Artemis

Sighting Doody he approached. 'Obbes wants 'is stores stowed away,' he ordered, 'an' he's sayin' now.' Doody winked at the seamen and left with Rance.

Artemis stretched south at speed, the north-west monsoon perfect for the cruise through an inland sea past tropical islands, some hundreds of miles long, like the mountainous Mindoro, some no more than tiny sandy islets a hundred yards long. All were densely verdant, with jungle down to the water's edge and little sign of human presence.

The corregidor and his small party kept to themselves and were seldom seen. This was an agreeable thing for the seamen, for Hobbes had the habit of striding the decks at dawn, impeding the sailors at their cleaning duties, and he was always followed by a cloud of muttered curses.

By the following afternoon Artemis was slipping down the coast of Panay, the blue mountains of the interior plain to see. As the first dog-watch was struck on the bell she hauled her wind to shape course to an easterly around the southern tip of the island, and as dusk began to draw in they reached their destination, the small provincial town of Ylo-Ylo.

In the late-afternoon sun, a cluster of buildings could be seen lying low and level at the water's edge, their whiteness contrasting against the inky blue of the sea, the deep green of the thick tropical vegetation, and a gathering red sunset.

'Man the side!'

The corregidor wasted no time in disembarking; Artemis's barge was specially called away for the task. As the boat's crew pulled lustily for the shore, Hobbes watched them go, then turned to Powlett. 'May I know why we are not immediately proceeding on our way? Lose not a moment, sir, we—'

'Damn and blast! We cannot stir but we have a pilot,' Powlett snarled. 'If the Don keeps his part o' the bargain . . .'

A tropical dusk fell and lights began to glimmer in the violet gloom ashore, the barge crew long since returned. A long bulking shadow in the sea nearby was the high brown island that sheltered Ylo-Ylo, and the peculiar odours of a foreign shore could be occasionally made out, but for want of a pilot the ship lay unmoving in the night.

The next day was only an hour old when activity was seen ashore, which resolved into a twin outrigger boat skimming its way directly towards Artemis. Two men were aboard, a Spaniard and a Filipino. The boat, with its single brightly coloured lateen sail, smartly came about in a rainbow shower of spray and drifted up to the side.

The boat-boy flung a painter of coarse coir rope aboard the frigate and the Spaniard climbed the side. 'Piloto,' he stated loudly, as though not expecting to be understood by the English officers.

His eyebrows lifted at Rowley's fractured welcome, to which he replied in loud but simple words.

'Our pilot, sir,' said Rowley. 'Mr, er, Salcedo. I think he begs that the bangkha be towed astern, as they will use it later in their return.'

'Very well,' Powlett answered.

His keen look at the man seemed to discommode him, or it could have been the sheer intimidating size of the frigate, much bigger than the usual trading vessels of the region. Salcedo was short and stumpy with an Iberian intensity, but his attempt at swagger did not convince.

He went to the side and shouted angrily at the boat-boy, who doused and stowed the sail, paying out more of the painter and doubling it around the mast. He scrambled awkwardly up the side, and as he came over the bulwark stumbled and sprawled headlong.

Salcedo's eyes flickered to the quarterdeck gathering and back to the helpless boat-boy. He snorted angrily. From inside his shirt he drew out a peculiar short coil of a black flexible substance, chased in leather at one end, the other terminating in a knobby excrescence. He lashed at the boat-boy who waited motionless on hands and knees, but when the blows ceased he looked up with a deadly hatred.

Powlett's face hardened. 'Take that man forward, and see he's messed comfortably.'

Prewse motioned to Kydd, who led away the boat-boy.

It seemed the logical thing. Pinto was a Portuguese, which was nearly Spain, and in the event grudgingly admitted to the language. Kydd handed the man over, his brown face and black eyes clearing at the rough sympathy his treatment had earned from the sailors.

Pinto, it became clear, knew more than a little Spanish, for he was able to explain Salcedo's curious instrument. 'He was beat wi' the pizzle o' the horse,' he said blank-faced. 'Ver' painful but hurt th' honour more.'

'What's his name?'

'He say his name Goryo — this is the Ylongos name, he come from Guimaras.'

'Tell 'im we'll see him right, mate,' Petit said.

By the time Kydd had reached his post at the helm the ship was at stations to unmoor ship. The anchor was broken easily enough from the sandy sea-bed and sail dropped from every yard. With a graceful sway Artemis reached out over the sparkling seas towards the eastern horizon, almost exactly half-way along the barrier of the Philippines.

The pilot stood impassive next to the wheel, but all the officers of Artemis and the sailing master were on the quarterdeck as well. It was hard to take, trusting the safety of the ship to one man, and there was an aura of apprehension among them.

Panay was left astern, but other islands large and small were scattered about on all sides. By early afternoon one in particular loomed across their path, and in the background the grey-blue of a continous mountainous coast in the further distance stretched as far as they could see in both directions — a complete block on their further progress.

Powlett was taking no chances. In the forechains, Kydd was heaving the lead, a skilled and wet job. Held by a canvas belt to the shrouds, he stood alone on the narrow platform at their base, leaning out over the sea hissing past below. He began each cast with a swing, which would get bigger and bigger, until he could whirl the long lead