Sea of Poppies

'What's going on, Mr Crowle?'

'I've got something y'need to see, Ma

Zachary stepped quickly outside, pulling his door shut behind him. 'What is it?'

'I'll show yer, but not here. And not while I've got this Baboon on my hands. Best he cools off in yer cabin.' Before Zachary could say anything, Mr Crowle pushed the door open and kneed the gomusta in the small of his back, propelling him past Zachary, into his cabin. Without looking inside, the first mate pulled the door shut. Then he lifted an oar out of a wall-bracket and thrust the shaft through the looped handles. 'That should hold him while we're sorting this out.'

'And where are we going to do that?'

'My cabin's as good a place as any.'

As with a bear in its den, the reassurance of being in his own space lent an extra heft to the first mate's already formidable physique: once he and Zachary were inside, with the door closed behind them, he seemed to swell and expand, leaving Zachary very little room. The vessel was swaying wildly and they had to stretch out their arms to steady themselves against the sides of the cabin. But even then, standing spreadeagled and chest to chest, bumping against each other with the schooner's every lurch, Mr Crowle seemed intent on using his height and bulk to crowd Zachary into sitting down on his bunk. But this, Zachary would not do: there was something in the first mate's demeanour that spoke of an excess of emotion that was even more disturbing than the overt aggression of the past. In order not to yield any ground to the larger man, Zachary forced himself to stay on his feet.

'Well then, Mr Crowle? What did you want to see me about?'

'Somethin ye'll thank me for, Reid.' The first mate reached into his vest and pulled out a yellowing sheet of paper. 'Got this off that gooby – Pander, i

'What is it?'

'It's the crew-list – for the Ibis, on'er run out from Baltimore.'

'And what of it?' said Zachary, frowning.

'Take a dekko, Reid.' Holding up the lamp, the mate handed him the tattered slip of paper. 'Go on – see fer y'self.'

Back when he first signed on to the Ibis, Zachary had known nothing of ships' papers or crew manifests, or how the filling-in of them might vary from vessel to vessel. He had walked on board the Ibis with his ditty-bag, shouted his name, age and birthplace to the second mate, and that was that. But he saw now that along with a few other members of the crew, there was an extra notation next to his name: he narrowed his eyes, squinting, and suddenly he froze.

'Y'see, Reid?' said Mr Crowle. 'See what I mean?'

Zachary answered by nodding mechanically, without raising his eyes, and the first mate continued. 'Lookat, Reid,' he said, hoarsely, 'it don't mean anythin to me. Don't give a damn, I don't, if ye're a m'latter or not.'

Zachary answered, as if by rote: 'I'm not a mulatto, Mr Crowle. My mother was a quadroon and my father white. That makes me a metif.'

'Don't change nothing, Reid.' Mr Crowle's hand reached up and he brushed a knuckle against Zachary's unshaven cheek. 'Metif or m'latter, it don't change the colour o'this…'

Zachary, still mesmerized by the paper, made no movement, and the hand rose higher still, to flick back a curly forelock with a fingertip. '… And it don't change this neither. Y'are what y'are, Reid, and it don't make no difference to me. If y'ask me, it makes us two of a kind.'

Zachary looked up now, and his eyes narrowed in puzzlement. 'Don't get the gist, Mr Crowle?'

The first mate's voice sank to a low growl. 'Look'ere, Reid, we di'n't get off to a good start, there's no denyin'it. Y'made a fool o'me with yer tofficky trolly-wags and yer buncomising tongue: thought y'was way above my touch. But this'ere paper, it changes everything – I'd never'a thought I could've been so far off course.'

'What do you mean, Mr Crowle?'

'Don't y'see, Ma

'And at sea?'

'All ye'd have to do is cross the cuddy from time to time. That in't so long a walk, is it? And if it in't t'yer taste, y'can shut yer eyes and think y'self in Jericho for all I care. Comes a day, Ma

Despite the brutal roughness of the first mate's tone, Zachary could sense that he was on the verge of an i

He could sense the first mate's mounting impatience for an answer, and when he spoke it was not unkindly, but with a quiet firmness. 'Look, Mr Crowle,' he said. 'I'm sorry, but this deal o'yours won't work for me. It may look to you that this piece of paper has turned me inside out, but in truth it's changed nothing. I was born with my freedom and I ain't looking to give any o'it away.'

Zachary took a step towards the door but the first mate moved in front of him, blocking his way. 'Boat yer oars, Ma

'Listen, Mr Crowle,' said Zachary, quietly. 'Neither of us needs to remember this conversation. Once I step out this door, it's over and done with – didn't happen.'

'Too late to toss up the bunt now, Ma

Zachary looked him up and down and squared his shoulders. 'What do you plan to do then, Mr Crowle? Keep me in here till I knock the door down?'

'Aren't y'forgetting something, Ma

There was a desperation, almost a pathos, in this threat of blackmail, and it made Zachary smile. 'Go ahead, Mr Crowle,' he said. 'Whatever that paper is, it's not a letter of indenture. Take it to the Captain – believe me, I'd be glad of it. And I'll wager that when he hears about the bargain you were of a mind to make, it's not because of me that he's going to be all cut up inside.'