THE ISLAND of Maduri was protected by dangerous shoals and forbidding volcanic cliffs, making the one good harbor even more welcoming. As the schooner Helena dropped anchor, Gavin Elliott’s young first mate said, “It’s a handsome city, Captain. I’d have thought Maduri would look more wicked.”
Gavin grinned. Benjamin Long was a fine Yankee sailor with plenty of experience, but this was his first voyage to the East Indies. “The Islands are dangerous in their variety. There’s no more beautiful place on God’s earth, and none more treacherous. Some of the finest people you’ll ever meet live here, and some of the most brutal. The islands that look civilized, like Maduri, are where you need to be most wary because it’s easy to think the men who live here are like us. They’re not.”
Benjamin shaded his eyes to study the gleaming white palace that crowned the highest of Maduri’s rugged hills. “The men are a little uneasy about coming here. The Portuguese carpenter claims that Sultan Kasan is an eater of souls.”
“More likely a torturer of flesh, but he’s a shrewd ruler who values trade. I’ve never heard of a Western ship being troubled here.” Maduri was safe because anyone who broke the sultan’s law risked being skinned alive, very slowly, or maybe roasted over a fire, but Gavin didn’t mention that. Sailors were a superstitious lot. No point in disturbing them unnecessarily.
“There might’ve been no trouble in the past, but I don’t mind admitting this place makes me uneasy, too.” Benjamin’s sober gaze followed a large, elaborately decorated prau rowing smartly toward them across the sun-splashed harbor. It was an official vessel, probably the local harbormaster and customs agents.
“We’ll be here only a day or two. Just long enough to drop off our cargo and take on more provisions.” Since Gavin had never visited Maduri, he’d been pleased when a shipping agent in Manila asked him to transport several small boxes consigned personally to Sultan Kasan. Given the shipping fee, they must be very valuable indeed, and the stop would take him only a few days off his planned route.
The remote island was a near legend in the East. Rich, powerful, and secretive, the sultans of Maduri refused to accept Dutch claims to rule the East Indies, and the Dutch were wise enough not to press the issue. Wild tales circulated about the people, the island, and most of all, the sultan. The stories were enhanced by the fact that foreigners were not allowed beyond a narrow strip of wharves and taverns. Like the Chinese, Maduri sultans did not want their people corrupted by Western ideas of education and free trade and justice for the common man.
Personally, Gavin liked subversive Western ideals. His gaze went to the American flag snapping high above. The Helena, named for the girl he’d married and lost too soon, was the fastest and loveliest ship in his fleet. The design was an enlarged version of the sleek Baltimore clippers, and well suited to the China trade. Good cargo space joined with speed and seaworthiness to form a vessel that could outrun pirates or ride out the worst typhoon. It also carried sizable guns, for only a fool sailed these seas unarmed.
He’d miss being master of the Helena. Though he’d started as a sailor, as his business grew he’d come to spend more and more time on land. When they left Maduri, he’d set his sails for England, where Benjamin would take over the Helena while Gavin established a London branch of Elliott House.
His operations in Macao and Canton were in strong, honest hands, as was his home office in Boston. London was the last great challenge, the mercantile capital of Europe, and the goal he’d set his sights on decades earlier. He would settle there and be a brash, upstart American who’d beat the London merchants at their own game, and settle some private scores as well. There would never be another Helena, but perhaps he’d meet another gentle lady he could love. And if anyone remembered his father or that Gavin Elliott had been born and bred in Britain before being taken to America, that would make his triumph all the sweeter.
It would be years, if ever, before he returned to the East, so this voyage was his private farewell. Though Britain and America were in his bones, he’d miss the brilliance of the Indies, the islands scattered across the bluest seas on earth like jewels tossed carelessly from a giant’s hand. He’d miss China, too, where he’d spent much of his time in the last years, in his airy villa in Macao or the cramped foreign settlement in Canton, the source of much of his wealth.
His reverie was interrupted when the second mate came up to him. “Captain, the Maduris wish to give you a personal message.”
