Tomaj huffed with anger through his nostrils.
Dagny rapidly added, “He just wants celestine, and he knows you have mines, and you told him he could go anywhere on your land he pleased, and he knows you love him and would—”
Tomaj slammed his palm down onto the tabletop, causing Bellingham to jump in a manner that normally would have been considered thoroughly comical. The poor tyke went instantly from a prone position completely into the air, all four limbs splayed out like a cat that had fallen from a ledge. He jumped so high that the wall was visible between him and the settee, and indeed his eyes gleamed widely in the dark like a terrified feline.
Wrapping her arm around Tomaj’s shoulders, Dagny pinned him to her chest, crying quietly, “Tomaj! Don’t scare the boy!”
“He’s not scared, and he’s not a boy!” Tomaj shouted. “He’s a first-rate seaman, and he just leapt because he’s trained to leap at the slightest loud sound like the report of a—oh, hell.”
Abandoning Tomaj, Dagny skipped into the drawing room with outspread arms. “Hector, Hector …” While the boy rubbed his eyes, his white hair sticking out in all directions like a pineapple, she gathered him close to her, attempting to rock him soothingly. “The captain was just explaining something to me … come, come … I’ve prepared some dinner for you.”
To Tomaj’s satisfaction, the youth shoved Miss Ravenhurst away rudely, as he was accustomed to, and growled maturely, “I was just a bit foxed … you know, a bit sewn up, that’s all. Mmmm. Cap’n Balásházy! What’re you doing there, wearing that dhoolie wallah gown?”
Lifting him by the arm like an invalid elderly man, Dagny led Bellingham to the dining table. “It’s all right, sweetheart. We just fell asleep on the beach, and Captain Balásházy had to send all his men back to Barataria to bring ships to collect his stores … Here, sit. I believe I have some milk for you.”
“Oh, devilish—wine!” Fully awake now, Bellingham grasped the bottle and looked about like an eager marsupial. “There another cup, now?”
Leaning over the entire beam of the table, Tomaj swiped the bottle from the boy. “Milk is fine!” he bellowed at Dagny, pouring himself the last dregs of the wine. “I was just explaining to Miss Ravenhurst. Her brother Sal has gone up to the celestine mines, and what with the—”
“Celestine mines?” Bellingham gaped. Half-standing, he waved a cautioning hand in the direction of the kitchen. “Miss, Miss! Your brother can’t go up there, not with these bilgey ricemen jaunting about the island! Why, they’ve got those swords what are sharpened on both sides, and even the lubberly junkmen give what they call ling chih. I didn’t tell you this before so as not to scare you, that’s ‘death by a thousand cuts,’ where they slice off one part of your body at a time, say a nose or a finger, and—”
Tomaj was proud at how serene Dagny appeared when she emerged from the kitchen with a cup in her hand. She seemed to put the seasoned cabin boy into a trance when she urged the cup upon him. He even drank, his wild eyes appealing to her for assistance.
“Hector, that’s absurd. What is this bilgewater you men seem to have involving the celestine mines?” Seating herself, she took up the straight razor, happily testing the edge again with her thumb. “Why on earth would ricemen bother going all the way into the hinterlands for a worthless stone that one can’t even make rings from?”
Clasping Tomaj’s chin between her fingers, she turned his face to her, expertly scraping the side of his face with the blade, so he could not share glances with Bellingham. The boy blew bubbles into his cup of milk.
Tomaj smiled dimly, afraid of creasing his face against the razor. “You’re right, my malala. It is bilgewater.” Sterner now, he shouted over his shoulder, “Now, Bellingham. I need you to run down to the anchorage. Take one of my pistols—it’s double-barreled, now don’t forget—in addition to your own that you forgot to reload and I found stuck inside your damned boot. Make sure that right bastard Port Admiral isn’t plastering his face into everyone’s affairs—Youx should’ve returned by now. I told him to send a few vessels to Île Sainte-Marie where I believe Chia-chi Cheng is refitting and taking in stores. Report to me by eight bells—”
Dagny’s blade scraped heavily against his left cheekbone. “You’ll do no such thing! Poor Hector didn’t sleep one wink last night, thanks to having to stand over those barbarians’ bodies, and I was afraid to bring him a platter of Slushy’s food because I didn’t fancy stumbling over those hacked-up corpses myself!”
