The Tiger's Prey

by Wilbur Smith

  ‘Perhaps you know that my aunt Agnes and her husband Captain Hicks were at Brinjoan.’

  ‘Captain Hicks’ death was a terrible blow,’ said Guy, without emotion.

  ‘And – I do not know if this intelligence has reached you – Agnes has been captured by the pirate Angria.’

  Guy stroked his chin with the plume of his pen. ‘In fact, I have known it for some time. We received a ransom demand from Angria weeks ago. As well as Agnes, he holds Foy’s wife, and another woman he claims is Captain Hicks’ sister.’ He frowned. ‘I was not aware Captain Hicks had a sister.’

  ‘She sailed on the same vessel as I from Cape Town,’ Francis improvised hastily, trying to allay Guy’s suspicions. ‘She lived in Dorset, but had been widowed, so came to seek succour from her brother.’

  The lie served its purpose. Guy lost interest.

  ‘May I ask,’ said Francis, ‘how much ransom Angria expects for the three ladies?’

  ‘Thirty thousand rupees.’

  Francis gaped. ‘That must be more than five thousand pounds.’

  ‘Nearer six thousand,’ Guy answered.

  Francis marvelled that Guy could keep so cool. ‘How are you to pay it? Have you made arrangements?’

  ‘Arrangements?’ Guy laughed as though it was the most astonishing notion he had heard in months. ‘I sent back to Angria and told him the only payment he could expect from me would be in lead, from the mouth of a cannon.’

  ‘Then you intend to attack the fortress?’

  ‘Certainly not. Tiracola is impregnable. If we attempted the assault, and failed, it would humiliate us before the world. Every pirate from Bantam to Zanzibar would have license to prey on us. The damage to our commerce would be inestimable.’

  ‘Then what will you do?’

  Guy twiddled his pen, until Francis understood. ‘But surely you cannot mean to abandon the prisoners? Agnes Hicks is my aunt – your sister-in-law.’

  Guy gave him an icy look. ‘Do not think you can play on my heartstrings. I have had my damned wife pleading with me every night this last month, begging me to relent, until I had to beat the notion out of her. I would not expect a woman to understand the dictates of business, but you …’ He fixed Francis with a stern glare. ‘You come here seeking my patronage, asking for employment with the Company. I should have hoped you would appreciate the delicacy of the situation. It would be a shame if I had to write to Lord Childs to say I could find no position for you here.’

  Francis bit back his anger. It would not help advance his cause. ‘I apologize, Uncle. I will not question you again. I am new to this country, and ignorant of its ways.’

  ‘Yet you have already seen much action.’ Guy leaned back in his chair, eyes half closed. ‘Tell me about the man who saved the fort at Brinjoan. I have had various reports, but none seem to know who he really is.’

  Francis froze. His mind raced, thinking what he could say without betraying Tom to Guy.

  ‘His name is Tom Weald. He was master of the vessel I boarded at Cape Town. In truth, I know little about him. He kept his own counsel.’

  ‘Even in those long months pent up in the fort? I should have thought men who survived such a siege together would know each other’s most intimate secrets.’ He folded his fingers together and rested his chin in his hands. ‘The men I spoke to said you were most familiar. That he relied on you like no other.’

  ‘Every man did his duty.’

  ‘They said you called him “uncle”.’

  ‘They are mistaken. I called Captain Hicks “uncle”. The men must have confused their memories.’

  Francis forced himself to look Guy in the eye, hoping his face would not reveal the deception.

  ‘And this Mr Weald. He accompanied you to Bombay?’

  There was no gain in lying. Guy would already have seen the ship’s manifest. ‘He did.’

  ‘And do you know where he intends to stay?’

  ‘He did not say.’

  ‘No matter.’ Guy looked pleased. ‘Bombay is a small settlement, and he will not be hard to find. I should very much like to meet this man, who emerges from the sea to save the Company’s trade and honour. No doubt we shall have much to discuss.’

  ‘If I see him, I shall inform him of your interest.’ Francis made to take his leave. ‘But now, if you will excuse me, Uncle, it has been a long voyage. I will find lodgings in the town.’

  Guy pretended shock. ‘I will not hear of it. You are my nephew – and a hero besides. You will stay in this house as my honoured guest, until I can find a home that befits a member of my family.’

