'No betting,' she said.
'For shame!' he said. 'I was about to suggest to Mr. Vassiliev that he might care to take a little trip down to the harbor to see what happens. Betting! Hester, Hester.'
'Unfortunately, I have other plans,' said Vassiliev. 'I have to inspect employment conditions at the tannery today, and then I must make my preparations to leave.'
'Well, enjoy the inspection, sir. If I don't see you again before you leave, I'll tell our fair companion that you took your broken heart away to nurse.'
It was a blustery morning, with little dashes of rain in between bright sunshine, and big white clouds hurrying across a brilliant blue sky.
'Pretty weather,' said Lee as they made their way to the harbor. 'Sooner be down here on the ground, though.'
'If you don't watch your step, you'll be under it,' said Hester.
Lee sat on a bollard at the water's edge and settled his hat lower over his eyes, because the glare off the water was surprising. He took out his little pair of field glasses and looked around the basin. The big steam crane on the right-hand quay had finished with the barque's new mast and was now busy unloading the coal from the tanker into a train of rail wagons. As for the ships on the left, the one that had been taking on fish oil had done with that and was now loading what looked like bundles of skins, and the other vessel was riding much higher in the water after all her cargo of timber had been unloaded. Her decks were clear, and the crew were busy with scrubbing and painting. The only new vessel in sight was a dredger working near the harbor mouth, laboriously hauling up bucketfuls of sand and mud and dumping them into a lighter alongside.
On the schooner, nothing had changed. She lay still and silent at the quay. There was a knot of men gathered partway along the quay at the corner of a warehouse, and Lee was about to train the field glasses on them when a harsh voice spoke behind him.
'What are you looking at?'
Lee put the glasses down carefully and turned round, taking his time. Hester moved a little closer. The man standing there was the red-haired Dutchman he'd helped out of the bar only the day before.
'Captain van Breda?' he said, standing up slowly and tipping his hat.
'That I am. Who are you?'
The man had no memory of him, which was hardly surprising, unless he was ashamed to admit it.
'The name's Scoresby, Captain. I was looking at that schooner, and thinking I wouldn't care to pay the harbor dues that must be piling up while she can't load her cargo.'
“You are an associate of that man Poliakov?' said van Breda, clenching his fists. His cheeks, under the red stubble, were suffused with a deeper crimson, and his eyes were bloodshot. It seemed as if he might fall to an apoplexy at any moment, Lee thought, looking at his daemon-—a big rough-haired mongrel bitch with a lot of wolf in her, her hackles raised, trembling and emitting a constant low growl. One or two passersby glanced at them curiously and walked on.
Not far away, a bear climbed up the steps from the water and shook himself, sending sheets of spray flying high in the air, before standing to look along the waterfront towards the two men.
'An associate?' Lee said carefully. 'No, sir. That's way wrong. I met the man last night at the town hall, and I told him I didn't care for the kind of man he employs. Anyway, I ain't got a vote in his election, and I fell asleep during his speech. Is that your ship?'
'Yes, goddamnit, and I don't like spies. What are you looking for? Hey?'
Hester moved a step or two closer and said a quiet word to van Breda's daemon, who snapped and growled in reply. Hester turned to Lee and said:
'Lee, buy the Captain a drink.'
She was right: the man looked close to collapse.
'I'm no spy, Captain,' Lee said. 'Would you care to join me in a glass of hot rum? There's a bar right there. I'd like to hear about your situation.'
'Yes. Ja. Very well. Why not?' said the Captain, removing his cap and scratching his thick red hair with a trembling hand. All the brittle anger had left him, and he followed Lee helplessly into the bar.
They sat at a table in the window. Van Breda gazed obsessively out at the schooner, cradling his glass of rum, while Lee lit a cigarillo so as to compete with the smoky stove nearby. Outside, Lee noticed the bear sit down near the bollard and then settle on his front, watchfully, great paws tucked under his chest.
'She's nearly lost to me now,' the Captain said. 'Your ship? Are you the owner as well as the skipper?'
'Not for long, if that man has his way.' 'How so?'
'Look at this,' said van Breda, and took a crumpled envelope from his pocket.
Lee drew out the letter inside. It carried the letterheading of the Novy Odense Harbor Company, and it said:
'April the sixteenth,' said Lee. 'That's tomorrow. When's high tide?'
'Eleven thirty-two,' said van Breda. 'It's impossible. He knows it's impossible. He orders me to load my cargo, I want to load my cargo, but they refuse to open the bloody warehouse. They say I owe the Harbor Authority money. It's a goddamn lie. This is a concocted new charge that never existed before—they especially made it up to
