Buccaneer (7 page)

‘Can I help you?’ the man asked. He removed the spectacles and rubbed a hand across his eyes. They were bloodshot.

‘I would like to speak with Mr Snead,’ Hector said.

‘I am Robert Snead. Are you looking for a design or practical advice?’ The man’s near-sighted gaze took in Hector’s clothing which, now that he had sold his jacket, was not as respectable as it had seemed earlier.

‘I hope to find employment, sir,’ Hector answered. ‘My name is Hector Lynch. I have worked with maps and charts, and have a fair hand.’

Robert Snead looked uneasy. ‘I am an architect and surveyor, not a mapmaker.’ He shifted uncomfortably in his chair. ‘Anyone who makes maps and charts, or sells them, needs to have a licence.’

‘I did not know,’ Hector apologised. ‘I saw the sign outside and thought it was for a mapmaker.’

‘We use many of the same tools of trade,’ Snead admitted. He gave Hector a shrewd glance. ‘Is it true that you can work with charts?’

‘Yes, sir. I have worked with coastal maps, harbour plans, and the like.’ Hector thought it politic not to mention that his work had been for a Turkish admiral in Barbary.

Snead thought for a moment. Then, sliding a sheet of paper and a pen across the desk towards him, he said, ‘Show me what you can do. Draw me an anchorage protected by a reef, showing the depths and marking the best place where a vessel might lie.’

Hector did as he was asked, and after Snead had inspected the little drawing, he rose from his chair and said cautiously, ‘Well . . . there may be something for you to do after all, for a few days at least. If you will follow me.’ He led Hector up a flight of stairs at the back of his shop and brought him into the room directly above. Its balcony looked out over the street. Here too was a broad table, apparently used for entertaining as it was set with pewter plates and mugs and there were several chairs and a bench beside it. Snead pushed aside the tableware to leave a clear space, and crossing to a chest standing in one corner lifted the lid and took out several sheets of parchment. He laid them on the table and began to leaf through them. ‘These are for the conveyancing lawyers and landowners,’ the architect explained. The top sheets were surveyor’s plans of what seemed to be plantations, and it was evident that an important part of the architect’s job was to make drawings that established the boundaries of newly cleared estates. These sheets Snead laid aside until he came to what was obviously a sea chart concealed among the other papers. The chart was in some detail for it extended across two sheets of parchment. Snead took just one of the pages and spread it out on the table. ‘Can you make a fair copy of that?’ he asked, peering over his spectacles, and carefully turning the second sheet face down.

Hector glanced down at the map. It was a navigation chart. It showed a length of coastline, various off-shore islands and a number of landmarks which would be useful to anyone navigating along the coast. He had no idea what coast it displayed.

‘Yes,’ he replied. ‘That should not be difficult.’

‘How long would it take you?’

‘Two days, perhaps less.’

‘Then you’ve got yourself ten days’ work if the first copy is to my satisfaction. I’ll want five copies made and I’ll pay two pounds for each, plus a bonus if they are ready by next Wednesday.’ He paused, and gave Hector a sly look. ‘But you don’t leave this house, and you don’t speak to anyone about the work. I’ll arrange for my housekeeper to prepare your meals, and you can sleep in a spare room in the garret. Do you understand?’

‘Yes, of course,’ said Hector. He was scarcely able to believe his good fortune. On his first morning in Port Royal he had found both employment and accommodation. With the pay he could resume his search for a ship that would take him to Petit Guave.

‘Good,’ said Snead, ‘then you can begin work as soon as you have gone to collect your things.’

‘I have nothing to collect,’ Hector admitted.

Snead looked him up and down, a gleam of understanding in his eyes.

‘Runaway, are you? Well, that’s no concern of mine,’ he said with obvious satisfaction, ‘but if you breathe a word to anyone about your work, I’ll see to it that your master learns exactly where you are to be found.’ He nodded towards the pile of surveys. ‘Most of the big landowners and the wealthy merchants come to seek my services, and I can soon find out who is missing an indentured man.’

B
EFORE THE DAY
was out, Hector had discovered that Snead was not as fierce as he at first made out. The architect had scarcely left the young man to his work in the upper room when he came back up the stairs and announced that he was closing his shop and would be back in half an hour. If Hector needed additional supplies of paper, pens and ink, he would find them in the downstairs office. A moment later the young man heard the front door close, and glancing out of the window he saw Snead walking off down the street, then turn into a nearby alehouse. When Snead came back rather more than an hour later, Hector concluded that his employer was drunk. He heard him knock over a chair as he fumbled his way back to his desk. By then Hector had identified the region shown by the chart he was copying.

It was a map of the Caribbean shores of Central America. He remembered the general outline of the coast from the smaller scale chart that he had used aboard
L’Arc-de-Ciel.
Now he was being asked to copy out a larger and much more accurate version which covered the northern half of that coast. He guessed that the second sheet, the one that Snead had hidden from him, showed the southern portion. Clearly someone had recently sailed along the coast and made numerous observations. The sheet in front of him was covered with handwritten notes to help a navigator recognise his landfall, then track his progress, avoiding reefs and other outlying dangers, select from a number of different harbours and anchorages, and find watering places. Whoever had written these notes had not ventured more than a few miles inland because the interior of the countryside was left blank.