  Francis tried to conceal his horror. ‘You are too kind,’ he demurred. ‘But I have already sent my effects to a boarding house. I shall retrieve them, and rejoin you forthwith.’

  ‘I will have a servant fetch your baggage,’ Guy answered. Then he seemed to reconsider. ‘But you are a young man, and you have been a long time at sea. I know you will be eager to explore the delights Bombay has to offer.’ He winked at Francis, with a knowing leer that made Francis shudder. ‘Go with my blessing. We dine at six.’

  ‘I shall see you then, Uncle.’

  As soon as he had gone, Guy rang the bell and summoned one of his clerks. A young blue-coat boy entered, a lanky lad with greasy hair and a face scarred by small pox. His name was Peter Peters, and Guy had already established there was little he would not do to advance his career.

  ‘Follow young Francis and see where he goes,’ Guy ordered him. ‘Report back on any men he associates with.’

  Peters wiped his face on the back of his sleeve and bowed. ‘Of course, sir.’

  ‘Most especially, see if he contacts a man called Tom Weald. If you see this Weald, do not approach him, but bring me word at once of his whereabouts.’

  Guy stood and stared out at the ships in the harbour. A fly crawled across the windows. A terrible thought had been growing in his heart, ever since he had word of the mysterious saviour of Brinjoan. That he had arrived in Bombay with Francis only added more fuel to his burning suspicion.

  Would he dare come here, after all this time? Would he risk his life in Bombay, the seat of Guy’s authority?

  Yes, he thought grimly. Tom had proved more than once that he had no shame, no depths he would not plumb to take what was rightfully Guy’s.

  With a sudden movement, Guy lashed out with the flat of his hand. He crushed the fly, smearing it against the glass. When he looked at his palm, he saw a streak of blood.

  You will not escape this time.

  Francis found Merridew loitering outside the castle. Together, they went to the punch house where Tom was waiting. Tom’s face darkened as Francis recounted his meeting with Guy.

  ‘I would not expect him to lift a finger for Sarah,’ he said. ‘But to abandon Agnes, after her husband lost his life defending the Company.’ Not for the first time in his life, he wondered how he and Guy could have shared the same mother’s womb, yet emerged so different.

  ‘But we cannot delay here,’ Francis went on. ‘Guy asked many questions about you – I think he suspects that “Tom Weald” is not all he makes himself out to be.’

  Tom groaned. ‘I should have chosen a better pseudonym. A child could see through that.’

  ‘You could not know you were destined to become a hero of the East India Company.’

  ‘But I knew I had entered Guy’s domain. It was folly to think he would not get to hear of me.’

  ‘I think he is as yet uncertain. I told him I killed you in Cape Town, though I am not sure he believed me. But he will speak to the men from Brinjoan, and the ship we sailed on, and it will not take him long to piece together the story.’ Francis stared at his drink. ‘What are we to do?’

  Before Tom could answer, Ana entered the room, leading a gangly man with a stooped back and a bright red nose. She pulled two stools up to their table.

  ‘I went to the bazaar and spoke with some trading acquaintances,’ she said, without preamble. ‘They introduce
d to me to Mr Berry.’

  The gangly man gave a formal bow. At a nod from Tom, Francis went to the bar and fetched two more glasses of punch.

  ‘Thank you kindly,’ said Berry, slurping down the liquor. ‘Much obliged.’

  ‘Mr Berry worked for Governor Courtney,’ explained Ana.

  The others stiffened. ‘Can we trust him?’ said Tom.

  Berry took no offence. ‘I have no love for Governor Courtney. But I know a thing or two about his money.’

  ‘That is no use,’ said Francis bitterly. ‘I saw my uncle. He would not pay a shilling to save Agnes, or the others, from Angria. He said he would not treat with pirates.’

  Berry looked up from his drink. ‘Ha,’ he spat. ‘Governor Courtney says he’ll have no truck with pirates, but that’s not the real reason he refuses to pay the ransom.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Francis demanded.

  Berry studied the inside of his glass, which was already empty. Tom took the hint and slid his own drink across to him. Berry winked.

