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Authors: Katherine Sutcliffe
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wharf. At half past ten in the morning the docks were congested with people, natives and British alike, searching the contents of the crates newly arrived from ports throughout the world. The stall-keepers sold an extraordinary assortment of goods, from dried fish to Bibles to ice skates, which made Sarah smile. Ice skates in British Guiana made as much sense as the wool clothing some of the shoppers were purchasing in abundance. There was also furniture, like the oval-backed sofas and gilded mirrors designed to grace stately
European drawing rooms. In the heart of the bazaar was Little China, where Chinese merchants sold silks, carved ivory, and painted porcelains. It was whispered that there was an opium den there as well.
Although the market was cheerful during the morning and afternoon, no sane person would venture there after night- fall. Robbery and throat-cutting were rampant. Even during the heat of midday pickpockets were as numerous as flies preying upon the unwary shoppers who were at their most lethargic. Therefore, Sarah, with Kan at her side, clutched her reticule in her hands and moved cautiously through the market in search of the American.
The decision to confront Morgan Kane one last time had not been an easy one. Desperation was new to her. Somehow she had to convince him to go to Japuri, even if it meant giving him more money. She would find the resources some- where, even sell the extravagant emerald engagement ring Norman had given her if she must. It was a trifle on the gaudy side anyway, although she would never have hurt Norman's feelings by telling him so. She simply wore the ornament in his presence and tucked it away at all other times.
The air felt heavy and hot to her. It reeked with the odor of unwashed bodies and burning tobacco, and the pungent smell of essence of turtle perfume. The shoppers pressed close to the stalls, haggling over less-than-perfect merchandise, their voices rising and falling and occasionally bursting out in ribald laughter. Gradually, as Sarah moved further into the hub where the stalls were packed closer together, allowing little sun to enter, the wares were displayed in eerie dimness. The dried boa skins and tapir skulls draping the stalls were ghostly in the smoky air. Here and there bedraggled men or women without stalls had spread blankets over the ground and strewn trinkets upon mem, mostly jewelry which had been carved from many of the native trees. Others displayed more elaborate pieces, no doubt stolen from the wealthy residents of the city. Sarah pressed closer to Kan as he shoved the loitering Indians aside. Finding the American in these surroundings might be impossible. There were so many merchants and shoppers and—
She stopped.
The tobacco smoke drifted just above her head in a fog, burning her eyes and nose, so that she was forced to blink and gasp for breath. Removing her hat, she strained to see through the acrid cloud, every nerve alert as the American's image appeared and then vanished behind masses of people. Forgetting Kan, she barreled her way around and through the crowd, stumbling on bits of splintered crates and slipping on the remains of a disemboweled fish before stopping in front of his stall.
His head was down, spilling damp black hair to the bridge of his nose as he counted his money. His once white shirt, unbuttoned completely, showed stains of dirt and sweat, and the sleeves had been rolled back, exposing his forearms nearly to his elbows. He clamped a burning cigarette between his teeth.
She cleared her throat.
Without moving his head, he looked up through his fringe of hair. She felt herself blanch and become light-headed. As he contemplated her, neither moving nor blinking, some- thing came into his face, a strange, unexpected vulnerability that left her disarmed and, for a moment, hopeful that he would at least hear her out. But in a flicker of an instant the old arrogance returned. She saw it in the pressed line of his mouth,
European drawing rooms. In the heart of the bazaar was Little China, where Chinese merchants sold silks, carved ivory, and painted porcelains. It was whispered that there was an opium den there as well.
Although the market was cheerful during the morning and afternoon, no sane person would venture there after night- fall. Robbery and throat-cutting were rampant. Even during the heat of midday pickpockets were as numerous as flies preying upon the unwary shoppers who were at their most lethargic. Therefore, Sarah, with Kan at her side, clutched her reticule in her hands and moved cautiously through the market in search of the American.
The decision to confront Morgan Kane one last time had not been an easy one. Desperation was new to her. Somehow she had to convince him to go to Japuri, even if it meant giving him more money. She would find the resources some- where, even sell the extravagant emerald engagement ring Norman had given her if she must. It was a trifle on the gaudy side anyway, although she would never have hurt Norman's feelings by telling him so. She simply wore the ornament in his presence and tucked it away at all other times.
The air felt heavy and hot to her. It reeked with the odor of unwashed bodies and burning tobacco, and the pungent smell of essence of turtle perfume. The shoppers pressed close to the stalls, haggling over less-than-perfect merchandise, their voices rising and falling and occasionally bursting out in ribald laughter. Gradually, as Sarah moved further into the hub where the stalls were packed closer together, allowing little sun to enter, the wares were displayed in eerie dimness. The dried boa skins and tapir skulls draping the stalls were ghostly in the smoky air. Here and there bedraggled men or women without stalls had spread blankets over the ground and strewn trinkets upon mem, mostly jewelry which had been carved from many of the native trees. Others displayed more elaborate pieces, no doubt stolen from the wealthy residents of the city. Sarah pressed closer to Kan as he shoved the loitering Indians aside. Finding the American in these surroundings might be impossible. There were so many merchants and shoppers and—
She stopped.
The tobacco smoke drifted just above her head in a fog, burning her eyes and nose, so that she was forced to blink and gasp for breath. Removing her hat, she strained to see through the acrid cloud, every nerve alert as the American's image appeared and then vanished behind masses of people. Forgetting Kan, she barreled her way around and through the crowd, stumbling on bits of splintered crates and slipping on the remains of a disemboweled fish before stopping in front of his stall.
His head was down, spilling damp black hair to the bridge of his nose as he counted his money. His once white shirt, unbuttoned completely, showed stains of dirt and sweat, and the sleeves had been rolled back, exposing his forearms nearly to his elbows. He clamped a burning cigarette between his teeth.
She cleared her throat.
Without moving his head, he looked up through his fringe of hair. She felt herself blanch and become light-headed. As he contemplated her, neither moving nor blinking, some- thing came into his face, a strange, unexpected vulnerability that left her disarmed and, for a moment, hopeful that he would at least hear her out. But in a flicker of an instant the old arrogance returned. She saw it in the pressed line of his mouth,
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