Son of Fortune (21 page)

A worker filling a wheelbarrow on the terrace above accidentally spilled a shovelful of guano that barely missed them as they walked past. Nicholas cursed and shook the dust off his hat. Ten minutes later, as they were collecting on a higher level, one of the men lost his grip on a sledgehammer, and the heavy tool landed within inches of their boots. A guard ran over and lashed the man a vicious blow. The man dropped to his knees and bowed his forehead to the ground in apology, but when he stood up again, he glared at Aiden with murderous fury in his eyes. Chinese, Negro, or Irish, Aiden knew that men might endure plenty of abuse but always had a breaking point.

“Nicholas,” he said. “I think you were right about the coolies being upset. It might be better to put this off for a few days.”

“What? Nonsense—we're halfway up the mountain.” Suddenly he realized what Aiden meant. “Are you saying the coolies—” He glanced around and dropped his voice to a whisper. “Do you think that was deliberate?”

“I think our people chained one of theirs to a rock.”

“Regardless,” Nicholas said, trying to sound confident, “one must never let the natives bully! My family were all foreign service—I know this!” He shook the dust off his kerchief and tied it back over his mouth and nose. “You can't let them take an inch. Come along, let's finish and be done with it.”

As they worked their way to the top of the quarry, Aiden saw more glares and glowering looks. Even the Negro guards seemed tense and angry. Every time they took a sample, Aiden kept a cautious eye all around. The tension felt even higher as he and Nicholas made their way back down. Aiden heard muttered curses and hissing as they passed. The little accidents became more common. Showers of guano crumbled down on them from above. Several times, men with full wheelbarrows nearly knocked against them. So when one of the diggers suddenly sprang toward them, Aiden instinctively swung at him. The coolie ducked and nimbly dodged away, then bowed his head and held up his hands in supplication.

“Sorry! So sorry. No bad!” He bowed rapidly. “No bad me! No hurt! Only you take!” He held out something in his hand. “Free you take—take! Free take!” He was grinning and bobbing in the most obsequious manner, and would not even raise his eyes to look at them.

“Go away!” Nicholas made a shooing motion. “Get back or I'll call the guard.”

“You take!” the little man insisted. He risked a glance at Aiden. “For you science! Very old. History! I give!”

Cautiously, Aiden held out his hand. The man dropped a small object, about the size and shape of a shark tooth, into his palm. It was a shard of pottery, grayish brown with some dark lines painted on the curved side.

“More!” The man's eyes darted around nervously. “I have more. You come see!”

“We don't want any trinkets,” Nicholas said. “Don't encourage him, Aiden. Come on.”

“Thank you,” Aiden said to the man.

“More—history—Inca—yes? You know Inca? Very old!” The man pointed again at the shard, then patted his hand on his bare chest, leaving a palm print in the dust. “I am Jian Zhang. You come—more!” He pointed at one of the Negroes on the terrace below. “See!” He drew his finger down the side of his cheek. Aiden looked and saw that the guard had a ropey scar across his cheek. “He show! Yes?”

“Yes,” Aiden said, wanting only to be far away from this crazy coolie and gone from this place. He closed his hand around the little bit of pottery. “Thank you.”

Jian Zhang picked up his shovel and bowed. Then, for an instant, he looked Aiden directly in the eyes. “Now you watch!” he whispered. He tipped his chin and pointed a finger up. “Bad men—bad!” Then he turned and darted away, back to his digging. Aiden tucked the bit of pottery into his pocket. It was just one more strange thing in a long, strange day.

Two tiers down, Aiden heard, or felt, something wrong. It had been years since he had worked in the rock quarry as a child, but instinctively he recognized the rivulet of dust and pebbles that indicated a rock slide. He looked up just in time to see a huge chunk of guano break off above and tumble down toward them.
Watch—bad men.

“Look out!” He shoved Nicholas, but the landslide of guano was already rushing down on them. Aiden grabbed Nicholas's arm, pulled him across his own body and rolled them both out of the way just as a chunk of guano big as a steamer trunk crashed down inches away. They were buried in choking debris. The terrace cracked beneath them, and they were pushed along in an avalanche of guano. For a few long seconds, Aiden could not even tell which way was up. This was not the way to die, he thought. Of all the ways there were, this was especially not it. The ammonia stench was a cloud of gas that steamed through his lungs.

