The Tangerine Merchant's Tale Read online

  “To sum up, your crew of thirty hardened men was being routed by a band of naked, dot-women and Captain Rynhaut killed a child in order to subdue them?” Barrister Smythe asked rhetorically.

  “Yes.” Said Masten.

  “No. Well in part that’s true…but they moved like very jungle itself. Their hands made the subtlest of gestures to distract you while they kicked you in the crotch with upturned tits and a smile. The encounter guaranteed several of those men would die childless,” Straat said.

  “It’s a shame they ended so many fine lineages. Nudity and castrations aside what happened next?” Barrister Smythe asked.

  “Well what happened was the first of several queer occurrences. When the girl got killed they all stopped fighting and bowed with their hands extended as if asking to be manacled. While we were obliging those violent Satanists this ‘Mary’ pops his head up and starts speaking in a civilized tongue. The Captain nearly shot him on principal,” said Straat, thumbing toward Masten.

  “I gather he hadn’t reloaded,” Barrister Smythe stated.

  “If he had, instead of ogling all that exposed orange flesh, Mr. Masten might have a dot on his forehead,” Straat said laughing at his own humor.

  “So Mr. Masten escaped death. What next?” Barrister Smythe was losing patience.

  “Next?! Next they attempted a mass rape!” Masten exploded.

  “They had just killed two good crewmen. The men just wanted a little comfort in their time of loss, and maybe to punish a couple of the feistier ones,” Straat said. “It was about that time that one of the scouts came running like Lucifer himself were behind him. He was shouting and ranting until the Captain gave him a taste of his glove,” said Straat.

  “He told us there were one-thousand head-wrapped Hindus heading our way at speed. It was the tuggee. The male counterpart of the captives and they were armed to teeth,” Masten offered.

  “We force-marched those lunatic bitches to the beach, put them that fit into longboats and made the others hang on to the sides, but we got them all loaded, and watched those curry swallowers curse us in their animal tongue from the shore as we set sail,” Straat said.

  The church bell tolled. It meant that in one hour it would be sunset. The lighthouse would be igniting its massive array of lights and respectable places would be closing. Barrister Smythe was not inclined to be near the port jail when the dock men began their migration passed it on their way to the taverns.

  The jail was built into the side of a cliff wall along the shore. A roadway ran along the cliff wall giving captives the choice of the shark riddled sea or the road past the five guard posts and to imprisonment. Most chose the latter.

  “The two of you can take the scraps to your cell if permitted,” Barrister Smythe said gesturing toward the savaged basket. “We will take this up in the morning,”

  Smythe virtually leapt out of his chair and sprinted for the door. The two men looked first at their fleeing legal counsel then at each other. They tucked the remaining bread and cheese into their shirts. Under Jailer Mohren’s direction they shuffled down the dank corridor to the large communal cell they shared with the other dregs of the harbor town. They knew they would have to dispose of the food or else the rats would get it. The two men distributed the scraps among the other men in the cell. This gesture bought some loyalty from the inmates, at least for the night.

  Chapter 2

  ODD CONNECTIONS

  “Barrister Smythe, join me won’t you?” a voice shouted. Barent Witbeck quickened his pace to match Smythe’s.

  “Barent, I would love to join you this evening. Are you amenable to an immediate change of venue?” Barrister Smythe asked.

  Barent looked about nervously. A tavern door opened and a woman, whose face bore a striking resemblance to a potato, heaved a bucket of urine out onto the rutted street.

  “We are far from our natural environ aren’t we?” Barent asked rhetorically. “Let’s adjourn to VOC Members Club.” Barent hooked his arm in Smythe’s and the two headed that way.

  The VOC Members Club was, as a rule, for VOC employees only. It allowed for the lowliest clerk to associate with directors of the company. In a strange and ironic twist, due to the company’s decline in recent years, the number of patrons had increased. Almost every person within the town and along the coast had a stake in the company and a tankard at the Member’s Club was the fastest way to get the latest news.

  Memorials for the dead had been held within the hall as well as Groom’s Rites celebrating the groom’s final evening of bachelorhood. Although there were rumors of less acceptable things happening within these walls, decorum had prevented word from reaching the papers.

  They entered the hall and immediately found a table. It was early yet and most of the more important members of the VOC would be going to their homes to change into suitable evening attire before heading back out.

  “So, Barent what business had you dockside today?” Smythe asked.

  “Snatching at what little crumbs remain of the construction and carpentry business. Putting in the gallows for a couple of ship thieves,” Barent said, turning to a newly arrived platter of sweet meats. The multiple rings on his hands glistened like the sauce soaked gobbets of beef and chicken he gingerly rooted through.

  “Ship thieves,” Said Smythe.

  “Yes, apparently not one but two dock rats, not only stole a ship but scuttled it and then they had the nerve to return to port claiming hardship. Worst plea I ever heard of,” Barent said. “Not being a licensed barrister, what I’ve heard and haven’t doesn’t mean much but nonetheless,”

  “Yes I am familiar with the case,” Smythe said.

  Barents eyes flew open, “You don’t say?”

  “Oh but I do old friend,” Smythe said.

