The Monsoon (19 page)

“Ned Tyler, Captain. Wind’s freshening. She could carry away a spar if we drive her on. Permission to take in the staysails and reef the main course.”

“I’ll be on deck right away, Ned,” Tom’s father replied.

A minute later he burst out of his cabin shrugging on his Jacket, and passed a few feet from where Tom lay as he ran up the companionway to the deck.

Tom reached his pallet on the gundeck just as the boatswain’s whistle shrilled and Big Daniel’s voice boomed out in the darkness, “All hands to shorten sail.” Tom had to pretend to rub the sleep out of his eyes and join the rush of men up into the blustery night.

It was in his nature not to be alarmed or cowed by these narrow escapes, and perversely he became emboldened by them. Nowadays there was a strut to his stride like that of a young rooster, which made Aboli grin and shake his head.

“This is the son of the man!” One morning when the ship had been put about on the port tack, and her motion had eased to a long rise and thrust through the green Atlantic rollers, Tom was among the topmast men coming down from working the canvas.

Suddenly, for no reason other than high spirits and cockiness he stood up to his full height on the yard and danced a High Hornpipe.

Every person on deck froze with horror as they watched Tom’s suicidal antics. Forty feet above the deck, Tom performed two full passes, three to the measure, on bare tiptoe, one hand on his hip and the other over his head, then he jumped on the shrouds and slid down to the deck below. He had had enough sense to make certain that his father was in his cabin at the time but before the day was out Hal had heard about the escapade and sent for Tom.

“Why did you do such a stupid, irresponsible thing?” he demanded.

“Because John Tudwell told me I wouldn’t dare,” Tom explained, as though this was the best reason in the world.

Which perhaps it was, Hal thought, as he studied his son’s face.

To his astonishment, he realized that he was looking at a man, not a boy. In the few short months of the voyage Tom had toughened and matured beyond all recognition. His body was work-hardened, his shoulders had filled out from the constant exertion of climbing in the rigging and handling canvas and sheets in a heavy blow, his arms were muscled from the hours of sword drill with Aboli each day, and he balanced like a cat to the ship’s pitch in the southern rollers.

But there was something else he could not quite put his finger on.

He knew that Tom had . always been the precocious one among all his sons, and though he had tried to control his wilder extravagances he had never wanted to fetter this bold, adventurous spirit. Secretly, Hal had admired the boy’s courage and was proud of his headstrong ways.

But now he was aware that something had happened that he had missed.

This was a man, full-groWn, Who faced him with level gaze.

“Well!” Hal said at last.

“You’ve shown John Tudwell he was wrong, haven’t you? So there’s no need to do the High Hornpipe again.”

“No, Father,” Tom agreed readily.

“That is, not until somebody else tells me I lack the guts for it.” His grin was so infectious that Hal felt his own mouth pulled out of shape.

“Get away with you!” He gave Tom a shove towards the cabin door.

“There’s no reasoning with a barbarian.” Guy sat at his accustomed place on the bench beside Caroline in Master Walsh’s cabin. His face was pale and he spoke little during the course of the morning, answering any question from the schoolmaster in a terse monosyllable.

He kept his eyes on his book, not looking at either Tom or Caroline, even when they were reciting the texts that Walsh had asked for.

At last Caroline became aware of his strange behaviour.

“Are You out of sorts, Guy? Are you feeling seasick again?” she whispered.

Guy could not bring himself to look into her face.

“I am perfectly well,” he told her.

“You need not worry about me,” and added silently, Ever again!

Guy had conjured up a fantasy world over the past weeks since he had signed his indenture papers and his employment in the Company factory at Bombay had been secured. With his family connections, and under the patronage of Mr. Beatty, he had foreseen his rapid advancement in the service of the Company. The Beatty family would have become his own, and Caroline would have been there beside him. He imagined sharing her company every day in the tropical paradise of Bombay. They would ride together through palm groves. In the evenings there would be music recitals, Guy playing and Caroline singing, and poetry readings, picnics with the family. He would walk hand in hand with her along white beaches, exchange with her pure, chaste kisses. In a few short years he would be twenty years old, high in the Company service and well able to afford to marry. Now all these dreams were shattered.

