The Monsoon (87 page)

“Not tomorrow, I have promised to help Caroline with Christopher, but the next day, at the same time.” He placed his hands on her waist and lifted her up into the saddle. He hoped she realized the strength that that simple act had required for she was no delicate lily of a girl. Today she was riding side-saddle.

She hooked one leg around the horn, and he helped her arrange her long skirts. Then she looked down at him 4 .1 as he stood by her stirrup.

“Oh, Tom,” she said impulsively, “it’s been such fun. Life on the island is so restricted and boring.

Guy won’t even let me go into the town on my own. I cannot last remember when I enjoyed myself so much.” Then she seemed overcome by embarrassment at her lack of restraint. Without waiting for his response she urged the mare away, and raced off down the sandy path through the palm groves. She sat tall and regal in the saddle.

s Tom came up the causeway from the harbour and passed below the portcullis of the fort, he saw Ltwo men coming towards him, deep in conversation. He caught a snatch of their words as they passed him, enough to be sure that they were speaking English, and he turned back after them.

“God love you, gentlemen,” he called, “it’s good to hear the Christian tongue spoken in this heathen land. May I introduce myself? Robert Davenport.” He used the pseudonym he had chosen to protect himself from the murder warrant that he knew must follow him.

The two Englishmen turned to face him, their expressions guarded.

Only then Tom recognized them as the captain and one of the officers from the East Indiaman in the harbour. He had seen them rowed ashore from the ship earlier in the day.

“I hope you have enjoyed a good voyage thus far?” Tom asked, when they had reluctantly introduced themselves and shaken hands, still stiff and reserved.

“I presume that you are coming from an audience of the Sultan?”

“Yes.” The captain nodded curtly. He did not volunteer further information, and Tom had to fish again.

“What is the fellow like? This will be my first meeting with him.

Does he speak any English?”

“He speaks only his own God-forsaken lingo,” the man replied.

“I wish you luck in your dealings with him.

He is a crafty devil, and you will need all the luck you can muster.”

He bowed.

“And now if you will excuse me, sir ..

Tom strode into the fort, his anger bubbling over. He now had proof of what Sarah had told him. At the instigation of Guy, his own brother, the vizier was fobbini, him off.

A servant of the vizier tried to delay him in & antechamber, but Tom brushed past him: he knew his way to the inner cabinet. He jerked aside the thick silk curtains that covered the doorway and barged through.

The vizier was seated on the low platform at the left side of the room. The room stank of incense and hashish.

There was a writing-tablet in front of him and a secret an beside him, offering documents one at a time for his signature. The vizier looked up, startled by Tom’s precipitate entrance.

“A minute ago I spoke to the English captain who was coming from an audience of His Excellency,” Tom announced.

“I was pleased to hear that the Sultan has recovered so swiftly from his indisposition,” he went on, in Arabic, “for this means that he is now able to meet me, and respond to my petition.” The vizier scrambled to his feet, but Tom brushed past him, making for the doorway beyond.

“You cannot go in there!” he cried fearfully, but Tom ignored him.

“Guard!” the vizier shouted.

“Stop that man.” A big man in a long robe and half-armour appeared in the doorway and blocked Tom’s way. He had his hand on the pommel of the sheathed scimitar on his belt. Tom stepped up to him, and seized his sword arm at the wrist.

The guard tried to draw his weapon but Tom held his arm, and crushed his wrist in a vicious grip that made him wince, looking ever his shoulder into the room beyond.

“Greetings, mighty lord,” he called to the man who reclined on a mound of cushions.

“I call down all the blessings of Allah upon you, and offer you my humble and dutiful respects. I beg to address you on a matter of mercy.

As the Prophet Himself has said, the small child and the widow are deserving of our compassion.” The Sultan blinked at him, and sat upright. He wore a jacket of heavily brocaded silk over scarlet pant aa st loons, gathered at the waist with a girdle of gold filigree.

His turban was scarlet to match his trousers, and his beard was bushy and thick. He tugged at it nervously. He had not expected to be confronted by this barbaric Frank, quoting the sacred words of the Koran at him.

