Dallas sipped the remainder of his rum, holding down an overwhelming desire to cough.
Green tried another tack to regain the initiative. ‘What did you do? With your kind, it’s either thieving or murder.’
‘Neither,’ Dallas managed, though the liquor had his throat on fire. ‘As I told you, I’m the sixth son –’
‘Yeah? And I’m the bleedin’ Pope.’
Dallas shrugged. He didn’t care what this man thought of him, he’d already made up his mind not to become involved in discussion. ‘Believe what you like.’
Green toyed with his empty glass, making meaningful glances towards the bar.
Dallas supposed the least he could do was buy the man a drink. ‘Rum?’ he asked.
By way of response, Green bellowed a new order to the barman. The prospect of more alcohol fuelled the man’s desire to make his point. ‘As I see it, the likes of you don’t do business with the likes of me without a bloody good reason. So, you’re either running from gambling debts or the law is after you. Makes no difference to me. I couldn’t give a rat’s arse what you’ve done, me fine fellow, but I don’t need no bleedin’ aristocrat pulling airs and graces. Your lot are trouble.’ He changed tack suddenly. ‘Can you ride and shoot?’
‘Of course.’
‘I mean ride, boy. Not your bloody “Tally-ho, there’s the fox”. I’m talking about twelve hours straight and still having the grit to dig out a bogged wagon.’
Now he’d got down to it, Green’s demeanour had changed. He seemed very much in charge. ‘I’m fit and strong enough, if that’s what you mean.’
‘It’s exactly what I mean. There’ll be no slacking. You’ll have to pull your weight. No-one is going to run around and do your bidding. You might be somebody back home but out here you’re no more important than the next man. Fair weather or foul, you work. Get injured, you still have to work. Get sick, that’s hard luck. Dying is the only excuse I’ll accept for laying about. As for whatever you’re running from, if the law comes after you, I’ll not lie to them. Don’t expect no protection from me, you won’t get it.’
‘I –’
Green glared at him and Dallas fell silent.
‘Ye puts up your share of the money, and keeps your mouth shut until you know half as much as me.’ The little trader drummed dirty fingernails on the stained table. ‘Right now, ye don’t look tough enough.’
‘Tough enough for what?’
‘Tradin’.’
‘I assure you, sir –’
Green spat on the hard-packed mud floor and wiped his mouth with the back of a hand. ‘Drop the fancy talk,’ he growled. ‘Ain’t no place for it in these parts. Me name’s Will.’
‘Dallas.’ Despite misgivings, Dallas was sufficiently intrigued enough to find out more. ‘Where and in what do you trade, Will?’
The Yorkshire man smiled humourlessly. ‘Wherever and whatever.’
‘That’s no answer.’
Will scratched a mosquito bite on his forehead until it bled. ‘It’s the only one you’ll get. Trading’s not like a regular job. In this business the weather dictates where you can go, animal migration decides where you should go and fate usually plays a hand in where you end up. Natives warring with each other, the whereabouts of other traders, rivers too deep or bone bloody dry, there are a million and one things to consider.’
Dallas watched fascinated as a thin trickle of blood found a crease and ran horizontally along it. Will Green appeared oblivious to it. Tearing his gaze from the unpleasant sight, Dallas asked, ‘Why animal migration?’
Green looked at Dallas as if he’d grown another head. ‘What do you think we trade for? Bows and bloody arrows? We’re after skins and tusks, boy. Skins and tusks. Those we can sell. That’s where the money comes from. Anything else we pick up along the way we barter with the blacks.’
Dallas nodded to the serving girl who brought their drinks, noticing she kept well out of Will’s reach. ‘If what you say is all there is to it, what’s to stop me going it alone?’
Will burst out laughing, treating Dallas to a full blast of fetid breath. ‘By all means. Many a raw youngster has tried. Not many come back. Their bones feed the hyena. Africa is full of pitfalls. It’s the ignorant who obligingly fall into them.’
‘In that case, what exactly are you proposing?’
Will didn’t hesitate.
‘You put up fifty per cent of the goods we take with us.’