When he tried to think of the vile things he had uncovered, his mind shied away from them like a skittish horse. His hands shook and he felt the blood fuming in his brain. He could not bear another minute in the confines of the tiny cabin, with the two people he hated more than he had ever believed himself capable. He stood up abruptly.

“Master Walsh, please excuse me. I am feeling faint. I need to take a turn on deck. The fresh air-” Without waiting for permission, he stumbled to the door and fled up the ladder. He hurried to the bows and clung to a halyard, letting the wind blow in his face. His misery was bottomless and the rest of his life stretched ahead like an endless desert plain.

“I want to die!” he said aloud, and peered over the ship’s side.

The water was green and beautiful. It would be so peaceful down there.

He stepped down onto the chains and balanced there, hanging on with one hand on the shrouds.

“It will be so easy,” he told himself.

“So quick and easy.” He began to lean outwards over the rushing, curling bow-wave.

A powerful grip closed on his free wrist, and he almost lost his balance.

“There is nothing that you have lost down there, Mbili,” Aboli’s voice rumbled.

“You never were a swimmer.”

“Leave me!” Guy said bitterly.

“Why do you always interfere, Aboli? I just want to die.”

“You will have your wish, that is the only thing certain in this life,” Aboli assured him.

“But not today, Mbili.” The name he had called Guy from the day of his birth meal Number Two in the language of the forests. Gently He exerted pressure on his arm.

Guy tried vainly to resist that great strength.

“Leav, me, Aboli.

Please.”

“The men are looking at you,” Aboli told him softly.

Guy looked round and saw that some of the watch on deck had stopped their talk and were watching this little pantomime curiously.

“Do not shame your father and me with this stupidity.” Guy capitulated, and hopped down clumsily onto the, deck. Aboli released his wrist.

“Let us talk,” he suggested.

“I do not want to talk, to you or to anybody.”

“Then we will be silent together,” Aboli agreed, and led him to the lee rail. They squatted together there, shielded from the wind and from the eyes of the watch.

Aboli was calm and silent, like a mountain, a reassuring presence.

He did not look at Guy or touch him, but he was there. The long minutes drew out, then Guy blurted out wildly, “I love her so, Aboli.

It’s like fangs gnawing at my belly.” So! Aboli thought sadly.

He has found out the truth.

Klebe is not one to hide his tracks. He is after this filly like a young stallion that has kicked down the fence. It is a wonder that Mbili took so long to discover it.

“Yes, I know, Mbili,” he said.

“I

have also loved.”

“What am I to do?” Guy demanded miserably.

“No matter how much it hurts, it will never kill you, and one day, sooner than you will believe possible, you will have forgotten the pain.”

“I will never forget it,” said Guy, with deep conviction.

“And I will never forget my love for her.” Hal Courtney heard the ship’s bell sound the beginning of the middle watch.

“Midnight,” he murmured. He pressed both fists into the small of his back. He had sat at his desk for many hours, he felt stiff and his eyes smarted. He stood up and trimmed the wick of the lamp, adjusting it to light the documents on his desktop, then seated himself again in the heavy oak chair and applied himself once more to his work.

The builders” drawings of Seraph were spread before him. He studied the plan of her gun decks for a while, then set it on one side, pulled towards him the drawing of the side elevation, and compared the two.

“We have to conceal the guns, and give her the look of an unarmed trader,” he murmured.

“It will mean stripping the lids off the gun ports of the lower deck-” He broke off and frowned as he heard a soft scratching at the door of his cabin.

“Who is it?” he demanded. The weather was fair and the wind light and steady. He had not expected to be interrupted. There was no answer to his challenge, and after a moment he grunted. It must have been a rat or his imagination. He turned his attention back to the drawings.

The scratching at the door came again. This time he pushed back his chair irritably and stood up. Stooping under the beams he strode to the door and pulled it open.

A slight figure stood diffidently before him. It took Hal a moment to recognize his own son.

“Guy?” He peered closely at him.

“What are you doing at this time of night? Come in, boy.” Guy stepped into the cabin, and pulled the door to behind him. He plucked his cap from his head. His face was pale and his expression nervous.

