Free The Monsoon by Wilbur Smith Page A

private salon and twisted his cap in his slim dark hands.
    “You are English?” Hal demanded.
    Wilson respectfully touched the hank of thick dark hair that spilled onto his forehead.
    “My father was born in Bristol, Captain.”
    “But your mother was not?” Hal guessed.
    “She was an Indian, a Mogul, a Mussulman, sir.” Wilson was darker even than Hal’s own William, and as handsome.
    “Do you speak her language, Wilson?”
    “Yes, sir, and write it. My mother was of high birth, begging your pardon, sir.”
    “Then you write English also?” Hal liked the look of him, and if his story of the escape from Jangiri were true he was indeed resourceful and clever to boot.
    “Yes, sir.” Hal was surprised, few seamen were literate. He considered him thoughtfully.
    “Do you speak any other language?”
    “Only Arabic.” Wilson shrugged self-deprecatingly.
    “Better and better.” Hal smiled and switched into Arabic to test him. He had been taught it by his first wife, Judith, and had honed his knowledge of it on many voyages along the coasts of Africa and Araby.
    “Where did you team?” His tongue was a little rusty from disuse of the guttural tones of Arabia.
    “I sailed many years before the mast, with a crew that was mostly Arab.” Wilson’s command of the language was rapid and fluent.
    “What rating did you hold on the Minotaur?”
    “Warrant officer, sir.” Hal was delighted. To hold the rank of a watch keeping officer, at his age, he must be a bright one. I must have him, Hal decided.
    “I want to hear from you everything you can tell me of the taking of the Minotaur. But more important, I want you to tell me about Jangiri.”
    “Begging your pardon, Captain, but that will take a while.”
    “We have all day, Wilson.” Hal pointed to the bench against the far wall.
    “Sit there.” When he hesitated, Hal went on, “You said it would take time. Sit down, man, and get on with it.” It took almost four hours, and Walsh, the tutor, sat at the table and made notes as Hal instructed him.
    Wilson spoke quietly and without emotion until he had to describe the murder of his shipmates by the pirates.
    Then his voice choked, and when Hal looked up, he was surprise to see that Wilson’s eyes were bright with tears. He sent for a pot of beer to soothe the man’s throat and give him a chance to regain his composure. Wilson pushed the tankard aside.
    “I don’t take strong liquor, sir.” Hal was delighted. Drink was the demon of most seamen.
    “Never?” he asked.
    “No, sir. My mother, you understand, sir.”
    “You are a Christian?”
    “Yes, sir, but I can’t forget my mother’s teaching.”
    “Yes, I understand.” By God, I need this one, Hal thought. He’s a gem among men. Then an idea occurred to him: During the voyage out I will have him teach my lads Arabic. They will need it on the coast.
    By the time they had finished Hal had a vivid picture of what had happened on board the Minotaur, and of the man he was going out to confront.
    “I want you to go over all this again in your mind, Wilson.
    If there is anything you have forgotten, any detail that may be useful, I want you to come back and tell me.”
    “Very well, Captain.”
    Wilson stood up to leave.
    “Where will I find you, sir?” Hal hesitated.
    “I hope you can keep your tongue from wagging?” he asked, and when the man nodded, he went on, “I know that you have been kept from telling the story of the taking of the Minotaur. If you can give me your word that you’ll not be spouting your story into every flapping ear, then you can join my crew. I am looking for good watch-keeping officers. Will you sign up with me, lad?” Wilson smiled almost shyly.
    “I have heard of you afore, Captain,” he said.
    “You see, my uncle sailed with your father aboard the Lady Edwina, and with you on the Golden Bough. He told tales of you.”
    “Who was your uncle?”
    “Ned Tyler, Captain, and he still is.”
    “Ned Tyler!” Hal