The Book of the Heathen (7 page)

‘I know,' he said.

‘Do you know where he went, what happened to him?'

He looked up at me, his eyes moving rapidly from side to side, as though he were about to make some revelation, but then their motion slowed and ceased and he shook his head. He was not being entirely truthful with me. I also sensed that he had come to me for some purpose other than to reveal his attachment to Frere.

‘Are your parents living?' I asked him.

He shrugged.

‘I once thought the boatman was your grandfather.'

He shook his head.

‘Where do you live?' It was a ridiculous question in a place where men lived and slept where they stood and fell. Another shrug.

And after that, perhaps because he was unwilling to tolerate my questioning any further, or perhaps because his brief visit had achieved its uncertain purpose, he rose awkwardly from his seat and left me.

*   *   *

Hammad's home stood three miles from the Belgian Station, along a well-kept road, and was surrounded by a high wall, beyond which lay orange and pomegranate orchards, and fields of millet, rice and sugar cane. It was built – as all his homes were reputed to be built – in the Moorish fashion, with a courtyard, colonnades, minarets and high-domed roofs. This particular residence also possessed an ice plant, a series of inter-connected yard pools with water running between them, and was planted along its walls with date palms transported half-grown from the Nile. Whenever one of these trees toppled or succumbed to some disease, then another was quickly sent for to replace it. The trees were a symbol, not so much of Hammad's wealth, but of his power, of his attention to detail, and of his ability to satisfy his every whim. His wealth was estimated in literally countless millions regardless of currency.

He inherited his position and his business from his father following his education in London, Paris and Berlin. He had travelled to India and to the United States; he enjoyed proclaiming that his commercial empire spanned the world. Only here did it serve him to be considered a brutal and, occasionally, an uncivilized man. We on this side of the river had all long since understood that, were Frere ever to be located in the wilderness, then he would eventually find his way to Hammad, and then from Hammad back to us. No price would be put on his return – though its cost made plain – and once again we would find ourselves in irredeemable debt to the man.

I had been only once to visit him on the far side, summoned six months after my arrival. Frere and I had been called together. It was impossible not to be impressed by what we saw there, what we were shown, what we were told and what we were invited to inspect and to sample. Hammad's wives and servants gathered round us and expressed an interest in everything we said. We had taken gifts with us – including a pair of Wheelock hunting pistols – and saw immediately how inadequate these were. Hammad, however, made a great deal of them, thanking us profusely and then going out into a courtyard to practise shooting with them. We were given gifts in return and invited to what amounted to nothing less than a feast. Hammad, I noticed, behaved as though I had never before met him.

In truth, it served his purpose to have us – the English – there, just as it had once suited the Belgians to have the surrounding country in thrall to Hammad's power and reputation. It was an uneasy existence at best, but one from which none of us could now easily withdraw.

He asked Frere and me on that occasion if there was anything we needed from him, and I told him there was nothing and disappointed him. Frere, however, listed the great number of animals, birds and plants he hoped to collect. He also told Hammad that he wished to meet men of the surrounding tribes who would be prepared to tell him of their ways of life and customs; he wanted to learn about their religious ceremonies, about how they farmed, hunted, built and traded.

Amon was also present at this encounter, seated behind Hammad, and I saw that he made notes concerning everything that was discussed. I also noticed that whatever Hammad did, his agent mirrored in some way. This was not so obvious or as simple as mere repetition, but achieved by some reinforcing action so as to suggest to any audience that there must be no misunderstanding of his master's wishes, and that the two of them, master and agent, were, in the manner of these transactions, indivisible.

The centre-piece of the feast that evening had been a whole roast ostrich, plucked, cooked and then with its feathers ingeniously replaced so as to make the bird look almost alive again. Hammad, I saw, belying his size and weight, ate very little, and I learned afterwards from Amon that his master preferred always to eat alone. As a young man, apparently, one of his rivals in the trade had attempted to poison him, and it had been a lesson hard learned. I saw how much this lesser man fed upon the greater, how his own power was that of a moon orbiting its sun.

At the corner of his mouth, Amon bore a small scar, a snick across both lips, barely visible other than as a crescent of paler flesh. I had been told by Cornelius that Hammad himself had done this to his newly appointed agent upon overhearing his gossiping about his business. I could imagine in its every clinical detail how the punishment had been carried out, how reasonable Hammad would have made himself appear, and how deserving of this reminder Amon would have declared himself.

On my every meeting with Amon since, I had found my eyes drawn to the scar, and occasionally I had seen him feel it with the tip of his tongue.

The feast had been over two years ago, and I had since encountered Hammad, and then only briefly, on fewer than half a dozen occasions.

Ever since Frere's return, and learning that Hammad was in some way involved, I had expected to be summoned again by the man, even if only to be made aware of the true nature of our debt to him. Instead of being called for, however, word reached us by a messenger that Hammad intended crossing the river to visit us, and he came scarcely before the news of his coming had grown cold.

He possessed a fleet of steamers, and he came on the largest of these, accompanied by two others. A space was cleared at our wharves and the work of the day was suspended during the visit.

Hammad went first to Cornelius and embraced him. Then he went to Fletcher. He called for something to be brought from the steamer. It was a rifle, not a gift, merely something Hammad had recently acquired, and he gave it to Fletcher to test its action, and to ask Fletcher if he would align the weapon's sights before he left.

Abbot and the junior quartermasters were ignored.

I was approached first by Amon, rather than by Hammad himself, and told by the agent that Hammad wished to see me privately later in the day.

Hammad was accompanied by forty or fifty men and half that number of women. Most carried trade goods and proceeded to unload these and to barter with the traders here. Some of the women, I imagined, were Hammad's wives, but others I recognized for the whores they were, and they too began to ply their trade, accompanying men away from the river and into the sheds and trees beyond.

