The King - Dewey Lambdin

"Perhaps a combination of both," Twigg rasped. "But, once we tangle with them, we'll know. By their weapons. Some booty they've taken from an English ship in their treasure-trove."

"Then we'll know whom to chastise," Captain Ayscough promised. "And chastise them, we shall. To the last root and branch."

"Take a fleet to do that, Captain Ayscough," Twigg said, turning to gaze at his captain. "Hard as it may be on your soul, 'tis not our brief to completely stamp out piracy in these waters."

Thank bloody Christ for that, Alan thought; sounds like one of Hercules' twelve damned labors. And poison arrows? Poison blowguns? Damme if I signed aboard for that, either!

"We're sure it's not the Dutch, nor would the Dutch turn a blind eye to someone encouraging and arming pirates," Twigg added. " Spain? Weak, plagued with problems in the Philippines as it is, their ships as much prey to these savage beasts as anyone. With more to lose, let me remind you. Without the inside him that a week's suppers such as this one could only begin to fill.

" Lintin Island," Wythy grunted. "A right pirate's nest, aye."

"But what better place to search for French pirates?" Twigg commented. "They have as much need for deniability as we. So their ship, or ships, involved in this blood-thirsty trade among the native pirates have to be country ships like us, and need a place to unload their ill-gotten gains. English goods, looted from murdered crews. English ships disappeared, with no sign of their fate."

"Six, we were told before we sailed from Plymouth," Wythy said.

"More since," Twigg went on. "Governor Hastings told me today the count is up to ten. Well-armed ships, too. Indiamen, country ships, and the latest an Indiaman, the Macclesfield. Crew of nigh on two hundred, twenty-four guns, thirty supercargo passengers. And over two-hundred-fifty-thousand pounds sterling to pay for teas and silks."

"Good God!" Sir Hugo paled. "I knew one of her officers. Gone, didje say?"

"Last reported passing through the Malacca Straits," Twigg told them. "Spoke a patrol cutter working out of Bencoolen not twenty leagues north of the Johore Straits where she would turn east into the South China Sea. Never reached Macao or the Pearl River estuary."

"Malay pirates," Sir Hugo suggested. "Or some Dyak head-hunters from Borneo."

"Usually we could assume that, or some nautical disaster. Fire, a dismasting gale, sir"-Twigg frowned even deeper than his usual wont-"but the weather was reported mostly fair, and no Indiaman'd get so close inshore she'd be prey to coasting praos. And even a lightly armed Indiaman in the open sea is more than a match for a fleet of pirate praos. Wythy?"

"Balignini pirates work out of Borneo. Swords, spears, blowguns with poison tips, some poor bows and arrows," Wythy informed them knowledgeably. "If they have cannon, they're old stone-shooters and slow to load. Cutch-pov/der, too. A nuisance, they are, mostly. Know better'n tangle with a proper European vessel lest they catch her at anchor. The Borneo princes subsidize 'em for loot and slaves. East of Borneo ye'll find the Moluccas, cross the Makasar Strait and the Celebes. Maluku pirates work from there, but it's a long reach to place 'em in the Johore Strait. And they're even worse equipped than the Balignini. Now there's the Sea Dyaks that work out of the Seribas and Skrang rivers. Might be a possibility, except I've never known a European they'd trust, or not turn on whoever gives them anything sooner or later. And, being fairly close to the Malay princes, who mostly stay on decent terms with 'John Company' because of trade, I can't see them doing it."

"Chinese, then, sir?" Alan dropped into the speculations.

"I'd rather hope so," Twigg sighed. "Else it's the Lanun Rovers. Pirates of the Illana Lagoon on Mindanao. Worst of the lot."

"Big praos, pretty well-armed, too. Go off on three-year raiding cruises like Berserker Vikings," Wythy agreed with distaste. "The Spanish can't do a thing with 'em. Last expedition from Manila to Mindanao got cut up pretty bad, so I hear tell. Yes, they could sail or row-they have what amounts to slave-galleys-anywhere they want. South China Sea, Malacca Straits, Gulf of Siam, Gulf of Tonkin and use the port of Danang among the Annamese if they've a mind."

"Bencoolen's done a fair job of suppressing Malay and Dyak piracy off Sumatra and in the Malacca Straits," Sir Hugo mused as lie filled a church-warden pipe. 'The Dutch keep a sharp eye on the seas to the west, I'm told. So, it's either the Chinese, or these Mindanao pirates."

"Perhaps a combination of both," Twigg rasped. "But, once we tangle with them, we'll know. By their weapons. Some booty they've taken from an English ship in their treasure-trove."

"Then we'll know whom to chastise," Captain Ayscough promised. "And chastise them, we shall. To the last root and branch."

"Take a fleet to do that, Captain Ayscough," Twigg said, turning to gaze at his captain. "Hard as it may be on your soul, 'tis not our brief to completely stamp out piracy in these waters."

Thank bloody Christ for that, Alan thought; sounds like one of Hercules' twelve damned labors. And poison arrows? Poison blowguns? Damme if I signed aboard for that, either!

"We're sure it's not the Dutch, nor would the Dutch turn a blind eye to someone encouraging and arming pirates," Twigg added. " Spain? Weak, plagued with problems in the Philippines as it is, their ships as much prey to these savage beasts as anyone. With more to lose, let me remind you. Without the annual treasure galleons, Spain suffers. I'd not expect a lot of help from them, but to sanction piracy? Not them!"

