Part 26 (2/2)

”Phaethon was a sort of b.a.s.t.a.r.d son of Helios. He borrowed his papa's gleaming Vehicle and went for a heavenly Drive. But seeing the great height to which he had ascended, and terrified by the Heroes, Legends, and t.i.tans hung in the sky by the G.o.ds as Constellations, he lost his wits; the chariot ran out of control, scorching the earth; Zeus struck him down with a thunderbolt and he crashed into a river. So when you refer to your conveyance as the Chariot of Phaethon-”

”The import of your Tale is not lost on me,” Jack let it be known, watching de Gex transfer the last of the clinking bags into the satchel. Then, in a different tone, he reflected: ”It is curious. I always phant'sied that the rites of the ancient Pagans, prosecuted as they were in airy temples by naked maidens and prancing b.u.t.t-boys, and enlivened by feasts and orgies, must have been infinitely more diverting than the insufferable ceremonies of Christians; yet the dramatick yarn of this Phaethon, intoned by Your Reverence, is as dry, tedious, and didactic as the litanies of the Baptists.”

”I am speaking to you, Jack, of your pride, of your ignorance, and of your doom. I am sorry that I can not make it any more festive.”

”When night fell, who rode the moon-chariot?”

”Selene. But that was of silver.”

”If those layabouts on the barge do not spin that wheel any faster, we shall be compared to her her.”

”The twilight will linger for a while yet,” de Gex predicted.

Jack went to inspect the rope coming up from below, and pa.s.sing over the pulley and out into the air above London en route to the said barge. He was surprised to find that it had already waxed to the thickness of his finger. Surprised, and a bit dismayed, for he'd been hoping that it would snag on a weatherc.o.c.k somewhere and snap while it was still slender and fragile. But now that it had achieved such a thickness it was unlikely to break. He would actually have to do this thing.

Some minutes pa.s.sed. London as always continued in roiling feverish busy-ness: the Mobb around the base of the Monument, swollen to a thousand, chanting for their promised guineas, here parting to make room for a mad dog, there clumping to a.s.sault a pick-pocket. The fire brigades at their pumping-engines in the Tower hamlets and now in Mincing Lane, surrounded by more of the Mobility, protected by cordons of lobsterbacks. The Highlanders atop the White Tower, victorious but somehow forlorn, as no one seemed to have noticed what they'd accomplished. The men on the barge spinning the giant wheel, like the main gear of an immense clock. The s.h.i.+ps on the Pool as ever, going about their toils and quotidian adventures perfectly oblivious to all of these things.

Phaethon himself was just in the act of crash-landing on the upper Thames, some leagues to the west of town. With any luck he'd set fire to Windsor Castle on his way down. The radiance of his final approach sprayed flat across London and made the whole city jagged and golden. Jack looked at it all, most carefully, as he had once looked out over Cairo, and indeed the place suddenly looked as queer and as outlandish to him as Cairo once had. Which was to say that he saw all through a traveler's dewy eye, and perceived all that was overlooked by the c.o.c.kney's bra.s.s-tacks stare. He owed it to Jimmy and Danny and all his posterity to look at it thus. For de Gex was right, Jack was a b.a.s.t.a.r.d who had ascended to a great height and hob-n.o.bbed with Heroes and t.i.tans and seen things he was never meant to see. This might be the last time in many a generation that a Shaftoe might gaze down from such a vantage-point and see so much so clearly. But what was he seeing?

”Dad,” Jimmy was saying, ”it's time, Dad.”

He looked over. The rope was as thick as his wrist now, and it no longer moved; it had been tied off down below, the plinth of the Monument pressed into service as a bitt. Half a mile distant, out in the river, the barge had chopped its anchor-cable, and flung great bags of heavy fabric-sea-anchors-into the river. The flow of the Thames had inflated them. They pulled the barge downstream with immense force, exerting tension on the full length of the rope that could be sensed from here-for the rigging that bound the great pulley to the top of the Monument had now begun to groan and tick like that of a s.h.i.+p that has been struck by a blast of wind. Riding on that taut hawser, now, above their heads, was a traveling block: that is to say a grooved pulley spinning on a well-greased axle in a casing of forged iron. Dangling from it were two chains that diverged slightly and fastened to opposite ends of a short length of plank. Jimmy was gripping one of those chains, Danny the other. The Chariot of Phaethon was available for boarding. Everyone up here-even the Jews, who'd left off being scared and were now fascinated-was looking at it significantly, and then looking at Jack.