Tomaj was about to slam his palm upon the table again, but Dagny continued, “If anything, I’ll go myself. I’m refreshed, I’ve slept, I’ve eaten. Or I can send one of the many men lazing about my yard to go fetch Zeke at his tavern.”
That took all the wind out of Tomaj’s sails, to hear this reason coming from her. But then, why not? She’d always been extremely practical. “Yes. Zeke. Bellingham, go to the front door, say akòry to a few men, see who’s willing to go raise Zeke for a dollar.”
Dagny smiled with satisfaction as the boy scurried off. Lovingly now, she shaved Tomaj’s throat, fluttering the blade in a bowl of water to rinse it. “Thank you, Tomaj. See? You are learning how to be a good father. Boys of that age shouldn’t have to run about on dangerous missions. They should be at home, learning in the comfort of their family.”
Though his head was tipped back in a vulnerable position, Tomaj still managed to say, “Yet you send your brother?”
The blade took a final dive into the bowl. “Oh! You!”
Standing, Dagny bestowed a kiss upon Tomaj. She removed the chopstick from his hair, and fluffed it with her fingers until it lay down the middle of his back. He pulled her into his lap where she rocked, crushing his face into her chest.
“Now do you see, Tomaj? You and Hector are my new family. You can do without the ones you were born with, for they usually don’t matter at all, and often do more harm than good.”
“Dagny! Tomaj!” American boots clomped across the floorboards, and the din of clamoring natives was cut off by a door slamming. “Oh, God, what is that?”
Dagny jumped to her feet when Tomaj did. Sal stood in between the two rooms, weighted down with clattering iron implements, like the ghost of a vindictive vigilante. Pointing his free hand at the dead fish on the stuffing table, Sal’s face wrinkled like a plum.
Dagny explained. “That’s the Cretaceous fish that—”
“By my ancestors.” Tomaj rushed into Sal’s arms. He clutched the smelly man to his chest and breathed in deeply of the lianas, sweat, and soil that marked his person. “My dove,” he murmured against Sal’s ear as Sal clutched him with equal fervency. “I’ve rarely seen a more welcome sight.”
“Nor I,” purred the younger man, and he kissed Tomaj, his mouth tasting of coffee and earth, sighing and relaxing in Tomaj’s embrace.
“Tomaj,” Dagny called gaily from the dining table. “Perhaps you can tell Sal why the ricemen want celestine.”
The men broke apart. Tomaj looked down at the geologist. “It’s a vital ingredient in the manufacture of fireworks.”
Sal’s face was a mask of surprise. “What? Fireworks?”
“Certainly,” said Tomaj grandly, striding back to sit at the dining table where Dagny had uncorked another wine bottle. “Everyone knows that Kwangtungmen manufacture fireworks. How exactly celestine is involved, I have no idea.”
Sal followed, tossing to the floor the iron implements that were hooked to his belt. “Sure, but I just don’t see how celestine … It’s trimetric, in modified rhombic prisms. It’s mostly composed of sulphuric acid and strontia, which phosphoresces when heat”—slowly, Sal sank into a chair—”ed,” he whispered, utterly ignoring the full glass Dagny proffered to him.
Unconcerned with her brother’s state of catalepsy, Dagny asked Tomaj, “So is that the main reason they’ve come down to Madagascar, to get the celestine?”
“Because they loathe me. And because they want the celestine.”
“And w
hat do you do with the celestine, Tomaj? Why don’t you just set charges to the damned mine, if it’s putting everyone in so much danger? You could set charges, and wait for the ricemen to arrive so you can detonate—”
“No!” Sal cried, animated once more.
Tomaj held out a calming hand. “No. Because I have a rather large order for the stuff from some Italians, some fire masters.”
“Pyrotechnicians!” Sal said.
Tomaj shrugged. “I suppose. I’m to send a vessel with the stores in three months’ time to meet them in Simon’s Town. Well, just outside of Simon’s Town, in False Bay, of course. I’m not well liked around the Cape Station.”
Getting to his feet, Sal came forward, placing both hands on Tomaj’s shoulders. “Tomaj, will you give me a chance to find out why the Italians want it for fireworks? I have some ideas. I won’t go near your mines again if you give me enough specimens to work with, right here, in my laboratory.”
