asked, ‘What about her escort, sir?’
‘My information, Jud, is that the Royaume left Le Havre unescorted.’
Horne resettled himself on the edge of the desk. ‘But I’ll say this. If there is an escort, if the Royaume is sailing in convoy, we shall abandon the mission. Immediately. No permission asked.’
Jud smiled. ‘Sir, you of all men would find a way to sneak us into a convoy and make away with a gold chest.’
Horne glowed, not above enjoying idle flattery.
Groot called, ‘What we are doing now, schipper, is patrolling all southern waters for a French ship.’
‘Yes, Groot. In effect. The winds fortunately narrow down the work for us. After rounding the Cape of Good Hope to Cape Agulhas, the Roaring Forties should bring the Royaume directly into our path.’
Jingee asked, ‘Is it possible, Captain sahib, that the French ship has already passed?’
‘Or pirates got to the gold before us?’ put in Jud.
‘Those are both possibilities,’ said Horne. ‘We merely have to continue our search, looking, waiting, hoping.’
He glanced around the cabin. ‘Any more questions?’
There was a silence broken only by the sound of the Huma sailing under full canvas, the creak of timbers, the prow cutting through lapping waves.
Horne looked at Mustafa, realising that the Turk had been silent throughout the entire morning’s meeting.
‘Mustafa, do you have any questions?’
The beefy Turk began to speak but stopped, shaking his head, his thick black moustache turning down at both bushy ends.
‘What is it, Mustafa? Something’s troubling you?’
Glancing around the cabin with quick, darting eyes, Mustafa looked back at Horne and asked, ‘What do we do with the gold, sir, when we get it?’
Laughter filled the cabin.
Horne raised both hands for silence. ‘Return it to Bombay—’
Mustafa’s face fell.
Horne’s answer had only been a quick response, and he added, ‘You didn’t think we were going to be able to keep it, did you, Mustafa?’
‘Sir, if there’s a lot of it and we’re the only ones who know where it is—’
The men laughed louder.
Horne smiled, realising, however, that Mustafa had raised a legitimate point. Governor Spencer had not told Horne what to do with the valuable cargo if and when the Marines did seize it. Was that not strange?
* * *
Jud left the meeting early to return to the forenoon watch. Horne had divided duty into six watches, joining the first and second dog watches into one stand.
Long hours of raw, fresh sea air invigorated Jud. He was pleased to be free again of land. Shipboard life was the only true happiness he knew—at least, these days.
Life had changed after Jud’s wife, Maringa, had died. Tall, sweet-faced, with eyes like a doe, Maringa had been a house slave in the castle of the Omani Sheik All Hadd. Jud had been saving to buy her freedom for the time when she gave birth to their child.
Maringa had brought a son in the world. A Nubian midwife had given Jud an exact description of the child she had delivered, stillborn—Maringa had also died the same night.
In despair, Jud had refused to eat for a week, wanting to die himself, to join his wife and son in a faraway world. But the gods would not have Jud. So he had turned to crime, becoming reckless as he burgled the homes of rich merchants, shops and warehouses, behaving as if he was determined to be caught. He was caught, stealing from a warehouse of the Honourable East India Company, and was sentenced to twenty years’ imprisonment in Bombay Castle. He would not have cared if it had been a hundred, or a thousand years.
The Huma —like the cells honeycombed beneath Bombay Castle—was a world without women. Jud was happy in such a world, at least for the present. At sea, alone on the quarterdeck, or high on the yardarm where he liked to crawl and sit by himself, he talked to his son, speaking to his dead child in the ancient African practice of ancestor worship. But instead of talking to
‘My information, Jud, is that the Royaume left Le Havre unescorted.’
Horne resettled himself on the edge of the desk. ‘But I’ll say this. If there is an escort, if the Royaume is sailing in convoy, we shall abandon the mission. Immediately. No permission asked.’
Jud smiled. ‘Sir, you of all men would find a way to sneak us into a convoy and make away with a gold chest.’
Horne glowed, not above enjoying idle flattery.
Groot called, ‘What we are doing now, schipper, is patrolling all southern waters for a French ship.’
‘Yes, Groot. In effect. The winds fortunately narrow down the work for us. After rounding the Cape of Good Hope to Cape Agulhas, the Roaring Forties should bring the Royaume directly into our path.’
Jingee asked, ‘Is it possible, Captain sahib, that the French ship has already passed?’
‘Or pirates got to the gold before us?’ put in Jud.
‘Those are both possibilities,’ said Horne. ‘We merely have to continue our search, looking, waiting, hoping.’
He glanced around the cabin. ‘Any more questions?’
There was a silence broken only by the sound of the Huma sailing under full canvas, the creak of timbers, the prow cutting through lapping waves.
Horne looked at Mustafa, realising that the Turk had been silent throughout the entire morning’s meeting.
‘Mustafa, do you have any questions?’
The beefy Turk began to speak but stopped, shaking his head, his thick black moustache turning down at both bushy ends.
‘What is it, Mustafa? Something’s troubling you?’
Glancing around the cabin with quick, darting eyes, Mustafa looked back at Horne and asked, ‘What do we do with the gold, sir, when we get it?’
Laughter filled the cabin.
Horne raised both hands for silence. ‘Return it to Bombay—’
Mustafa’s face fell.
Horne’s answer had only been a quick response, and he added, ‘You didn’t think we were going to be able to keep it, did you, Mustafa?’
‘Sir, if there’s a lot of it and we’re the only ones who know where it is—’
The men laughed louder.
Horne smiled, realising, however, that Mustafa had raised a legitimate point. Governor Spencer had not told Horne what to do with the valuable cargo if and when the Marines did seize it. Was that not strange?
* * *
Jud left the meeting early to return to the forenoon watch. Horne had divided duty into six watches, joining the first and second dog watches into one stand.
Long hours of raw, fresh sea air invigorated Jud. He was pleased to be free again of land. Shipboard life was the only true happiness he knew—at least, these days.
Life had changed after Jud’s wife, Maringa, had died. Tall, sweet-faced, with eyes like a doe, Maringa had been a house slave in the castle of the Omani Sheik All Hadd. Jud had been saving to buy her freedom for the time when she gave birth to their child.
Maringa had brought a son in the world. A Nubian midwife had given Jud an exact description of the child she had delivered, stillborn—Maringa had also died the same night.
In despair, Jud had refused to eat for a week, wanting to die himself, to join his wife and son in a faraway world. But the gods would not have Jud. So he had turned to crime, becoming reckless as he burgled the homes of rich merchants, shops and warehouses, behaving as if he was determined to be caught. He was caught, stealing from a warehouse of the Honourable East India Company, and was sentenced to twenty years’ imprisonment in Bombay Castle. He would not have cared if it had been a hundred, or a thousand years.
The Huma —like the cells honeycombed beneath Bombay Castle—was a world without women. Jud was happy in such a world, at least for the present. At sea, alone on the quarterdeck, or high on the yardarm where he liked to crawl and sit by himself, he talked to his son, speaking to his dead child in the ancient African practice of ancestor worship. But instead of talking to
Similar Books
