The White Pearl (48 page)

‘
Mem
,’ she looked around warily, ‘we in bad shit.’

We in bad shit.

Such frightened words. Connie felt a surge of sympathy for the young native girl. In the back streets of Palur, Maya may be
quick and feral and alert to its dangers, but here in the tangled world of the jungle she was as awkward and ignorant as Connie
herself. The long-limbed trees and
the grasping fingers of the lush foliage reached out for them; the jungle’s rank breath hung over them.

Connie understood why Fitzpayne had brought them here to an island that hid its face away from the outside world, but as she
stared beyond the narrow river where all manner of different boats already rode at anchor, she felt a stab of alarm. The high
canopy that masked them from the sky was not made up of just the boughs of trees that towered sixty feet, even a hundred feet,
over the silver thread of the river. There were nets up there. Slung from the branches on one bank to those on the other,
allowing the creepers to weave their stems in and out of the netting, climbing and twisting until a green mat blocked out
the sky. It felt like a prison.

From the riverbank there were no buildings visible, just a network of rope pathways high up in the trees, but as Fitzpayne
led them in single file along a narrow track deeper into the forest, Connie became aware of movement and sound around her.
She hung on tight to Teddy, with Pippin tucked under her arm. Figures peered down at them from above. Shouts reached them,
and hands were raised in greeting to Fitzpayne. They followed dim green tunnels that converged in a sudden and unexpected
explosion of light as a clearing opened up before them.

Connie looked up, wiping sweat from her forehead. The humidity here was something solid; it was like running into a brick
wall. She had to drag the air into her lungs by force. Still the green light, still the netting and matted foliage overhead,
but it came as a relief to see an open space. She was finding the closeness of the trees claustrophobic, and the smell of
rotting vegetation suffocating.

‘This,’ Fitzpayne announced to his group of six followers, indicating the single large building in the centre of the clearing,
‘is the Kennel.’ His grey eyes darted from person to person, gauging reactions, and lingered longest on Connie’s son’s face.

It didn’t look like any kennel Connie had ever seen. She glanced up and her pulse raced as she caught sight of a man perched
on one of the rope walkways forty feet up under the canopy, a rifle in his hands. It was pointed directly at them.

‘May we go inside?’ she asked. She didn’t want Teddy to see the rifle.

‘Let’s take a look,’ Johnnie said.

‘Be my guest. But you may not like what you see.’ Fitzpayne warned. He shrugged, and led them up a set of steps and under
a lintel carved in the shape of a lizard.

The building was constructed of bamboo, up on stilts and with a roof of dripping fronds, every upright post carved with intricate
designs of animals and insects. It smelled strongly of wood smoke. The single room inside was about sixty feet long, and whatever
it was Connie expected to find inside, it was nothing remotely like the scene that confronted her.

The noise of it hit her first. A howling of banshees. A band of twenty or more children – of varying ages and all shades of
skin colour – were standing in a circle, bare feet leaping up and down on the timber floor, shouting with frantic excitement.
Small fists punched the dusty air.

At the centre of the circle between the dark heads Connie caught sight of a flash of golden brown and a flurry of a glossy
green wing. With a sickening lurch she realised what was taking place here: a cockfight. A tall skinny native kid with a bare
chest and one milky eye was holding a pile of coins cupped in his hands and grinning widely. Over by one of the window openings,
a man with lazy black eyes and a tattoo on his cheek was leaning against the wall, a cigarette dangling between his lips.
Connie noted the knife in his belt.

She turned away. Her distaste was reflected in the faces of Johnnie and Henry, and together they stepped back quickly towards
the door, but she could feel her son tugging to get closer to the circle of boys.

‘No, Teddy,’ she said sharply.

‘Savages!’ Henry declared.

But Fitzpayne laughed disparagingly, and tossed a silver coin to the skinny boy who snatched it out of the air. ‘On the small
drab bird.’

‘Yes, sir, Mr Fitz.’ The boy automatically bit the coin with his strong white teeth to test its worth.

One of the cockerels screamed piteously, wrenching Connie’s attention back to the battleground, and she saw that the spurs
on the back of the birds’ legs were elongated with metal tips. Blood spattered the boards underfoot.

