River of Smoke - Amitav Ghosh [155]
Several years had passed since Bahram had last stepped into the Creek Factory but nothing seemed to have changed: a long dark corridor lay in front of him, smelling of mildew and urine. Innes had taken an apartment in House No. 2 and the entrance to it lay on the right. Striding up to it, Bahram rapped on the door with the knob of his cane. There was no answer so he knocked again. Shortly afterwards the door swung open and he was ushered into Innes’s apartment by a manservant.
Ahead lay a long, narrow room, of the sort that served as living quarters for many a small-time trader in Fanqui-town – except that this one was in a state of wild disorder: dishes encrusted with stale food lay piled on a small dining table and the chairs and settees were heaped with soiled bedclothes. Grimacing in distaste, Bahram turned his eyes to the far end of the room.
As with many apartments in the Creek Factory, this one had a small balcony that overlooked the nullah: so strong was the smell of stale food and unwashed clothing that Bahram decided that this was one instance in which the smell of the creek might actually be preferable to the stench of the room. He was about to step outside, on to the veranda, when Innes came running up the steep staircase that connected his living quarters with his godown, on the floor below: his face was unshaven and he was wearing a jacket and a pair of breeches that looked as though they had not been changed in several days. Glowering at Bahram he said, without preamble: ‘I hope you’ve brought the brass, Mr Moddie.’
‘Why, of course, Mr Innes,’ said Bahram. ‘You will have it after the shipment is safely delivered.’
‘Oh, it’s a-coming all right,’ said Innes.
‘You are sure? Everything is all right?
‘Yes, of course. It has been ordained and will surely come to pass.’ Innes stuck a Sumatra buncus in his mouth and raised a match to the tip. ‘The tide is coming in so they should be here any minute.’
Bahram found himself warming to Innes: there was something heartening about his brutish self-confidence. Your spirits are high, Mr Innes. I’m glad to see it.’
‘I am but an instrument of a higher will, Mr Moddie.’
There was a sudden shout from below stairs: it was Innes’s manservant. ‘Boat! Boat ahoy!’
‘That’ll be them,’ said Innes. ‘I’d better go down to see to the unloading. You can wait on the balcony, Mr Moddie – if you don’t mind a bit of a stinkomalee that is. You’ll get a good dekko of everything from up there.’
‘As you wish, Mr Innes.’ Bahram opened the door to the balcony and stepped outside.
With the tide in flood, the nullah had filled with water and was now at a level where a boat could easily be docked beside Innes’s godown. Glancing downwards, Bahram saw that Innes and his servant had stepped outside, and were standing on the quay, craning their necks to look up the creek. Turning his gaze in that direction, Bahram saw that a boat had slipped in from the river and was moving slowly down the narrow waterway, past the Hoppo’s office: it was a ship’s cutter, rowed by a lascar crew, and guided by two local men.
Even with the tide running high, the creek was so narrow that the cutter’s progress was painfully slow – or so at least it seemed to Bahram, whose forehead had begun to drip with sweat. When at last the boat pulled up at the quay, he breathed a deep sigh and wiped his face with the tail-end of his turban.
‘You see, Mr Moddie?’
It was Innes, standing astride the dock, triumphantly puffing on his buncus: ‘What did I tell you? All delivered,