It was all so much hugger-mugger to Tomaj. “And …? Well, certainly, if it means you won’t leave your house, and if you do find out, perhaps I can bargain more efficiently for a commodity that might be made more valuable by virtue of knowing its use. Only …” Tomaj turned sternly to Dagny, who was handing Bellingham some pastries she’d discovered. “I don’t want you staying in a house belonging to Boneaux anymore. I want you to come stay with me—I’ve got plenty of room.”
Standing behind him, Sal hugged Tomaj’s shoulders, burying his face in Tomaj’s hair. “That would be wonderful.”
But Dagny was stubborn. “Tomaj, we couldn’t possibly. It’s already bad enough that we—that I accept—”
Holding one of Sal’s hands, Tomaj reached out to touch Dagny’s. “My malala. With the king dead, we don’t know which way things will go. One of the many spectators today at the pond is already no doubt racing up the mountain to inform Boneaux about … us. And I just don’t see the queen taking this news mildly—has it not occurred to you she might install Boneaux as her Mpitaiza Andriana, her official lover?”
“Wait,” cried Bellingham, spitting out pastry crumbs. “King dead?”
“Yes, hadn’t you heard? That’s right—you were in a coma with a brandy flagon in your hand. That’s what Slushy was scurrying up the drive to inform us of, when you were busy chasing down your lady friend here.”
“Dead how?”
“The official line is he slit his own throat.” This caused Bellingham to spit an entire mouthful of jelly onto his coat front, like a regurgitating shorebird. “I have other suspicions, and I had wanted to continue tomorrow to the Rova in Antananarivo, until, that is, Boneaux sent some minions to torch my godowns. My malala, either way I fear your situation here is untenable. You’re better protected over at Barataria.”
Dagny laughed. “Oh, pah! Paul is a pussycat—in my hands, anyway. Besides, if it’s you that Paul—and the ricemen—are after, are we not safer far away from Barataria? Why, look at what happened last night!”
“What happened last night?” Sal asked.
Dagny continued, “Poor little Hector! Made to stand over bodies hacked to bits, and now all he’s had to eat besides brandy is a sugar pastry!”
“Hacked to bits?” Sal echoed. “Whose bodies?”
Standing, Dagny took Bellingham’s empty plate. “Where’s the nourishment in that? Don’t worry, Hector—I’ll find you something better to eat.”
“Thank you, miss,” said the rat, as complacent as could be.
A pussycat in her hands! And he, Tomaj, had just screwed the straw out of her, in a sly and lascivious manner, if he could be so bold as to brag, in a manner unknown to that fat pantaloon who more than likely only knew to bend women over a piece of furniture and grunt over them. So she intended to keep screwing the both of them? He, Count Pellegrin Tomaj Balásházy, Captain of Hussars, King of the Betsimisaraka, who had cut down bridges on the Danube to foil Napoleon—the idol of that oleaginous hell-dog Boneaux! Why, she knew he’d fought the so-called Battle of New Orleans by Jean Lafitte’s side—before he’d become disillusioned with Lafitte for being a political eunuch …
“This is absurd!” Tomaj seethed, swiping the wine bottle from Sal. “Will you talk some sense into your sister? You are not a lover of Boneaux, too! Barataria has a battery and fortifications—”
“That didn’t stop the ricemen last night!” Bellingham felt compelled to mention, having nothing to put in his mouth at the moment.
“—and I will not submit—” Tomaj lowered his voice to whisper fiercely down at Sal—” to dipping my wick into the same stew pot as that reprehensible Frog!”
“Hell,” Bellingham said, “we didn’t even have no intelligence the ricemen was standing into this part of the Indian Ocean.”
The front door flew open so forcefully that when the heavy-booted tomfool entered, the door banged against the wall and slammed itself shut again.
“All right!” bellowed Zeke, a gangly silhouette in the drawing room. “Now what’s this about Chinamen going to Saint Mary’s Island to steal celestine? I don’t see any percentage in being hauled down here when I’m on my back trying to whitewash a bathtub with a god-damned stick for a paintbrush and—In the name of Jesus Christ’s illuminated path! What is this disgusting piece of cow dung doing sliming around my drawing room? Dagny! I told you not to bring scum-infested garbage like this into the house!”
Tomaj was thrilled with the belligerent way Dagny came barreling through the kitchen door. “Zeke! Would you mind piping down in front of our exalted guest who is, after all, a hero from more than one war!” She fairly spun the plate of food onto the table before Bellingham, her gaze was so malevolent upon her boorish brother.
