by Alisa Smith
“Better question is, why Sho-nuff? Frederick is my God-given name. I didn’t mind that minstrel talk back in the day, but times change. I joined the N double-A CP. You want to have a cold drink and catch up? I live nearby.”
“I thought you’d settled in Seattle.”
“Left there before the war and sailed here single-handed. It was a dream of mine.”
I desperately wanted to ask him if he had known all along that Bill was alive, since he was clearly in Bill’s employ now. How else would he have found me here? And how much did he know about Link Hughes? The road was empty, but it didn’t seem safe to say these things aloud. The men on the store porch had certainly taken an interest in us, all of them staring like a row of scarecrows. I averted my eyes and sighed.
“We can talk when we get away from those nosy parkers. Harmless guys, though. Known them all for years,” Frederick said, taking my arm. “I got a live-aboard at the harbour. The public docks. The private club don’t allow coloureds. I got a petition against them. Maybe you’d sign it?”
“Sure. If I can use another name on it.”
“You in trouble?”
“Could be.”
Frederick and I continued arm-in-arm along the road beside the beach, which swept the edge of a mountainous bay. There were signs for a navy base nearby and service jeeps passed on the dirt road. One fellow whistled at me and I was annoyed, but also a little glad I had decided to go blond. Another jeep slowed.
“Hey nigger, keep your hands off her,” a sailor called out.
“He’s a friend,” I said. In the driver’s seat his buddy stayed silent, glaring at Frederick. I wished I was in uniform so I could order them off: they were only able seaman, the navy equivalent of a private. But since I was about to go AWOL I would not mention that I far outranked them. At least not yet, if I didn’t have to. Frederick gave them a cool stare and rolled up his sleeves. His forearms were like a blacksmith’s.
The driver returned his eyes to the road and shifted into gear, peeling off. I let out a breath.
“Stuff like that’s why I joined the N double-A CP,” he said. “Anyways, we’re almost there now.”
A small yacht was stranded in the shallows near shore, with only the mast sticking out above the water’s surface, tilted. Frederick followed my gaze.
“Don’t worry about that junk. I got a proper ship.”
A blue heron stood stock still on the edge of the dock leading into the public marina, staring in the water with endless patience. I was comforted to see this familiar bird from my old home in British Columbia, halfway around the world. As we passed by, it startled and flew off, though it did not speed up its ponderous flight.
The first moored boats we passed were small and weather-beaten. Some old men shuffling on their decks gave me curious glances. Independent sailing did not seem to be a lady’s game, for I did not see any. I supposed they preferred to sit on deck sipping cocktails on the luxury ships back at the yacht club.
“At least these fellows mind their beeswax, unlike those navy boys,” Frederick said. “This is a decent place.”
I followed Frederick until he stopped beside a ship with Quarlo painted on its side in gold curlicue letters. It was larger than the other boats and the brass was well polished. “It’s beautiful,” I said. “Where will it take me?”
“Thanks. Restored her myself,” he said, ignoring the last part of my question. He took my elbow as we walked the ramp, which bobbed gently. “Anyone tailing you?”
“I shook one off downtown.”
“There’ll be more eyes on us soon enough—a pretty woman like you and a Black man. Let’s get below deck.”
I nodded and, after crossing the wooden deck, lowered my head to step down into the galley.
“Settle in,” he said, bustling around his compact kitchen. “I got a full bar. Anything you want. Whisky and soda? Or I can make a Hawaii cocktail with pineapple juice and coconut.”
“And vodka?”
“Goes without saying.”
“Sounds lovely.”
He poured the liquids into a jigger and then into a tall glass, stirring it with a swizzle stick and dropping in some ice. He set it down in front of me on the table.
“Thanks.”
He made a whisky and soda for himself and sat down. “You look different. Not from time passed—you’re pretty as ever. Professional, but I can’t think what profession. Did you go back to studying foreign tongues?”
“For a while, yes.”
“Your eyes say you have more secrets.”