‘It's a great honour to have Hammad come to us and not merely to be summoned by him,' I said to Amon. If the man detected the coldness in my voice, then he did not respond to it.

‘A great honour indeed. And one you would do well not to forget for the sake of the child-murderer.' He smiled as he spoke. Thus was I told everything I needed to know concerning the purpose of the visit, and of my own part within it.

Amon was then called for and he returned to walk beside his master.

I was then propositioned by several of the women. They grabbed my hand and pressed it to their exposed breasts and arms. I shouted at them, but to little effect. They continued to pester me as I walked among the boats to see what had been brought. The women painted their eyes with kohl, and anointed themselves with oil. Once, they had been kept out of the compound, and then punished when they were caught selling themselves there, but now there were so many of them, and they came so frequently, that we tolerated them, only now and again making an example of one of the women if she was caught stealing.

I was forced to wash myself, scour my hands before returning to my maps and awaiting the return of Hammad.

He came finally mid-way through the afternoon. And with him came Amon.

Our greetings were as elaborate and as insincere as those earlier.

Hammad motioned for Amon to remain apart from us, to stay as far from us as was possible in the room. Accordingly, Amon remained in the doorway. He took a small book from his pocket and pretended to read from it, pretended not to overhear every word that passed between Hammad and myself. I wondered how Hammad was served by having this recorder present at all his transactions. Perhaps Amon persuaded him it was necessary; or perhaps it was a way of safeguarding his own precarious position.

‘I am so pleased you are able to divert yourself from your work to talk to me,' Hammad said.

‘The pleasure is always mine,' I said, our strategies opened.

‘Particularly under such circumstances, eh?'

I affected not to understand him, but he dismissed this with a slight wave of his hand. Frere was right: I did underestimate the man.

He hesitated at my clumsiness, but said nothing. He went to my desk and considered the partially drawn map there.

‘Do you know the country?' I asked him.

In answer, he smoothed his palms over the paper and breathed deeply, almost as though he were possessing the place, or some fond memory of it. ‘In Cairo, I have a collection of maps and charts numbering almost two thousand. You would not imagine so many had ever been made. It seems a mania. I employ my own map-makers. They show me where I have been and where I am going. I daresay you draw yours to serve an entirely different purpose.'

There was a great deal of empty space on the map before him, and he ran his hand into this whiteness, left it there for a moment and then raised it to his face and studied it, as though an imprint of something might remain. Then he held out his palm, fingers splayed, to me and asked me what I saw there. At first I didn't understand him, had misunderstood the rules of the game we were still playing.

‘I see the rivers and paths of your hand,' I told him.

He considered this for a moment and then burst into laughter. He repeated what I had said to Amon, who did not laugh, exactly, but who produced an openmouthed grin from which Hammad's own laughter might at that moment have been coming.

This ceased as abruptly as it had begun.

‘I believe we understand each other, you and I, Captain Frasier.'

I no longer used the title. I had told him this at our first meeting, but he had insisted then that it was something hard-earned, something to be proud of, and so I had unwillingly acquiesced to his use of it. He himself carried a great many honorary titles, awarded to him, presumably – or so it suited me to believe – by people who confused fear with respect.

On that first visit to his home, Frere and I had been shown the specially constructed cabinet, inlaid with gold and mother-of-pearl, in which all the various medals and insignia attached to these titles were kept. Four locks secured the cabinet and its massive feet were bolted to the floor. I gained then some notion of the vanity which fed the man's appetites.

‘Are we talking about Nicholas Frere?' I asked him, keen to bring this circumvention to an end.

‘We are indeed.'

‘Do you know the circumstances of his disappearance and discovery?'

‘And a great deal else besides.' He continued to look around me as he spoke.

‘Then was it you who found him?'

In the doorway, Amon flinched at the harshness of my words and all they implied.

‘Indeed, and as you already well know, it was not. I did, however, have the opportunity to speak with the father of the dead girl.' This was his counter-blow. And it was he who told me everything that had happened.'

‘And are you going to relate the story to me, here, now?'

He smiled at this. Ah.'

‘Then tell me what you wish to tell me, ask whatever it is you are going to ask of me.'

‘Ask of you? Ask what of you? I merely wished to see you to tell you that, whatever the outcome of this unhappy affair, whatever the fate of that disgraced and unhappy man – the murderer Frere – that I am prepared to present my testimony to whatever court wishes to try him in the matter.'

‘But whatever you said would only be hearsay, the words of another, not your own.'

‘Ah, of course.' He locked his fingers, pretended to consider what he was about to say next. ‘Perhaps I am not making myself clear. What I meant to say was that I would be happy not only to appear before any such court, but that I would also be happy to ensure that the girl's father appeared, that I will guarantee this, and that I shall do whatever I can for the grieving, disconsolate man from this time until that. The loss of a daughter, and under such circumstances as those – can you or I ever truly understand how that poor and wretched man must feel?' The tone of his voice changed as he spoke. There was now no attempt to suggest concern, and he spoke solely to make his own unspoken demands clear to me.

‘Is it possible to see this man?' I said.

‘The feather-collector? I am afraid not. But rest assured, he is well cared for. He says he wants to die, that his daughter was his only remaining child, her mother long since dead or left behind or whatever.'

I knew now that he was embellishing, but knew also that a lie repeated was no more or less of a lie for that.

‘You believe that we will be overtaken by events elsewhere?' I said. ‘That Nicholas Frere will not be sent home to face trial, that he will be tried here?'

‘How perceptive,' he said. ‘However, I shall travel to London, if necessary. And gladly.'

‘And your witness?'

‘Ah. The man would be persuaded.'

‘With you as his protector, how could he refuse?'