The vizier had run after Tom. Now he thrust himself between them.

“Forgive me, lord, I tried to stop him. This is the mean and worthless unbeliever of whom I told you.

I will call the guard to have him removed.”

“Let him be,” the Sultan said.

“I will listen to what he has to say.” Tom released the guard’s wrist and pushed him aside.

“This mean and worthless unbeliever thanks the mighty Sultan All Muhammad, and presents his humble respects.” His words were so much at odds with his behaviour that the Sultan smiled.

“Speak to me, then, on this compassionate matter,” he invited.

“I seek a child, my own brother. He was lost two years ago. I have good reason to suspect that he is being held captive in the territories of the Omani.” The Sultan’s expression became guarded.

“My brother is a subject of His Majesty King William the Third.

There is a treaty between your Caliph and our King which forbids the enslavement of their subjects.”

“I know who you are.” The Sultan held up his hand to silence Tom.

“I have heard from the English consul concerning you. I have also received enquiries from the consul about this child. These matters are being investigated. There is nothing more I can tell you until I receive a reply from the court of the Caliph in Muscat.”

“It is a year and more since,” Tom began angrily, but the Sultan stopped him.

“I am sure that you must realize the folly of arousing the displeasure of the Caliph by importuning him on such a trivial matter as this.”

“It is no trivial matter,” Tom protested.

“My family i!

noble, and wields much influence.”

“To the Caliph, it is a trivial matter. However, His Majesty is a man of great compassion. We can rest assures that we will hear from him if he can tell us anything about the boy. He will reply to these queries when he have something to tell us. In the meantime we must wait upon his grace.”

“How long?”

Tom demanded.

“How long must we wait?”

“As long as is necessary.”

The Sultan made the gesture Of dismissal.

“Next time you burst in upon me like an enemy I will treat you as one, Englishman he warned coldly.

When Tom had been led away, the Sultan summoned his vizier and the man prostrated himself before him.

“Forgive me, mighty lord. I am dust before you. I tried to prevent that mad Frank-” The Sultan silenced him with a wave of his hand.

Send word to the English consul that I wish to speak to him immediately.” Guy went down to the fort yesterday. The Sultan sent for him,” Sarah told Tom.

“When he came back he had a black dog on his back. He beat one of the grooms senseless, and shouted at Caroline and me.”

“He didn’t beat you?” Tom asked.

“I swear I will thrash him into a pulp if he raises a hand to you.”

“He tried that only once.”

Sarah laughed, and shook out her hair so that it danced in the monsoon wind.

“I doubt he will do so again. I broke one of his precious Chinese vases over his head. It didn’t bleed much, but he behaved as if he was dying. But enough of that! I was giving you my report.”

“Stand by aboud” Tom interrupted her, and she jumped to the mi zen halyard of the little felucca. She was learning the ropes quickly and was already a handy crew.

Tom had hired the craft in Zanzibar harbour for a few rupees a day, and they laid her on a tack to round the south point of the island. Then Sarah came back to sit beside him.

“So, after throwing the entire household into pandemonium, Guy spent the rest of the afternoon in his room.

At supper he spoke hardly a word, but drank two bottles of port, and another of Madeira. It took two servants to help Caroline and me carry him up to bed.”

“So my twin has become a sot?” Tom asked.

“No, it was most unusual, the first time I have seen him drink himself into a stupor. You seem to have a strange effect on people.”

She made the double-edged remark with such insouciance that Tom was not certain how to interpret it. She went on lightly, “After we had tucked him up, and Caroline was beside him in the bed, I went down to his office, and found he had written a sheaf of letters. I made copies of those that concern us.” She pulled out the folded pages from the pocket of her skirt.

“This one is to Lord Childs, and this to your brother William.” She handed them to him and the sheets fluttered in her hand.

“Take the tiller.” He handed it to her, and Sarah perched up on the transom, her skirts pulled up to her knees to let the sun and wind play on her skin. With an effort Tom averted his eyes from those long, strong limbs and focused his attention on the papers. He frowned as he read the first letter, and as he continued the frown turned into a dark scowl.