‘Fair enough.’
‘And fifty per cent of the wages, enough for six months. You give that to me for safekeeping.’
‘Why you?’
‘I’m the senior partner.’
A look of cunning had crept into Will’s face. Dallas didn’t like it. ‘Fifty-fifty means no senior partner. My share buys equality. Take it or leave it.’
‘Now look here,’ Will reacted angrily.
‘No. You look. You advertised for a partner. To me that means everything is split equally, costs and profit. I’ll pay my share of wages, but not hand it over in advance.’
Will’s eyes narrowed. ‘Are you saying you don’t trust me?’
‘Exactly,’ Dallas answered bluntly.
The brutal honesty took Will by surprise. ‘What about goodwill?’ was all he managed.
Dallas ignored the pun, which he was certain was unintentional. ‘For what? Name three things.’
‘Er . . . well, there’s me contacts, they’ve taken years to build up. Knowledge of the country. I know it like the back of me hand. And . . . I speak Zulu,’ he ended with a flourish.
‘These things are indeed valuable, I’ll grant you. Tell me, Will, why are you seeking a partner? With all that goodwill, you don’t seem to need one. Unless of course you’re broke. Would that be the case, Will? You weren’t by any chance planning to take my money and run, were you? Let’s be quite clear on one thing. If you ever tried that, Will, I would personally see to it that you regretted such an action until the day you died. And believe me, the burden of remorse would not be borne for very long. Still, it’s trust that counts, isn’t it, Will?’
Dallas deliberately kept his voice light but his dark eyes burned into Will’s with such intensity that the man nervously licked his lips.
‘I’ll grant you, I’m inexperienced. However, I have something you seem to be short of. Money. With luck, I might just get away with ignorance. Without money, you go nowhere. We need each other. I could probably find another partner easily enough, but could you? I’m prepared to talk business. My trust is something you’ve yet to earn. The truth, if you please, Mr Green. You are without funds. Am I right?’
Will scratched his beard vigorously.
‘I’m waiting.’
‘The situation is temporary,’ Will burst out.
‘What situation would that be?’ Dallas asked softly. ‘Come, man, there should be no secrets between us.’
‘There’s been a mistake. I don’t want a partner,’ Will muttered, rising to his feet.
‘Sit,’ Dallas snapped.
‘No, truly. I’ve changed me mind. I –’
‘Sit.’
Will slumped back into his chair and stared miserably at Dallas.
The authority to which Will had so readily responded came as second nature to Dallas. He’d grown up with it dealing with servants and tenants. For all Green’s bluster, he’d probably been at the receiving end of autocracy for most of his life. While Dallas didn’t wish to play the master and he certainly had no desire to intimidate the man, adopting a position of strength could prove advantageous until he could trust him. Never slow to size up opportunity, Dallas felt his way around a plan that had been forming in his mind. The two of them needed each other. It wouldn’t work with Will in charge, the man couldn’t be trusted. Perhaps the other way round . . .
‘You have a horse?’ he asked suddenly.
Will nodded. ‘A good one.’
‘Rifle?’
‘Yes.’
‘Wagon and oxen?’<
br />
‘Ah!’ Will looked uncomfortable.
‘What precisely do you mean by ah?’
‘The wagon was old.’
‘Was?’
‘A temporary setback, I assure you.’
Risking the man’s odour, Dallas leaned towards him. ‘Empty your pockets,’ he ordered quietly.
‘Now, see here . . .’
‘Just do it.’ Dallas figured that Will Green would carry all the money he possessed rather than risk leaving it anywhere else.
Green turned his pockets out and the two men stared down at two crumpled notes and a handful of coins.
‘Six pounds, four shillings and three pence half-penny,’ Dallas said slowly.
Will shifted uncomfortably and said nothing.
‘A fine start to our partnership. Did you really think I’d be fool enough to fall for a pack of lies? What was your plan? Take the money and disappear? Or did you have something more devious in mind? Murder, perhaps? How many others have fallen foul of your partnership offer?’
‘No, no. You misunderstand me.’ Despite being caught out, Green looked genuinely shocked at Dallas’s words.
