'Yes, she said she would. She'll take Ј5000 any day.'
Rhennin passed my message on to Shardelow. Mary was white-faced. The shadows round her eyes, skilfully concealed by make-up, were visible nevertheless — under the courtroom lights, which were on because the sea fog was still down. The courtroom felt cold and alien to me.
'Look at the old man,' said Rhennin quietly.
Shelborne leaned forward, and to the top of his bald head his colour was like lead. His hands were twitching and he coughed — a sharp, rattling, nervous cough.
'The court has heard the application of the organization which styles itself the Mazy Zed, an odd name. Unfortunately the court has no jurisdiction over the naming of companies. I find it is duly registered…'
'Thank God for that!' Rhennin whispered to me. 'He'd have called us the Undermarine Octahedron Exploration Company!'
'The court is called upon to assess the value of the present application in terms of a past concession. I note there is no pro forma application by either of the other two parties in respect of present-day rights. After the First World War the South African Government allowed certain German diamond companies to continue mining in the territory. In law, however, such an ex parte dispensation cannot be construed as allowing of the reverse, namely, that the grant of a prospecting concession by the previous German regime should have force and effect in law.'
'Jesus!' exclaimed Rhennin softly. He was sweating, despite the coldness of the court. The pendulum had swung back to our side; small wonder Shardelow had ulcers.
The Treaty of Versailles, to which the then South African Government under General Smuts was signatory, makes no mention of this. No principle is laid down by either the treaty proper or by subsequent codicils.'
Rhennin pushed me a note from Shardelow. It read: 'I want a blue-white, five carats, first one out of the sea as a memento — and no charge!'
I nodded and grinned. It was practically in the bag now.
The validity of the concession submitted by the first applicant, namely, Frederick Caldwell, is therefore irrelevant…'
Shelborne was on his feet, his face livid. He was trying to say something. Everyone's eyes were upon him.
The Judge went on. 'I beg your pardon, a slip of the tongue. The first application was in the name of Frederick Shelborne. I ask the recorder to take special note: Frederick Shelborne, not Frederick William Caldwell.'
Shelborne sank back into his chair, his eyes staring.
'Likewise the second application, that of Mary Caldwell, fails. The German concession, in the eyes of myself and of my two learned assessors, lapsed when the armed forces of Germany signed the surrender to General Botha's army in July 1915.
There remains only the Mazy Zed application. This not only has the scope, but is in accordance with certain prerequisites of capital and outlay specified by the authorities. The Mazy Zed application is accordingly granted. May I take this opportunity of wishing the venture — a unique venture in the history of mining — success.'
I went that afternoon with MacDonald to Anvil Creek. He had been assigned to make sure that Shelborne and the Gquma left the security area. I waited in the parked Land-Rover while he made his search. It did not surprise me when he came back empty-handed, without the Borchardt or its diamonds. I had not mentioned either to MacDonald — I felt it was something between Shelborne and myself. Shelborne spoke neither to him nor to me. Then, with almost frightening skill, he tacked the beautiful cutter down the narrow waterway to the river proper. He sat, hard-faced, in the open cockpit at the tiller; we followed him in our vehicle along the river bank to the sandbars, where the spindrift broke over us on the wind. The Gquma, head reaching on the starboard tack, merged her white sails in the white of broken water and bars at the river mouth. Would she live? For more than an hour we watched and wondered. Then, against the green of the sea; we saw the topsail emerge, a sail as unmistakably individual as the lonely man who sailed her. Round she came, close-hauled, and disappeared to the north.
5
Eighteen months later the Mazy Zed was no longer a project of models and blueprints but a reality of ships and men.
The mining barge had been launched in Table Bay. Cape brandy for the launch. Flags, bunting, sirens. Ministerial speeches. Unique project, unique undertaking. Spirit of adventure. Unique ship: not another like it afloat. Planning, fitting-out, machinery, — machinery, more and more specialized machinery. Pumps, hoses, pumps, pumps. Refitting and strengthening the tug which was to nursemaid the odd craft. Tow-wires, special heavy winches, tougher cables. Breaking strain tests off the Cape of Storms in a gale. Curses, bruises, broken fingers, seas streaming across unprotected decks, life-lines rigged. A bitch of a ship. She looked like a block of flats and rolled like a whore. Mazy Zed. The Mazy Zed. She was headlines from the moment she was conceived.
I was busy on my own ship. Before the Oranjemund court hearing I had taken an option on an old South African Hydrographic Survey vessel, formerly an Antarctic whaler. The Southern Floe was old, whalers don't grow old like other ships. Her 1850 horsepower triple expansion engines wouldn't give the sixteen knots of her prime, but she was still good for a couple less and with new sealed casings for reducing their noise, she sounded sweeter than she really was. Just over 400 tons, she had high rounded bows and a cruiser stern. It was the marked flare of her bows and the squat way she sat in the water which gave me her name — the Praying Mantis. The mantis is the sacred good-luck bringer of the Namib Bushmen: we'd need all the luck for the Mazy Zed venture.
The navy had left some of its obsolete surveying equipment in the ship, and it was thrown in with the bargain basement price of Ј3000. My plans for a quick victory over the Sperrgebiet coast centred, however, on a special electronic instrument, developed recently in South Africa, known as the Hydrodist. The echo-sounder barely passed muster, while the superb American Sonoprobe, which gives a sort of X-ray picture of the ocean floor, was outside my resources. I was glad they'd left the crow's nest and heavy rigging on the foremast, which would assist me to con her through the shoals and rocks. It took me nearly six months to get the Praying Mantis ready for sea. I went ahead of the main outfit to Angras Juntas on a lesson-filled shake-down cruise and returned to Cape Town two months later with a detailed survey and a deep respect for the coast.
I found the name Caldwell back in the news. Mary's mother had died. Normally, I suppose, the death of the invalid old lady would have passed unnoticed, but a hawk's eye on the — news desk must have spotted her name in the death notices after the court build-up. Again, Mary was fair game for the reporters. I'd not seen her since the Oranjemund hearing. Although her home was in Rondebosch, not five miles from the docks, I was too busy with the Praying Mantis to keep in touch. There were times, however, when I recalled our afternoon on the Oyster Line. If Oranjemund had forged any bond, it was an odd one, and her mother's death gave me an opportunity of getting in touch with her again. She was pleased to hear me on the telephone and invited me round. The home was Caldwell, Caldwell, all Caldwell — chunks of rose quartz from the lunar mountains of the middle Orange River, agates and chalcedony from wind-swept beaches, and other prospecting bric-a-brac.
Mary needed a job. With her mother's death she was penniless. I felt good, somehow, when I remembered Shelborne's request to me to get her a sorter's position aboard the Mazy Zed, and I rang Rhennin. Rhennin Hesitated: Mary would be the only woman among fifty-rive men; the tradition of the sea is that a woman aboard is bad luck. I asked her bluntly about it. She shrugged wanly and said she had no commitments, no ties anywhere, and she'd join the Mazy Zed if Rhennin would have her. After a sorting test Rhennin not only wanted her, he redoubled his first offer and forgot about the bad luck legend. She had an almost uncanny touch, intuitive flair, when it came to spotting and handling gems. The Caldwell touch lived in her.