Artemis - Kydd 02 Read online

  Suddenly resolved, he set out for the quay where the ship's boats secured — he would return aboard and resume his acquaintance with the literature.

  On the berth deck there was only one occupant, still and silent at the table under a lanthorn glow. It was Renzi, reading. Kydd slid into the seat opposite. Renzi did not acknowledge his presence, continuing to read his slim volume with great concentration.

  'At y'r books still, I find,' Kydd said lightly.

  Renzi looked up balefully then resumed his concentration.

  'The priest has tired of y'r company?' Kydd said, with more emphasis.

  'He does have other duties,' Renzi said.

  Kydd bit off a hot rejoinder and remembered his intention. 'Then I'd be obliged were you to suggest t' me one of our books,' he said, 'that would improve th' mind.'

  Renzi laid down his Wordsworth. 'So Miss Bullivant might be agreeably impressed with your undoubted erudition?'

  'So I might have th' chance of knowing somethin' more of this ragabash world.'

  With a theatrical sigh, Renzi leant back. Then his expression softened. 'You are not — yet — a friend to logic, the rational course, but should you so desire then I have in our sea-chest an old and very dear piece by John Locke, An Essay Concerning Human Understanding, which may yet persuade you.'

  Sarah was wearing light blue, with many tiny bows sewn into the skirt of her frock, and a gay lace bonnet that was very fetching.

  'M'lady!' Kydd smiled, rising to greet her. Nunez was silent, watchful as a bird.

  'Kind sir!' Sarah replied, bobbing a curtsy with a radiant smile just for him. Kydd felt a rush of feeling that left him in confusion.

  He collected himself and said casually, 'I rejoice t' see you in looks, Miss Bullivant, if th' validity of th' inference may be allowed as experientially rooted.' The bit about empiricism could come out later.

  Nunez's eyebrows shot up. Sarah hesitated in puzzlement, then her expression cleared. 'You have been disputing with Nicholas,' she said, in an accusing tone, 'and now you mean to quiz me.'

  Kydd couldn't keep it up, and a wide grin spread. She was caught by his infectious glee and returned the smile. They stepped out into the street, as prim a couple as any to be seen. There was little small-talk as they walked companionably together.

  At Sao Tiago they stood on the ancient battlements and looked out to sea, to the islands and scattered ships at anchor, the bobbing sampans and serene junks. Sarah stood in front of Kydd, her bonnet held in her hands and looking outward in silence. Kydd stood close behind: the scent of her hair came up to him, the lines of her body inches from him.

  As if it were some other he watched as his hands came up to take her shoulders, his head bent and he kissed the top of her hair very gently, her female scent briefly enclosing him. She froze; her hands came up slowly to touch his, still facing away, still silent.

  Suddenly she turned round, but said in a quite practical tone, as if nothing had passed, 'I believe you would like to see a Chinese pagoda - Thomas.' Her eyes held his but moved past, over his shoulder. Kydd knew that something was happening, but was unsure, painfully aware of a thudding heart. 'Come,' she commanded, her grip on his arm a fierce imperative.

  In a trance Kydd conveyed her back along the narrow streets the way they had come, feeling his masculinity uncomfortably, and longing with a fierce dread for what he knew must lie ahead.

  Ah Lee opened the door to the mansion for them, and they entered arm in arm. 'Mr Tsoi journeys to Canton in the winter season,' Sarah said, with a peculiar air of defiance. 'The house is deserted.'

  Kydd glanced at Ah Lee, whose expression was even more blank than usual. The house was easily the richest and most spacious that he had ever entered, but had an alien look and smell with a compelling exoticism.

  'We will have our picnic in the pagoda,' Sarah said, and in halting Cantonese told Ah Lee, who looked shocked, but bowed once and withdrew.

  Sarah steered Kydd through the vast house and out into the garden. Her arm still in his she chatted on, remarking on this Oriental bloom and that until they reached the door at the base of the pagoda. Kydd wondered what lay in the dark interior. Fiddling with the dark bronze latch, Sarah eased open the tiny door and held up her lantern.

  Kydd started uncomfortably. In the flickering gleam he saw her face turn to him, and in his heightened state it seemed distorted, devilish, leading him on into an unknown perdition. 'Come on, silly!' She giggled at his hesitation, and ducking down, entered the pagoda.

