The Serpent's Shadow

They caught a 'bus for Southwark; he brought her carefully up the stairs to the exposed upper deck— dreadful in bad weather, but crowded now. He found two places on the benches and sat beside her, pointing out obscure landmarks and answering her questions with delight.

The docks and his warehouse were a short walk from the 'bus stop. She took in everything around her with great interest and no fear at all. Of course, she had been going into and out of a far worse neighborhood than this for months now, but it was still good to see. Most women would have protested at the smells, the condition of the street, and turned up their dainty noses at the rough characters at work here.

He pointed out the customs house, told her what each of the warehouses held and explained which firms imported what goods. If she wasn't interested, she was the best actress he'd ever seen—and cared enough about him to pretend she was interested.

'This is rny warehouse,' he said at last, with pardonable pride. 'Would you like to see my imports?'

'Goodness, yes!' she exclaimed. 'You know, you know all about what I do, but this is the first time you've ever talked about yourself and your everyday life. I had no idea you had a wonderful shop and brought in things all the way from Egypt!'

He laughed. 'You make it sound far more glamorous than it is.'

She wrinkled her nose at him. 'Don't you realize that it is the highest ambition of hundreds of Indians who emigrate to London to one day own a shop or a restaurant of their very own and never work for anyone else again?'

He had to laugh as he opened the door for her. 'We've been called a nation of shopkeepers before, but I don't think that was intended as a compliment.'

He unpacked some of the crates, showing her the creations of his craftsmen, and in the end, insisted that she take an alabaster toiletry set she particularly admired. By then, he had heard the sounds of an engine followed by those of his men mooring a small boat up to his dock, and knew his surprise was ready.

'I hope you've an appetite,' he said, as he took up the parcel he'd wrapped for her, and conducted her toward the door. 'And I hope you don't suffer from seasickness.'

'Why, no,' she laughed. 'But why—'

Then she saw the boat moored up to the dock, a handy little craft crewed by what was clearly a family: four rugged men with faces sculpted by storm and sea, one middle-aged, three of twenty, eighteen, and sixteen years.

'Hello, Captain!' shouted Andrew, as the other three men waved at him. 'Ready for your jaunt?'

He waved back, escorted the delighted Maya to the dock, and helped her step across the plank into the little fishing boat crewed by Andrew and his three grown sons. Andrew had been another of his officers on his last ship, but had longed to go back to the life of fishing he'd known before he lost his boat in a storm. Peter had put him in the way of a few little money-making schemes, and when Peter had retired, Andrew had done the same, for he'd stuck on once he had enough for a new fishing boat only as long as Peter was his captain.

It wasn't pretty, but it was stout, and as Andrew and his sons put her out onto the Thames, heading for Thames mouth and the ocean, Peter saw that she was trim and steady, and answered neatly to the helm. She had sails, but also a motor for working in and out of the harbor, which chugged along with no hint of cough or hesitation. Once they were in a position where they had a good bit of breeze, Andrew, like the thrifty fellow he was, cut off the motor and went under full sail.

Maya's eyes were as wide as a child's and she looked around her avidly, drinking in everything with untrammeled delight. Peter, for whom all this was no novelty, caught fire from her enthusiasm, and when the engine was shut down, pointed out all the sights with as much pleasure in telling her about them as she took in hearing about them.

'I promised you that this would be cooler,' he reminded her, as they passed Thames mouth and the breeze quickened to a wind that made the boat leap forward into the open ocean.

'You did, and it's wonderful!' she caroled. 'It's like flying! Are we going to fish for our dinner?'

'Only if you want to eat it raw,' he laughed. 'This is no pleasure craft, and no cod fisher either. We've no way to cook on board. This little lady is an inshore fisher; she goes out before dawn and back by midday, and her catch is in the fishmarkets by teatime. Here.' He reached under a tarp and brought out a stout basket. 'Let's see what Andrew's good wife has put up for us.'

Andrew's wife was a good plain cook, and though the victory feast was all victuals meant to be eaten cold, they were nonetheless appetizing for all that. Knowing her boys and her man, she'd packed enough food for a dozen in Peter's estimation. Maya paused halfway through her second sausage roll to exclaim over the youngest who had come back for his sixth.

They tacked along the shoreline, close enough to wave at the children who came down to the sea and the fishermen who were putting up their nets to dry overnight. Peter used the smallest bit of his magic to make sure