She swept Teddy away. She wanted to bang the children’s heads together and stop the cockfight at once, but she knew she had
no authority here. It annoyed her that Fitzpayne encouraged the fight.

The losing bird, the one Fitzpayne had bet against, uttered a piercing shriek as its golden breast was ripped open and feathers
flew. It was the feathers fluttering in the hot and humid air, a tantalising lure, that were too much for Pippin. He had endured
the shouts and the scent of blood with restraint, but the feathers broke him. He leaped out of Teddy’s
arms, leash flying behind him, shot between the forest of bare legs and hurled himself at the bright green throat. A quick
snap, and the bird hung loose from his jaws.

There was a roar of fury. The children fell on the dog. Teddy went for them, fists flying, and with a curse Connie leaped
in among the small assailants to extract her son.

‘Stop it, you savages!’ she shouted, dragging a ferocious urchin off Teddy’s back.

She waded into the squirming bodies, knocked a few heads together, scooped up Pippin and dangled the animal by his collar
high in the air above the children’s heads. The dog started to cough, and the tall skinny boy picked out a pebble from his
pocket and launched it at Teddy’s head. But her son was too quick. He ducked and the pebble whistled past, catching Henry
Court on the elbow, but Teddy jumped forward and his fist landed a solid left hook on his attacker’s jaw. The boy bellowed.

‘Enough!’ Fitzpayne roared.

He strode into the melee, delivering well-judged kicks and cuffs until order was restored.

‘Well,’ he growled at them, ‘that’s a fine way to greet our guests!’

But Connie could see the grin lurking at the corners of his mouth. What was it with men and fisticuffs? Johnnie was smiling
too, nodding approval at Teddy, who emerged with a bleeding lip and a torn shirt, his face still crimson with rage.

‘Here,’ Connie said crossly, dumping Pippin in his arms. ‘Take better care of your dog.’

‘No dogs,’ the skinny child yelled, clutching his ribs.

‘What?’

‘He’s right,’ Fitzpayne allowed. ‘No dogs are permitted on this island. They are too much of a sign of habitation, and they’re
impossible to keep quiet.’

She stared at him, stunned. ‘You knew that when you brought us here.’

He turned to her son. ‘I thought your dog would make a good breakfast for someone.’

Teddy didn’t scowl or even utter a protest. To Connie’s astonishment, he squared up to Fitzpayne and burst out laughing, a
joyous young sound that she hadn’t heard in a long time.

‘Pippin will eat that boy for breakfast if I order him to!’ he declared.

‘Then you’d better keep the creature on a tight leash,’ Fitzpayne muttered,
and ruffled a hand through Teddy’s messy hair. Finally he allowed his grin to surface. ‘Come!’ he ordered.

Connie liked living up high. It gave her a different perspective on the world. Everything on the ground looked small. Up here,
under the treetop canopy, she felt the sea breeze cool against her cheeks and heard the birds so clearly that at times she
thought they had perched inside her head by mistake. On the sea she had felt small, a tiny speck in a vast expanse that any
wave could dash from sight at a whim, but up here she felt tall and all-seeing. Oddly powerful.

Nigel would have hated the weirdness of it. Stuck in a bamboo hut forty feet up from the ground, while a tropical storm crashed
down on the flimsy roof and a monkey sat chewing on a pawpaw fruit, at eye level with her. Connie had made herself a brush
out of spiky twigs and was growing used to sweeping out invading spiders and millipedes, lizards and frogs and even thin,
whippy snakes that made her shout for Teddy.

Getting Maya aloft had been a problem. Maya had sobbed and begged and swore she would sleep in the Kennel, but no. It was
another of the rules.
Nobody sleeps on the ground.

‘Why not?’ Connie had asked Fitzpayne.

He had shaken his wet head, spraying rainwater like a dog. ‘Because if anyone slinks onto the island uninvited at night, the
place must look deserted. By day we have lookouts and sentries to watch out for intruders, but at night it’s harder to spot
them.’

A rope ladder hung down from one of the trees to reach the huts in the leafy canopy. Maya swore she would rather die.

Fitzpayne grinned at Connie, and gestured to the bag on her shoulder.

‘Do you have a scarf in there?’ he asked.

