Birds of Prey (56 page)

‘If only you had a penny to lay.’ Ned chuckled. It was the first time Hal had heard him laugh since Oliver had been ripped to pieces by Barnard’s dogs.

‘How many are going?’ Hal asked. ‘Think on it a while, lads, before you give answer.’ In the bad light he looked around the circle of heads, whose expressions turned
grim. ‘If you stay here you will go on living for a while at least, and no man will think the worse of you. If we go and we do not reach the mountains, then you all saw the way my father and
Oliver died. ’Twas not a fitting death for an animal, let alone a man.’

Althuda spoke first. ‘Even if it were not for Bobby and my woman, I would go.’

‘Aye!’ said Daniel, and ‘Aye!’ said Ned.

‘That’s three,’ Hal murmured, ‘What about you, William Rogers?’

‘I’m with you, Sir Henry.’

‘Don’t test me, Billy. I have told you not to call me that.’ Hal frowned. When they used his title he felt himself a fraud, for he was not worthy of the honour that his
grandfather had won at the right hand of Drake. The title that his father had carried with such distinction. ‘Your last chance, Master Billy. If your tongue trips again I’ll kick some
sense into the other end of you. Do you hear?’

‘Aye, I hear you sweet and clear, Sir Henry.’ Billy grinned at him, and the others roared with laughter as Hal caught him by the scruff of his neck and boxed his ears. They were all
bubbling over with excitement – all, that was, but Dick Moss and Paul Hale.

‘I’ve grown too old for a lark such as this, Sir Hal. My bones are so stiff I could not climb a pretty lad if you tied him over a barrel for me, let alone climb a mountain.’
Dick Moss the old pederast grinned. ‘Forgive me, Captain, but Paul and me have talked it over, and we’ll stay on here where we’ll get a bellyful of stew and a bundle of straw each
night.’

‘Perhaps you are wiser than the rest of us.’ Hal nodded, and he was not saddened by the decision. Dicky was long past his glory days when he had been the man to beat to the masthead
when they reefed sail in a full gale. This last winter had stiffened his limbs and greyed his hair. He would be non-paying cargo to carry on this voyage. Paul was Dicky’s shipwife. They had
been together for twenty years, and though Paul was still a fury with a cutlass in his hand he would stay with his ageing lover.

‘Good luck to both of you. You’re as good a pair as I ever sailed with,’ Hal said, and looked at Wally Finch and Stan Sparrow. ‘What about you two birds? Will you fly
with us, lads?’

‘As high and as far as you’re going.’ Wally spoke for both of them, and Hal clapped his shoulder.

‘That makes six of us, eight with Aboli and Althuda, and it’ll be high and far enough to suit all our tastes, I warrant you.’

T
here was a final exchange of messages as Aboli and Sukeena explained the plan they had worked out. Hal suggested refinements and drew up a list
of items that Aboli and Sukeena must try to steal to make their existence in the wilderness more certain. Chief among these were a chart and compass, and a backstaff if they could find one.

Aboli and Sukeena made their final preparation without letting their trepidation or excitement become apparent to the rest of the household. Dark eyes were always watching everything that
happened in the slave quarters, and they trusted nobody now that they were so close to the chosen day. Sukeena gradually assembled those items for which Hal had asked, and added a few of her own
that she knew they would need.

The day before the planned escape, Sukeena summoned Aboli into the main living area of the residence where before he had never been allowed to enter. ‘I need your strength to move the
carved armoire in the banquet hall,’ she told him, in front of the cook and two others of the kitchen staff. Aboli followed her submissively as a trained hound on a leash. Once they were
alone, Aboli dropped the demeanour of the meek slave.

‘Be quick!’ Sukeena warned him. ‘The mistress will return very soon. She is with Slow John at the bottom of the garden.’ She moved swiftly to the shutter of the window
that overlooked the lawns, and saw that the ill-assorted couple were still in earnest conversation under the oak trees.

‘There is no limit to her depravity,’ she whispered to herself, as she watched Katinka laugh at something the executioner had said. ‘She would make love to a pig or a poisonous
snake if the fancy came upon her.’ Sukeena shuddered at the memory of that ophidian tongue exploring the secret recesses of her own body. It will never happen again, she promised herself,
only four more days to endure before Althuda will be safe. If she calls me to her nest before then I will plead that my courses are flowing.

