added.
Brief and polite, the message had obviously been written in haste: ‘If you can spare the time, there’s someone I’d wish you to meet.’
Kydd folded the note and put it into his waistcoat. ‘We’ll talk novels again later, Nicholas.’
There was no indication of the rank of the person, and Kydd compromised by omitting his sword. This was not like Popham: he was generally considerate to his subordinates in the matter of timing. It must be a matter of importance.
The commodore was waiting for him at the rail of
Diadem
beside a chubby figure with a florid face, dressed in comfortable merchant seaman’s rig. ‘This is Captain Waine, Kydd. He’s master of the trader
Elizabeth
, yonder.’ Popham indicated a plain-featured brig at the edge of the anchorage.
The man touched his old-fashioned tricorne respectfully. ‘Cap’n,’ he said carefully, with a slight American accent.
‘Captain Waine has some interesting things to tell us, Kydd. Shall we go to my cabin?’
Dismissing the sentry, Popham offered wine, then turned to Kydd. ‘This gentleman has been talking to me about his recent experiences in the viceroyalty of the River Plate, which I thought you’d wish to hear.’
‘My pleasure, Admiral,’ Waine responded.
‘Among the things he’s imparted is that at the moment there are no Spanish ships of war in the whole River Plate – none. They’ve left to sail north to contest a rumoured landing at Caracas.’ He winked at Kydd, and went on smoothly, ‘And it seems the inhabitants are restless and bitter, concerning the state of trade obtaining there. The Spanish, being at war with England, have been sorely affected, their relations with their colonies all but severed by our blockade.’
‘Ain’t none been seen this two-month!’
‘And what is worse to the situation is that commerce with any other nation is forbidden under the direst penalties. It’s true there’s a species of smuggling of contraband into the main metropolitan centres, but none may legally trade without leave from the viceroy.’
‘From Viceroy Sobremonte hisself!’ Waine picked up a newspaper, which he identified as the
Telégrafo Mercantil
of Buenos Aires and waved it at Kydd. ‘There it’s at, less’n a couple o’ months old.’
He spread it out, a blunt forefinger running down the columns of type to find a passage. ‘There!’
In Spanish, it meant nothing to Kydd, but Waine translated. ‘A
porteño
, man o’ property an’ standing in the city,’ Kydd remembered this was how the painter on Table Mountain had described himself, ‘gets mad at the viceroy, sayin’ the city’s going t’ ruin over trade being cut off and demands he goes over t’ free trade.’ He jabbed at the text in several spots where the words ‘
libre comercio
’ were prominent. ‘Didn’t do him no good, though. He’s slammed in chokey f’r his cheek.’
‘And you say there’s unrest against Spanish rule?’ Popham asked innocently.
‘Unrest? Why, I’d say a stronger word’n that. Them as is born there, they’s called
criollos
and, no matter how high ’n’ mighty, they has to bow down to any as comes from Spain an’ takes all the top positions in trade an’ gover’ment, no mind how low they’s been born in the home country. No, sir,
unrest
is too kind a word.’
‘Can you tell us anything of the military? What forces do the Spanish have?’
Waine winked slyly, tapping his nose. ‘Why, you’re not thinkin’ to do mischief there while there’s no men-o’-war doing the guardin’, b’ any chance?’
Popham assumed an appalled look, leaving Kydd to ask awkwardly, ‘I was more concerned with how the Spanish might put down any pother at all . . .’
‘Well, reg’lars at Montevideo an’ a whole lot o’ militia in Buenos Aires. A sorry bunch an’ nothin’ to worry on.’
‘Er, I’ll not detain you further, Captain,’ Popham said, taking his empty glass. ‘I know you’ve cargo to clear. My thanks for
Brief and polite, the message had obviously been written in haste: ‘If you can spare the time, there’s someone I’d wish you to meet.’
Kydd folded the note and put it into his waistcoat. ‘We’ll talk novels again later, Nicholas.’
There was no indication of the rank of the person, and Kydd compromised by omitting his sword. This was not like Popham: he was generally considerate to his subordinates in the matter of timing. It must be a matter of importance.
The commodore was waiting for him at the rail of
Diadem
beside a chubby figure with a florid face, dressed in comfortable merchant seaman’s rig. ‘This is Captain Waine, Kydd. He’s master of the trader
Elizabeth
, yonder.’ Popham indicated a plain-featured brig at the edge of the anchorage.
The man touched his old-fashioned tricorne respectfully. ‘Cap’n,’ he said carefully, with a slight American accent.
‘Captain Waine has some interesting things to tell us, Kydd. Shall we go to my cabin?’
Dismissing the sentry, Popham offered wine, then turned to Kydd. ‘This gentleman has been talking to me about his recent experiences in the viceroyalty of the River Plate, which I thought you’d wish to hear.’
‘My pleasure, Admiral,’ Waine responded.
‘Among the things he’s imparted is that at the moment there are no Spanish ships of war in the whole River Plate – none. They’ve left to sail north to contest a rumoured landing at Caracas.’ He winked at Kydd, and went on smoothly, ‘And it seems the inhabitants are restless and bitter, concerning the state of trade obtaining there. The Spanish, being at war with England, have been sorely affected, their relations with their colonies all but severed by our blockade.’
‘Ain’t none been seen this two-month!’
‘And what is worse to the situation is that commerce with any other nation is forbidden under the direst penalties. It’s true there’s a species of smuggling of contraband into the main metropolitan centres, but none may legally trade without leave from the viceroy.’
‘From Viceroy Sobremonte hisself!’ Waine picked up a newspaper, which he identified as the
Telégrafo Mercantil
of Buenos Aires and waved it at Kydd. ‘There it’s at, less’n a couple o’ months old.’
He spread it out, a blunt forefinger running down the columns of type to find a passage. ‘There!’
In Spanish, it meant nothing to Kydd, but Waine translated. ‘A
porteño
, man o’ property an’ standing in the city,’ Kydd remembered this was how the painter on Table Mountain had described himself, ‘gets mad at the viceroy, sayin’ the city’s going t’ ruin over trade being cut off and demands he goes over t’ free trade.’ He jabbed at the text in several spots where the words ‘
libre comercio
’ were prominent. ‘Didn’t do him no good, though. He’s slammed in chokey f’r his cheek.’
‘And you say there’s unrest against Spanish rule?’ Popham asked innocently.
‘Unrest? Why, I’d say a stronger word’n that. Them as is born there, they’s called
criollos
and, no matter how high ’n’ mighty, they has to bow down to any as comes from Spain an’ takes all the top positions in trade an’ gover’ment, no mind how low they’s been born in the home country. No, sir,
unrest
is too kind a word.’
‘Can you tell us anything of the military? What forces do the Spanish have?’
Waine winked slyly, tapping his nose. ‘Why, you’re not thinkin’ to do mischief there while there’s no men-o’-war doing the guardin’, b’ any chance?’
Popham assumed an appalled look, leaving Kydd to ask awkwardly, ‘I was more concerned with how the Spanish might put down any pother at all . . .’
‘Well, reg’lars at Montevideo an’ a whole lot o’ militia in Buenos Aires. A sorry bunch an’ nothin’ to worry on.’
‘Er, I’ll not detain you further, Captain,’ Popham said, taking his empty glass. ‘I know you’ve cargo to clear. My thanks for
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