The King

Sound'd tie one ship up fer a tradin' season. Take two of 'em t'do all we suspect. Mister Percival may have a point, at that. R'member, there's no sign this Choundas put into Macao, nor traded opium fer silver with the mandarins. Come straight up-river, an' what he's landed so far's general run-o'-the-mill Indian cargo.'

'What if it's this Sicard who's the leader, and Choundas and Poisson D'Or are merely his bully-bucks, sent out to enforce what he's arranged?' Choate enthused. 'Look, Captain Sicard has been in the Far East and the Great South Seas for years. You said so yourself, Mister Twigg. He'd be the one most like to have contacts in past with native pirates. This Choundas is a newcomer, with a new ship. What connections could he establish with 'em on his own?'

'Gentlemen, this idle speculation…' Twigg gloomed, those lips growing hair-thin in dislike at the direction his conference was going.

'You suspected Sicard and La Malouine, for good reasons, sir, in the first place,' Alan pointed out, not without more than a slight amount of glee. 'Maybe Choundas is just a messenger from France, a catch-fart from their Ministry of Marine. And a bloody pirate who needs his business stopped. But not the leader- merely a henchman.'

'That means we got two ships t'keep an eye on,' Wythy added relentlessly. 'That's all right, long's we're anchored here in Whampoa Reach. Damme, we'll need a second ship t' follow both of 'em in the spring. If they stay that long.'

'And two captains to shadow, now,' Ayscough said, smiling thinly.

'Ajit-ji,' Wythy instructed as they stood near a stack of cotton bales ashore in Canton. 'Nandu-ji.'

'Jeehan, Weeth-sahib?' they chorused.

'Piccha karna Fransisi havildar-sahibi vahahn. Ajit-ji, neela koortie, milna? Nandu, vo admi lal gooluhband, milna? Piccha karna, jeehan? Hoshiyar! Khatrah! Badmashes!'

'Aiee, jeehan Weeth-sahib. Ek dum!'*

Nandu and Ajit agreed, and walked away into the mob of sailors and traders milling about as Hog Lane got into full motion for another night.

'That takes care of the bosuns or cox'ns,' Wythy sighed as the Indians put on a remarkable performance of two revelers wandering around in a daze, but following the two sailors from Poisson D'Or and La Malouine who had come ashore with Sicard and Choundas. They had come in separate sampans, but even so, their movements would be covered closely, and hopefully, surreptiously.

'We'll take Sicard,' Twigg whispered, and he and Lieutenant Percival went in one direction, leaving Wythy and Lewrie to loiter by the cotton bales until Choundas dismissed his cox'n, the same sailor they'd seen giving Telesto the eye the week before in the boat with him. A handful of coins changed hands, then Choundas clapped the fellow on the shoulder and barked a short, humorous comment before the sailor departed on his own errand, or amusements.

'There he goes. Nice an' slow, now, Mister Lewrie,' Wythy instructed. 'No need t' trod on his heels, nor breathe down his neck. Just keep the bugger in sight. Mister Cony, is it?'

*'Follow the French mates there. Ajit, [the onej in the blue coat, see? Nandu, that man [in the] red scarf. Follow them, yes? Careful[ly]! Danger[ous]! Thieves!' 'Yes, lord. At once!'

'Aye, sir, that's me name, sir,' Cony whispered, a trifle nervous.

'Ye know what's wanted?' Wythy inquired. 'You go on ahead of him, stroll along at a fair clip like ye know where ye're goin', an' if this Choundas bugger veers off from behind o' ye, don't worry 'bout it, 'cause we're still followin' him. If he gets outa sight, try an' spot where he went t' ground, an' come back t' join us. Right?'

'Right, sir,' Cony said with a deep sigh of commitment.

'Achcha, Cony-sahib!' Wythy praised. 'Chabuk sawi! Ijazaht hai! Daw mut!'*

*'Good, Cony-lord! Clever fellow! You may go now! Don't fear!'

'Jeehan, Mister Wythy, sir.' Cony essayed a brief grin before he took off on his dangerous chore.

