The Courtney Series - 15 - The Tiger’s Prey by Wilbur Smith

Author:Wilbur Smith
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Historical Fiction
ISBN: 9780007535934
Published: 2017-09-06T23:00:00+00:00

They reached Bombay without misadventure. Tom paid close attention as they sailed in to the harbour, observing the master as he lined up the seven trees on Malabar point to steer a safe course through the reefs and islets that guarded the approach. Features Tom had only seen on charts slid past: Sunken Rock, the Oyster, the Middle Ground. And so they came into Bombay roads, under the castle on Dungarey hill.

Tom stripped down to his shirt and breeches, and removed his stockings so he looked like a sailor in short trousers. Going ashore, he pulled on an oar with the other men, while Francis and Ana sat in the stern with the master. Tom felt exposed, more vulnerable even than in the fort at Brinjoan. This was Guy’s domain, and he did not know what eyes might be watching unseen from the Governor’s house behind the walls.

The stench of swamp mud and rotting fish rankled his nostrils. As they beached the boat, he averted his face. The waterfront was quiet, that afternoon. The lascars and stevedores lounged in the hot shade, with no great enthusiasm for unloading the ship.

Francis, Ana and the master fell into conversation with a group of Company officials. They were exceedingly surprised to find Guy Courtney’s nephew so suddenly come ashore; they mopped their faces and shot each other anxious looks, each calculating how this new arrival would change the balance of power in the settlement. Guy ruled the island as absolutely as the Great Mughal in Delhi ever ruled his empire, and his courtiers survived by reading the shifting tides of his mood.

The Company men bustled Francis off to the Governor’s house. When he was sure no one was watching, Tom slipped away towards the little cluster of taverns and punch houses in the lee of the castle. He found the busiest, and took a seat in a corner. A few minutes later, Merridew – one of the few sailors who had survived the wreck of the Kestrel and the siege at Brinjoan – ducked in.

‘No one followed you, sir. I’ll keep a watch outside the castle for Master Francis.’

Tom nodded, and settled down to wait.

Francis stepped through the castle gates, and felt a shiver of apprehension as they rang shut behind him. His misgivings mounted as he crossed the courtyard, past various store rooms and guard huts, and climbed the steps towards the imposing Governor’s house, which stood against the southern wall of the castle overlooking the harbour.

News of his arrival had raced ahead of him. He was admitted straight away to the Governor’s office on the top floor.

He had never met his uncle Guy before. The one picture he had seen of him, a painting that had hung in High Weald, had showed a cherubic boy dressed in a white smock, standing beside a puppy. It was a far cry from the man who sat in front of the great windows now: tall and slim, dressed in a dark green coat with tailoring that was so impeccable it seemed almost unnatural.

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