”All right, all right,” said Jack. He strode to it. De Gex handed him one of the two satchels and Jack slung it over his shoulder. ”Padre, I'll see you anon,” Jack said dismissively. Even de Gex sensed that he should draw away now. Jack climbed up to the plank, which hung about at the level of the railing. Seating himself upon it, and situating the heavy satchel in his lap, he braced his feet on the rail as if afraid the boys might pitch him off before he was ready. Which was a quite reasonable fear, as he was set to give them Advice.

”Now, lads,” he said, ”either this'll work or it won't. If it goes awry, never forget there's other places to be besides England; you've seen more of 'em than most, I don't need to tell you twice. The Great Mogul is always hiring good mercenaries. Queen Kottakkal would be delighted to have you back in her court, to say nothing of her bedchamber. Our partners in Queena-Kootah would give you a hero's welcome at the foot of Eliza Peak. Manila's not such a bad place, either. I do not recommend that you go to j.a.pan. And remember, if you go the other way, to the sh.o.r.es of America, and travel west long enough, you ought to cross the path of good old Moseh, a.s.suming the Comanches haven't made him into moccasins. So there's no purpose to be served in tarrying here, lads, if I end up at Tyburn. Just do me a favor before you leave.”

”All right,” said Jimmy grudgingly.

Jack had avoided looking into his sons' faces during this Oration, because he reckoned they'd not wish to be seen with tears streaming down their faces. But looking up at Jimmy now he saw dry eyes and a quizzical if impatient phizz. Turning the other way, he saw Danny gazing distractedly at the White Tower.

”Did you hear a single f.u.c.king word I said?”

”You want us to do you a favor,” Danny returned.

”Before you embark on a new life overseas, a.s.suming that is your fate,” Jack said, ”find Eliza and tell her she is my true love.” And then he jerked the chains loose from the restraining grip of first Jimmy, then Danny. He leaned forward, pushed off against the rail with both feet, and launched himself into s.p.a.ce above London. His cloak spread in the wind of his flight like the wings of an eagle, revealing, to anyone who might be gazing up into the sky, a lining made from cloth-of-gold that glistered in the rays of the setting sun like the chariot of Apollo. He was on his way down.

Worth's Coffee-house, Birchin Lane, London SUNSET.

DAPPA STOOD FROZEN for a count of ten. As if standing still would make him white. for a count of ten. As if standing still would make him white.

”Sir,” said Jones, chuckling, ”why, this looks like you! What's it say?”

Thank G.o.d for Jones, and for his being such a perfect imbecile. Many a s.h.i.+p's officer, caught in storm or battle, and seized by a natural tendency to freeze up in terror, was moved to action by the vivid helplessness of his crew.

Dappa's body was not answering well to commands from the quarterdeck, so in stepping forward he bashed the table with the brawn of his thigh, nearly toppling it. But he got the libel in his hand and s.n.a.t.c.hed it away. He looked round the coffee-house and met a few eyes, but they showed nothing beyond momentary curiosity at the unbalanced movements of the Blackamoor. None of them had seen this handbill.

”What's it say?” Jones repeated.

Dappa shoved it into the hip pocket of his coat, where it was about as welcome as a t.u.r.d. But at least it was hidden. ”It says something that is not true, about me,” he said, ”a perfect and abominable lie.” And he wished that he could have said it in a low and quiet voice. But pa.s.sion made him squawk like a strangled hen. He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to think. ”An attack,” he said, ” 'tis an attack on me by Charles White-a Tory. Why on me? No reason. Thus 'tis not an attack on me me but on what I am a part of, namely, but on what I am a part of, namely, Minerva Minerva.” He opened his eyes. ”Your s.h.i.+p is under attack, Jones.”

”I am well enough accustomed to that, sir.”

”But not with cannonb.a.l.l.s. This is a paper attack. Sh.o.r.e artillery is firing on you-what must you do?”

”Firing on us, us, you mean, sir,” Jones returned, ”and since sh.o.r.e batteries are difficult to silence, we must move out of their range.” you mean, sir,” Jones returned, ”and since sh.o.r.e batteries are difficult to silence, we must move out of their range.”