She heard something whirl in the air like a great bird in flight and glanced back over her shoulder to see that Aboli had taken one of the swords from the display of weapons in the hallway. He
was testing its balance and temper, swinging it in singing circles around his head, so that the reflections of light off the blade danced on the white walls.

He set it aside and chose another, but liked it not at all and placed it back with a frown. ‘Hurry!’ she called softly to him. Within minutes he had picked out three blades, not for
the jewels that decorated the hilts but for the litheness and temper of their blades. All three were curved scimitars made by the armourers of Shah Jahan at Agra on the Indian continent.
‘They were made for a Mogul prince and sit ill in the hand of a rough sailor, but they will do until I can find a cutlass of good Sheffield steel to replace them.’ Then he picked out a
shorter blade, a
kukri
knife used by the hill people of Further India, and he shaved a patch of hair off his forearm. ‘This will do for the close work I have in mind.’ He grunted
with satisfaction.

‘I have marked well those you have chosen,’ Sukeena told him. ‘Now leave them on the rack or their empty slots will be noticed by the other house slaves. I will pass them to
you on the evening before the day.’

That afternoon she took her basket and, the conical straw hat on her head, went up into the mountain. Although any watcher would not have understood her intent, she made certain that she was out
of sight, hidden in the forest that filled the great ravine below the summit. There was a dead tree that she had noted on many previous outings. From the rotting pith sprouted a thicket of tiny
purple toadstools. She pulled on a pair of gloves before she began to pick them. The gills beneath the parasol-shaped tops were of a pretty yellow colour. These fungi were toxic, but only if eaten
in quantity would they be fatal. She had chosen them for this quality – she did not want the lives of innocent men and their families on her conscience. She placed them in the bottom of the
basket and covered them with other roots and herbs before she descended the steep mountainside and walked sedately back through the vineyards to the residence.

That evening Governor van de Velde held a gala dinner in the great hall, and invited the notables from the settlement and all the Company dignitaries. These festivities continued late, and after
the guests had left the household staff and slaves were exhausted. They left Sukeena to make her rounds and lock up the kitchens for the night.

Once she was alone she boiled the purple toadstools and reduced the essence to the consistency of new honey. She poured the liquid into one of the empty wine bottles from the feast. It had no
odour and she did not have to sample it to know that it had only the faintest taste of the fungi. One of the women who worked in the kitchens at the castle barracks was in her debt: Sukeena’s
potions had saved her eldest son when he had been stricken by the smallpox. The next morning she left the bottle in a basket with remedies and potions in the carriage for Aboli to deliver to the
woman.

When Aboli drove the Governor down to the castle, van de Velde was ashen-faced and grumpy with the effects of the previous night’s debauchery. Aboli left a message in the slot in the wall
that read, ‘Eat nothing from the garrison kitchen on the last evening.’

That night Hal poured the contents of the stew kettle into the latrine bucket before any of the men were tempted to sample it. The steaming aroma filled the cell and to the starving seamen it
smelled like the promise of eternal life. They groaned and gritted their teeth, and cursed Hal, their fates and themselves to see it wasted.

The next morning at the accustomed hour the dungeon began to stir with life. Long before dawn outlined the four small, barred windows, men groaned and coughed and then crept, one at a time to
ease themselves, grunting and farting as they voided in the latrine bucket. Then, as the significance of the day dawned upon them, a steely, charged silence gripped them.

Slowly the light of day filtered down upon them from the windows and they looked at each other askance. They had never been left this late before. On every other morning they had been at work on
the walls an hour earlier than this.

When at last Manseer’s keys rattled in the lock, he looked pale and sickly. The two men with him were in no better case.

‘What ails you, Manseer?’ Hal asked. ‘We thought you had changed your affections and that we would never see you again.’ The gaoler was an honest simpleton, with little
malice in him, and over the months Hal had cultivated a superficially amicable relationship with him.

‘I spent the night sitting in the shithouse,’ Manseer moaned. ‘And I had company, for every man in the garrison was trying to get in there with me. Even at this hour half of
them are still in their bunks—’ He broke off as his belly rumbled like distant thunder, and a desperate expression came over his face. ‘Here I go again! I swear I’ll kill
that poxy cook.’ He started back up the stairs and left them waiting another half-hour before he returned to open the grille gate and lead them out into the courtyard.