She rummaged and pulled out a silk blouse. He took it from her, and let the material flow through his fingers. It was a strangely
intimate moment, as though he were handling her, rather than her blouse. He tied the blouse around the eyes of the wretched
Maya. He tossed the girl over his shoulder, ignored her kicking feet and bounded up the ladder with ease. Connie was abruptly
reminded of how he had carried Teddy under his arm through the forest when she’d lost her son, and the way he hoisted Maya
off
The White Pearl
that first time in Palur. She laughed softly, and wondered what on earth it must feel like to be manhandled so
roughly. Nigel had never stepped beyond the bounds of courtesy, not once. But Nigel wasn’t here.

‘Up you go, Teddy,’ she called.

He scampered up as nimbly as a gecko, Pippin draped nervously around his neck, and she followed after them, careful first
to tuck her skirts into her underwear, to give her some privacy. Henry came puffing up behind her, then Johnnie, awkward with
one arm. Razak brought up the rear. The rope walkway swayed alarmingly when she stepped on it.

‘All right?’ Fitzpayne asked.

‘Of course.’

‘You’ll get used to it.’

‘How long do you intend to keep us here?’

His mouth softened. ‘As long as you like, Mrs Hadley.’ He dropped Maya on the walkway and led her, whimpering, through the
branches at a speed the others had to struggle to keep up with.

‘Damn the man,’ Henry muttered behind her. ‘He’s enjoying this.’

‘We won’t be here long,’ Johnnie assured him. He was scanning the sky through the branches and netting. It was like looking
through the bottom of a green bottle. No sound of aircraft engines, not yet.

Connie could hear the restlessness in his voice, and she could only guess at his yearning to return to his squadron. He never
mentioned the subject, and he carefully sidestepped any questions if she raised it, but she saw the look in his eyes when
he gazed skyward. At least he had an aim, a future to go to. That was more than she had.

‘
Mem
,’ Maya eyed the silent figure warily.

The two of them were in the hut. Maya hated it. It was not natural to live in the sky, but she could only go up or down the
silly-pissy ladders when Razak helped her by carrying her on his back. She would shut her eyes tight and pretend she was riding
on Golden Jo-nee’s back. She had been astonished when Iron-eyes had dumped her in this hut with
Mem
Hadley and her son, and declared that they must share it.
Mem
had not murmured, but Maya was embarrassed.

She had glared at Iron-eyes. ‘Not right,’ she told him. ‘Not right at all.’

‘Maya, just do as you’re told for once.’

He had marched off along the rope path, sweeping aside the branches that hung in his way, leading Jo-nee and the fat
tuan
to a hut in another tree, and showed little patience for their caution.
Mem
’s hut was tiny, just long enough to lie down in, and had three rattan mats on the floor for them to sleep on. That was all.
A slatted bamboo blind covered the window hole, and another was gathered above the door frame. Maya inspected
mem
’s face for disapproval, but found none.

‘This is exciting, isn’t it?’
mem
said to the boy, who was still clutching his dog as though frightened that the other wretches might climb up and eat it.

‘Yes!’ he agreed with an eagerness that startled Maya. ‘We’re in a treehouse.’

His mother laughed, but she looked as if something hurt bad inside her. She took the dog from him and set it down on a mat.
Its black eyes shone in the gloom, and it gobbled up a passing butterfly.

‘Now, you must both behave.’

Maya thought
mem
was talking to her and she nodded obediently, but no, she realised
mem
meant the dog and boy.
Mem
bent down, kissed her son’s wet hair and stroked the dog fondly. Maya wondered if she sat on the mat next to the dog whether
mem
would stroke her head, too. Since
Tuan
Hadley’s death, Maya could feel herself bound to this woman. Sometimes she could even hear her mother’s evil cackle of laughter
when the winds blew in the trees. Sai-Ru Jumat was wicked in life, and now she was wicked in death.

Maya slumped in a corner and wished Razak was not so far away. She knew he would be racing up and down the rope ladders, exploring,
while she was marooned up here, with
Mem
Hadley. As if her life and
Mem
’s life were hooked together now, as tight as one of the rope ladders.

The aircraft came, a whole swarm of them buzzing like hornets. They flew low with machine guns blasting at some unfortunate
boat caught out on the open sea. Maya jammed her hands over her ears and bent double, with her forehead touching her knees.