at all, Clinton demurred.
'The treaties with the new sultans on the mainland no longer affect the Zanzibar fellow. We still have to ginger this old boy up a little.'
Sir John Bannerman limped up on to Black Joke's deck, favouring his gouty foot and cocked a lively eye at the young naval officer who stepped forward to greet him.
Well, sir, you have been busy indeed, he murmured.
My God, the fellow was little more than a boy, a freshfaced youngster, despite the cocked hat and mustache.
It was difficult to believe that he had created such havoc with this tiny ship.
They shook hands, and Bannerman found himself liking the boy, despite the turmoil that he brought into the Consul's normally tranquil existence.
A glass of madeira, sir? ' Clinton suggested. Damned decent of you, I must say.'
In the small cabin, Bannerman mopped his streaming face, and came directly to business. By God, you've put the cat amongst the pigeons, he wagged his big head. I don't see. . . 'Now, listen to me, Bannerman snapped, 'and I'll explain to you the facts of life as they apply to eastern Africa in general, and Zanzibar in particular.'
Half an hour later, Clinton had lost much of his newfound bumptiousness.
What should we do? ' he asked. Do? innerman asked. 'What we do is take full advantage of the situation which you have precipitated, before these idiots in Whitehall come stumbling in. Thanks to you the Sultan is at last in a mood to sign the treaty I have been after for five years. I'll trade a handful of these utterly illegal, untenable treaties that you have made with non-existent states and mythical princes for one that will truss the old goat up the way I've wanted him for years. 'Excuse me, Sir John, Clinton looked slightly perplexed, 'from what, you said earlier, I understood that you heartily disapproved of my recent actions. 'On the contrary, ' Sir John grinned at him expansively, you have stirred my blood, and made me proud to be an Englishman again. I say, do you have a little more of the madeira? ' He raised the glass to Clinton. 'My hearty congratulations, Captain Codrington. I only wish that I could do something to save you from the fate that so certainly awaits you, once the Admiralty and Lord Palmerston catch up with you. ' Sir John drank half the glass, smacked his lips, 'Jolly good stuff, he nodded, set the glass aside and went on briskly, 'Now, we have to work fast and get the Sultan to sign an iron-clad treaty, before Whitehall rushes in with apologies and protestations of good faith which will put to naught all the fine work you have done to date. Something tells me that won't be very long, he added lugubriously, and then more brightly, 'You could have your ship's guns run out whilst we are ashore. Do wear your sword. Oh, and one other thing, don't take your eyes off the old goat while I do the talking. There is already talk about your eyes, that extraordinary colour of blue, don't you know, and the Sultan has heard about them already. As you probably know, they now call you 'El Sheetan' on this coast, and the Sultan is a man who sets great store by djinns and the occult.'
Sir John's predictions as to the imminent arrival of tiding's from higher sources was almost clairvoyant, for as he spoke H. M. sloop Penguin, with urgent despatches on board for Sir John Bannerman, for the Sultan, and for Captain Codrington, was on a fair wind, which, if it held, would bring her into Zanzibar harbour within the next two days. Time was shorter than even Sir John believed.
With some trepidation, the Sultan had moved back into his palace. He had only half believed Sir John's assurances, but, on the other hand, the palace was half a mile from the harbour where that evil black ship was displaying its formidable broadside of carronades, while the consulate was on the harbour front, or the front line of fire, depending on how one looked at it.
On Sir John's advice Clinton had come ashore with a bodyguard of a dozen picked seamen, who could be trusted to resist the temptations of the old city's redlight area, the grog and the women that seamen dream of. It was dusk when the party plunged into the labyrinth of narrow alleys, where the balconies almost met overhead, led by Sir John who despite his game leg set a good pace, picking his way around heaps of noisome garbage and avoiding the puddles in the uneven paving that looked like a cold minestrone soup and smelled a great deal higher.
He chatted affably with Clinton, pointing out the various sites and buildings of interest, relating the island's history and giving a quick perceptive character-sketch of the Sultan and the more important men in his empire, including those unfortunate new princes who had signed Clinton's blank treaty forms. That's one thing, Sir John. I wouldn't want anything to happen to them, Clinton cut in for the first time. 'I hope they won't be victimized for having, well, how can one say, for having seceded from the Sultan's empire-Torlom hope.'
Sir John waggled his head. 'Not one of them will be alive by Ramadan. The old goat has a nasty streak. 'Couldn't we put a clause in the new treaty to protect them? 'We could, but it would be a waste of paper and ink.'
Sir John clapped his shoulder. 'Your concern is misplaced. The finest collection of ruffians, rogues and assassins south of the equator, or north of it, for that matter. One of the side benefits of the whole business, getting rid of that lot. Old goat will have a lovely time, compensate him for the loss of face when he straps their heads or hands them the cup of datura tea. Ghastly death, datura. poisoning. Oh, by the way, you must look at these gates. ' They had reached the front of the palace. One of the most magnificent examples of craftsmanship on the island.'
The massive teak doors were fifteen feet high, intricately carved, but in accordance with Moslem law the carvings depicted neither human nor animal figures.
They were the only impressive feature of the drab square building with its blank walls relieved by the wooden balconies high above street level, shuttered against the night air and the gaze of the curious.
The gates swung open at their approach, and the palace guards armed with ancient jezails were the first living beings they had seen since leaving the harbour. The city was still deserted, and cowering under the menace of Black Joke's guns.
Clinton noticed, since Sir John had mentioned it, that the guards averted their gaze as he passed, one of them actually covering his face with the loose tail of his turban. So the business of the eyes was true. He was not sure whether to feel insulted or amused. You must see these. ' Sir John stopped him in the cavernous ante-chamber lit with guttering oil lamps suspended in heavy brass chandeliers from a ceiling lost in the gloom. 'The heaviest recorded specimens in the world, one of them over three-hundred-pounds weighc They were a pair of African elephant tusks, suspended on the stone wall with retaining bands of copper, two incredible curves of ancient ivory, as thick as a girl's waist, taller than a man could reach, with hardly any taper from hilt to b unt tip, , earning with the lustre of precious porcelain.
, You have not hunted these beasts? ' Clinton shook his head, he had never even seen one of them but the huge teeth impressed him none the less. Before my foot, I shot them in India and in Africa. No other sport to beat that, incredible animals. ' He patted one of the tusks. 'The Sultan killed this one when he was a young man, with a
