She had to fight back laughter. ‘It’s my father’s homebrew,’ she told him. ‘The shops never make it hot enough for him.’
‘Uh huh.’ Daniel lifted his fork again, then put it down untouched, stared at it bleakly. ‘Ith there any water?’
She looked in the bag. ‘Orange juice?’ she asked.
‘Thankth. That would be gweat.’
‘No pwoblem.’
‘It’th not funny,’ he protested. ‘I’ve weally thcorched my tongue.’ He scowled good-naturedly as laughter finally got the better of her, and threw pinches of rice at her.
She passed him her leftovers when she was done, leaned back against the side. The clouds had all vanished; the sun had grown hot. Her legs felt sticky and uncomfortable in her long trousers. She went below to change into shorts. Back on deck, she squirted lotion into her hands, put her foot up on the bench the better to rub it into her leg. She could sense Daniel watching, and his attention felt good. She set her foot back down, put the other one up, taking her time over it, stretching the moment out.
The boat pitched suddenly. She yelped and tumbled into Daniel’s lap. He caught her easily, his arm around her waist. She looked into his eyes but there was nothing there to indicate he’d done it on purpose. ‘So sorry,’ he said, as he helped her back to her feet.
TWENTY-ONE
I
Low sandy islets appeared offshore ahead, and the seabed became increasingly visible beneath their hull. Knox showed Rebecca how to hold a course then went to the bridge to check the charts for dangers. They hadn’t yet reached Eden’s waters, but there were more charts rolled up in a wooden umbrella stand. He pulled one of the tubes out: it actually had two charts back-to-back inside an acetate cover, Tulear on the front, Ifaty on the reverse. He pulled out another pair, of Morombe and Morondava. The third tube also had twin maps, but different in style, and rather startling too-not least because he’d been looking at their twins just three days ago, on the wall of the Maritsa’s conference room.
‘What is it?’ asked Rebecca, who must have noticed his surprise.
‘Nothing,’ he told her.
‘Nothing?’
‘Just some old maps.’ His answer evidently didn’t satisfy her, for she left her position to come look. Instantly, the mainsail started flapping and they began to lose speed. ‘The Waldseemuller and the Piri Reis,’ he said, showing her the reproductions. She raised an eyebrow that he should be familiar with them, so he added: ‘They’re pretty wellknown in my line of work.’
‘Why so?’
‘Because they’re about the first maps we know of that showed America.’
‘Someone had to be first.’
‘Yes, but these were both made in the early sixteenth century, and no one’s quite sure how they were so detailed and accurate.’
‘Why should that be a puzzle? I thought Europeans discovered America in the 1490s.’
‘Yes, but they didn’t realise they’d discovered it. Not until later. Columbus went looking for the Spice Islands, remember, and he went to his grave thinking that was exactly what he’d found. So did Vespucci and the rest.’ It hadn’t been until 1513, when Vasco Nunez de Balboa crossed Panama to the Pacific, that they’d finally accepted they’d found a whole new continent. ‘So how come these map-makers were drawing South America this accurately so early? Particularly its west coast, which hadn’t yet been visited?’
‘And…? What’s the answer?’
‘Depends who you ask. That salvage guy I interviewed, for example. He thinks these maps are more proof that the Chinese got to America first.’
‘Why would European maps prove that?’ frowned Rebecca.
‘Because all these old cartographers borrowed from each other. Piri Reis was Turkish, and the Turks ran the spice trade at the time, so he’d certainly have had access to Oriental sources.’
‘Sounds plausible enough.’
‘Yes,’ agreed Knox. ‘But there are easier explanations. For example, maybe the Portuguese or the Spanish were much quicker at exploring the new territory than most historians believe. They just kept quiet about it. You have to remember that the pope had just granted the Portuguese all new land discovered southeast of an arbitrary line of longitude west of the Azores, while the Spanish got everything to its south-west. But facts on the ground are what count, so both nations made huge efforts to explore and settle these places before the other, and they only broadcast information that suited their claims. These were the great state secrets of the time.’
‘So you reckon there was a mole?’
Knox nodded. ‘A lot of people point the finger at Vespucci. He was working for the Spanish at the time. But I guess we’ll never know for sure.’ He rolled the maps back up. ‘Just odd that your father should have these. Is he interested in this kind of thing?’
Rebecca smiled. ‘He’s interested in everything,’ she told him. ‘But, yes, geography for sure. He used to say that evolution is geography.’
‘I guess.’ A gust of wind sent their sail flapping. ‘Anyway. We’d better get moving again or we’ll never make Eden tonight.’ He replaced the maps, found the chart he needed, took it back to his seat. Then he adjusted the rigging until the sail swelled again and they began once more to pick up speed.
II
Rebecca trailed a hand in the water as they headed north, and watched the shore. A pirogue drew close, a spear fisherman standing astride its narrow prow, shouting directions to the youngster at the stern. They were important and admired men, these spearmen. The best could spike fifty kilos of fish on a good day. Some held rocks as weights so that they could lie on the sea-bed in ambush for big fish; others brashly chased after the shoals, though you needed to be super-fit to fight the currents. Their bodies, consequently, were exquisitely honed, burned of any trace of fat.
The man looked up as they passed, waved exuberantly. ‘Salaam, Becca!’ he cried. He motioned to the youngster and the pirogue tacked and came alongside, holding steady just a couple of metres away. A fat scar glistened on his left hip where a fishing line must once have sliced through his skin, and it was this that gave Rebecca the cue she needed, a sudden memory of the day he’d limped into their clinic with his leg a mess of blood, glimpses of the white bone beneath the flap of skin. ‘Salaam, Toussaint!’ she called out. ‘Inona no vaovao?’
‘Tsy misy.’ He was obviously chuffed that she’d remembered him, though he tried not to let it show. ‘So sorry about Adam and Emilia.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Your father is a very good man. Your sister a very good woman. Whatever we can do.’
‘You can search.’
‘We search already,’ he said. But his eyes dropped just a blink. ‘Is a big sea.’
‘Yes.’
‘You come see us sometime, yah?’
‘I’d like that.’
He pointed at Daniel. ‘Vezo blanc, yah?’
‘Vezo blanc,’ smiled Rebecca.
He made a small gesture to his companion in the stern and they tacked instantly away, waving their
