"I'm going ashore to see Pa' Mahmud now," Bryant shouted. "Stand by for storm signals!"
"They're already flying," Scott answered. "We're not getting any pepper."
"We'll soon fix that—I hope. Want to ride with me?"
"I'd like to."
"Stand by, then."
Fox spoke from behind Scott. "Like me to go along, too, sir?"
"No. You take over the ship and keep a sharp watch. Ill send for you, if I need you."
"I can bring Pa' Mahmud around, sir. I can straighten him out."
"I'm going to let Captain Bryant say his piece first."
Fox looked at him closely. "And what will that be ... if I may ask, sir?"
"He's going to tell him that eleven dollars is the top price either of us will pay."
The second mate shoved his cap back. "I hope he tells him—well—diplomatically, sir." He paused. "It won't make the rajah any friendlier toward us, you know. He may say that he's not going to trade with either of us."
"He's going to live up to his bargain to sell me five hundred piculs," Scott said tersely. "He can stop then, if he wants to."
Dorcas leaned on the rail to smile down at Bryant when his boat came alongside. He grinned back. "You're looking mighty pretty this morning, Miss Russell... prettier'n I remembered."
"You talk like a Spaniard, Captain Bryant."
"Well, I've been to Spain. The difference between Spaniards and me is that I'm always truthful."
Scott glanced at her, seeing that she obviously was pleased. He rather wished he had the same easy flow of speech as the handsome New Englander. Touching his cap to her, he dropped into the Sally Culhreath’s boat.
"Mr. Fox," Dorcas said, turning from the rail as the boat pulled away from the ship's side, "is there going to be trouble?"
"Like we had with Suran, you mean?"
"Yes."
"No—not if the captain'll listen to me, that is. I don't mean this as a criticism of Captain Rogers specifically, but most shipmasters lean toward being highhanded. In dealing with the natives hereabouts you have to be firm, but also diplomatic. You probably heard me try to get that over to the captain."
She nodded, looking again at the boat, and Fox moved a step closer and spoke soothingly. "Now don't you worry. I can handle Pa' Mahmud. I just hope Captain Rogers and Captain Bryant don't rile him too much. Talking with a native rajah or dato is sort of like talking to a spoiled child ... a child in command of armed men, if you follow me."
"I do," she said seriously.
"You know," he said, changing the subject easily, "I'm just the second officer of this ship, but I'm a qualified shipmaster. In time I'll be on top."
She was mildly surprised. "I'm sure you will, Mr. Fox."
He laughed mirthlessly. "I didn't mean to sound so sour, Miss Russell. But it was because of me that we came out here to trade; it was all my idea." He paused, and she looked at him closely. "Well, a man sometimes gets to thinking about things that are and things that should be. I hope you understand."
"I do," she said innocently. "I've often thought that my father wasn't appreciated ... for his knowledge and real goodness, I mean. Actually he is a very learned man, a true scholar."
Fox smiled ingratiatingly. "I know he is learned. I was flattered by his suggestion I might help him in compiling an English-Malay dictionary. Such a volume would be most helpful to traders out here."
Just then Russell himself put in an appearance, covering a yawn with his hand. "I wonder if we could go ashore again. I've been thinking that in a town the size of Stallapoo there should be a teacher, someone from whom I could learn more of the language."
"I don't know about the teacher, sir," Fox said. "As for going ashore, it might be possible later."
"Trouble?"
"Not exactly, sir. We're not getting any pepper, and the captain's gone ashore to find out why."
Russell removed his glasses and polished them with a handkerchief. "I'm sure he'll work things out. He's a competent man, I'd say."
In the boat meantime Scott and Bryant talked little, but as the craft neared the rough surf the latter asked, "Are you armed?"
"I've got a pistol under my shirt," Scott replied, his eyes on the idle men at the weighing station. "It makes something of a bulge."
"So have I. . . just in case. You can't trust these people too far."
Ashore they found Peary fuming with anger and impatience, "That bastard Pa' Mahmud's holding out on us, captain. His man Khidzir—the fellow who's been helping me weigh the stuff—hasn't shown up, as you can see."
"Captain Bryant's going up to talk with the rajah now."
Peary grunted. "Say the word and we'll take all the pepper in Stallapoo. Hurst, there, knows where most of it's stored."
Scott looked at the erstwhile Indian trader, who sat with his back against a coconut tree, eyes closed and long rifle across his knees. He had the feeling that, for all his appearance of somnolence, the backwoodsman was as alert as any of them; and he wondered what had driven the man to the sea, for which he had no affinity.
"No point in standing around here jawing," Bryant said abruptly. "Care to accompany me to the palace, captain?"
"I will," Scott said, glad to have something to do. "I take it you know the lingo."
"Oh, hell, yes," Bryant said. "I spent six months on this coast in 1808. I wasn't an officer and half owner of a ship then, though; all I had to do was look out for my own skin."
The townspeople they encountered showed neither friendship nor hostility, Scott observed on the way to the official residence; they simply stayed clear of the two white men. The heavy pistol under his shirt was a comforting weight.
The rajah kept them waiting nearly an hour before he appeared. His restrained greeting was a shade more cordial to Bryant.
The master of the Salem brig got down to business at once, stating his position tersely. Scott, understanding only the words lada and dollars, watched Pa' Mahmud's face carefully, seeing the man's eyes narrow a trifle as he listened. When Bryant finished, the Malay responded in English.
"Not enough," he said.
"He means he won't sell for eleven dollars," Bryant explained.
"Not even the balance of the amount promised me?"
Bryant nodded.
Scott felt nervous perspiration break out in the palms of his hands, but he spoke evenly. "We made a bargain he was happy with. We've paid the agreed-on price for every ounce delivered. I expect him to deliver the rest. Tell him that, will you?"
Bryant translated. Pa' Mahmud spoke scornfully in Malay.
"He says he's not Suran," Bryant said finally. "He says he won't be cheated, and that he's not going to deliver any more pepper at eleven dollars. He says he'll sell to us both at thirteen."
Scott's face darkened. "He'll finish out five hundred piculs at the price agreed on."
Pa' Mahmud's response to that was to strike a brass gong suspended from the ceiling. Bryant, who did not see the quick motion of his hand, jumped nervously at the clanging sound. Fresh sweat broke out all over Scott as natives armed with javelins, swords, creeses and muskets began pouring into the spacious room. Then Pa' Mahmud spoke sharply, contemptuously.
"He says he has many more fighting men," Bryant said nervously.
"And in my ship I have four guns that'll reach this place," Scott said, "not to mention my pistol."
"For Christ's sake, man," Bryant whispered, "don't pull your pistol! We'd be butchered."
Scott fixed hard eyes unwaveringly on Pa' Mahmud's face. "Tell him I won't be held up, Bryant. He can finish out his end of the bargain or I'll turn the ship's guns on this palace."
Listening angrily, the rajah hesitated visibly, trying to stare Scott down. The latter, aware of threatening gestures to either side and suspecting them behind, kept a bold front. There could be no temporizing now; he'd made his speech, and he had to stand by it.