Captain Mee’s lips curled into a sneer. ‘Oh, don’t you worry about that — if I didn’t have a hold on myself you’d be decked already. But that’s too good for a kedger like you — what I have in store for you is going to hurt a lot more.’
‘And what, pray, is that?’
‘I’m going to blow the dicky on you,’ said the captain. ‘Now that I’ve smoked out your game I’m going to take this all the way to the top; I’m going to make sure you never try your flummery on anyone again. Bilkers like you have been responsible for too many deaths to count — why, between you, you’ve killed more of our men than the Chinese have! God damn my eyes if I don’t see you brought to book, you cunny-lapping cockbawd.’
The torrent of abuse fell on Zachary like a cold shower: far from intimidating him it made his mind quicker. He knew exactly what he had to do now, to bring the captain to heel.
‘Well, Captain Mee,’ he said, with a thin smile. ‘You must do as you wish of course. But perhaps you should ask yourself which is the greater crime in the eyes of the world: bribery or adultery?’
The captain’s eyes flickered, in shock: ‘What the devil do you mean?’
Zachary’s smile widened, in relish. ‘I mean, Captain Mee, that you have far more to lose than I do.’ He paused, so as to add emphasis to what he was going to say next.
‘And as for Mrs Burnham, she stands to lose the most, does she not?’
The captain froze for an instant. Then suddenly a fist came flying through the air and hit Zachary in the jaw. He staggered sidewise, until the rim of the bunk dug into the back of his leg causing his knees to buckle. The next he knew he was lying flat on the bunk and his mouth was full of the metallic taste of blood. Yet strangely the pain was not unwelcome; it seemed to clear his mind and quicken his calculations: he understood that by provoking the captain into losing control of himself he had seized the advantage. He had to make the best of it now.
Rubbing his jaw, he summoned another smile. ‘Mrs Burnham must have had the devil of a time,’ he said, ‘slipping a capote on an ox like you.’
Again he had the satisfaction of seeing the captain reel, as though it were he who had been hit in the jaw. On his big, heavy face there was a look of almost comical disbelief.
‘Oh yes,’ said Zachary, with slow relish. The throbbing in his jaw added immeasurably to the pleasure of knowing that it was the captain who was now helpless in his hands. Zachary smiled again: ‘Mrs Burnham sure has a way with capotes, doesn’t she? I’ll never forget the first time.’
Suddenly Captain Mee’s long limbs began to move, at great speed. Crossing the cabin with one stride he took hold of Zachary’s throat.
This only made Zachary laugh. ‘Why, Captain Mee!’ he said. ‘You seem surprised. All these years that you were wearing your hair-shirt — did you really think she was waiting for you? That you were the only one?’
‘Stubble your whids, you bastard: you’re lying!’
‘Oh you don’t believe me then? Would it be more convincing perhaps if I were to show you the little trick she does with the capote?’
The captain leant closer. ‘Have you no shame, you filthy poodle-faker?’ The words were hissed between his teeth, so that a fog of spittle settled on Zachary’s face.
Zachary slid the tip of his tongue slowly over his lips, as he had seen Mrs Burnham do many times in the past.
‘Why Captain Mee,’ he said. ‘I do believe the taste of her still lingers in your mouth — I would recognize it anywhere. I am sure you would recognize it on me too, if you’d care to put your tongue where hers has been. “Chartering” she calls it, if I remember right; and never better than on the goolie-bag …’
‘Dab your mummer!’ Goaded beyond endurance the captain shook Zachary by the neck. ‘You know what happens to blackmailers, don’t you? They always die before their time.’
The captain’s thumb was pressed against Zachary’s windpipe now, blocking off the flow of air to his lungs. Zachary began to struggle, and as he was thrashing about his thumb brushed against the handle of his jack-knife. Slipping his hand into his pocket, he pulled it out, but just as he was flicking it open Captain Mee caught sight of it and made a lunge. In one swift motion he enveloped Zachary’s fist with the fingers of one hand, knife and all. Then he flung himself over Zachary, pinning him down with his weight, pushing him into the bunk and immobilizing his limbs. In the midst of this, there was a slight slackening in the throat-hold; Zachary tried to catch a breath but his nose was crushed against the captain’s collar and he found himself breathing in the acrid, sweat-and-blood-sodden odour of his uniform. He gagged and turned his head to the side: physically, he was helpless now, yet the more completely he was overpowered, the more his body succumbed to the strength of the bigger man, the sharper and and clearer his mind seemed to become. Snatching another breath, he hissed into the captain’s ear: ‘Poor Mrs Burnham! Bedding you must be like fucking a howitzer.’
The captain grunted, tightening his grip on Zachary’s fist. ‘You shouldn’t have pulled this knife on me,’ he snarled. ‘You’ve only made it easier.’
With slow, relentless pressure he forced Zachary’s arm up until the blade was resting on his throat. As its edge began to dig into his skin, a memory flashed through Zachary’s head. He remembered that the knife was not his own: it had belonged to Mr Crowle, who had held it to his throat in this very cabin three years before.
The memory emboldened Zachary. ‘Go on,’ he said. ‘Do it; kill me. And you know what’ll happen? Let me tell you: Mrs Burnham’s letters will be found among my effects — I’ve kept them all, you know. Is that what you want? To bring ruin on her?’
Zachary knew that this had made an impression because there was a slackening in the pressure against his throat. With a sudden twist of his body he squirmed loose and jumped off the bunk. Dusting himself off, he held out his hand: ‘My knife please.’
The captain was now sitting on the bunk with a look of bewilderment on his face. He handed over the knife without a word.
‘Thank you, Captain,’ said Zachary. ‘And if I may say so, you would be well-advised to think carefully about my proposal.’
‘Fuck you,’ said the captain. ‘I don’t ever want to set eyes on you again.’
Zachary smiled and went to the door. ‘Oh I’m afraid you won’t be so easily rid of me, Captain,’ he said, holding the door open. ‘I am sure we shall meet again soon — but until then, I bid you good night.’
Nineteen
On the Cambridge the first hours of the morning passed in gut-churning uncertainty, without anyone being sure of what to expect. Then a runner arrived with urgent news: five British warships and two steamers, one of them the Nemesis, had left the Tiger’s Mouth and were proceeding upriver; they would soon be crossing the First Bar.
It was a relief to have the matter resolved, to know that the battle they had so long been preparing for would soon be joined. There were some who thought that the warships might be thwarted by the shifting shoals and sandbanks of the Pearl River. But as the reports came in it became clear that no such thing would happen: the British had evidently worked out a system to deal with the obstacles of the river. The shallow-draughted Nemesis was proceeding ahead of the rest of the squadron, taking soundings and charting a safe course.
As the warships drew closer the reports began to come in faster: now they were twenty-five li away, now twenty.
At the start of the Hour of the Horse, in the late morning, the gun-crews took their stations and went through their usual preparatory drills; each sirdar checked his cannon over and again, readying it for the first shot, making sure that the touch-hole was primed with powder, and that the first cartridge and ball were properly loaded and plugged in place, with waddings of oakum, made from old hemp ropes.