Not Cut Out For This II: Delivering the Goods
by Santa Crux

Isabelle gets in over her head.
David finds himself in treacherous waters.
The crew of The Rattler fulfills the contract that Isabelle arranged in Not Cut Out For This.

Grateful thank-yous to rann and cenobitetx for all their help and hints.

The wind worried at every piece of canvas on deck, sails and tarps alike, and shook them till they chattered aloud. The lanyards along the mast drummed against the wood in the same wild rhythm. The crew were forced to raise their voices to be heard above the continuous din.

"Come about!" shouted Captain Grief, "Reef in the mains'l! Harder, Isabelle, put your back into it."

David watched Isabelle heave at the sheet until the sail stopped flapping and bellied with the wind.  She shot him a look of defiance and triumph soon obscured by her flying hair. The schooner seemed to lean into the waves as if it were an eager horse sensing the stable near at hand. Steady winds had them flying across an open stretch of the East China Sea. The Loochoo Islands were faint lumps on the horizon. For the first time in their long voyage, David could picture the Rattler reaching port early. He allowed himself a brief smile. The bonus that would accompany an early arrival would make him very happy. Though he wasn’t looking forward to Isabelle bragging about getting this contract all the way back to Matavai.

Once again he found his glance lingering on his new partner and even newer crew-member. Isabelle might be green as grass, but she had proven her mettle several times over since they had left Matavai. Thankfully the weather had been fair the last few days. They had enjoyed fresh breezes for most of the voyage, speeding their passage. But despite the good weather there had been plenty of adversity to test the Rattler's crew.

Twenty-six days ago they had left Matavai in haste, anxious to take on their cargo in the Cook Islands. David hadn’t believed that they could cross the North Pacific, pick their way through the treacherous waters of the Marshall Islands and deliver the cargo of copra to Shanghai in thirty-two days much less the twenty-eight required to earn the premium. But here they were two days from port. The only thing that could keep them from that bonus now was a typhoon. With any luck…

Sailors are superstitious men and David was no exception. He immediately made a brief apology to Tangaroa, the god of the sea, for challenging his power. The captain scanned the horizon once again for high clouds that could signal a change of weather. A few times on their voyage the skies had threatened but then had cleared off as if offering the Rattler and its crew a reprieve, an opportunity to throw off the awful fortune that David felt he had brought upon it. And what had caused that bad luck, David mused. Was it because he had betrayed his friend and partner or was his boat tainted by the death of Jenny Duval aboard her? Whatever it was, he hoped the favourable weather was a sign of forgiveness.

He’d be damned glad to collect that bonus. It would give him great satisfaction to show up that cheapskate Abner Hollings and the rest of them. David hadn’t liked the manner of the company man that they had dealt with at the Hong Kong Shipping Company warehouse on Aitutaki either. He had refused to use his own men to load the Rattler until Isabelle showed him the contract that proved he had too.

One thing you could say about Isabelle - she was relentless when it came to getting what she wanted. That trait had exasperated him at the beginning of their acquaintance when she tried to make off with the French government’s gold coins; it had made him boil when she had kept pestering him last month when she was organizing this deal, but he had to give her credit. If she hadn’t made sure the i’s were dotted and the t’s were crossed on the contract, they’d have been loading a few tons of copra on board, just the three of them. It seemed she had a few more qualities of a South Seas trader than just a good right hook. Mind you, he had to admit that planting her fist in his face had made a big difference in his own outlook. He still grinned when he thought about their argument in Lavinia’s. They’d been standing toe to toe shouting at each other when she’d suddenly hauled back and clobbered him. What a temper she had!

After they left Aitutaki, the winds were light and their progress slow. Eventually the breeze picked up and they started to make good time. They navigated their way through the scattering of small coral atolls that littered the South Seas. Their reefs were a jagged menace, designed it seemed to rip apart unwary sailing ships so that the sea gods could chew on their hulks. They shortened sail and sailed on through the moon-bright nights. When the moon waned the captain set his course by the stars. Only in the most treacherous waters did they search for a harbour to spend the night at anchor.

Nights were the worst time for David. When he wasn’t on watch he tossed sleepless in his bunk, cursing himself for having fouled everything up. When he was alone at the helm beneath the star-strewn sky, the ghosts crowded close round. He could hear Jenny sing her alluring siren song, a melody that had led him to the brink of destruction. His former life was in tatters now. His best friend had turned his back on him, the Rattler was really not his anymore and, God forgive him, he still thought about Jenny. He sometimes dreamed about the last minutes of her life. He was convinced she would have put her gun down and come to him. But Isabelle had killed her before she could and now he would never know for sure. Everyone kept telling him she had just been using him but he didn’t want to believe it. He had once called Captain Frye a lost man. That was how he felt most of the time now – lost and adrift.

