with a blunt forefinger, ‘will do me very well.’
‘I’m afraid it is not for sale. It’s a special order.’
‘I suppose it must be for that lot who are assembling off Negril.’
‘I have no idea. They are for Mr Snead’s private clients.’
Gutteridge noticed the stain of ink on Hector’s fingers. ‘Are you his draughtsman?’ he asked, and when Hector nodded, he gave the young man a sideways look and said, ‘How about letting me have a copy, on the side. I’d make it worth your while.’
‘That’s not possible, I’m afraid. And Mr Snead asked that you settle your account.’
Gutteridge shrugged. He seemed unperturbed. ‘Then I’ll do without. A pity. I wish you good day.’ He descended the stairs but on reaching the ground floor, he turned and made one last appeal to Hector. ‘If you change your mind,’ he said, ‘you’ll find my ship, the Jamaica Merchant , at the quay at Thames Street. She’ll be there for three days at most, then I sail for Campeachy to load logwood.’
Hector hesitated for a moment before asking, ‘By any chance will you be calling at Petit Guave on your way?’
Gutteridge fingered the lapel of his shabby coat. ‘I’m thinking of it. French brandy is popular with the Bay Men.’ Then he walked across the shop and let himself out into the street.
The moment Gutteridge left, Hector hurried back to his work table. He still had two more charts to prepare and it was only three days before they must be ready. If he could finish them in time and get his pay from Snead, he might be able to purchase a passage aboard the Jamaica Merchant and find his way to Petit Guave to rejoin Jacques and Dan. Glancing out of the window as he picked up his pen, he watched Gutteridge walking away down the street. As the sea captain passed the door to Snead’s favourite tavern Hector saw a figure which he recognised. Loitering on the doorstep of the grog shop was the sailor he had met on Coxon’s ship, the man with the broken nose and missing fingers.
‘I’ll want you to be on hand next Wednesday when my clients come to collect their charts,’ said Snead who had finally come into the room behind him. The architect was unshaven and pale. ‘There may be last minute changes to be made. I trust you will have all five copies ready.’
‘Yes, of course,’ said Hector. He tried to sound confident, but it was on the tip of his tongue to ask if Captain Coxon was one of the clients and likely to collect his chart in person. He was fearful of meeting the buccaneer again. If he and Coxon came face to face, it could only turn out badly. Coxon was certain to take revenge for his humiliation, and at least one of his men was in town to help him do so. Hector imagined he would be lucky if he escaped with nothing more than a severe beating, but it could be much worse. From the little he had seen of Port Royal, it was a lawless seaport where corpses were regularly found floating in the harbour.
W HEN W EDNESDAY came, Hector was in an agony of anticipation. By ten o’clock in the morning he had completed the fifth copy of the chart, though the ink was still wet and he had to go down to Snead’s desk to take a pouncet box of sand to sprinkle over the parchment. ‘When will your clients arrive?’ he asked the architect.
‘We gather in the tavern this evening,’ Snead told him. ‘As soon as everyone is present, I will bring them across to inspect the work.’
The architect had dressed more carefully than usual and was shaved though he had nicked his chin with the razor in several places, and there were flecks of dried blood on his neckcloth. Hector wondered how much longer the architect would be able to do his own drawings now that his hand shook so badly. If the evening passed off well and Coxon did not appear, perhaps it was the moment to ask for permanent employment as a draughtsman. If Snead took him on permanently, it would mean that he could stay on in Port Royal and perhaps meet Susanna
‘I’m afraid it is not for sale. It’s a special order.’
‘I suppose it must be for that lot who are assembling off Negril.’
‘I have no idea. They are for Mr Snead’s private clients.’
Gutteridge noticed the stain of ink on Hector’s fingers. ‘Are you his draughtsman?’ he asked, and when Hector nodded, he gave the young man a sideways look and said, ‘How about letting me have a copy, on the side. I’d make it worth your while.’
‘That’s not possible, I’m afraid. And Mr Snead asked that you settle your account.’
Gutteridge shrugged. He seemed unperturbed. ‘Then I’ll do without. A pity. I wish you good day.’ He descended the stairs but on reaching the ground floor, he turned and made one last appeal to Hector. ‘If you change your mind,’ he said, ‘you’ll find my ship, the Jamaica Merchant , at the quay at Thames Street. She’ll be there for three days at most, then I sail for Campeachy to load logwood.’
Hector hesitated for a moment before asking, ‘By any chance will you be calling at Petit Guave on your way?’
Gutteridge fingered the lapel of his shabby coat. ‘I’m thinking of it. French brandy is popular with the Bay Men.’ Then he walked across the shop and let himself out into the street.
The moment Gutteridge left, Hector hurried back to his work table. He still had two more charts to prepare and it was only three days before they must be ready. If he could finish them in time and get his pay from Snead, he might be able to purchase a passage aboard the Jamaica Merchant and find his way to Petit Guave to rejoin Jacques and Dan. Glancing out of the window as he picked up his pen, he watched Gutteridge walking away down the street. As the sea captain passed the door to Snead’s favourite tavern Hector saw a figure which he recognised. Loitering on the doorstep of the grog shop was the sailor he had met on Coxon’s ship, the man with the broken nose and missing fingers.
‘I’ll want you to be on hand next Wednesday when my clients come to collect their charts,’ said Snead who had finally come into the room behind him. The architect was unshaven and pale. ‘There may be last minute changes to be made. I trust you will have all five copies ready.’
‘Yes, of course,’ said Hector. He tried to sound confident, but it was on the tip of his tongue to ask if Captain Coxon was one of the clients and likely to collect his chart in person. He was fearful of meeting the buccaneer again. If he and Coxon came face to face, it could only turn out badly. Coxon was certain to take revenge for his humiliation, and at least one of his men was in town to help him do so. Hector imagined he would be lucky if he escaped with nothing more than a severe beating, but it could be much worse. From the little he had seen of Port Royal, it was a lawless seaport where corpses were regularly found floating in the harbour.
W HEN W EDNESDAY came, Hector was in an agony of anticipation. By ten o’clock in the morning he had completed the fifth copy of the chart, though the ink was still wet and he had to go down to Snead’s desk to take a pouncet box of sand to sprinkle over the parchment. ‘When will your clients arrive?’ he asked the architect.
‘We gather in the tavern this evening,’ Snead told him. ‘As soon as everyone is present, I will bring them across to inspect the work.’
The architect had dressed more carefully than usual and was shaved though he had nicked his chin with the razor in several places, and there were flecks of dried blood on his neckcloth. Hector wondered how much longer the architect would be able to do his own drawings now that his hand shook so badly. If the evening passed off well and Coxon did not appear, perhaps it was the moment to ask for permanent employment as a draughtsman. If Snead took him on permanently, it would mean that he could stay on in Port Royal and perhaps meet Susanna
Similar Books
It's Always Darkest Before the Fridge Door Opens: Enjoying the Fruits of Middle Age
Phil Callaway, Martha O. Bolton
