulette cried. Don't say anything yet. So much could go wrong. Let's not doom it from the start.

There was more to this protest, Deeti guessed, than mere superstition: she could feel the girl's nervousness in the tautness of her cheeks. She brought her head closer to her ear.

Tell me, Pugli, she said, are you going to have a part in it too – whatever it is that's going to happen?

Again Paulette hesitated before blurting out, in a whisper: A very small part, Bhauji. But an essential one, or so I'm told. And I'm worried that things may go wrong.

Deeti rubbed her cheeks to warm them. I'll be praying for you, Pugli . . .

A little after four, shortly after the start of the first dogwatch of the afternoon, Captain Chillingworth came on deck again, looking pale and feverish, and hugging an old-fashioned boat-cloak to his chest. As he emerged from the companionway, his eyes went straight to the stooped, drooping figure that was tethered to the mainmast. He turned a glance of inquiry on the first mate, who answered with a grim laugh: ‘The nigger's alive all right; kill that ziggerboo ten times over and he wouldn't be dead.'

The Captain nodded, and began to shuffle to the windward side of the quarter-deck, with his head lowered and his shoulders bunched. The wind was blowing hard and steady from the east, throwing white-capped combers against the schooner's side. In deference to the weather the Captain headed not to his usual place, at the junction of the bulwark and the fife-rail, but to the protective shelter of the after-shrouds. On reaching the shrouds, he turned to look eastwards where dark scuds of cloud had tumbled together to form a dense, steel-grey mass. ‘Storm-breeders if ever I saw them,' muttered the Captain. ‘How bad do you think it's going to be, Mr Crowle?'

‘Nothing to sweat about, sir,' said the first mate. ‘Just a few scurries and sneezers. Blow itself out by dawn.'

The Captain leant back to look up at the masts, which were now bare of all canvas except for the staysails and foresails. ‘None the less, gentlemen,' he said, ‘we'll have her hove-to and snugged down; best to ride out the weather under a storm-staysail. No need to take any risks.'

Neither of the mates wanted to be the first to give their assent to such an excess of caution. ‘Can't see as it's necessary, sir,' said Mr Crowle at last, reluctantly.

‘You'll do it all the same,' said the Captain. ‘Or do I have to remain on deck to see it done?'

‘Don't y'worry sir,' said Mr Crowle quickly. ‘I'll see to it.'

‘Good,' said the Captain. ‘I'll leave it to you then. And as for myself, I'm more than a little a-weather, I must confess. I would be grateful if I could be spared any interruptions tonight.'