Alexander Kent - Command a King`s Ship

'Yes, Thomas. Indeed I will.'

'Now, sir, concerning extra hands…'

Herrick had seen the lie in Bolitho's grey eyes, and decided it was prudent to change the subject immediately.

It was late afternoon when Bolitho received a summons to report in person to the governor. He had begun to think that his part of the mission had been cancelled, or that in Madras his -status had shrunk so much he would merely stay at arm's length and do as he was bid whenever it might suit the proper authority.

Accompanied by Herrick and Midshipman Keen, he was carried ashore in Undine's gig, despite a haughty equerry's insistence that a local boat would be more fitting and comfortable.

An open carriage was waiting to convey them to the governor's residence, and for the whole of the short journey they barely exchanged a word. The bright colours, the surrounding press of chattering people, the whole strangeness of the town took their complete attention. Bolitho found the people very interesting indeed. How different their skins were, ranging from pale brown, no darker than young Keen's tan, to those who were as black as the warriors he had seen in Africa. Turbans and flowing robes, cattle and dejected goats, all milled across the winding streets, in and around the curtained shops

and bazaars in an unending panorama of noise and movement.

The governor's residence was more like a fort than a house,

with slits in the walls for weapons, and well guarded by Indian troops. The latter were most impressive. Turbaned and bearded, yet they wore the familiar red coat of British infantry set off with baggy blue pantaloons and high white gaiters.

Herrick gestured to the flag which drooped, barely moving, from a high staff and murmured, 'That, at least, is familiar.'

Once through the gates and into the cool shadows of the house it was another world again. The noise of the streets was sealed off as if by a great door, and all around was an air of watchful elegance. Fine rugs and heavy brass ornaments, barearmed servants who moved noiselessly like ghosts, and tiled passageways which led away in every direction as in a maze.

The equerry said smoothly, 'The governor will see you at once, Captain.' He eyed the others without enthusiasm. 'Alone.'

Bolitho looked at Herrick. 'Mr. Keen will remain here in case I need to pass a message to the ship. You can make good use of your time as you will.' He turned to hide his face from the equerry. 'Don't forget to keep an eye open for extra hands.'

Herrick grinned, relieved perhaps at being spared yet another set of questions and answers. The visitors to the ship had kept him on his feet since the anchor had been let go. The sight of an English frigate seemed to attract far more interest than the comings and goings of merchantmen. A link with home. Some word or hint of what these people had left behind in their search for empire.

He said, 'Good luck, sir. This is a far cry from Rochester!'

The equerry watched him leave and then glanced at Keen. To Bolitho he said, 'I'll send the young gentleman to the troops' quarters if you wish.'

Bolitho smiled. 'I am sure he will be happier here.'

Keen met the man's stare calmly and replied, 'Indeed I will, sir.' He could not resist adding, 'My father will be glad to learn of your hospitality when next I write.'

Bolitho turned away. 'His father owns quite a large portion of your trading agency here.'

The equerry said no more, but led the way down the grandest of the passages. He opened some double doors and an pounced with as much dignity as he still retained, 'Captain Richard Bolitho of His Britannic Majesty's Ship Undine.'

Bolitho already knew the governor's name, but little else about him. Sir Montagu Strang was almost hidden behind a great desk, the sides of which appeared to be made of ebony, with feet fashioned of massive silver claws. He was a frail, grey-haired man, with a pallid complexion which told its own story of some past fever. Hooded eyes, a thin, unsmiling. mouth, he was studying Bolitho's approach along a strip of blue carpet as a hunter might examine a possible victim.

'Welcome, Bolitho.' The thin mouth turned upwards a fraction, as if it hurt him to make the effort.

It was then and only then Bolitho realised that Strang's attitude was not one of disdain, for as he moved around the desk he saw that the governor had been standing to receive him, and not in a chair as he had first thought.

'Thank you, sir.'

Bolitho tried not to show surprise, or worse, pity. Down to his waist Sir Montagu was a normal if slight figure. Beyond that his legs were tiny, those of a dwarf, and his neat hands hung seemingly to his knees.

Strang continued in the same crisp tone, 'Please select a chair. I have a few things to say before we join the others.' He let his gaze move over him before adding, 'I have read your report, and those of certain onlookers. You did well, and have made a fast passage. Your action in trying to save Nervion's people, your attack on the slave-ship, if only partly successful, are the two better pieces of news today.'

Bolitho sat down on the edge of a throne-like chair and then realised for the first time that the great overhead fan was being worked by a tiny Indian who was squatting in a far corner, apparently asleep, his bare foot jerking a cord to keep it in regular motion.

Strang returned to his desk and sat down. Bolitho guessed he always behaved in this manner with a new visitor. To get it over with and avoid embarrassment. He had heard that Strang had spent many years in India, as a representative of government, as an adviser on trade and native affairs. A very important man. No wonder he had chosen power out here rather than suffer the constant humiliation of gaping eyes in London.

He said calmly, 'Now, Bolitho, to business. I have been waiting too long for despatches, wondering if my original suggestions have been accepted. Nervion's loss was a serious blow, but your apparent determination to continue with the voyage without further advice cancels it out in some ways. You have Don Puigserver's admiration, it seems, although whether that is good or bad remains to be seen.' His hooded eyes flashed angrily. 'The Spaniards lost great opportunities in Teluk Pendang. As a race they are stealers rather than builders. The sword and the crucifix are about the most they can offer.'

Bolitho gripped his hands together and tried not to let his mind drift on Strang's words. So the mission was still in being. Undine would be going to Teluk Pendang.

Strang said sharply, 'I can see that you are ahead of me, Bolitho 1 Allow me to fill in a few small chinks, eh?' Then he smiled. 'But it is refreshing to find one still able to think at all.'

Beyond the cool room Bolitho heard the distant call of a bugle. It sounded strangely sad.

Strang saw his expression and said, 'We were hard put during the war. Hyder Ali, the ruler of Mysore, and one with a real hatred for us, had plenty of support from the French. But for the Navy, I fear the Fleur de Lys and not the Union Flag would fly above here today.' He continued in an almost matter-of-fact tone. 'But that is not your concern. The sooner we can install a British governor in Pendang Bay the better I will be pleased. Since the end of the war, the Spanish garrison there, which comprised mainly of native soldiers, has been in a state of confusion. Fever and some sort of mutiny made their work impossible. I am hardly surprised that the King of Spain is so willing to rid himself of the station.' His voice hardened.

'However, under our protection it will prosper. The local native ruler is harmless enough. He must be, to allow the Spanish garrison to be alive. But further to the west is a vast area, almost uncharted, and plundered by another, less charitable prince, Muljadi. If we are to extend our gains, he must be contained, is that understood?'