  Barent burst into laughter. Barent was a member of the bewindhebbers. His stake in the Dutch East India Trading Company was the repair and building of ships along with any housing and commercial structures. He managed a profitable part of the company but sought higher position for himself.

  Barent’s father had passed away in his prime and Barent had come into his own at the age of nineteen. Beekman Smythe, Goodson Smythe’s father, had taken the young Barent Witbeck under his wing. Barent and Goodson had become brothers of ‘another sort’ due to circumstances beyond either of their control and the two had remained close these past twelve years.

  “This is truly rich!” Barent said as he continued to laugh. He had a laugh that was loud and infectious. Smythe found himself uncharacteristically close to a full-fledged chuckle.

  “We should have thought of this a decade ago!” Barent wheezed between laughs. “You tank their defense and I build the gallows,”

  Barent brought himself under control as he noticed Smythe’s change in posture.

  “You know of course that I find it funny because of its impossibility,” Barent said in a somber tone.

  “Yes of course,” Smythe said with a smile. He was always uncomfortable whenever people jested about unscrupulous behavior.

  “Good evening gentlemen,” said Judge Wittstruck as he approached the table.

  “Good evening your honor,” said Smythe.

  “Judge Wittstruck,” said Barent.

  “I see the bonds of youth are ever as strong. Good to see the two of you,” said Judge Wittstruck as he moved on.

  “He knows I’m on his docket. Why would he risk even a hint impropriety by speaking to me in a public venue without the prosecution present?” Smythe asked aloud.

  He only got a puzzled reaction from Barent.

  “Your calling has more rules and regulations than I can follow my friend. Is a greeting some sort of violation of them?” Barent asked sincerely.

  “There are the rules of law and there are the rules of…well, it’s another sort of rules that we all live by whether we want to or not,” Smythe said.

  “Yes. That I understand,” Barent said.

  Smythe signed for the meal and excuse
d himself citing an early morning as an explanation.

  The next day Smythe arrived at the jail just after dawn. The night had given him ample time to consider a number of possibilities. Upon arriving he summoned Straat by himself.

  The big man walked with a swagger despite being chained at wrist and ankle.

  “Well barrister, this is intimate,” Straat said as he took the chair opposite Smythe. The table between them was positioned so that the light from the high narrow window shown directly on it. The practicality of its placement was offset by the fact that both parties’ faces were hidden in shadow. It made reading one’s client difficult but the ability to take notes and have a client make his mark on required documents was invaluable.

  “I want to get past the emotional storytelling and simply hear your side of things,” Smythe said.

  “Are you considering we might be innocent counselor?” Straat asked.

  “I’m considering your defense and how to make it effective. So tell your tale as simply and clearly as possible so that I may help you get through this,” Smythe said.

  “Where did we leave off? Oh, yes. We had just escaped those bearded savages waving their scimitars in the air. We made good time, and for a while everything was going smoothly…” Straat was interrupted.

  “So you were on your way to Singapore. A trip of approximately two thousand nautical miles?” Smythe said while making notes.

  “What people don’t realize – well people who ain’t ne’er been to sea – don’t realize is that weather permitting no matter what you may be doing on a ship, the ship keeps moving. It moves while you sleep it moves while you eat. A ship in good winds is possibly the least taxing mode of transportation – minus a few course corrections and keeping the ship in working order of course,” Straat concluded.

  “So how did this relatively easy task go awry?” Smythe asked.

  “Doldrums,” Straat responded.

  Smythe of course knew of doldrums. He had often heard his father refer to them as the biggest threat there was to company profits apart from pirates. A ship may drift into an area where there was no wind and be stranded for days, months even. Worse than that, a freak storm or miscalculation as to the schedule of the trade winds and a ship may find itself going the opposite direction of its intended destination. That would be an extreme circumstance but there were always stories of ships that arrived with no cargo of value because it had either spoiled or the crew had eaten it to survive.

  “How long were you stranded?” Smythe asked.

  “Not long enough for everyone to go lunatic but that’s what happened. When the ship came to a halt we were somewhere between Cochin and Sri Lanka…” Straat said.

  “That’s not even four-hundred nautical miles from your starting point. That makes no sense,” Smythe said.

  “So you do know something of navigation then?” Straat said with a knowing smile.

  “I know how to read a map and I know that the trade winds should have had you past the southern tip of India in just a matter of days,“ Smythe said.

  “Yes but the captain began to act, well, he was under some pressure. You see he had promised the men a large sum of money for completion of this route. Now don’t be thinking the captain was weak or unfit for his duty. Why I’ve seen that man navigate through storms, tavern brawls and two duels – sword and pistol – without pause but something happened to him when he subdued the cargo,” Straat said.

  “You are referring to when he shot the child?” Smythe said.

  “Yes, after he shot the child he was different,” Straat admitted.

  “Perhaps he suffered from guilt?” Smythe asked.

  “Maybe but the issue was once we was on board and under way…we left but we didn’t leave,” Straat said.

  “What do you mean you left but you didn’t leave?” Smythe asked.

