Six days south-east of Madras, the Huma passed the verdant island of Pulo Penang and moved through the Malacca Strait. Then, west of Borneo, without warning the sea became as smooth as glass, its blue surface unruffled by the slightest breeze. Horne waited for a gust to rise and speed them further into the South China Sea, but the sails hung limp from their yards.

The abrupt disappearance of all wind puzzled the crew. Horne tried to reassure them as they gathered amidships.

‘It’s not unusual, men, for the breeze to fall near the equator. One extreme follows another. A few days earlier we could have been tossed about by a storm.’

A hum passed through the half-naked seamen, the natives of the area confirming Horne’s words with nods of agreement.

‘We can’t sit around waiting for a breeze,’ Horne said more forcibly. ‘There’s work to do.’

Inventing chores to keep the men occupied, he ordered Jud and Groot to lead yard drills. Kiro was set to race gunners back and forth from larboard to starboard stations, Jingee to teach novices how to mend sails. Babcock took a work gang below deck to repack the stores.

During the forenoon watch of the second windless day, Groot and Babcock reported to Horne’s cabin. ‘The men are beginning to feel restless and trapped, schipper,’ Groot announced.

Babcock stabbed a finger at the stern window. ‘Trapped in the middle of all this bloody salt water and worried about dying of thirst.’

‘Reassure the men we have ample fresh water supplies,’ said Horne.

‘They ask what do we do, schipper, when all our drinking water’s gone.’

‘During both the past two nights, Groot, there’s been a heavy downpour. Prepare the first and middle watch to catch rain-water.’

‘What about shade, schipper?’ asked Groot. ‘During the day there’s nowhere for the men to get out of the sun.’

Horne glanced at some drawings on his desk. ‘I’ve been making plans for temporary shelters.’

‘Schipper, the deck’s so hot we have to tie coverings on our bare feet.’

Babcock chorused, ‘Below deck it’s a bloody oven. I can’t work men down there for more than an hour at a stretch.’

Horne acted on Groot’s and Babcock’s report, cutting the watch hours. He also showed the men how to stretch canvas awnings along the ship’s railings. The makeshift shelters allowed protection from the sun as well as giving them a spot from which they could fish for the brightly coloured fish swimming unafraid near the water’s calm surface.

‘But don’t get any ideas about jumping overboard to cool off,’ Horne warned the crew.

‘Swim, swim,’ a Malayan sailor bragged, moving both brown arms in front of his naked chest, making the swimming gestures of a turtle.

‘No,’ Horne said firmly. ‘No swimming.’

He raised his forefinger and, moving it round and round in a circle, he pointed another finger at the mirrorlike sea, warning, ‘Sharks.’

The quarter-deck awning under which Horne had rested during his recovery from the head wound was once more brought out of the hold. Horne gathered his Marines in its shade to listen to the Chinese linguist, Cheng-So Gilbert, whom Governor Pigot had assigned to them as their interpreter in China.

Of Chinese and English extraction, Cheng-So Gilbert was short and pudgy with tawny skin and shiny black hair hanging down to his narrow shoulders. Seated cross-legged on a red satin cushion, Cheng-So Gilbert explained, ‘The city of Canton is closed to all foreign visitors. You cannot go beyond the main gates.’

‘I thought Canton was China’s one port open to all foreigners,’ protested Groot.

‘Foreigners are welcome in Whampoa,’ answered Cheng-So Gilbert, his moon-face set in its habitual half-smile. ‘Whampoa is the port of Canton. But foreigners cannot go inside the walled city.’

‘Why?’ asked Babcock. ‘Are the buildings inlaid with diamonds and rubies? Are the streets paved with gold bricks? Are they scared we’re going to come along and take a few back home with us?’

Cheng-So Gilbert explained patiently. ‘Canton is very plain by Oriental standards, mister. Some men even call it ugly. I cannot give you the true reason why outsiders are not welcome there, but I can repeat a reason I once heard:

‘Many years ago there was famine in the countryside. In Canton, many citizens tilled gardens and kept cattle. Hundreds of farmers flooded to the city to find food. That was when the walls were first built: to protect Canton from hungry outsiders.’