“Father, I had to tell you-” he stammered, twisting the cap in his hands.

“What is it, lad? Speak up,” Hal encouraged him.

“There is somebody in the powder magazine in the, hold,” Guy blurted out.

“The door is open and there is light.”

“What?” Hal’s voice was sharp with alarm.

“In the magazine? A light?” A host of dire misgivings crowded his mind.

“Yes, sir.”

Hal whirled and crossed to his desk. He jerked open the top drawer and lifted out the wooden case of pistols, He opened it and took out one of the double-barrelled weapons, swiftly checked the flint and the priming, then thrust it into his belt. Then he checked the second of the pair and hefted it in his right hand.

“We’ll see about this,” he muttered grimly, and lifted the lamp out of its gimbals.

“Come with me, Guy, but softly. We don’t want to warn the rascals, whoever they are.” He eased open the cabin door and Guy followed him out into the passageway.

“Close it quietly,” Hal warned and went to the head of the companionway. He peered down into the lower deck but saw no glimmer of light. He turned his head to Guy.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, Father.” Stepping lightly Hal started down the ladder, stopping on each tread to listen and look. He reached the bottom and paused again. Only then did he see the faint nimbus of light around the edges of the magazine door.

“Yes!” he whispered, and cocked both hammers of the pistol in his hand.

“Now we’ll see what they’re up to.” He started towards the magazine, carrying the lamp behind his back to shield the flame. Guy was close behind him.

Hal reached the door and placed his ear to the thick oak panel.

Faintly, above the other noises of the ship, he heard sounds that puzzled him, soft cries and moans, a rustling and thudding he could not place.

He tried the lock and the handle turned readily enough in his hand. He put his shoulder against the door and gradually applied his weight. The jamb scraped softly and then the door swung open. He stood in the entrance and lifted his lantern high above his head. For a while he was deprived of the power of further movement. The scene before him was so far from his expectations that he could not make sense of what he was seeing.

The screened lamp in its gimbals on the bulkhead above the ready racks added its light to the rays of his own lantern. Clothing was jumbled on the deck at Hal’s feet, and human bodies sprawled over the silk powder bags before him. It took a moment for him to realize they were naked. Pale skin gleamed bright in the lamplight, and he stared in disbelief. A woman’s curls, tangled limbs, red mouth open wide, small feet that kicked spasmodically towards the deck beams above, slim hands that clutched and twisted in a man’s hair, the man’s head buried between her pearly thighs, her back and buttocks thumping against the mattress of powder bags as she writhed in transport.

The pair seemed oblivious to anything but each other.

Even the lantern turned full upon them had not alarmed them for the girl’s eyes were tightly closed and her features so contorted with passion that she seemed a stranger to Hal.

He stood there transfixed and only roused himself when Guy tried to push his way into the magazine. He moved to block his entrance and screen the scene from him.

“Get back, Guy!” he said, and his voice penetrated the curtains of passion that shrouded the pair on the rack. The woman’s eyes flew open, then slowly expanded like the petals of a violet bloom as she stared at Hal in horror and disbelief. Her mouth twisted into a silent scream Of despair, and she struggled up on one elbow, her breasts swinging round and white in the lamplight. With both hands she tore at the dark hair of the head lodged between her thighs, but could not budge it.

“Tom!” Hal found his voice at last. He saw the muscles in the boy’s broad white back convulse with shock, as though a dagger had been plunged into them. Then Tom lifted his face and stared at his father.

It seemed an eternity that all three were frozen like that.

Tom’s face was suffilsed with blood, as though he had run a race, or wrestled a heavy bout. His gaze was as unfocused and vague as that of a drunkard.

“In the name of God, girl, cover yourself!” Hal grated.

His own shame flared up as he found it took a huge effort on his part to tear his eyes from her spreadeagled body.

At his words she kicked Tom away with both feet and tumbled from the rack onto the deck. She snatched up her discarded nightdress and held it to her chest with both hands, trying to cover her nudity, crouching there on her knees like a wild animal in a trap. Hal turned his back on her and found Guy pressing close behind him, craning to see what was happening in the magazine. Hal shoved him roughly out into the passageway.