Sacred Hunger - Barry Unsworth [154]
Thurso, who had requested half an hour with the Governor after dinner, was ready enough to confirm this; he did so, in fact, with discourteous emphasis. Paris’s presence was increasingly an irritant to him these days. Nevertheless, it was in a spirit of resentment rather than relief that he watched his surgeon’s retreat, the broad-shouldered, awkward form, the tendency to step a little short as if about to alter pace or make some bounding advance which in fact was never made. The man had been no earthly use from the start, merely a source of trouble and vexation …
He was conducted into a small chamber on an upper floor, which the Governor used as an office. Here he was offered brandy, while the Governor himself, now in pale blue robe and round black skull-cap, sipped at a glass of pale fluid. ‘Camomile tea, sir,’ he said with customary languidness. ‘An excellent specific for the digestion. I take a glass of it lukewarm every evening, before retiring for the night. Lukewarm, not too hot – in case you ever feel tempted to try it.’
A small fire was burning in the grate, though the evening was not cold. He had one lit, he explained, in all the apartments he used. ‘To combat the infernal damp that is constantly emanating from the stone,’ he said. ‘Well, sir, how may I be of service to you? I understand from Saunders that you saw the slaves but expressed some reservations.’
‘Reservations.’ The word came gravelled with effort, as if only outrage could have forced it from the reluctant larynx. ‘Sir, I cannot buy the slaves at the prices you are asking. There is no profit for my owner at those prices.’
‘Come now, Captain.’ The Governor spoke with the same nonchalance, but his gaze had sharpened. ‘You know well that there is still profit in it for you. If we were dealing privately together, no doubt I could offer you a lower price. But you must remember the heavy expenses the Company is under in the maintenance of this fort. There is a small army here of clerks, factors, artificers, who all have to have their wages. There is a chaplain. There are the permanent officers of the Company. There is a garrison of a hundred troops, at the Company’s charge for victuals. Allow me also to remind you that you enjoy all the advantages of warehousing here, without a penny of cost. The Company acts as a depot for the goods, they are collected here and wait for you, saving you the trouble and danger of foraging in the unhealthy swamps behind. Moreover, the Company takes care of relations with local chiefs and all intermediaries in the trade, and lays out money to keep them well disposed. But I don’t really need to remind you of this, do I, Captain? You are an old hand.’
‘Yes, sir, I am. Of course I know the Company has expenses. But so they did in the days of your predecessor, and he kept the surcharge to five bars a head. I know these up-country prices – I would be surprised if you were paying more than twenty bars. Your predecessor –’
‘My predecessor died here.’ The Governor’s face was still set in its usual expression of cold composure, but his voice had risen. ‘He lies out there in the graveyard on the hill, with his name cut rough in the stone by a drunken mason. He lasted eighteen months before drink and the climate finished him. It is not my way to explain myself, Captain Thurso, but tonight is perhaps something of an occasion – it is a year to the day since I came out here.’ The Governor paused for some moments, with head raised. ‘That knocking still,’ he said. ‘They are working through the night.’
‘They will have light enough for it,’ Thurso said stolidly. ‘It is a full moon tonight.’
The Governor compressed his lips. There was so little colour in them that only the moulding at the corners indicated the contours of the mouth. Again, in what was clearly a habitual gesture, he dabbed at