The map seemed harmless and it was puzzling that Snead was being so secretive about it. Hector supposed that even if the architect was caught dealing in maps without a licence, he would receive only a minor penalty. Yet more mysterious was the fact that he needed five copies.

As Hector began work, Susanna’s image kept appearing in his thoughts. He saw her walking in the garden of her father’s plantation house, or as he had last seen her, seated in a carriage and smiling at him gravely. From time to time he put aside his drawing materials and gazed sightlessly out of the window, dreaming of what it must be like to hold her in his arms. Once or twice he even dared to wonder whether she too was thinking about him.

His reverie was broken by the sound of Snead’s footsteps on the stair. With a start Hector realised that it was late in the day. When the architect entered the room, he glanced over the part-finished copy that Hector had been working on, and appeared to be satisfied with what he saw, for he sat down heavily on the bench at the end of the table and announced that it was time for Hector to stop work. ‘So you say your name is Lynch,’ he observed, picking up the quill pen that Hector had been using. ‘Not a convincing nom de plume.’ He waved the feather in the air, smirking owlishly at his pun. ‘I would have thought you could have come up with something more original.’

Hector realised that Snead was convinced that he was sheltering a fugitive indentured man, also that the architect was very tipsy. He smelled the rum on his new employer’s breath.

‘Lynch is my real name, sir,’ Hector protested.

Snead seemed not to hear him. He gave a drunken hiccup and stared at Hector. ‘You can’t be a Lynch. You don’t look like one.’

Hector saw his opportunity. ‘You know the Lynches, sir?’ he asked.

‘Who doesn’t? Richest family on the island. I’ve done surveys for three of their plantations. They must own at least thirty thousand acres.’

‘Have you met Robert Lynch or his sister?’ Hector was desperate to glean a few more details about Susanna.

‘Young Robert? He came to the office a few times when I was doing drawings for their new townhouse here in Port Royal. And a very elegant structure it is, if I do say so myself,’ Snead hiccuped.

‘And what about his sister?’

‘You mean Susanna? I think that’s her name. Quite a catch, that one. I doubt there’s anyone on the island who would be a match for her. She’ll probably find her husband in London next time she goes there. Pretty girl but said to be headstrong.’

Snead swivelled round on the bench to face the door. Raising his voice, he shouted for food to be brought. A voice answered from somewhere deep within the house, and a little while later an elderly woman, whom Hector presumed to be Snead’s housekeeper, appeared with a tray of food which she placed on the table.

‘Come on. You share this with me,’ said the architect, waving to a seat near him as he began to ladle soup into his mouth. Hector came to the conclusion that the architect was a lonely man and eager for company.

I
T WAS MID
-
MORNING
on the following day that Hector received an unwelcome jolt of recognition. He had slept the night in a small room on the topmost floor of Snead’s premises, and next morning with the tropical sunlight flooding his work table from the open window, he had made good progress with copying the first chart. He was at the stage when he had drawn the coastline and all its islands and reefs, and begun to write in their names, consulting the handwritten notes from the original. He was labelling the anchorages and harbours when he saw that one of the anchorages was marked ‘Captain Coxon’s Hole’. He checked the handwritten notes again, and there was no mistake. A small natural harbour on one of the islands had been named after the buccaneer. Hector could see that it made an ideal refuge. The island lay far enough off the mainland to be rarely visited, and the anchorage was very discreet. It was concealed behind a reef, and protected by a low ridge of hills. So when Snead came to check on his employee’s progress just before his noontime visit to the tavern, Hector casually asked how Coxon’s Hole had got its name. The reaction he received was a surprise.

‘It’s named after a friend of mine,’ Snead announced and he sounded proud of the association. ‘He used to have a house here in Port Royal. Knows that coast as well as anyone. Discovered that anchorage and been using it on and off ever since.’

Hector puzzled over the architect’s answer all that afternoon, and when Snead was in a particularly good mood at supper, he asked the architect when he had last seen his friend. ‘Not for the past couple of years but – who knows – he could turn up at any time.’

Hector noted how Snead had cast a quick glance towards the finished chart still lying on the end of the table. Alarmed, Hector risked a further question.

‘Is Captain Coxon a good customer then?’

His enquiry was met with a suspicious stare. Then Snead must have decided that he could trust his new assistant. Rising from his chair he took the second page of the chart from the chest and laid it beside the one that Hector had just completed. As Hector had suspected, the two maps covered almost the entire Caribbean coast of Central America. Waving his hand over the maps, Snead exclaimed, ‘There you have it! The key to the South Sea!’ Then he sat back down heavily in his usual place and picked up his tankard.

‘The South Sea?’ Hector asked. ‘But that’s on the far side of the isthmus. Is that not another word for the Pacific?’

‘You misunderstand me,’ Snead declared, waving at the map again. ‘Here we have the gateway. The riches lie beyond. We are opening the way for our clients.’

‘And will we also provide them with charts of the South Sea?’ Hector enquired.

Snead looked at him in drunken astonishment.

‘Charts of the South Sea!’ he exclaimed. ‘You speak of Golconda and the Valley of Diamonds! If I had such charts, either I could command a king’s ransom or both of us would find ourselves victims of a Spanish stiletto.’

‘For what reason?’

‘How else do the Spaniards sail up and down the coast of Peru, and safely bring back the silver from their mines and the other products of their possessions in South America, if they did not have such maps? But they are state secrets. Men would murder for them. That is why men talk of the South Sea Adventure.’