Hugo Barnard was waiting to take over from him. He was in a foul mood. ‘We have lost half a day’s work,’ he snarled at Manseer. ‘Colonel Schreuder will blame me for this,
and when he does I’ll come back to you, Manseer!’ He turned on the line of convicts. ‘Don’t you bastards stand there smirking! By God, you’re going to give me a full
day’s work even if I have to keep you on the scaffold until midnight. Now leap to it, and quickly too!’ Barnard was in fine fettle, his face ruddy and his temper already on the boil. It
was clear that the colic and diarrhoea that afflicted the rest of the garrison had not touched him. Hal remembered Manseer remarking that Barnard lived with a Hottentot girl in the settlement down
by the shore, and did not eat in the garrison mess.

He looked around quickly as he walked across the courtyard to the foot of the ladder. The sun was already well up and its rays lit the western redoubt of the castle. There were less than half
the usual number of gaolers and guards: one sentry instead of four at the gates, none at the entrance to the armoury and only one more at the head of the staircase that led to the Company offices
and the Governor’s suite on the south side of the courtyard.

When he climbed the ladder and reached the top of the wall he looked across the parade to the avenue, and could just make out the roof of the Governor’s residence among the trees.

‘God speed, Aboli,’ he whispered. ‘We are ready for you.’

A
boli brought the carriage round to the front of the residence a few minutes earlier than the Governor’s wife had ordered it, and pulled up
the horses below the portico. Almost immediately Sukeena appeared in the doorway and called to him. ‘Aboli! The mistress has some packages to take with us in the carriage.’ Her tone was
light and easy, with no hint of strain. ‘Please come and carry them down.’ This was for the benefit of the others whom she knew would be listening.

Obediently Aboli locked the brake on the carriage wheels and, with a quiet word to the horses, jumped down from the coachman’s seat. He moved without haste and his expression was calm as
he followed Sukeena into the house. He came out again a minute later carrying a rolled-up silk rug and a set of leather saddle-bags. He went to the back of the carriage and placed this luggage in
the panniers, then closed the lid. There was no air of secrecy about his movements and no furtiveness to alert any of the other slaves. The two maids who were busy sweeping the front terrace did
not even look up at him. He went back to his seat and picked up the reins, waiting with a slave’s infinite patience.

Katinka was late, but that was not unusual. She came at last in a cloud of French perfume and rustling silks, sweeping down the stairs and scolding Sukeena for some fancied misdemeanour. Sukeena
glided beside her on small, silent, slippered feet, contrite and smiling.

Katinka climbed up into the carriage like a queen on her way to her coronation, and imperiously ordered Sukeena, ‘Come and sit here beside me!’ Sukeena gave her a curtsy with her
hands to her lips. She had hoped that Katinka would give her that command. When she was in the mood for physical intimacy, Katinka wanted her close enough to be able to stretch out her hand and
touch her. At other times she was cold and aloof, but at all times unpredictable.

’Tis an omen for good that she does what I intended, Sukeena encouraged herself, as she took the seat opposite her mistress and smiled at her lovingly.

‘Drive on, Aboli!’ Katinka called and then, as the carriage pulled away, gave her attention to Sukeena. ‘How does this colour suit me in the sunlight? Does it not make me seem
pale and insipid?’

‘It goes beautifully with your skin, mistress.’ Sukeena told her what she wanted to hear. ‘Even better than it does indoors. Also it brings out the violet lights in your
eyes.’

‘Should there not be a touch more lace in the collar, do you think?’ Katinka tilted her head prettily.

Sukeena considered her reply. ‘Your beauty does not rely on even the finest lace from Brussels,’ she told her. ‘It stands alone.’

‘Do you think so, Sukeena? You are such a flatterer, but I must say you yourself are looking particularly fetching this morning.’ She considered the girl thoughtfully. The carriage
was now bowling down the avenue at a trot, the greys arching their necks and stepping out handsomely. ‘There is colour in your cheeks and a twinkle in your eye. One might be forgiven for
thinking that you were in love.’