Buccaneer

'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.

It 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.'

Abruptly the architect must have realised that he had said too much for he quickly swept up both charts, rose to his feet and walked unsteadily across the room to put them back in the chest. Then, mumbling a farewell, he set out for his evening's drinking in the tavern.

Next morning Snead had still not appeared in his shop when Hector heard a knock on the door to the street. Opening it, he found a middle-aged, weather-beaten man dressed in a sea captain's coat that looked the worse for wear. 'I wish to speak with Robert Snead,' the visitor asked.

'I'm afraid he is not available’ Hector said. 'Perhaps I can help.'

The man stepped inside, and closed the door behind him. He looked carefully at Hector, then said, 'I've come for a chart.'

'I'm afraid that Mr Snead is an architect. . .' Hector began, but his response was brushed aside.

'I know all about that,' the man replied, 'but I've bought maps from him before. The name is Gutteridge, Captain Gutteridge.'

'Then perhaps you will wait here, and I will consult Mr Snead,' Hector answered. Leaving Gutteridge in the shop he hurried up to the architect's bedchamber. He found Snead still in bed, huddled under a quilt and dressed in his nightclothes. He was looking liverish and the room stank of liquor.

'There's a Captain Gutteridge in the shop,' Hector began. 'He's come for a map. I told him that you do not deal with maps. But he says he's bought them from you before.'

Snead gave a groan. 'And never paid me for them either,' he said sourly. 'Go back down, and tell Captain Gutteridge that he won't get any more charts until he's settled his account.'

On his way back to the shop, Hector found that the captain had followed him up the stairs and was now standing in the room where Hector worked, looking down at the chart being copied.

'That. . .' said Gutteridge, tapping the chart 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.