Guessing they knew he carried a special shipment for the sultan, he approached the three men who’d boarded from the prau. Two looked like regular port officials, but the third was Chinese, not Malay. His dark hair streaked with silver and his clothing all of silk, he was clearly a man of authority.
Gavin inclined his head respectfully. “Welcome to the Helena, gentlemen,” he said, speaking the simple bazaar Malay which was in common use throughout the islands. “Your presence honors my humble ship.”
To his surprise, the Chinese official replied in good English. “The honor is ours, Captain Elliott. I am Sheng Yu, chief minister of Maduri, and I come bearing an invitation from His Gracious Highness, Sultan Kasan.”
Long experience enabled Gavin to conceal his surprise. How did Sheng know his name when he and his ship had never visited this port? And how did an American sea captain rate an invitation from a sultan? Granted, Gavin was also a successful merchant, a taipan, as the head of a trading house was called. But this invitation didn’t fit what he knew about local customs. Maybe the sultan was just anxious about his precious boxes. “I shall be delighted to personally escort the sultan’s cargo to the palace.”
“That is unnecessary—I shall take charge of the cargo. His Highness’s desire is for you to accompany me to the White Palace to dine and spend the night as the sultan’s guest.”
What the devil was going on? Clearly this invitation couldn’t be refused unless Gavin was ready to sail away immediately. Well, he sensed no threat and he’d always had too much curiosity. “I am overwhelmed that such honor is shown to a humble captain. Pray take some refreshments while I prepare to go with you.”
Gavin turned the Maduris over to Benjamin for hospitality and went to change into his dress clothes. This part of the world set great store by a rich appearance, so he’d had a Macanese tailor augment a basic naval uniform with blinding quantities of gold braid and flamboyant medals. The flat bicorn hat even had feathers. He had trouble wearing the outfit with a straight face, but it never failed to impress.
Before dressing he rang for Suryo Indarto, a Malay whose duties defied easy classification, though for convenience’s sake he was called a steward. Suryo had been with Gavin for over a dozen years as a source of priceless information about the East, a teacher of the arts of Indies hand-to-hand fighting, and most of all, as a friend.
Soft-footed as a cat, the Malay entered the cabin. At sea he usually wore the sarong of the Islands, but in port he wore a dignified tunic and trousers of white cotton. “Captain?”
“I’ve been invited to spend the night at the White Palace and I want you to come, too,” Gavin explained. “What should I know about Sultan Kasan?”
Suryo frowned. “Be careful, Captain. Kasan would not ask unless he wants something from you. He is called ‘the Leopard of Maduri,’ and enjoys playing with people as a cat torments a mouse.”
“What might I have that he could possibly want?”
“Perhaps he wants the ship. There is none other so fine in these waters.”
Gavin belted on his ceremonial sword, which combined a chased and bejeweled hilt with an extremely functional blade. “The Helena isn’t for sale.”
“It is not easy to deny a sultan.”
“Do you think that accepting his invitation is dangerous?”
Suryo considered. “No, killing a foreign captain would be bad for Kasan’s trade. But make no bargains with him. A leopard is a treacherous partner.”
“Understood.” Gavin unlocked a cabinet containing a doze
n expensive European art objects suitable for gifts in circumstances like this. He decided on an exquisitely crafted music box that played Mozart while the enameled figures of an eighteenth-century man and woman revolved in a mock minuet. “Pack this and bring it along with a change of clothing.”
One didn’t go empty-handed to interviews with sultans.
By the time Gavin reached Sultan Kasan’s huge, airy audience chamber, he’d observed abundant evidence of Maduri’s wealth. He hadn’t seen so much shining marble and gilded statuary since a visit to the Maharajah of Mysore in India. The rooms he’d been assigned were worthy of a prince. Cynically he decided the sultan must want something big.
A gong was struck, silencing the soft voices of several dozen courtiers who clustered along the walls of the audience chamber. In the hush Sheng Yu announced, “Highness, allow me to present Captain Gavin Elliott, Taipan of Elliott House, master of the ship Helena.”