  “We left and we were about three days out and the Captain…well he…the Captain didn’t really take to the ships navigator and there was some fog. So the Captain who was able to read a map and use a sexton as well as the next man assumed those duties,” Straat explained.

  “I gather the Captain wasn’t the navigator he claimed to be?” Smythe asked.

  “We thought we made good time. When you’re aboard ship you learn to time the rise and fall of the ship as it relates to speed. We could feel the wind on our faces! We were making headway but...” Straat stopped himself.

  “Yes?” Smythe asked.

  “We hadn’t really moved you see?” Straat said as he studied the table top between them.

  “No, I do not see. What was all that about cresting waves then?” Smythe asked beginning to lose his patients with Straat. He wasn’t sure whether he would have been better off discussing this with Masten.

  “Damn you man. We felt it. We were moving for three days and nights but when we marked our position, we hadn't been,” Straat explained.

  “Had any of you consumed alcohol or narcotics?” Smythe asked.

  “I don’t know from narcotics but if you’re asking about them’s that might chase the dragon then yeah, we had some. However because the lower decks were full all of the men slept on deck at night and there would have been no way to go unnoticed doing so. We did have some rum on board but it was only a few bottles and nowhere near enough to hystericalize the whole crew,” Straat said.

  “So the entire crew was under the impression that they were well on their way to untold fortune and abruptly learned that they had not left port. What was their reaction?” Smythe asked.

  “What do you think it was? It was nearly a mutiny! It would have been one too had the captain not reminded everyone that he knew who the buyers were and how to contact them once we reached our destination,” Straat said.

  “What happened to the navigator?” Smythe asked.

  It was now nearing ten a.m. Straat’s stomach growled and he looked pitifully at Smythe. Smythe called Jailer Mohren and had Straat taken away then Masten brought in. Once Masten was seated, Smythe began the interview without the pleasantries.

  “Tell me what happened to the navigator?” Smythe asked.

  “Oh no, I will not discuss that. I was nearly killed by the captain, Straat and several others when I tried to tell what I had seen,” Masten said.

  “As you are about to hang and Straat isn’t present…” Smythe left the sentence.

  “It was an act of buggery but it wasn’t intentional!” Masten stated too loudly.

  “Dear God! What?” Smythe asked.

  “It didn’t start that way but, we had violated a sacred place, captured loyal and devout worshipers, of one of the most violent gods and we had done it for the worst of purposes. I can’t imagine the fate of those poor women had we made it to Singapore,” Masten said.

  “I don’t give a damn about your precious tangerines! I am asking about the captain and the navigator,” Smythe said.

  Masten sighed and drew up his courage. “It was night, I was walking the deck looking for a place to sleep because the crew had taken all of the places fit for a man when I saw one of the captured women walking the deck,”

  “One of the captives?” Smythe asked hopefully.

  “Yes, she walked right by me as if I wasn’t there and made her way to the captains quarters,” Masten said.

  “So they escaped? This could explain everything. If your cargo got free and burned or sabotaged the ship…” Smythe said excitedly.

  “No. They didn’t escape. She escaped and I don’t know if we ever really had her as a captive. I can tell you of all the women she was the most beautiful though, elegant and confident, black hair that flowed like oil. She was a bit taller than me, maybe as tall as you are counselor and as I said, I don’t recall her being among them that were taken,” Masten said.

  “Are you suggesting this woman boarded the ship while you were at sea?” Smythe asked.

  “I assure you sir that is completely within the realm of possibility and the least queer thing to happen on that ship,” S
traat said.

  “Please go on then,” Smythe asked with renewed interest.

  “As I said, she walked past as if I weren’t there, then quiet as a cat she winds her way through the sleeping men and right into the captain’s quarters. I assumed it was to parlay for their release in exchange for favors. She goes in, and closes the door behind her. I’m standing there awestruck and the next thing I know Straat is standing in front of me. He was a bit sloppy from rum but not falling down and he asks me what I’m doing. Before I can get an explanation out we hear someone screaming as if they’re kissing the gunners daughter,” Masten paused to study his hands for a moment.

  Smythe knew that corporal punishment aboard ship was one way to maintain order and discipline. However he hadn’t heard of a case of flogging in several years and the company frowned on the practice of making men kiss the gunners daughter. However, the stories of those that had been tied spread eagle and flogged into unconsciousness still popped up now and again.

  “I gather the parlay went off route?” Smythe asked.

  “There was no parlay. When we heard that mournful scream Straat ran for the Captains quarters, dirk in hand. The men on deck leapt to attention startled by the scream and began to scurry about looking for the source. Straat threw the door open and I followed close enough to give me a full view and…” Masten stopped again.

  The midday bell tolled outside. Followed by a second set of bells announcing how many ships were in port. It kept the public aware of the goings on at the port and was good for morale. It also alerted the seven gunners on top of the jail to stand at the ready. More bells meant more ships, which meant more work and more money. There were only three new ships in today. They now had four days until the hearing.

  “What did you see?” Smythe asked.

  “It was the navigator sir. He was trussed up like a bail of cloth. His trousers were down around his ankles and so were the Captains…” Masten stopped because there was nothing to add.