“I’m afraid that’s true.”
“You still in some criminal business?”
“No, but that might have been easier. Frederick, where are you taking me?”
He smiled. “Setting sail for Siam. And it sounds like the sooner the better.”
“That’s where Bill is now?”
He nodded.
“Did you know all along that he was alive?” My expression must have narrowed, because Sho-Nuff, now Frederick, put his hand to his heart.
“Swear I never knew until a telegram came last month. Could have knocked me over with a feather. But I was happy about it. And happy to be asked to help you.”
“I don’t know if I’d call this helping me,” I said. “It’s what he wants.” My throat felt dry, and I took a sip of my Hawaii cocktail. The pineapple burned in my throat, too acidic.
“He goes by William now. Safe enough I guess. That’s a name for any man.”
“William. Typical of Bill to run as close to the line as possible.”
“Like a bull fighter with a red cape,” Frederick admitted.
“Do you know how he got out of jail?”
“Nope. Good on him, though. A real Houdini getaway.”
Frederick downed his drink and stood again, and I sensed he was restless to get moving. My eye roamed around the galley, wishing for something to fix on. I was dreading asking about Link Hughes, in case Bill had given Frederick an idea of what I’d done. Over the doorway, there was a stern portrait of a man wearing a white robe. Being Canadian and a daughter of Empire, I immediately recognized the portly form and ducktail beard of King Edward VII, though he’d died a few years before I was born. My father had thought well of his reign. “You’re a fan of royalty now?” I asked.
He laughed. “No, but Quarlo was built in Liverpool in 1903. Last of the age of sail. I noticed a pale spot and figured a picture had been there. Did some research and saw these English ships always had a royal portrait. So I found one in a junk shop. I think it’s good luck.”
“I could use some when we get to Siam.” The tall Collins glass had sweated into my hands, leaving them damp. I wiped them on my dress. “Do you know anything about Link Hughes?”
“All I know is that I’m supposed to get you safe to Siam, and there’s people out there could mean you harm. I got the last supplies I needed at the store while I waited for you. Best we leave right away.”
The boat was rocking a little in the harbour, and I felt the beginning of nausea. So it seemed like I might really see both Bill and Link again—talk about a reckoning.
“The minute we leave Hawaii, I’ll be AWOL,” I said. “All because of Bill ‘helping’ me. Some help.” Not only AWOL from the military, but from Miss Maggie. She was the greater threat, if she had a mind to find me. I looked around the small cabin, which had little decoration besides the picture. The teak woodwork shone sparely and the cupboards were closed tight. “Do you have a radio?”
“It’s in the wheelhouse.”
“Turn it off, completely off, and never use it.”
“That’s crazy. I won’t hear about storms or nothing.”
“A radio signal is a dead giveaway. They can triangulate where you are.”
His expression looked doubtful.
“I was a radio operator in the war.”
“Okay.” Frederick walked up the little stairway. “Preferred being a bank robber,” he said over his shoulder, befor
e shutting the hatch behind him.
* * *
WHAT WAS WRONG with me? I’d been on boats before. Large ferries when I lived on the coast of British Columbia and speedboats on sheltered inland seas. Apparently, these were not the real test. A small craft on the open Pacific—that was the meaning of hell. It had only taken me a few hours to find this out. “Oh God,” I moaned, grabbing the rail as the boat lurched yet again.
I bent in half and vomited into the ocean. I wiped my hand across my mouth and stood up from the railing. My throat burned and my thoughts were sickly also. First, I discovered during my war training that I was afraid of heights. Now I learned that I had no sea legs. Was I only competent on solid ground, in a single dimension?
I was supposed to be on watch for a few hours later in the night while Frederick slept. Of course, I had no idea what I would do if something was wrong with our course. Wake him up, I guessed.
The sky glowed red in the west, and the sun was sucked under the horizon. In these southern latitudes, there was little coy preamble to the sunset. In Alaska it had been all preamble, the twilight lasting forever, until suddenly it was time for the sun to rise again.