"That leaves the French!" Ayscough harrumphed, clawing the idle port decanter to him and pouring a crystal glass to knock back without tasting. Whatever drove him, Ayscough's hatred for the Frogs was hot as a well-stoked forge.

"Cunning bastards," Sir Hugo rumbled. "Had my fill of 'em in the last bit of the war out here. Helping Hyder Ali and his son Tippoo Sultan, skulking behind the scenes and urging them on to fight us, but never having the nutmegs to take us on in a real fight!"

"Aye, Sir Hugo, you find skullduggery in this world, and I'll lay you any odds you want, it'll be some modern-day Richelieu behind it!" Ayscough agreed hotly, spitting out the name of the old cardinal-schemer like a sour turd he'd dredged up in his soup. "The first to claim their superiority in this world like they're the Chosen People, but they're sneaking, low, vile, torturing monsters under all their silks and lace, their gilt and be-shit manners and their honeyed words! Oh, aye, 'tis sharper than a serpent's tooth, they are!"

"We shall find these pirates, Captain Ayscough, let me assure you." Twigg prophesied grimly, reaching out a hand like a taloned paw to pat the man on the shoulder. "And they will lead us to the Frenchmen behind this hideous plot. Then we'll have revenge enough for all."

After Ayscough had calmed down from his sudden fit, Sir Hugo blew a lazy cloud of smoke at the ceiling and refilled his brandy.

Ah, that's more like my old father, Alan thought-can't stir his arse up without a snifter in his hand!

"So you wish me to supply troops from my pultan, my regiment, for this expedition against the pirates, sir?" Sir Hugo asked.

"Yes," Twigg nodded. "They're low-caste, did you say?"

"The Nineteenth Native Infantry are mostly Bengalis," Sir Hugo informed them. "Not a bad lot of scrappers, though. No brahmin, no kshatriya and damme few vaishya caste. If any were, they were damned poor merchants, 'cause they came into the battalion with nothing but the clothes on their backs. No, they're almost all sudras. Serfs. Ryots or zamindars at best. Well, needs must in wartime, when we recruited anyone. And I suspect I've an Untouchable or two lurking 'mongst 'em, but that don't signify, long's they may form line and fire three volleys a minute. There's even some Goanese, some half Portugee mixed in, from our being down south toward the end of the war out here. No, they'll go across the kala panee for you and not worry about breaking their caste. When and where do you need 'em, sir?"

"A half-company now aboard Telesto for our voyage. The rest transferred to Bencoolen on Sumatra, to place them closer to the action until we need them."

"A damned unhealthy place," Sir Hugo replied, shivering.

"My God, where out here ain't?" Alan muttered. "Yih achcha jaga naheen, eh, Mister Wythy? Like you said this morning."

"Sicklier'n most, young sir," Wythy assured him.

"Yes, sicklier in fever, heat… and in morals," Sir Hugo went on. "Anyone sent there is sure to be peppered to his eyebrows with the pox. Regiments serving there go down like flies. Pox, drink…"

And just when did Father ever worry about morals, Alan thought.

"The death rate among even native levies is nothing short of extermination, sirs," Sir Hugo complained. "Not to mention the effect the utter anarchy of Bencoolen exerts upon troop discipline. Had you the Brigade of Guards in Bencoolen, you couldn't put a half-battalion on parade fit for a day's march a month later, and those'd be so raddled and debilitated, so mutinous, you'd not be able to turn your back on 'em for a second."

"I'm sure your colonel would disagree with me, Sir Hugo," Twigg replied, his voice calm and reasonable, but Alan had seen that thin-lipped asperity often enough to know he was on the verge of an explosion. "Besides, what good do your troops do us if we needs must return to Calcutta to fetch 'em on short notice?"

"We do not have a colonel for this regiment," Sir Hugo admitted. "He died. Of cholera. And for your information, the Nineteenth N.I. is only six companies, only a little better than a half-battalion to start with. It was never more than a one-battalion regiment, anyway."

"The hell you say, sir!" Wythy burst out, covertly restraining his senior partner before Twigg blew up at being sassed.

"As I said, we saw a lot of action down south against Hyder Ah' and Tippoo Sultan," Sir Hugo told them. "We suffered more than our fair share of casualties. And when the war ended, more than a few of my men 'cut their names' to take their small pensions. I doubt I could muster three hundred men this moment, including officers, the band and the color-party. And that, sir," Sir Hugo huffed with a cruel grimace at Twigg's discomforture, "is why this battalion was made available to you. We are all that may be spared. Trouble west and north in the Oudh, trouble with the Mahrattas west and south. Trouble on every border of the Bengal Presidency. If you transfer us now, with no chance to recruit, well…"

Sir Hugo blew a smoke ring, which seemingly mesmerized Twigg.

"We're fit for garrison duties only, now, and there's not money enough to flesh us out. Send this battalion to Bencoolen at its present strength, equipped as we are, and one might do my sepoys a better kindness by simply shooting them here in Calcutta," Sir Hugo related with a sad smile. "We've one foot in the grave already. For what you want to do, we're a broken reed. At present, that is, sir."

"Well, damme," Twigg sighed at last, leaking air and authority like one of that Frenchman Montgolfier's hot-air balloons. "Would it be possible to recruit the Nineteenth here in Bengal before we sail?"