‘We aren’t going to steal rice.’ Babcock pulled his red ear. ‘We just want to take a look around the place.’

‘Ancestors make rules to be obeyed,’ Cheng-So Gilbert answered diplomatically. ‘But please do not feel you are missing anything by not seeing Canton, mister. As I say, the city is without architectural virtue. It is not a beautiful place. Also, the Cantonese shout at strangers. They are not a hospitable people. Believe me, mister, you would not be happy there.’

Kiro spoke up from the other side of the circle. ‘You’d do well to believe him, Babcock. The Chinese do nothing but shout and scream. But they have so many dialects, even they do not know what they are all complaining about.’

With an effort, Cheng-So Gilbert gave the Japanese Marine an amicable smile. ‘It is true, Captain Horne,’ he said. ‘There are many dialects in China.’ Closing his eyes, he clasped his tiny hands together and, bowing his head, confided, ‘I speak seventy-eight.’

Babcock whistled. ‘That includes English?’

‘Of foreign tongues I speak eleven.’

Jingee’s eyes widened. He prided himself on his knowledge of languages, but his tally was far below the number of tongues spoken by Cheng-So Gilbert.

Ever the diplomat, the Chinaman continued, ‘But you do not need to understand people’s words to know when they do not want you in their city. The citizens of Canton will throw rocks at you. They will set their dogs on you. I have seen it.’

‘Dogs?’ Jud nudged Kiro. ‘Maybe I’ll stay aboard ship when he reach China. I don’t like dogs biting me.’

Kiro laughed. ‘How do you like eating dogs? The Chinese find them delicious.’

Babcock’s upper lip curled in disgust. ‘It’s true? Chinese eat dogs?’

Cheng-So Gilbert answered, ‘Dogs are often served in China, yes, mister. My favourite dish, though, is a waterfowl which you will see in Whampoa’s harbour. You can recognise the bird by its warble.’

Cheng-So Gilbert closed his eyes and, pursing his red lips, pulled on his Adam’s apple to make a long, gurgling sound.

Horne joined in the men’s laughter, amused by the interpreter’s bird-call.

He brought the subject back to safety. ‘You say it’s safe to walk along the wharves of Whampoa?’

Cheng-So Gilbert nodded. ‘Yes, yes, Captain Horne. Whampoa is safe. Whampoa is very safe place. The Manchu desire free trade in Whampoa. You will be safe in Whampoa. In Whampoa you will see ships from many foreign countries. France. Denmark. The Netherlands. And, of course, England.’

‘How far is Canton from Whampoa?’ Horne asked.

Cheng-So Gilbert pressed his tiny hands into an arch, dipping his head respectfully as he answered, ‘The distance between the port of Whampoa and Canton, Captain Horne, is eighteen miles.’

The reply pleased Horne. It was the same number listed on the chart.

Next to him, Jingee asked, ‘Please tell us about the island of Macao, Mr Gilbert. Is it near the port of Whampoa?’

‘Macao is located in the Pearl River estuary. From Macao pilot boats will escort the ship to Whampoa. The trip up the Pearl River will last a full day.’

‘Pearl River?’ asked Babcock.

‘The Pearl River flows from Canton down to the sea.’

‘With the island of Macao at the mouth?’ verified Groot.

‘That is correct.’

‘Do the people shout at foreigners in Macao?’ Babcock asked.

Jud added, ‘And set dogs on you?’

‘No, no, no. Macao is controlled by the Portuguese. You are safe in Macao.’

‘Portuguese.’ Groot frowned. ‘Papists.’

‘It is true. The Portuguese have missions on Macao. The Jesuits have made good friends with the Manchu.’ Folding his hands, Cheng-So Gilbert added proudly, ‘I had the honour of studying at the feet of those learned men of God in black robes.’

Horne made a mental note of the fact that his interpreter had been a student of the Jesuits.