Zeke flailed his arms. “Couldn’t you have left it out on the porch? In about half an hour, it’s going to start smelling up the entire house!”
Dagny huffed with indignation. She strode to Tomaj’s side and jammed one hand on his shoulder, placing the other with admirable restraint upon his bare chest. “Zeke! For one moment can you possibly shove your mortifying hick manners into the back of the apple cart? The count has now saved my life not once, but twice, so is it too much to ask you to refrain for five minutes from insulting him?”
Not knowing whether he should laugh, Tomaj sipped his wine and blatantly insinuated his hand around the woman’s waist while not taking his eyes from the hapless landlord.
“Well… sure enough, Dagny!” sputtered Zeke. He entered the dining room, shrugging wildly. “Just didn’t know that complaining about a damned stinking fish would upset our guest.” When he walked behind Bellingham’s chair, his long arm made a big swipe for the plate of meat the youth was too mirthful to eat. “Evening, Count, sorry if that’s your damned fish, didn’t mean to insult it. Mmm, where’d you get this goat?” Smacking his lips loudly, Zeke looked upon the room of silent people, all mute for different reasons. “So. What is it you need me to do at the anchorage?”
Everyone clamored at once, more wine bottles of suspicious origin were produced, and they sat around the table. Tomaj was of half a mind to send Bellingham to the kitchen, but it occurred to him it could stand the youth in good stead to listen to the plans of men, and since he could hardly relegate Dagny to the back room in such a situation, he allowed her to set her chair close to his, and lean her bosom over his arm as he described things for Zeke, using corks for ships and pieces of Bellingham’s puke to represent coral reefs.
“All right.” Zeke nodded. “The essence of the turkey you’re talking is, get the line on the Chinamen, get the wares off the beach, and keep that pixy-led old Port Admiral from poking his prick into our affairs. Oh, sorry, kid.”
“I’m not a kid,” smiled Bellingham.
Zeke smacked the table with his palm. “Got it, Count.” He stood, patting his thighs for his pistol, presumably.
“Take Bellingham’s,” Tomaj advised, bending low to toss the holster to Zeke. “He’ll never need it. I’ve loaded it.”
Zeke caught it easi
ly in one hand and sauntered with alacrity toward the front door. Tomaj was pleased with how keen Zeke really was, once Zeke was on his side. Zeke spun around with his hand on the doorknob and pointed a finger at Tomaj. “Oh, and. You’ll never need to worry about that dried-up old admiral, if that’s what they call him for no apparent reason that I can see. He’s always getting spliced, and I’ve already got a bed, room, and wench with his name engraved on it in my establishment. So I know how to keep him occupied.”
Zeke banged out the door almost as loudly as he’d entered, and everyone sighed.
Sal remarked, “He’s the best person to send. Who’d suspect him of being in cahoots with you? He’s just a harmless tavern keeper, and everyone knows you hate him.”
“Yes, indeed,” Dagny whispered, her voice feathering Tomaj’s ear. “Who would suspect him? Least of all I.”
Tomaj leaned back masterfully in his chair. “Ah, but you see. That was part of the plan.” It really wasn’t part of the plan.
Dagny said, “Sal, my dove, be a dear. Can you put Hector to bed in Zeke’s room?”
For Bellingham had flopped face-first onto the table into a flotilla of ships approximately in the area of Foulpointe.
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHINESE FIREWORKS
HECTOR, WHAT DID YOU MEAN WHEN YOU SAID I would make a good next wife for the Captain?”
They walked along the main road to the anchorage. When Dagny awoke that morning, Tomaj was gone. Hector explained that the captain had gone to the anchorage to meet Antoine Youx, and also to greet a Dr. Lyall, the new British agent whose arrival was extremely importune.
The urchin rubbed his face. Tomaj was right—he was a fine strapping youth, as tall as herself, and she should stop treating him like an infant. She was just being an ape-leader, an older woman who had never borne children, and who was apparently destined to take monkeys around by the hand in hell, if one was prone to believe in such things. “Next wife? Why, I don’t know what I could’ve meant, miss. I was fairly sewn up with all that brandy that we was imbibing.”
The Strangely Wonderful: Tale of Count Balásházy Page 26