“Welcome to Maduri, Captain Elliott.” Like Sheng, Sultan Kasan spoke excellent English. A tall, powerfully built man in his early forties, he glittered with silk and jewels. His massive throne was designed like a peacock-feather fan, and set with a king’s ransom of dazzling blue, green, and purple gemstones.
Tearing his gaze from the throne, Gavin replied, “Thank you, Your Highness. I have heard many tales of the wonders of Maduri, but never thought I’d be fortunate enough to see them in person.” He beckoned to Suryo who came forward with the polished walnut case that held his gift. “Please accept this trifle as a mark of my gratitude for the honor you do me.”
Suryo removed the music box from its case and gave it to a servant who climbed the steps to the throne and knelt to offer the gift to the sultan. Kasan took the music box and studied it with approval. Gavin was about to demonstrate the key that wound the mechanism when the sultan figured it out for himself.
The delicately sculpted lord and lady began to dance as bright notes of Mozart spilled into the noon sunshine. The courtiers clustered along the walls of the chamber watched raptly, and even the sultan smiled. “A handsome gift, Captain. Thank you.”
He wound the key twice more and let the mechanism play itself out before returning the music box to the servant who still knelt by his feet. Somehow the box slipped from the servant’s hands and crashed to the marble floor. There was a gasp from the courtiers as the dancing figures broke off and skittered away.
Scowling, Sultan Kasan drew a short riding whip from his golden sash and struck the servant savagely across the face. The servant cried out, then bent his head in submission as blood welled from the gash in his left cheek. An inch higher and the whip would have destroyed his eye.
Unnerved by the casual brutality, Gavin realized the palace must be staffed by slaves, not servants. No man who worked for wages would accept such treatment from his master.
Tucking the whip back into his sash, Kasan rose from his throne and descended the steps to where Gavin stood. This close, his dark eyes had the menacing glitter of a snake. “Join me outside, Captain.”
Gavin followed Kasan through one of the arches that led to a broad patio where benches were shaded by clustered palms and flowers. Looking at the stunning view of the city and harbor, he said, “You speak English flawlessly, Your Highness.”
“I speak Dutch and French equally well. My father brought tutors from Europe so I would learn the languages and ways of our enemies.”
“Do you regard me as your enemy, Your Highness?”
“You are American, not English. Your people have fought two wars with England. The enemy of my enemy is my friend.” At the right end of the veranda a spyglass was mounted on a post and swivel so it could be turned in any direction. The sultan stepped up to the eyepiece and trained the instrument on the harbor. After adjusting it, he gestured for Gavin to look through. “Your ship is a handsome vessel.”
The image of the Helena sprang into Gavin’s sight, so clear he could see Benjamin Long on the quarterdeck and a seaman in the rigging. He could even see the carved waves of golden hair on the figurehead, a soaring, angelic lady inspired by the real Helena. Suspecting Suryo’s guess was correct, Gavin turned from the spyglass. “Thank you, Your Highness. The Helena is the jewel of my fleet.” He hoped that conveyed that the ship was not for sale.
Apparently hearing what was unspoken, Kasan said with dry amusement, “You’re a man who prefers directness, Captain. Why not say outright what is on your mind?”
“Very well, Your Highness. Why am I here, where few if any Westerners have been invited? Surely not for mere social pleasantries.”
“You are correct. I don’t want your Helena, Captain Elliott.” The sultan gave a slow, feral smile. “I want your entire fleet.”
Chapter 3
WONDERING IF the sultan could possibly be serious, Gavin said, “My business is not for sale.”
“I do not seek to buy, but rather to develop a partnership that will benefit us both. You have a reputation for great competence and impeccable honesty. Maduri is a rich island, and I wish to develop my trade with the world in a manner that will not damage my domain. That means I must employ an agent I can trust absolutely. A Western trading company that is not European.”
“So you want me because I know Western markets and customs, but won’t open the door to English or Dutch control.”
“Exactly so, Captain. Are you interested?”