  Quite used to the low deckhead of a man-o'-war, Kydd followed. The golden light of the lantern steadied and strengthened away from the evening breezes, revealing mysterious forms and carvings on all sides. He stared uneasily, the odour of cedarwood and the dust of ages acrid and strong.

  'These are Mr Tsoi's ancestors,' Sarah said, then girlishly tripped around a spiral passageway at the periphery. They circled madly in a dizzying whirl that left Kydd breathless. At the very top they finally stopped, laughing. The curved roof above provided a small room, which was barely furnished with a small table and some red straight-backed Chinese chairs on a dark carpet. Many richly ornamented hangings with elaborate writing characters decorated the walls.

  Taking his hand, Sarah pulled him over to a window opening and looked at him in triumph. 'There, Thomas, is it not worth the climb to see this?' In the clear dusk the twinkling lights of Macao spread away over the hills, fairy-like from this height. The dense, wafting fragrance of the Orient enveloped him and Kydd knew he would never forget that night. The moment hung mysteriously, enigmatically.

  'Ah Lee will not be long,' Sarah said, in her matter-of-fact way. 'She will not stay, though, she dislikes being here.' She drew him back inside, and they sat in the hard chairs, the lantern hooked to a beam overhead.

  'Where do you come from, Thomas?' she said politely.

  By degrees his hot desire subsided. He had misread the situation, and if he were to press his attentions now he would suffer a stinging rebuff. Yet she had already compromised her reputation by being alone with him - he wondered why she trusted him, then remembered that she had called him 'a nice man'; he didn't know if he should take this as a compliment or resent it.

  The tapping of footsteps on wood began far below. 'Ah Lee,' said Sarah unnecessarily. The conversation tailed off until finally Ah Lee appeared with a big tray.

  Kydd jumped to his feet to take the tray but was stopped by a warning cough and meaningful frown from Sarah. He sat down again in an awkward silence, while Ah Lee patiently laid out the table, her eyes surreptitiously flicking from one to the other. It was a Chinese meal, many small dishes holding hidden pleasures, and in the middle what looked like a flower vase.

  'Fa tiu’ Sarah said, pouring an opaque liquid the colour of varnish into delicate porcelain cups. 'A Chinese wine, best served hot.' She smiled at him over her cup, and he raised his own to her and sipped. It was dense and cloying to his taste, but he felt the glow begin to spread.

  Ah Lee left quietly; they heard her steps rapidly diminishing until once more they were alone together.

  Sarah's eyes fixed on his face and she spoke levelly. 'Do you know, Thomas, that with half a thousand bachelors out here, there isn't one I'd call a man - not a real one who's big and strong, daring, handsome.'

  Kydd stirred in his chair. Did this mean she really . . . 'Damn you, Thomas, do you make me beg?' The tone was shrill, and had an edge of hysteria.

  'Sarah . . .' he began hoarsely, but she was the opposite side of the table and he hesitated.

  She breathed deeply, then got abruptly to her feet, in the process sending the table and its contents to one side in an appalling crash of china. Kydd stood up in horror.

  At first he could not respond to the passionate assault. The kiss was deep and hungry, her mouth taking his vio-lently, her body pressed into him without restraint. They swayed, clamped together. 'Thomas!' she whispered, drawing away slightly. 'My darling, sweet Thomas! My dear sailor man! Do you not
know we're meant to be one, my love?' Her eyes were huge and lambent in the lantern's glow.

  Kydd held her in an intoxicated trance, not daring to move. Her leg interposed slowly, caressing between his thighs in an excruciating sensual invasion; his hands in response moved down her back.

  'Thomas — I've never been with a man,' she blurted. Her hands slid down his body and discovered his arousal. She gasped, her breath came fast and ragged; he lowered her gently to the floor.

  As with a stranger's eyes he saw her tear off her shoes, and with a flood of sexual feeling he saw her pull up her dress to the white of knees and upper thighs. She lay on the carpet, writhing and vulnerable.

  'Please, Thomas, my love, my love . . .' Her words were nearly incoherent but Kydd was not listening. He knelt between her legs, his head roaring at the sight of her under him, and he tore at his breeches. His hard manhood got in the way and in a rage of frustration he ripped the cloth.