‘Have you funds elsewhere?’
Will scratched and fidgeted.
‘I see.’ Dallas drained his rum and managed not to cough. ‘What is the price of a wagon? The truth, man, not some cock and bull.’
Any bravado left in Will Green collapsed. ‘One hundred pound,’ he muttered. ‘For a good one, anyways.’
‘Oxen?’
‘Depends where you get them. Another hundred should do it.’
‘Trading goods and stores for us?’
‘Another hundred.’
‘Three hundred!’
‘Six for two of us,’ Will put in quickly.
Dallas was cautious. If he funded everything he’d be left with enough money for one more try at a venture. If this one failed, the next had to succeed. Prudence pulled him one way, excitement the other. Will Green was a gamble but Dallas knew of no other offers. Trading promised wide open spaces and adventure with only a possibility of profit. Was it worth the risk? He pulled his wandering thoughts back to what Green was saying.
‘ . . . there’s no doubting that Cape wagons would be best. They’re more expensive but designed for African conditions. We’ll be in rough country.’
‘What makes them different?’
‘The sides, bottom and carriage are not joined together. Each is free to move on its own. More solid-built wagons tend to crack. And she’s the right size, too – fifteen feet long. Nothing is better for heavy work.’
‘I suppose speed depends on the conditions?’
‘Fully loaded she’ll do twenty miles a day over flat ground.’
Will obviously knew his wagons.
‘How many oxen will we need?’
‘Eighteen to pull each wagon and at least the same again to spell them. We’ll lose a few. Lion take them, they break legs or get sick. Best to allow at least forty per wagon.’
‘Forty!’
‘Like I said, some die. Most people take more than that.’
‘Can’t we replace them as we go?’
Will shook his head. ‘Won’t get the good ones. Inland beasts are heavier and more fussy about what they’ll eat. Coastal oxen are smaller, tougher and eat anything. They’re used to the sour grass that grows here.’
Will knew his oxen too.
‘What about supplies and goods to trade? Where do we buy them?’
‘Cato’s have a standard list. We can add or subtract as we wish.’
It was decision time. Dallas stared at Will. ‘No partnership,’ he said finally. ‘If I’m putting up the money, it’s my risk. You work for me.’
Will opened his mouth to protest, thought better of it and nodded unhappily. ‘What do I get out of it?’
‘Flat wage. Ten shillings a day. Since you’re supplying the experience, or goodwill, if you can call it that, you’ll get twenty-five per cent of my net profit.’
‘Ten shillings?’ Will protested. ‘Labourers earn more than that.’
‘Less actually. Between six and eight shillings a day.’
‘Twelve at least,’ Will wheedled.
‘Ten.’
‘Eleven?’ Will asked timidly.
‘Ten.’
Will whistled air and stared upwards.
Dallas took the gesture as acceptance. ‘Give me an idea of what we can expect to be paid on our return.’
‘Well, now, that rather depends on what we come back with.’
‘Estimate only. You must have some idea.’
Will shrugged. ‘I’ve made four hundred, I’ve made seven-fifty. Those who do the hunting themselves earn more. Tusks bring good profit. Couple of men I know say they clear near on a thousand each trip.’ Will scratched his head. ‘Dunno about that.’
‘Do you hunt?’
‘Some. Not elephants.’
‘Any reason?’
Will sighed. It had the sound of a man who had just been asked to bare his soul. ‘I’m a trader. What do I know about elephants?’
‘You tell me.’
‘They’re big bastards. Some say easy to kill but I’m not so sure. Too many stories about near misses. I could name a few good men who met their maker trying to earn a quid from elephants.’
Dallas waited but Will had finished.
‘In other words, you’re frightened of them.’
‘I didn’t say that.’
‘If you’re scared, I’ll do the hunting. I’d just like to know in advance about how much back-up I’ll get from you. Out in the bush with a jammed rifle is not the time to find out.’
Will’s eyes narrowed. ‘I’m no coward.’
‘And I never said you were.’
‘Wait till you’ve seen one up close.’ Defiance had crept into Will’s voice.