'He'll be safe enough, should he not, Mister Wythy?' Lewrie asked.

'Aye, he's a clever'un. Picks things up quick as a wink, like he's learned more Hindee'n most Englishmen out here ten years. It's us that's in more danger. Those Frogs know we're officers off the ship that's been payin' close attention to their doin's. And ye'll mind how they've been givin' us the eagle-eye the last few days.'

'Aye, sir,' Alan replied, feeling absolutely naked among the throngs of drunken, reeling sailors in Hog Lane. 'God, I'd give my soul right now for the feel of a little rigging knife, though!'

'And it's be yer soul, if the mandarins' soldiers caught ye armed,' Wythy warned. 'One of their eight bloody rules ye never violate, not if ye know what's good fer ye. Applies t' the Frogs same's us, thank the good Lord.'

Choundas wandered Hog Lane for a while, strolling into Thirteen Factory Street at last, and wandering right past the factories to the bank of the foetid creek, and across the plank bridge to the front of the King Qua Hong. He looked to be in no hurry to get where he was going, but there wasn't much down that way: Mou Qua's Hong, a wide lane that did little business that late in the evening, and then one of the large customs houses, which would be shut.

'Clever bugger. Clever as paint,' Wythy commented, taking Lewrie by the arm and steering him back the other way. 'He'll turn about and come right down our throats, t' see if anyone's tailin' him. Not the skills ye expect t' see in a French naval officer, damme'f they ain't!'

Choundas did reverse his course and struck out west once more, making a beeline for the bridge. Cony had already crossed over, and was across the street from him. There was nothing for it but for him to turn into Carpenter's Square, and try to look as innocent as he could. Wythy and Alan turned their backs on him and suddenly got interested in an open-air grog shop that spilled out into Hog Lane, with all evidence of nothing more important in their lives than a mug of rum and hot water.

'Sorry, Mister Wythy, sir,' Cony apologized, once he had rejoined them. Alan offered him the rest of his grog. It was far below the standards of Navy Issue from the Victualling Board-the rawest stuff he'd tasted since leaving the West Indies. 'God, that's awful, sir!'

'You stay here, Cony. We'll follow him now.'

'Headed for the French factory, Cony?' Alan asked.

'Nossir, 'e's on t'other side o' the street. Just goin' into Old Clothes Street now, sir,' Cony related.

'Dead end, else he'd get into the city proper, an' I doubt he's got that much clout with the mandarins.' Wythy grinned. 'No, our lad's off t' put the leg over some Chinee lass. Better cut o' bagnios lays in that direction. 'Bout a dozen of 'em. Co Hong quality stuff.'

'Aha,' Alan commented. Wythy had at last informed him where he could get some quim.

'He'll be in there 'bout an hour'r so,' Wythy said, pulling out his pocket watch. 'If the brute has any taste, that is. If he's the peasant Zachariah thinks him, I'd make it a quarter o' that. Let's be meanderin' so we may keep a sharp eye peeled for when he comes out. Cony, ye want the rest o' my rum, as well?'

'Well, h'it ain't so bad, once ya gets some down, sir, thankee right kindly,' Cony agreed.

They strolled west, past the Chow Chow Hong, the East India Company Factory, the Swedish, to take guard across the street from the entrance to Old Clothes Street.

'Well, damme,' Percival said as he and Twigg heaved into sight.

'Sicard?' Wythy asked.

'In there,' Twigg whispered, pointing with his chin.

'Same fer Choundas,' Wythy snarled. 'Now what's so allfired secret they gotta do their talkin' in a brothel? Ain't their ships good 'nough?'

'This may be some theatric, to keep us off-balance,' Twigg sighed with the exasperation of a longtime expert at the art of tailing a man. 'Unless there's someone they're meeting in there, someone they wouldn't want even the Chinese, or the Co Hong, to know about.'

'A Chinese pirate, maybe, sir?' Percival asked. 'Or do these Malay or Mindanao raiders ever come up the Pearl to trade in Canton like anyone else?'

'How many brothels in there, Tom?' Twigg asked.