power, his ability to scare, applied to everyone and not just me. I found the thought strangely comforting.
It’s getting towards the evening of the second day and we’ve dropped anchor. Towns, villages and even fields have slid away behind us, though the land on either side is lush with reeds and grass. There’s a gentle bend in the river so we can’t see the boats behind us or ahead.
Imi’s asleep. I’m looking up at the stars in the clearest sky I have ever seen and wondering how the frogs can make quite so much noise when the Quiet Gentleman comes and sits beside me.
‘We’ve got a problem,’ is all he says.
‘Not of my making,’ I answer.
‘Not directly maybe,’ he says. ‘Jatty’s made a friend at last.’
I did notice that Jatty was hanging out with one particular sailor. ‘That skinny one with the face like a dog?’ I ask.
‘That’s the one. Notice anything odd about him?’
‘He wags his tail if you chuck him a bone?’
The Quiet Gentleman ignores my quite good joke. ‘He works less than the others, but the captain never shouts at him.’
‘So what?’
‘He’s a spy. Everything passes up and down the river: ships, goods, people, news. If the king wants to find out what’s going on in his kingdom, he just has to plant snitches on boats and in harbours.’
‘You think Jatty . . .’
‘Either Jatty can’t see a spy in front of his nose or he’s playing a dangerous game. Either way, his new friend has a supply of wine and Jatty’s trying to drink it all. That makes me worried too.’
‘And what do you want me to do about it?’ I snap. ‘I don’t want anything to do with Jatty. I’ve got my own worries.’
Just then something bumps against the side of the boat. The crewmen murmur and enough crowd to the side to tip the deck. Hannu’s hand folds itself around my arm.
‘That noise was a crocodile. Sailors feed them. Why do you think they do that?’
‘I don’t know,’ I say.
He narrows his eyes. ‘Let’s look at this another way. Why do you think crocodiles always wait where the reeds on the riverbank are trampled down?’
I shake my head.
‘It’s because they know that’s where the cattle drink. And why do you think crocodiles wait by the east bank of the river at sunset and the west bank at sunrise?’ Hannu asks.
I shake my head again.
‘So they can get close to the cattle behind the glare of the sun. Why am I telling you this?’
‘Because you like cows?’ I say.
‘A clever tongue will only get you so far in this world, boy. Work it out.’
‘Crocodiles are dangerous,’ I say. ‘The crew think that if they give them offerings, they won’t eat them.’
‘Good.’
‘But the crocodile doesn’t know that,’ I say. ‘It’s stupid.’
‘Crocodiles just want to eat,’ Hannu says. ‘Fill their bellies and they’ll be less likely to eat you.’
He’s giving off something. You know the heat of stones after a long, hot day? They give off a memory of warmth. What’s coming off him, what’s coming off his stillness is a memory of violence.
‘It’s not just crocodiles, is it?’ I say. ‘It’s people too. Sometimes you have to give people what they want to get them off your back.’
‘You need me to survive, boy,’ he says in a thick voice. ‘So when I ask, you give.’
There’s no wind the next day. The boat tugs sluggishly against its anchor like a lazy fish on a line. The heat builds. The sun’s like a metal plate in the sky. Imi’s sitting quietly in the shade, feeding the ship’s goat. Jatty wakes. He must have fallen asleep on a pile of ropes and they’ve left dents across his cheek. He’s hungover, cross and, from the way he stretches, aching. He stumbles up to the ship’s cook and asks for some bread, complains that it’s stale then leans over the side of the boat and spits into the river.
I keep watching. He drinks water, asks for beer, drinks that too and cheers up. He walks round the boat, talking to the crewmen. Some of them are making knots and he has a go but so badly that everyone laughs. He drinks more beer, rests on a bale of linen, then gets up and finds Dogface and they move to the back of the boat.
No wind so no helmsman, just a little hen coop so the captain can have eggs for breakfast. The ship’s cat likes to sleep on top of it, gazing down at the birds with white-toothed love.
I remember what the Quiet Gentleman said about giving him something so I crawl behind the hen hut. It’s a narrow space littered with old vegetable peelings and droppings. The hens make gentle henny noises, but I can hear Jatty and Dogface over them.
‘I’m still not clear what you want,’ Dogface says. ‘What’s in it for me?’
‘I told you,’ Jatty says. ‘Hannu’s after something.’
‘But what is Hannu after?’ Dogface sounds mean and disbelieving. If he said it was a nice day, you’d check to make sure the sun was shining.
‘He’s not heading to the Horizon out of idle curiosity. He’s plotting.’
‘And the kids?’
‘Cover. The boy makes things. You needn’t worry about them.’
‘What things?’
‘Little model animals out of mud.’
‘Could be blasphemous. The morality police will be interested in that. Might be worth something.’
‘Turn ’em in, sell ’em, send ’em south, stuff ’em in a sack and drop ’em in the river. I don’t care,’ Jatty says. ‘I just want to get Hannu.’
‘So what’s in it for you?’ Dogface asks.
‘Me? I’m just doing my duty for king and country,’ Jatty says. ‘Hail the king and hail the sun.’
‘You want him out of the way. All right. Here’s what we’ll do.’
There’s a creak and the boat heels slightly. Their conversation is cut short by the thunder of bare feet on the deck that starts before the captain even has time to shout: ‘Up sail!’
Jatty and Dogface move away and when the deck is clear, I crawl out of my space and find Hannu, the Quiet Gentleman. He listens very carefully.
‘Very good. That makes my decision easier.’
‘What