Dallas left it. Will could be pushed into some things but he’d made it perfectly clear that elephant wasn’t one of them. When it came to shooting, Dallas knew what he was doing. The Winchester Yellow Boy was not, he now realised, heavy enough for the larger animals. He’d buy another rifle and use the Yellow Boy as back-up. As long as he knew he’d get no help from Will, he could take other precautions against technical difficulties.
Talk turned back to more practical things. With the status quo reversed between them, it would not have surprised Dallas to find Will sullen and uncooperative. It was not so. The man seemed to shrug off any disappointment and was quickly getting down to details. As well as his experience with wagons and oxen, Dallas discovered that Will’s knowledge of the tribes and their territories would take him years to match. If only the man could be trusted. If only he would wipe the blood from his forehead.
Dallas caught a sudden look of alarm on Will’s face.
A voice behind him sounded slurred and angry.
Dallas looked around. Jeremy Hardcastle stood swaying.
‘Granger. My, my, how the mighty have fallen. What are you doing here? Slumming?’ The insult was clear. Resentment released by alcohol, Jeremy Hardcastle made no attempt to hide it.
A fight was probably inevitable. Dallas wasn’t worried by the prospect. Hardcastle was so drunk he could hardly stand.
‘You’ve no call to say that.’ Will Green obviously resented the slumming reference and was indignant.
Hardcastle barely glanced at him. ‘Shut up,’ he snapped.
‘Now, see here –’
Dallas intervened. ‘What’s your problem, Hardcastle?’
‘You are. People like you think they rule this world. Well, I’ve got news for you. Not out here, you don’t.’ The first officer swayed back but managed to stay on his feet. ‘I warned you. You’re not a passenger now.’
‘You’re drunk.’
‘And your chair is blocking the way. You don’t own this bloody place. Let me pass.’ The first officer placed a foot on one side of the chair and pushed. Dallas wasn’t expecting it and reacted instinctively, both hands droppi
ng to grip the sides of his seat. Legs splayed and braced, he avoided a spill but was still off-balance as he turned to face the sailor. A shocking pain exploded at the side of his head and everything went black.
‘He’s coming round.’
Dallas groaned and opened his eyes. A sea of strange faces peered down at him. He struggled, trying to get up.
‘Take it easy, son. That was one hell of a knock.’
Willing hands helped Dallas to sit. His head pounded badly, vision blurred and the pain was acute. He raised a hand to the left side of his face and it came away sticky with blood. ‘What happened?’
Will’s face swam into focus. ‘Some damned sailor took exception to you.’
Hardcastle. It was coming back slowly.
‘Swung a chair at your head. You went down like a sack of shit.’
‘Where is he?’ It hurt to speak.
‘You just missed him. Darn fool hit you right in front of an off-duty bobby. He’s on his way to the lock-up. A few of us taught him some manners before he left.’
Dallas tried to stand and Will laid a restraining hand on his shoulder. ‘Give yourself a minute.’ Concerned eyes roved Dallas’s face. ‘Nothing serious unless your jaw’s broke.’
Working it back and forth hurt like hell but at least it told Dallas that the bone wasn’t fractured.
‘The bloke was yelling blue murder when he hit you. Something about a yetta.’
Jette!
‘Man must be mad. There’s no such thing.’
Dallas cleared his throat and spoke around the pain of a rapidly swelling face. ‘Not yetta. Jette. It’s a woman’s name.’
Will cackled. ‘Aye, it usually is one of them that gets a man all vinegary. Well, chances are he’s got more than that on his mind right now. Not only is sailor-boy under arrest for attacking you, seems like he also broke his contract and jumped ship. That means charges in France as well.’ Will fumbled under his shirt and produced Dallas’s money pouch. ‘Here, took this off you for safekeeping. Lifted a couple of quid for me trouble but the rest’s there.’ Will held up a bleeding fist. ‘Bastard had a jaw like an iron bar.’
‘Thanks. Help me up.’ His head swam and he felt sick as he sank onto a chair.
Shadows in the Grass Page 16