  They came together, hard, savagely, their bodies moving together in tidal surges of sexuality. The climax was explosive and uncontrollable. She clung to him while the spasms spent themselves. 'My darling, my dearest/ she murmured, over and over, clasping his body in hers with an immovable grip.

  At last she released him; he drew apart and lay next to her. Wonderingly he gazed across at her, her body still racked by dying shudders, his own knowing only a beautiful, deep satisfaction. They lay there unmoving.

  Kydd reached out for her, his arm across her bodice. There was something infinitely endearing in the sight of the trusting pale nakedness of her lower body, but he was becoming aware of the night's chill, cooling the hot wetness, and he clutched at his breeches.

  Sarah stirred. 'My God’ she said brokenly. 'What have we done?'

  Puzzled, Kydd propped himself on his elbows and tried to make out her expression.

  'What have we done?' This time it was a harsh, tearing sound, sending cold shafts of fear into him.

  'Sarah?' he asked gently.

  She sat up suddenly, plucking feverishly at her dress. Her eyes showed their whites, like a frightened horse, and his unease grew. She lurched over to one of the straight-backed red chairs and sat with her head in her hands.

  Kydd got to his feet and covered himself, but his breech flap hung down torn and useless. It seemed futile to pretend a dignity he no longer possessed, but he softly crossed over to her. Then the sobs began, quiet and endless. Clumsily he tried to put his arms around her, but she shrugged them off. The sobs turned to weeping; a hopeless, racking female sorrow.

  In all the helplessness of a man he sat motionless, waiting. The evening turned to night, the lantern guttered low. He found his coat, put it around her and resumed his vigil. Long after the night noises of Macao outside had settled in slumber, he held her while the fitful weeping continued. The silent intervals between lengthened until at last it ceased.

  'Thomas,' she said in a low voice.

  'Yes?'

  'It'll be all right if we love each other, won't it?' she said.

  Kydd paused. His thoughts sped ahead. He had not even considered this, but then he realised that he could answer truthfully. 'Yes, Sarah, if we loved each other of course it would be all right.'

  She sighed and reached for him. Her face in the dimness was a wet smear on his, but he kissed her dutifully, then gently disengaged to trim the lantern. The renewed light revealed wild disorder. Sarah stood the table on its legs again and began mechanically to pick up broken pieces of crockery and congealed food from the carpet. Kydd tried to help her.

  The coolness of the night was now a hostile cold. Sarah shivered and moved to a corner of the room. Kydd found a tasselled covering and he brought it across to where she sat hugging her knees. In a touching gesture she held it open for him also. He snuggled up to her and found her feminine warmth roused him again. He dared not reveal it to her.

  'I — we must plan,' she said, in a small voice.

  Kydd made no move, taking refuge in silence.

  'Macao is a small place, people will know,' she said.

  'Only if Ah Lee tells 'em,' Kydd said stoutly. He saw no reason to panic.

  She thought. 'She is discreet - she likes me. But Honrar Nunez, he would never lie.'

  'And how would he know?' Kydd retorted.

  'I - I could not lie to him, Thomas.'

  There was no answer to that. They huddled stiffly together.

  'There is a way — to save — my reputation,' Sarah said carefully. Kydd waited. 'Thomas, you shall marry me,' she announced. Thunderstruck, he stared at her. She was not looking at him but staring away dreamily into the distance. Her voice strengthened. 'I will leave Mr Tsoi's employ and you shall leave the sea, and we will set up house together, here in Macao.'

  'Leave the sea?' Kydd couldn't keep the incredulity from his voice.

  'Of course, Thomas dear, you wouldn't want me married to a common sailor, now, would you?' He was shocked as much by the prim possessiveness in her tone as the content of what she was saying.

  'But—'

  'You will get used to being on the land again soon, dear.' There was now a hint of asperity. 'Tomorrow you shall see the Captain and tell him you are leaving the ship to settle down.'

  'Sarah, we are at war. My duty—'

  'Fiddlesticks! Young men go to war to protect those on the land, and now you are on the land. Leave it to the others to be heroes/ she said crossly.