But finally everything slowed and he got his feet under him. He pushed himself up and dragged Nicholas to his feet. Aiden groped at his eyes and tried to brush away the burning dust, but that just made it worse. He could hear shouting and Nicholas coughing and spitting. Then many hands began grabbing at him—small, rough, scaly hands. Aiden swung wildly, thinking the coolies were attacking them now. He couldn't see or breathe. Then a whip cracked, and he saw the black legs of Negro guards. The dust began to settle, and Aiden saw Nicholas also blinking and spitting and coughing, coated in yellow dust from head to foot like a sugared cookie.

“Are you all right?” Aiden gasped.

Nicholas nodded and began to brush himself off. There was much shouting and whip cracking all around them. It might well have been an accident, Aiden tried to convince himself. They probably wouldn't really have been buried alive. But his heart was pounding and his skin prickled with panic. He forced himself to stay calm. He found the collection bag, dusty but undamaged, and got out their canteens. He handed one to Nicholas, pushing it blindly into his hands. Aiden swished his mouth out, poured some water over his eyes and even splashed a palmful up his nose. The guano boulder had shattered upon impact, but there was still a large chunk the size of a cannonball that had made a crater several inches deep just where they had been standing minutes ago.

“Oh my,” Nicholas said, still brushing himself off. “Good eye there. Thank you. Wherever did you learn to flip someone about like that? Did you wrestle in school?”

“Old Indian trick,” Aiden said, spitting and wiping his tongue.

“What? Oh yes—ha, good there. Well done, ah, however it was, ah, done.” He coughed violently. “Well, I suppose we have enough samples,” Nicholas said in a louder but shaky voice. “Get the bag there, will you, and let's be on our way.” He brushed the guano dust off his trousers. “Calmly,” he added in a whisper. “Remember—never show the natives fear.”

The
Lady
May
's launch was waiting for them, sculling in place fifty yards off, well outside the breakwater.

“Why aren't they at the dock like they should be?” Nicholas said crossly. “What the bloody hell are they doing bobbing around out there?”

There was a splash nearby, and Aiden saw the dark flick of a sharp tail. The water all around the dock was riffled by sharks. There were five or six, maybe seven, all small, the biggest no more than four feet long. They swam around lazily, like contented dinner guests casually browsing the dessert tray to see if there might be a few of the best sweets left.

“Sorry, sir,” one of the sailors said as the launch glided up. “It was a bit dodgy here for a while.” He stood and offered his hand to Nicholas. His face was gray and his fine livery blotched with vomit stains. “Watch your step, sir.”

With a few hard pulls, the sailors rowed them swiftly away. Aiden squeezed his eyes shut, but he did not have to look to know the awful truth. The punishment rock was now empty.

The
Raven
was quiet as Aiden climbed back on deck. The sun felt closer and hotter than ever, as if it could beam a hole through the whole ship. Aiden imagined her sinking quickly into the cold water with only a slight hiss. It seemed a peaceful resolution right now. It was not yet noon, but Aiden felt a year had passed since he woke at first light that morning, eager for exploration.

“Good morning, sir.” Sven the Baby stepped up to the companionway as Aiden boarded. There was no one else on deck.

“Where is everyone?” Aiden asked.

“The captain is visiting the
Bristol
Star.
Mr. Worthington has gone to the North Island as usual.” Sven the Baby, Sven the Ancient's great-nephew, was the most junior of the crew and so was often one of those left behind to man the ship while the others enjoyed an outing. “Um—if you'd like to join him, I can row you over. There's only the little boat, so it will take a while longer—”

“What? No,” Aiden interrupted. “I don't want to go anywhere.” He suddenly felt as if the ship were rocking beneath his feet, though he knew they were calmly at anchor. He grabbed the rail to steady himself. The wind was roaring in his ears.

“Are you all right, sir?” Sven said in a faraway voice. “You're very pale.”

“I don't want to go anywhere,” Aiden repeated. His own voice sounded far away. And being called “sir” suddenly seemed awfully strange. “I will be in my cabin.”

“Very well, sir. Shall I bring you some lunch?”