I had offered to make dinner for Frederick in the happy innocence of the harbour, before I felt seasick. I had too much pride to take back my offer now. I told him I was heading down to the galley. He examined the instruments, adjusted the tiller and retied it, preparing to leave the ship to steer itself while we ate. Well, while he ate. I would not even try. I grabbed the brass handrail as I walked down the steep wooden steps. I had already laid the groundwork for my terrible cooking, and he had accepted the idea of an omelet for dinner with good grace when I promised him lots of bacon on the side. An omelet was one of only three things I knew how to make, and I told him it was normal for dinner in France, at least.
I started up the propane burner with a hiss and flare, heated up the iron skillet, and cracked three eggs into it. I tried not to retch as the smell rose from the pan. Frederick had baked bread this morning in the little gas oven, and I sawed a couple slices off the loaf. Crooked, as usual. I’d always been hopeless at this. Frederick came downstairs and sat at the table, which was only a few feet away from where I stood at the counter. “You feeling alright? It’s a little rough.”
“I’m fine,” I said, putting his plate on the table. He did not comment that I left my placemat bare. The coffee started to wail in the Italian pot on the stove, and I rushed over to grab it, pouring it into a cup. I’d need it to stay awake tonight. I had already mixed up some powdered milk, and it sat on the table with the sugar in matching porcelain containers, chipped Royal Doulton. I thought this an amusingly feminine touch for Frederick’s solitary male existence, though perhaps there had once been a lady friend to please. He asked if I’d like milk, and I shook my head no. He held up the jug and inspected the chip in the lip before dumping some in his own coffee. “Never should’ve bought fine china for a sailing ship. I knew it was a folly.”
He held up a piece of the toast to stare at it also, and I groaned.
“It’s not that bad, is it?” I asked.
“However you’ve been filling your time, it wasn’t in cooking, nor carpentry neither. Don’t let this lady near a saw.”
“I told you, I was a radio operator. When would I learn to cook? In university, I lived in a boarding house where they made the meals. In the military, they served us slop, but I was glad I didn’t have to make it. Basically, I’m completely non-domesticated.”
He smiled at me, but then looked away. “You’ve always been your own woman. Are you sure you want to do this?”
“Why wouldn’t I?” I sipped the hot coffee, and it sat bitter in my stomach.
“You said you were followed. By who? How would the military know you were going AWOL before it happened?”
I sighed. “My life is not normal.”
“Aren’t you tired of danger? I’m glad, myself, to be a reformed character. Good for the appetite.” He patted his belly. “You’re too skinny.”
“I’m not a thief anymore. I just live—beyond the law, I guess.”
“That’s what Bill Bagley thought. It’s easy to go too far. He was nearly killed for it.” He stared down at his plate and shoved some egg onto his toast with his knife, then raised it to his mouth.
“Bill’s nothing but a crook and a junkie. He wasted his life.” I felt tears hot in the corners of my eyes, though I knew they would not fall. I had not cried about Bill since the day I thought he was hanged. It had been one of the worst days of my life. For years before that, a part of me had hoped he would reform and come back to me the way he used to be. But in the end it was drugs he loved the most.
“That’s a harsh judgment,” Frederick said, shaking me from my thoughts. “I never met anybody smarter than him.”
“He tried to blackmail me before he escaped. About the gang.”
“He did that?” Frederick turned the red flowered cup around and around on the saucer.
“Yes. And he let slip enough to put me under somebody else’s control for the rest of my life.”
“Who’s lording it over you?”
I shrugged. “All I can say is that the war’s over, but bad things are still going to happen. I don’t want to be responsible. That’s partly why I left.”
Frederick stood up and looked out the porthole, his back to me. “We could just turn around, head back to Hawaii. I can protect you on my turf. Nobody asks questions at the docks. Probably they all got something to hide, or something they’re running from. It’s the nature of sailors.” He rooted around in the cupboard and pulled out a duster made of ostrich feathers. He stood on tiptoe and brushed the portrait of King Edward.