  ‘I was a bookkeeper at the bunder, the Company’s warehouses over by the pier. I did well for myself, steady promotions. One day, going through the books, I noticed some discrepancies. Goods paid for that never came in, goods marked “lost in transit”, that I’d seen with my own eyes. Of course, being an honest man, I brought it to Governor Courtney’s attention.’

  ‘I presume he did not thank you for it,’ said Francis.

  ‘Threw me out on the street, he did.’ Berry looked around the table, inviting their sympathy. ‘Told me he’d see me dead of the flux in three months.’

  ‘That sounds like Guy,’ said Tom. ‘But what has this to do with Angria?’

  Berry held up his glass to show it was empty again. Tom waved to the serving girl, who brought another. Berry reached for it, but Tom was faster. He held it just out of the man’s reach.

  ‘Tell me about Guy and Angria. Then I will buy you enough liquor to drown yourself in, if you so wish.’

  Berry tottered on his stool. Tom put out a hand, thinking he might fall, but Berry regained his balance. He straightened himself, and a crafty look came over his face.

  ‘How much is Angria asking?’

  ‘Thirty thousand rupees,’ said Francis.

  ‘Pah.’ An alcoholic mist of punch and spittle sprayed across the table. ‘Thirty thousand rupees is nothing to Guy Courtney. In the vault in the castle, beneath the Governor’s house, he has built a strongroom filled with wooden chests. Each chest contains one lakh. You know what a lakh is?’ He leaned forward, jabbing his finger on every syllable. ‘A hundred thousand rupees.’

  ‘Then why will Guy not pay the ransom?’ said Francis in frustration. ‘He would hardly notice such a sum.’

  ‘If even one penny dropped through a hole in his purse, Guy Courtney would feel the loss. But that is not his game. The reason he does not move against the pirates is because it suits his plans to have Angria at large, threatening the seas.’

  ‘But that is nonsense. They threaten his own commerce,’ Francis protested.

  ‘The Indiamen are the biggest, best-armed ships in these seas. Angria leaves them well alone. Instead, he preys on interlopers and country traders.’

  ‘Thus removing Guy’s competitors, and driving up prices.’ Tom whistled, though he knew he should not be surprised. For as long as men had taken to the sea in ships, the Indian Ocean had been a hunting ground for the world’s most fearsome pirates. Only a few years earlier, an Englishman named Henry Every had captured the Great Mughal’s treasure ship on its pilgrimage to Mecca. The pirates had taken three days to loot it, and the treasure had never been recovered. But even in that villainous company, Guy was as ruthless a man as had ever sailed those waters.

  Berry drummed his fingers on the table. ‘That’s not the half of it. You have heard of Shahuji?’

  Tom and Francis shook their heads.

  ‘Shahuji is the Rajah of Satara, the king of the Maratha people,’ Ana explained. ‘For the past thirty years, they have waged war against the Great Mughal, to free themselves from his empire and create their own kingdom.’

  ‘But what has that to do with Guy?’ asked Francis.

  ‘Shahuji controls most of the ports on the Malabar coast,’ said Berry. ‘And all the routes overland. Guy Courtney wants to negotiate a firman with him, a treaty to guarantee safe passage for his goods and reduce the customs he pays. Now, Shahuji’s sworn enemy is Angria. Guy dangles the possibility that he could take action against Angria as part of his negotiation with Shahuji. But until he has the firman, Angria’s piracy weakens Shahuji and strengthens Guy.’

  Tom began to get an inkling of the labyrinthine web of politics that bound the region. No doubt Guy was a master puppeteer, pulling strings across the continent and setting one man against another to further his own interests. But to Tom, it was a distraction.

  ‘All this talk of firmans, rajahs and Mughals serves no purpose,’ he declared. ‘All that matters is to rescue Sarah and Agnes.’

  ‘How?’ said Berry. ‘You sailed here from Madras: you’ll have seen his fortress. It’s impregnable.’

  ‘I do not intend to take it. Angria is a man of business. I will buy their freedom, for thirty thousand rupees.’

  Francis slammed the table in frustration, rattling the cups. ‘But we do not have the money! All this talk has simply brought us back to where we began.’

  Tom grinned, feeling a familiar devilry warming his blood. ‘On the contrary – we have moved on considerably. We now know where Guy keeps all the money we could possibly need.’

  The others stared at him. ‘You mean to rob his strongroom?’ said Ana slowly.