“Please just let me be,” Aiden snapped. The air felt dense and prickly, like just before a storm. He brushed past Sven and managed to stumble down the companionway. The cabin was impossibly hot. Aiden pushed open the hatch, and a carpet of dense air rolled in. He didn't care if the yellow dust came in with it. He felt sick and angry, and more so because what right did he have to feel sick and angry? He had only seen this awfulness, he wasn't living it. He wasn't a coolie, he was a master. He owned escape.

But how could he have been so oblivious? For nearly two weeks, he had been picnicking every day on the edge of hell, with his back to the abyss. He had sat at fancy tables, eating fancy food with wealthy people. The memory of the rich pork and sweet punch now made him nauseated, and he barely got to the bucket in the passageway before he vomited. He went back into the cabin and fell down on the bed just before the woozy sweat of darkness laid him out. He lay still for minutes or hours, until the world stopped spinning and his bones firmed up enough to stand. He sat up and saw a jug of water and a plate of hardtack on the little table. The bucket had also been rinsed and placed strategically by his bed. Sven the Baby was a quietly thoughtful man. But instead of making him feel better, these easy comforts just incensed Aiden more. He got up and opened the desk drawer, got the key to the liquor storeroom, found a bottle of whiskey and drank himself unconscious.

“Wake up—we're having a party,” Christopher said. “What are you doing down here? It's like a hothouse! And you've let the dust in!”

Aiden blinked open his crusty eyes to blinding sun stabbing in through the porthole. He sat up, sweaty and confused. The slant of the sun told him many hours had passed. “A party? What time is it?”

“Party time!” Christopher said brightly. “One of the German ships has an oompah band.” He sat down at the tiny desk that also served as his dressing table. “I've got every danceable woman in the anchorage promised to come, though that's only three, and two are ugly.” He had already rinsed the dust out of his hair and now carefully combed it back. “But I haven't got a reply from Alice yet. Do you know if they have plans tonight?”

Aiden's mouth was so dry he could barely talk, and his skin crackled when he moved. He poured some water from the jug into a glass and gulped it down. “What are you talking about? We can't have a party.”

“Why not? We have a band, we have drink, we have nothing else to do. In any math that equals a party.”

Aiden rubbed his eyes and immediately regretted it, for the dust made them burn like a hornet sting. Christopher pulled the hatch closed. “What are you doing down here anyway? Look at you—you're filthy! You need to wash before the party.”

Aiden saw that Christopher was in what they called his “bright mood,” but he did not want to deal with it now. He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyeballs, hard enough to cause a comforting pain. “We can't have a party.”

“Why not?”

“Do you know what happened today?” he said.

“Of course.” Christopher pulled off his damp shirt. “Unpleasant business.”

“Unpleasant?” Aiden's voice caught in his throat. Unpleasant was an overcooked roast or a rough seam inside a new shoe. He felt his anger rising like a storm. “Last night, while we were waltzing, they chained a man to a rock!”

“I know. He tried to escape.”

“They chained him to a rock, where he hung all night being smashed by waves, and then through the morning until his wrists finally stretched enough for all the little bones to break apart and the skin to tear—or maybe, I don't know, maybe the skin didn't tear—” Aiden rubbed his own wrists as if examining the construction to be sure. “Maybe the little bones just finally got crushed enough to slip through the shackles, I don't know—”

“Shut up,” Christopher interrupted.

“Then his body fell into the sea and was eaten by sharks and little fish.”

“Shut up! I know what happened.”

“Hopefully he was already dead before that.”

“We didn't chain him there,” Christopher said, annoyed. “It wasn't us.”

“Of course it was us!” Aiden slammed the little table so hard the water jug crashed. “Why would any of them be here—if not for us?”

“It was a barbaric thing,” Christopher said. “Everyone agrees, and some of the senior captains are going to talk to Koster. But the fact is, the coolie did try to escape.”

“Oh—yes. So now we all just polka to an oompah band?”

“Oh stop!” Christopher jumped up, equally angry. “Do you think me such a monster? Or incapable in my heart—because I haven't had your damn infernal prairie suffering—dead starving family—awful suffering? You think that I don't care for a man—even a Chinaman—being dashed to bits on the rocks? Am I a toy man with a toy heart? I won't have this argument now! We are here for business!” He flung open the cabin door and strode out. “You need a bath.”