I wondered for a moment if Frederick was inviting me to live with him. He had never shown a speck of interest in me over the years—I was Bill’s girl and everybody knew it. Well, that didn’t stop Byron, but Byron was a fool. Frederick had always been sensible, like an older brother, but why was he avoiding looking at me now? There was no dust on that print.
“I have to see Link Hughes. Without meaning to, I had a hand in what happened to him. I need to know if he can forgive me.”
“Or if you can forgive Bill?” He stared at the king a while longer and then put the duster away, sitting down beside me on the bench when I did not answer. “Every morning is a chance to start over,” he said, patting my hand. “The past is past. It don’t own you.”
CHAPTER TEN
DECEMBER 15, 1945
SMILE CHANG WAS going to put the squeeze on a palace guard that Bill had personally selected. I learned this in the longtail boat on the way to the man’s house, which was in one of the old districts that still had no roads. It turned out that Bill and his network had researched the background of as many guards as possible to find the weak link. The man he settled on had a sickly son, and Bill paid for a European doctor to cure him. “He owes me. Plus, the man has the spine of a hunk of cheese. Surprised he made the cut for palace guard. But his father and his father’s father and so on did the same job, and that means something here. Bonus for me is he learned all the old stories.” If the tunnel was real, this man would know where to find it.
For this mission, Bill left the tillerman at home and drove the boat himself. Smile sat silently, cracking his knuckles. He weighed down his side of the boat so that we tilted in the water. The sun had been down for a couple of hours and the water was black, reflecting only the dark, cloudy sky. Here and there a lantern shone on the river from the little fishing sampans. I thrummed my fingers against the gunwales, but stopped as soon as I noticed I was doing it. Nerves. I’d never forgiven myself for the time I failed to prevent Bill and the boys from pummelling an old pawnshop owner. If things went too far tonight, I vowed to stop it. I looked sidewise at Smile and his mass of solid muscle. I wondered how bad he’d beat on me if I stood in Bill’s way.
“By the boo, he knows me as Mr. Noland, so don’t look surprised if he says it,” Bill said.
I was curious how many aliases Bill had, but I kept my trap shut because we had arrived. Bill slowed the boat and turned it to rest against a dock in front of a squat house with fanciful Victorian scrollwork. Smile leapt out and grabbed the rope Bill threw him to tie up the boat. A square of light came from inside the open door of the house. It was the only light on shore. Most neighbourhoods had no electricity, and fuel was scarce since the war. Light was usually saved for pursuits that made money, such as the fishing we’d seen in the distance.
I suddenly realized a man was sitting silently on the dark verandah, which startled me but should not have. Life was lived mainly outdoors in the tropics. The man on the porch, who I already knew was called Silanon, greeted us, having recognized Bill immediately. “You come to see my son, Mr. Noland?” Silanon asked. “He is getting strong now.” But the look on his face betrayed that he did not think Bill had come to comfort his son.
He was thin and smooth-faced, certainly not as hefty as I’d expect a guard to be, but I supposed they carried weapons and that was enough. Most Siamese men I’d seen were smaller than me. He wore only a sarong and I thought it would be hard to conceal a weapon, though not impossible. Smile himself had managed to tuck one away in monk’s robes though these were much more voluminous. Thigh holster, maybe, but I didn’t see any telltale bulge.
“And who are these men? Your friends are my friends,” he said, holding his arms guileless and wide, and my heart sank.
“Mr. Wong and Mr. Stonehouse,” Bill said. Silanon gave us each a bow.
Bill said we were in a hurry tonight, and only had time for the errand we’d come on. Through the door I glimpsed the kid propped up on pillows on a wooden bed, reading a book under the only circle of light. Bill said the doctor had suggested another course of medicines to be certain of the recovery. Silanon should come with us now to the doctor, Bill said, to get the medicine.