”Correct. But the indenture that we came here to sign-it must be signed or our obligations to the s.h.i.+p-chandler shall not be met. We must meet those obligations, Jones, or our credit and our good name will be spoilt, do you understand? Mr. Sawyer is honest, as such men go-when he comes here, pretend to read whatever he places in front of you, and sign it. Then run down to the river and hie to or our obligations to the s.h.i.+p-chandler shall not be met. We must meet those obligations, Jones, or our credit and our good name will be spoilt, do you understand? Mr. Sawyer is honest, as such men go-when he comes here, pretend to read whatever he places in front of you, and sign it. Then run down to the river and hie to Minerva Minerva and tell the Captain to begin raising anchor and tell the Captain to begin raising anchor now now.”

”Are you going to leave me alone here, sir?” Jones inquired.

”Yes. I shall try to get back to the s.h.i.+p. If I'm not aboard at the next high tide, though, then you and Minerva Minerva must leave must leave me me.” Dappa glanced up toward the window and saw the worst thing he could could have seen: the tout who had been handing out the libels had hunted them through the crowd, and was now pressing his s.h.i.+ny face against the window. He met Dappa's eye. Dappa felt the way he had once in Africa, a little boy playing near the river, when he had looked up and seen the striped eye of a crocodile looking back at him. It was as if a thousand ancestors were standing round him in a great invisible chorus, screaming, ”Run! Run!” And run he would have, but for the knowledge that he was the only black man in a mile, and could never run far or fast enough. have seen: the tout who had been handing out the libels had hunted them through the crowd, and was now pressing his s.h.i.+ny face against the window. He met Dappa's eye. Dappa felt the way he had once in Africa, a little boy playing near the river, when he had looked up and seen the striped eye of a crocodile looking back at him. It was as if a thousand ancestors were standing round him in a great invisible chorus, screaming, ”Run! Run!” And run he would have, but for the knowledge that he was the only black man in a mile, and could never run far or fast enough.

A shadow fell over the coffee-house now, like that of a cloud pa.s.sing before the sun. But it was not a cloud, but a great black coach, drawn by four black horses, pulling up in front of the coffee-house, coming to a stop.

The tout paid no mind to the coach-and-four. He had got a wild triumphal look on his face-the only thing that could have made him any less pleasant to look at. Keeping his eye fixed through the window, he began sidestepping toward the entrance.

”Repeat the instructions I gave to you,” Dappa said.

”Wait for Mr. Sawyer. Look at the indenture like I'm reading it. Sign it. Run to the s.h.i.+p. Get underway at high tide with or without you.”

”And when you return from Boston, G.o.d willing, we shall sort it out then,” Dappa said, and stepped out from behind the table. He began moving toward the door.

Before he could reach it, the door was pulled open from outside. The view into the street was blocked by the glossy black flank of the coach. Dappa drew his right hand up his hip, twitched the skirt of his coat behind him, and reached around to the small of his back. There, in the waistband of his breeches, was a dagger. He found its handle with his fingers but did not draw it yet. The tout appeared in the doorway, blocking his way out, ecstatic, hopping from toe to toe like a little boy who needed to p.i.s.s. He looked to one side, desperately wanting to catch someone's eye-to get a witness, or recruit an accomplice. Dappa supposed he was looking at whomever had pulled the door open. The tout's head swivelled round to bear on Dappa again, and he raised one hand and pointed his index finger at Dappa's face, like aiming a pistol. He had dropped his stack of handbills and they were blowing round his ankles, tumbling into the coffee-house.

A larger man came into view just behind the tout, and over his shoulder. He was blond and blue-eyed, a young bloke, better dressed, and he had something in his hand: a walking-stick, which he was tossing straight up into the air. The bra.s.s handle at its stop leaped above his head. He caught the stick about halfway along its length and in the same motion snapped it down. The bra.s.s ball at the top stopped hard against the back of the tout's head. The tout's face and then his whole body lost tone, as if all 206 of his bones had been jellied. Before the tout could fall to the ground and block the door, the blond man stepped in beside him and checked him out of the way. The tout disappeared from view, except for his feet, which lay twitching on the threshold. The big blond man allowed his walking-stick to slide down through his fist until the bra.s.s grip was back in his hand. He bowed to Dappa in the most genteel way imaginable and extended his free hand toward the carriage, offering Dappa a lift. And it was not until that moment that Dappa recognized this man as one Johann von Hacklheber, a Hanoverian, and a member of the household of the d.u.c.h.ess of Arcachon-Qwghlm.