Cheng-So Gilbert continued, ‘In Macao, you must only be wary of the sampan people. They are full of tricks and will try to sell you everything. When they are not trying to sell you something, they might be trying to steal from you.’ He laughed. ‘The sampan people are despised and detested by all good Chinese. They not only move through Macao, picking pockets and stealing laundry, but they move about the coastline in their sampans, behaving like the Sulu pirates behave in their praus.’

Questions bombarded the interpreter.

‘What are sampan people?’

‘Sulu pirates? Who are they?’

‘What’s a sampan?’

‘Tell us about pirates.’

Cheng-So Gilbert held up the palms of his tiny hands as if to ward off the barrage of questions. Cheeks round and jolly as he laughed, he answered, ‘First, let me explain what I mean about the Sulus.

‘As you know, mister gentlemen, the Sulus are the most evil, most deadly pirates in all the east. The Sulus sail in the Sulu Sea in their long narrow boats called “praus”.’

‘Sulu Sea?’ Groot, horrified, pointed eastward. ‘You’re talking about the sea at the other end of Borneo? On our sailing route?’

Babcock frowned. ‘We’re not sailing anyplace with no wind, cheesehead.’

Cheng-So Gilbert turned to Groot. ‘The Sulu Sea lies to the east of the South China Sea. North of the island of Celebes.’

‘And there are pirates there?’ asked Jud.

Kiro leaned forward. ‘The Sulus are known pirates around the China Sea.’

The other Marines looked at Horne, memories of the Malagasy attack fresh in their minds.

Wanting to keep the subject on China, Horne turned to the interpreter. ‘You warned us about sampan people, Mr Gilbert,’ he said. ‘Can you expand a little on that subject.’

‘Sampans, as you know, are boats. Sampans have small reed cabins in the middle and do not venture out of sight of land. Since the Manchu Dynasty has come into power in my land, more and more people live on sampans than when the Ming emperors sat on the throne. One theory is that more people in China are homeless than before, that they must live on boats because they do not have land to live on.’

‘Who are these Manchu you keep talking about?’ asked Groot. ‘The new kings of China?’

Cheng-So Gilbert once more digressed to explain how, in the previous century, Manchu invaders from the north had overcome the decadent Ming Dynasty. The Manchu were keen businessmen, he told them; they had devised a plan to control market prices whereby they stored imported goods in sheds on their arrival in China, keeping them under lock-and-key until all foreign ships had docked, thus avoiding fluctuating prices.

Horne did not know how much of this was true, nor how these snippets of Chinese history could be put to use in the search for the China Flyer. Nonetheless, he listened with interest, intrigued by Cheng-So Gilbert and his stories.

For some reason, however, he did not wholly trust the roly-poly man. Why?

While Gilbert was explaining the Chinese respect for ancestors, Horne heard a hubbub rise from the bows.

Looking beyond the port beam, he saw a splashing break the smooth surface of the sea, and a swimmer waving back to his friends on deck.

Damn! Who was disobeying his orders by going swimming? Horne jumped to his feet.

The other Marines followed down the ladder, Cheng-So Gilbert lagging behind, his red satin cushion under one arm.

Horne pushed his way through the crew, immediately recognising the man in the water as the Malayan who had bragged about being able to swim.

‘You damned fool,’ Horne bellowed through cupped hands. ‘Get back here.’

Laughing, the man splashed and waved at Horne, calling, ‘Swim-swim.’

Frustrated, Horne looked around him. He could dive into the water and try dragging the man aboard. If he resisted him, he could knock him unconscious, tie a rope round him, and haul him up over the side.

Feeling a tap on his arm, he glanced round.

Beside him, Jingee stood pointing at the sea.

The crew had also seen the fin breaking the water; they began shouting at their friend, calling him to come back to the ship.

No sooner had the swimmer turned to look over his shoulder to see what the others were pointing at than he disappeared beneath the sea’s smooth surface.

Horne felt his stomach sicken as he watched the struggle that broke the sea’s calmness, the swimmer’s arm shooting up, then redness colouring the blue. More fins circled the spot where the swimmer had been.

A silence fell over the Huma as the men lined the rail, staring helplessly down into the water; no sign remained of their friend—only blood colouring the smooth sea, and the fins of circling sharks.