Julian Stockwin - Artemis

Kydd took it in, but his mind was on the wonders of Calicut. 'Thought it had these golden temples, an' elephants, 'n' heathen idols, an' things,' he said.

'Yeah, well, they has them as well, o' course, but this I tell yer now, here the cuntkins are yours fer a coupla annas fer a short time - an' they knows all about it, mates, nuthin' they don't know.' He winked. 'An' best o' it is they're all young — bantlings all, no more'n ten, twelve years, tight as yer'll get, an' all tricked out in this fancy long red 'n' gold.' He licked his lips unconsciously, causing a wave of revulsion in Kydd.

Cundall mistook the look and continued, 'Don't worry — they knows all th' tricks, jus' like th' old 'uns.'

The talk petered out, most simply wanting to get ashore and see for themselves. Vaguely unsatisfied, Kydd got up and left. He reached the upper deck just as dusk settled in. Somewhere over the horizon was India, and very soon he would be the only one of his family to know an exotic shore.

Chapter 6

Two mornings later the foredeck was crowded with men when they raised land. Kydd watched as it took form over the horizon. This land rimming the northern reaches was low-lying, in fact so low that not a single mountain or even hill disturbed its monotonous green flatness. As they drew nearer, Kydd's eyes searched in vain for some evidence of the fabled East, but all that was in prospect was the vast estuary of the khaki-coloured river up which they were headed and the green of endless vegetation.

The great river was several miles across, but as its banks approached on either side Kydd had a closer view. Its promise still failed to materialise: the river was swarming with small craft, strange but decrepit, and the lush green just went on and on.

At a wide bend in the river the order to moor ship was passed, and when they made it around they saw lines of vessels at anchor along the outer bank. This was as far as ocean-going vessels could venture.

Artemis glided to a stop and the anchor splashed into the

turbid water. Almost immediately she drifted downstream in the tumbling, muddy current, and when she came to her anchor the frigate snubbed to the cable sharply and swung to face unwaveringly upstream. After nearly two months of sea, and more than ten thousand sea miles, Artemis was finally at rest.

Kydd joined the others aloft, furling the sails. To his exasperation, there was no sign whatsoever of anything that could remotely be termed fabulous. From this height he could see the tops of palm trees stretching unendingly away, the odd clearing here and there, while nearby the dun-coloured tops of huts peeped above the sea of green. He could make out no elephants or palaces, still less any exotic girls.

On deck a damp heat had descended on the stationary vessel, now so quiet that the restless whispering of the river's passage past and the harsh crying of a bird was all that intruded. As if by magic river trading craft, garish colours on their canopies and peeling sides, appeared from nowhere making for the new-moored ship. The boarding nettings were quickly rigged and hung below the line of gunports, opened to the sullen airs. The craft lay off, waiting it out.

Wiping his forehead, Kydd watched Renzi staring out. 'Is this your East, Nicholas?' he asked ruefully.

Renzi grinned. Apparently the city lies more than a hundred miles beyond, up the Hooghly to its confluence with another river — that trip would set your Gosport boatman at a stand, I believe.' Scratching at his itching body, Renzi felt similarly cheated. Privately he was excited; he would see the native peacock, the golden domes of the Hindoo, and the naked holy man, but here?

Kydd's mind ran on more practical lines. 'So we are to warp upstream a hundred miles? I think not.'

'Then what are we here for?' Renzi said, perplexed. 'We have arrived and not arrived. This is vexatious in the extreme.'

On the quarterdeck the Captain and a midshipman stood next to a small amount of baggage. A sudden flurry from the waiting craft followed the boatswain's signal, and one was permitted to come alongside to pick up the officers.

'Now there's a thing,' Renzi said, looking intensely at the boat shoving off, its odd sail rising up the mast in rapid jerks.

A sudden pealing of boatswain's calls broke out. All haaaands! All the hands! Hands to store ship!'

Hatches to open right down to the hold, yardarm stay tackles, parbuckles - all the preparations for storing ship. What was going on? Why the hurry? Kydd could see no point in it. Ships usually took the opportunity after a long voyage to refit and repair and, of course, sailors relaxed ashore, yet here they were preparing to lay in stores as though their lives depended on it. What did the Captain's rapid departure mean? Parry's scowling face on the quarterdeck gave no sign and by the time the first store-ships arrived, Kydd was none the wiser.

These were flat barges fitted with long sweeps, creeping around the bend like water-beetles. Kydd watched as they approached, not at all looking forward to labouring work in the clammy closeness. The barges secured alongside, several abreast, and gangplanks were placed over them to the ship's side.

'Hey, you — Kydd!' It was Gant, the tall boatswain's mate.

'Didn't ya hear? Stand fast, topmen!' He grinned. 'You swabs are gonna fettle the barky ready for sea agen.'

Relieved, Kydd joined Renzi at the splicing, pointing and re-reeving of lines, which were jobs requiring real seamanship skills, and left the rest of Artemis's crew to the storing. It seemed that rumour had substance: they would put to sea before long. But it stood to reason that they would be given time ashore first.

Long lines of grey-brown lascar stevedores patiently padded over the gangplanks bringing their heavy loads aboard. Kydd looked at them curiously — lean, impossibly stringy, there was not the slightest bit of fat on them. Their eyes showed no interest, no recognisable humanity he could relate to; they simply plodded on in regular, economic movements.

Renzi went below to find some rope yarn, and Kydd lost interest in the stream of brown figures and pressed on with his work.

'If yer'd help us, friend, oi'd be roight grateful!' a hoarse voice said. Kydd looked up sharply, but there was no one, only the stream of lascars under the watchful eye of their serang. He looked around warily. If that was a joke, it was a pitiful attempt. He shrugged and continued at his marline spike and splice. 'Loike, we'em desperate.' The hoarse voice was close, very close. Kydd stood up angrily.

The boatswain arrived from below, puffing like a grampus. He stood at the rail, gathering his breath, and watched the line of native labourers. 'That slivey dog,' he said to Kydd. 'No, t'other one - mark his motions. Lazy fellow thinks to take it easy, an' he so well fed.'

The lascar indicated was indeed better nourished than the others. Instead of the sculpted angular ridges of hardness, there was a definite rounding of flesh; possibly the man was of superior caste.

'Hey, you, the serang? the boatswain shouted across at the overseer. 'Jowla, jowla — him!' he ordered, pointing at the offending individual.

The serang looked at him doubtfully, and raising his rattan gently rapped the man over his naked shoulders.

'Good Christ!' the boatswain said in astonishment. 'That wouldn't wake a sleepin' dog.' He snorted in disgust and stumped off below again.

Curiously Kydd watched the lascar trudge to the barge, lift a bale of dry goods awkwardly to his shoulders and turn to trace his steps over the gangplank and back aboard. As the man came over the bulwark he saw Kydd, and stumbled on a ring-bolt. The bale came down, bouncing along the deck, fetching up against the hatch coaming. Their eyes met - and Kydd saw real fear.