  There could be no reply to that at this time. He urgently needed to get away to think it through, to weigh the consequences of his act. 'Yes, Sarah/ he uttered, unable to muster a term of endearment. She looked at him doubtfully, but snuggled closer, her fingers twitching at his waistcoat.

  In a dream-like state he made his way back to the boats. Half of his being exulted, sang with joy - the other half recoiled. When he had gone to the residencia to reclaim his sea-clothes Nunez had come to the door in a dressing-robe and had seen his state.

  'Had an accident, fell down/ he had mumbled. The honrar had not said a word, but the atmosphere had been grim and reproving.

  The sky in the east was just lightening when the last boat pulled listlessly for the Artemis. He was lucky: any later and he would have been put down as a straggler, his leave stopped. He went to his sea-chest to shift into his working clothes, heedless of the lewd comments from the others. They had spent their small means quickly, had little chance of further frolics, and were curious about Kydd. He didn't enlighten them.

  Pulling his striped shirt down over his head he emerged to see Renzi the other side of the chest. His face was savage, but he said nothing.

  That forenoon they were paired on the painting stage hanging over the ship's side. They were to scrape back the broad yellow stripe that ran along the line of the gunports. Kydd wanted badly to talk with his friend, to let him work his logic on the situation, to resolve the skeins of worry and to come to a sound conclusion. Renzi worked next to him, his triangular iron rasping at the paintwork in vicious strokes.

  'I saw Sarah last night,' he tried.

  'And so?' Renzi replied acidly.

  'We - we came to an understanding.'

  Renzi's strokes ceased.

  'Well, that is to say, she, er . . .' he mumbled. 'So you didn't have an understanding,' Renzi said sarcastically.

  Kydd flushed, but persevered: 'It's not yet settled,' he said lamely.

  'And you want it settled. Am I to understand you wish me to advise you how best to entrap Miss Bullivant?'

  A dull resentment rose in Kydd. This was his particular friend with whom he had shared so much, and who when needed was proving an obstinate enemy.

  'Last night Sarah and I — coupled. She wants t' marry me.'

  Renzi's scraper tinkled once on the ship's side and splashed daintily into the muddy water below. His face went white, and he stared at Kydd.

  'You careless lubbers!' shouted an angry figure at the deckline above. 'Show a bit o' life an' get a move on!'

  Kydd resumed his scrapes ha
lf-heartedly, unwilling to look at Renzi.

  'I — can only tender my felicitations.' Renzi's voice was distant, controlled.

  Kydd said nothing, but scraped on. After a while he heard Renzi catch a replacement scraper before he, too, resumed the work.

  'Thing is, I'm not sure o' the tightness of it all,' Kydd continued.

  The strokes ceased again. 'Surely it's simple enough,'

  Renzi replied; his voice was tightly controlled, but no longer venomous.

  'No, Nicholas, she wants me to swallow th' anchor and go ashore - for good 'n' all,' Kydd said warmly. 'Well, why not, pray?'

  Kydd thought and could not come up with other than the truth. 'I've found m'self since I've been t' sea, and don't hanker after the longshore life.'

  Renzi bit his lip. "The nub of it, I believe,' he began, with a slight tremor to his words, 'is whether you love her enough.'

  For long moments Kydd hesitated. 'I don't know.'

  'You must know.'

  Kydd faced his friend. 'That is th' point, d'ye see?' His earnest expression made Renzi drop his eyes. 'I lay with the woman, I must own, but I cannot in all truth say before you - that I love her.'

  The stage swung with a small movement of the ship. Renzi sat motionless.

  'So where does m' duty lie?' Kydd asked.

  For a long time Renzi mechanically picked at the sea-faded paintwork. The problem was not of a class that could yield readily to logic. And without the confidence and comfort of solid reasoning at his back he felt diminished. 'Duty,' he admitted finally, 'is a stern mistress.' He was uncomfortably aware that he had been overborne by emotion in the last few days, and now he was failing his friend. There was such an entanglement of ramifications in this problem, rooted in society, personal feelings, obligation — and his own reactions.

  He pulled himself together. 'My dear friend, in this matter, alas, I cannot help. It distresses me, but I would rather not betray your trust with glib emollients or superficial observations. I am sorry, but . . .'

  Kydd nodded once and turned back to his work.