  ‘It is no easier to penetrate Guy’s strongroom than Angria’s fort,’ Berry warned. ‘There is only one key, and Guy keeps it hidden in his office.’

  ‘But unlike Angria’s fort, we have a man who knows the way in.’ Tom turned to Francis. ‘Round up the rest of the men, and have them assemble at the docks. It is time Guy learned to support his family.’

  His confidence affected them all. They left the punch house happy, fired with a new sense of purpose. Francis and Merridew went to find the others – the four men from the Kestrel who had survived the storm and the siege – while Berry took Ana and Tom to a man who could supply arms, and the other things they would need. Even if they did manage to get into the strong-room, Tom did not think they would escape without a fight.

  In their good mood, no one noticed the pox-scarred man sitting in the corner of the punch house. He watched them go, then hurried away.

  A little before six, just as night was falling, Francis sauntered into the castle. The sepoy guards saluted punctiliously, fear in their eyes. Word had already spread that this was Guy’s nephew.

  They closed the gates behind him. Halfway across the courtyard, Francis swerved off into a small store room under the walls. He emerged a few moments later and hurried back to the entrance.

  ‘I left my purse in the punch house I visited,’ he stammered, feigning embarrassment. ‘If my uncle Guy finds out, he will be furious with me.’

  The sepoys unbolted the gate. As it swung open, Francis half turned and glanced over his shoulder.

  ‘Look,’ he cried.

  Caught off-guard, the sepoys spun about. Smoke was billowing from the store room. Flames licked out through the open door.

  ‘Fire!’ shouted Francis. The others took up the cry. At once, the courtyard became a frenzy of panicked shouts, men running everywhere to fetch buckets and pumps.

  In the confusion, no one noticed the open gate – or the three men who slipped through. Tom, Berry and Merridew followed Francis to the Governor’s house and through the door. No one challenged them. From the hallway, Tom saw the servants busy in the dining room, hastily packing the silver and other valuables in case the fire spread.

  Francis led them up the grand staircase to the third floor, and along the dimly lit gallery to Guy’s office. He had hoped the fire would have att
racted every man in the building – but he was disappointed. A sepoy guarded the door, musket held erect before him.

  ‘What is happening?’ he demanded. He had heard the shouts from outside, but did not dare leave his post to see what they portended.

  ‘Fire,’ said Francis briefly. ‘Governor Courtney sent me to see his papers were secure.’ He stepped forward, showing his face to the light. ‘I am his nephew, Francis Courtney.’

  As ever, the family name worked like an incantation. The guard stepped aside – then paused.

  ‘Who are they?’ he asked, gesturing to Tom and Merridew. ‘I do not recognize their faces.’

  ‘Tom Weald. The hero of Brinjoan.’

  The guard stood his ground. ‘Governor Courtney did not tell me about him.’ He glimpsed Berry, trying to hide behind the others, and angled his musket towards Francis. ‘I cannot permit you to enter.’

  Francis did not flinch. ‘I have a note from my uncle that will explain the matter.’ He opened his coat and reached in. The guard leaned closer to see.

  Francis’ coat shielded his arm, so the guard never saw the punch coming. It connected with his jaw and knocked him off balance. Before he could recover, Tom stepped forward and gave him a sharp blow that laid him flat on his back.

  ‘That was a smart trick.’ Tom stepped past the unconscious guard and put his hand on the door. Downstairs, the servants were rushing to and fro, seeing to Guy’s valuables. Soon, someone would surely think to look in the office.

  Yet still Tom hesitated. What if Guy was on the other side of the door, frantically gathering his precious papers? What would he do if they came face to face?

  An old thought echoed through his mind. The last two times you met, he tried to kill you, and if you meet a third time you know one of you will die.

  He gripped the handle and pushed open the door.

  The room was empty. Tom felt almost sick with relief – but he had no time to waste.

  ‘Guy keeps the key for the strongroom somewhere in here. We must find it.’

  They spread out across the long room. Tom made for Guy’s desk, then stopped, transfixed by the portrait of Sir Hal Courtney on the wall.

  ‘My father,’ he murmured. Hal had died almost twenty years ago, but the sight of him here, so sudden and unexpected, brought a pang of loss. ‘That belonged …’