The Cannibal Spirit by Harry Whitehead Page A

you as well. Good, good. No harm in that.” He moved closer to Harry, who was leaning against a gasoline drum. “But you’ll be focusing on the job in hand, I take it?”
    â€œI will. Trade goods may be useful in drawing information from some tightlip chieftain.”
    â€œOf course you’re right. But Harry, I’d have you certain in your quest. I want to see George back in ten days. If not, I plan to confiscate the Hunt family masks and treasures, to be held against his handing himself in.”
    â€œThat’s a damned insult, Halliday.”
    â€œAnd I know, Mr. Cadwallader, that not all you trade is smiled on by the law. Still, you don’t sell the rotten brews, and you’re particular who you sell to. Oh, don’t think I don’t know you. But there are worse along the coast. Nevertheless, there are some would have had me bring you to the assiers before now.”
    Harry began to speak, but Halliday held up his hand. “I’ve kept my counsel till now, and mostly for your family and for your place as white man here. I’d hoped running the Hunt family store might put such trade behind you. There’s only you and Crosby in Rupert that is pure white. But know this. You fail in finding George, or do anything else untoward, and I’ll be bringing down all force upon the Hunt family. And on you, Harry. You may see your boat impounded, and you will spend time in jail.”
    â€œDamnation!” Harry said. “There ain’t need for this.”
    But Halliday stepped back and spoke loudly so that all might hear him. “Good, good,” he said. “I’ll be wishing you well.” And then quietly once more, “You bring him back to me, Harry. Whatever it takes. I’ll have no excuses.” He pulled at his jacket. “I’ll see you in ten days. I know Charley here will have an inkling as to his whereabouts.”
    Harry had no words to say. Instead, he turned and hefted the gasoline drum up onto the gunnels of his boat, and Charley came over and helped him.
    â€œA fair voyage,” said Halliday, and walked away along the jetty. Harry stared after him.
    â€œYou find him, Caddie,” said Francine, coming to stand close by.
    â€œHe’s threatened to take the family’s valuables if George don’t come back.”
    â€œYou tell George,” she said. “He know what to do.”
    Grace came forward and stood beside him. He touched her hand a moment and she drew away, embarrassed probably at such public display. So he leapt across to the deck.
    He went aft and twisted the small handle of the make-or-break ignition until the engine’s single cylinder caught and chuttered. The dry-exhaust pipe rising behind him spat clouds of black smoke that grew paler as the seconds progressed. Charley untied and pushed out the prow from the jetty. Harry engaged the flywheel. He held the rudder hard to port and the Hesperus swung away from the jetty. They arced out past the headland, north and east of the Island of Graves. When he looked back, he saw Chief Owadi was standing on the plankway above the jetty with Crosby, Halliday, and the Indian, To-Cop, watching after them.
    â€œSo, Charley,” Harry said, once the village was finally obscured by the headland. The open ocean stood to port, and the mountains and the fjords of the mainland’s coastline to starboard, a scant few miles away. “Which way? Or are you still fucking pondering?”
    Charley came aft from his perch among the bales. “I think all night,” he said, “and no place other good. Go Ba’as. Blunden Harbour, you say.” And he pointed north and a little east. “You know?”
    â€œI do. Why there?”
    â€œHave baccy?” Harry reached in his pocket and threw over his tobacco tin. Charley turned it in his hands a while and opened it at last. “Good box,” he said. “Where from?”
    Harry ignored the