Gavin hesitated. There could be great profit in an exclusive trading agreement with Maduri, but he remembered Suryo’s warning: A leopard is a treacherous partner. If Gavin agreed to Kasan’s proposal, every one of his ships and sailors who came to Maduri would be a potential hostage to the sultan’s erratic temper. “Your suggestion is intriguing, but I’m about to move to London to establish a new office. You need someone based in the East to watch over your shipping interests.”
“You would need to spend much time on Maduri, but I do not think you would find that unpleasant.” The dark gaze was compelling. “You are successful now, but I can make you a prince of the East, with wealth and power beyond your imagination.”
Gavin had dedicated his life to building wealth and power, and yet…a leopard is a treacherous partner. “You have given me much to think about, Your Highness. I will need time to consider.”
The sultan smiled charmingly. “That is why I have invited you to spend the night. Let me show you the splendors of my city. Perhaps that will influence you.”
A brisk walk through the sprawling palace brought them to a pair of waiting sedan chairs, which were better suited to the city’s steep streets than a carriage. A company of smartly dressed palace guardsmen accompanied them on their tour. Gavin didn’t see a single beggar, which was unheard of in any other city he’d ever visited. He wondered what was done with them, and hoped it didn’t involve whipping or the severing of limbs.
The tour concentrated on the area around the harbor where the sultan owned all the warehouses, leasing space to merchants. Scents of sandalwood and tea and spices permeated the steamy heat along with the waterfront aroma of salt and dead fish. Less peaceful were batteries of large, modern cannon positioned to rake the harbor with their fire. If the British or Dutch tried to invade, they’d be blown out of the water.
The city had the potential to be one of the great trading centers of the East, but the more Gavin saw, the more uneasy he became. Kasan insisted on absolute control in his kingdom, and that would include any man who worked for him. In fact, Gavin suspected, the sultan was the sort who would revel in breaking a strong, independent man to his service. That price was too high no matter how much could be earned shipping and marketing the island’s products.
After a visit to the shipyards, the sultan ordered the sedan chair bearers to return to the palace. Their route ran through a wide market square where a crowd churned around an open-sided pavilion. Gavin asked, “Is this an auction site?”
“Yes, and one of my most profitable enterprises. Come and observe.”
The bearers lowered the ch
airs so the occupants could step out. As the Maduris recognized their ruler, a path opened through the crowd to reveal a platform where two men stood. The silence was absolute until Kasan gestured for the auction to continue.
Gavin’s mouth tightened when he saw that the center of attention was a young Malay dressed only in a loincloth and chains. He stared above the crowd stonily as the auctioneer circled around, chattering in the local dialect as he squeezed the young man’s biceps and clapped a hand on one muscular thigh.
“This is the largest slave market outside of Sulu in the Philippines.” The sultan studied Gavin’s expression. “You disapprove? Slavery is part of life. Though the British have outlawed it, your nation has not.”
“It is a subject on which people disagree.” Once in Boston Gavin had been discreetly asked about the possibility of carrying slaves illegally to the Caribbean. He’d thrown the enquirer from his office, and doubled his annual contribution to the antislavery efforts of the Quakers.
“Then we shall not linger.” The sultan’s words were polite, but his eyes showed amusement at his guest’s discomfort.
The young man’s sale was completed after brisk bidding, and he was led to a table where money and bills of sale changed hands. Sickened, Gavin turned away and saw the next “lot” being brought from a shed behind the pavilion—a tall woman with tangled dark hair, downcast eyes, and a crude gag bound over her mouth. A tattered sarong and shirt revealed filth and bruises, while chains rubbed raw patches on her wrists and ankles.
Seeing the direction of Gavin’s gaze, the sultan said, “She’s a handsome wench under the dirt, but the gag means she has a vicious tongue. Probably wild as well, or she wouldn’t be sold at public auction like a kitchen slave.”
For a man who had been raised to honor all women, it was unbearable to see a female humiliated like this. Feeling it would be cowardly to look away, Gavin forced himself to watch as she was led to the platform.