“The treacherous bastard!” he exclaimed, then was immediately contrite.

“Forgive me. I did not mean to use rough language.” She laughed, crinkling her eyes.

“If Guy is a bastard that makes you one also. We had better choose another description. How about toad or bunghole?” Tom felt himself blush, he had not expected to be outdone in the use of invective. Hurriedly he switched his attention back to the letter to William. It was an eerie feeling to read words directed to the man he had killed.

When he finished reading he tore both letters to shreds and threw them up into the air. They watched them fly away like white gulls on the wind.

“So tell me about your audience with the Sultan. Every last detail,” Sarah demanded.

Before replying Tom stood up and went to the foot Of the mast. He lowered the lateen sail, and immediately the motion of the felucca changed: she no longer plunged and wrestled with the wind, but gave herself to it like a lover, with a gentle swoop and climb. He went back and sat close to Sarah, but not quite touching her.

“I had to force my way into his inner cabinet,” he said, “but I had armed myself with a quotation from the Koran.” He described the meeting to her, repeating the exchanges word for word, and she listened solemnly, not interrupting once, which he realized even from their short acquaintance was unusual.

Once or twice during the recital Tom lost the thread and repeated himself. Her eyes were wide-set, and the whites were clear and so white that they seemed to be :”I@, tinged with a faint bluish radiance, like those of a healthy infant. Their faces were so close together that he could trace that elusive fragrance to her breath. When he had finished speaking they were both silent, but neither made any move to pull apart.

Sarah broke the silence.

“Are you planning to kiss me, Tom?” She stroked the long tendrils of hair back from her face with one hand.

“Because if you are this is a good time for it. There is no one to spy on us.” He moved his face towards hers, then stopped with only an inch between their lips, overcome by an almost religious sense of awe and sacrilege.

“I don’t want to do anything that will give you offence,” he croaked.

“Don’t be a booby, Tom Courtney. Despite the insult her voice was husky, and her eyes closed slowly, the thick dark lashes interlacing.

She ran the pink tip of her tongue over her lips, then pursed them expectantly.

Tom felt an almost irresistible urge to seize her and crush her body against his own. Instead he touched his lips to hers as lightly as a butterfly settling on a petal. The moisture on them tasted faintly sweet, and he felt that he might suffocate with the pressure in his chest. After a moment he drew back.

Her eyes flew open. They were startlingly green.

“Damn you, Tom Courtney,” she said.

“I have waited so long, and that was the best you could do.” You are so soft and beautiful,” he stammered.

“I don’t want to hurt you or make you despise me.”

“If you don’t want me to despise you, then you must do better than that.” She closed her eyes again and leaned towards him. He hesitated only a heartbeat longer then seized her, wrapped her in his arms, and crushed her mouth with his.

She made a small mewing sound of surprise and stiffened with shock at the unexpected power of his embrace, then flung herself forward, meeting his kiss with such abandon that their lips were forced open, their teeth clashed together, the softness and wetness of their mouths melded and their tongues entwined.

A larger wave hit the side of the drifting felucca and tumbled them from their perch on the transom. It did not break their embrace and they fell to the deck, oblivious of the smell of the bilges and of the dried fish scales that covered the hard planks beneath them.

“Tom! Tom!” She was trying to speak without lifting her mouth from his.

“Yes! So long! I never thought, oh, yes, you are so strong.

Don’t stop now.” He wanted to devour her, to engulf her completely.

The lining of her mouth was slippery, and her tongue was a maddening goad. His senses swam, the universe closed in upon him until this warm fragrant body in his arms was all of existence.

At last they had to free their mouths to breathe. It was only for a moment, just long enough for her to gasp, r”

“Tom.

Oh, Tom. I have loved you from the first moment I saw you. All these years I thought I had lost you.” Then they flew at each other again, moaning and clawing at each other, her arms locked about his neck, bruising their lips against each other’s mouth and teeth.

Blindly he groped for her breasts, and when he found them their shape and elastic weight made him cry out aloud as if in pain. He fumbled at the fastening of her bodice, but he was clumsy and inexpert.