DAPPA WAS IN THE WOODEN womb of the carriage. It smelled like Eliza's toilet-water. Johann did not climb inside with him but closed the door, slapped the side, and began distributing commands in High-Dutch to the driver and a pair of footmen. The footmen sprang from their perch on the back of the vehicle and began wading through the litter on the street, s.n.a.t.c.hing up every copy of the libel that they could find. Dappa watched this through the coach's window, then, when it began to lurch forward, drew the shutters, leaned forward, and buried his face in his hands. womb of the carriage. It smelled like Eliza's toilet-water. Johann did not climb inside with him but closed the door, slapped the side, and began distributing commands in High-Dutch to the driver and a pair of footmen. The footmen sprang from their perch on the back of the vehicle and began wading through the litter on the street, s.n.a.t.c.hing up every copy of the libel that they could find. Dappa watched this through the coach's window, then, when it began to lurch forward, drew the shutters, leaned forward, and buried his face in his hands.

He wanted to weep tears of rage, but for some reason they would not come. Perhaps if this had unfolded into a speedy and clean getaway he might have relaxed, and then released the tears. But they were on one of the most congested streets in all of London. Yet he felt no urgency to give the coachman instructions, for it would be a quarter of an hour before they came to any sort of turning-point. That would be at the intersection with Cornhill, a hundred feet away.

After some moments he reached into his pocket and took out the handbill. He smoothed it out on his thigh and cracked the window-shutters to spill light on it. All of which required conscious effort and a certain fort.i.tude, as in all ways he wanted to lean back and enjoy the gentlemanly comfort of this coach and pretend that this wretched, abominable, vile, vicious thing had never been done to him.

He did not know exactly how old he was-probably about three score. His dreadlocks were black at the tips but gray at the roots. He had circ.u.mnavigated the terraqueous globe and knew more languages than most Englishmen knew drinking-songs. He was an officer of a merchant s.h.i.+p, and better dressed than any member of the Kit-Cat Clubb. And yet this! This piece of paper on his thigh. Charles White had printed it up, but any Englishman could have done the same. This particular configuration of ink upon the page had made him into a hounded fugitive, laid him at the mercy of a loathsome street-corner tout, forced him to flee from a coffee-house. And it had put a cannonball in his stomach. Was this how Daniel Waterhouse had felt when a stone the size of a tennis ball had dwelt in his bladder? Perhaps; but a few minutes' knife-work and such a stone was gone. The cannonball in Dappa's stomach was not so easy to remove. Indeed he knew that it would return, every time he recalled the last few minutes' events, for the remainder of his days. He might be able to reach Minerva Minerva and sail out of range, but even if he were in the Sea of j.a.pan, Charles White's cannonball would hit him in the belly whenever his mind was idle and his thoughts returned to this day. And return he would, like a dog to his vomit. and sail out of range, but even if he were in the Sea of j.a.pan, Charles White's cannonball would hit him in the belly whenever his mind was idle and his thoughts returned to this day. And return he would, like a dog to his vomit.

This, he now perceived, was why gentlemen fought duels. Nothing else would purge such dishonor. Dappa had killed several men, mostly pirates, and mostly with pistol-shots. The chances were better than even that, in a fair duel, he could put a pistol-ball into Charles White's body. But duels were for gentlemen; a slave could not challenge his master.

Stupid idea anyway; he needed to get to Minerva, Minerva, to escape. The coach was negotiating a right turn onto Cornhill, therefore working its way back round toward the Pool. If it had turned left it would mean they were taking him toward Leicester House, where Eliza lived with a nest of Hanoverians. Yes, better to get out of town. to escape. The coach was negotiating a right turn onto Cornhill, therefore working its way back round toward the Pool. If it had turned left it would mean they were taking him toward Leicester House, where Eliza lived with a nest of Hanoverians. Yes, better to get out of town.

And yet the notion of challenging Charles White to a duel, putting a bullet in him, had seemed so delicious. Really the only thing that had given him any satisfaction since the shock of seeing his own name on this doc.u.ment.

He opened the shutters a bit more and looked round through the side and rear windows. Johann was looking right back at him from no more than twelve feet away. He was following in the wake that the coach had made through the crowd. He told Dappa, with a sharp movement of the head, to close the shutters. Then he turned round to look behind him. Dappa saw now that they were being tailed, at a leisurely walking pace, by a pair of men, each of whom was clutching a copy of the handbill. Scanning the width of Cornhill he saw more copies of the libel being handed out. He supposed that the only thing that prevented a hue and cry from going up was the reward, and the fact that those who seized him would not wish to divide it by the whole number of the Mobb. So for the nonce his pursuers were only two, and they were being held at bay by Johann, who had a sword; but Charles White could stamp out new pursuers as fast as printing presses could be operated.

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