In the daytime it was a different matter. For a while there he had lost track of how much he loved the sea – the tang of the salt air, the diamond glitter of the sun reflected on the waves, the wind filling the jib and pulling the Rattler on. He had grown up in the harsh sun-baked interior of Australia where water was precious and rare. It hadn’t been till he went to sea that he had felt truly alive. It had the same effect now, like a tonic for the malaise from which he suffered. It didn’t hurt that he wasn’t getting drunk every night either, he admitted ruefully. It felt good to wake up without an aching head. Even his appetite had increased. Another dividend of having Isabelle aboard - she was a damn fine cook.

Isabelle. Strange what a good crewmember she was, hard-working and deceptively strong. She read the charts better than he could and could be trusted to maintain a heading when she was at the helm. What she didn’t know about wind and waves would fill a book, but she got by. What had really surprised him was her mild manner and affability. He had worried a little about her temper, even more about the possibility she’d make another nocturnal visit to his cabin as had happened on an earlier voyage. But it seemed whatever attraction she’d had for him had faded. Now he was just a lame duck that she was minding – a reversal of roles from their first meeting. From rescuer to competitor to supplicant – his relationship with Isabelle had changed a lot in a little over a year.

At least on board the Rattler he was captain and she was the crew – a role she scrupulously adhered to. When it came to business, she was an equal partner but when the Rattler sailed – he was in command. Once they had almost grounded on a reef not identified on their charts it had taken a tricky bit of sailing to avoid a nasty fate. He’d shouted out commands in a bellow whilst spinning the wheel and ducking the boom as the Rattler came about. He had been rewarded for his fancy footwork by a nod from Tah-mey and an arm flung around his shoulder by Isabelle.

“Nice sailing, captain. A close shave, but thanks to you, just a little excitement to spice up the boredom.” A grin split Isabelle’s tanned face.

“A little luck and quick reactions – a sailor’s friends. How would you like to go forward as a lookout for a while just in case there are any more new islands about to rear their ugly heads?”

She nodded and moved to the bow with an ease and grace she had gained in the last year. He recalled the day they had set sail from Makemo, Isabelle lost in the oversized clothes she had borrowed after her escape from the penal colony. She had stumbled across the deck like a drunk and clung to the rigging as if it alone kept her from being hurled overboard. She’d come a long way, that was for sure.

Now she was a partner in the Rattler, for as long as they could keep the business out of bankruptcy. This contract meant a lot to them. Not only would it be a demonstration to all the trading companies that the Rattler and her captain were back in business, but the bonus would also keep the creditors at bay. It might even pay Mauriri a small portion of what he was owed.  Isabelle had bid the contract at a break-even price but the bonus – ah, that would give them a hefty profit.

Isabelle had told Grief how Hollings had laughed when she had asked for the early delivery provision. The company manager had been denigrating Grief’s abilities and had mocked her for bailing him out. She had lured him into offering a large bonus. Grief and Isabelle had chuckled when they pictured Hollings boasting in the club about how he’d made a fool of the young lady new to South Seas trading.

***

Abner Hollings sat in his office, scowling as he tossed a crumpled telegram into the receptacle. He was having second thoughts now about his bonus offer to Grief and that Reed woman. The shrewd trader had known that twenty-eight days was near impossible in the best of weather and, with the rainy season about to start, as close to a sure thing as there was. He only did it because he had a contract with Farwell Food Products that said that the copra had to be at the processing plant by the 5th of the month, thirty-five days from now. Using an incentive to keep the Rattler from dallying en route had seemed a harmless ruse. A shame to take advantage of a pretty little thing like Miss Reed but business was business. However, when he had telegraphed the details of the contract to the Shanghai manager, he had received an unwelcome reply. ‘Bonus provisions unacceptable,’ it had stated. And now this latest telegram from Malcolm, ‘Fresh winds may make early delivery possible.’

“Confound it, that can’t be,” Hollings fumed in his office in Matavai.

***

In Shanghai, the manager of the Hong Kong Shipping Company’s local office scowled at the account book. Jonas Malcolm had been doctoring it for months now. A one-shot ‘borrowing’ of company funds had eventually turned into a regular supplement to his income. The treasurer hadn’t noticed that he’d been siphoning off funds so far, but if they had to pay the bonus for the incoming copra shipment, Malcolm would be found out. How could Hollings have let a woman pull the wool over his eyes? Whatever else he might be, David Grief was a first-rate sailor. The manager looked out at the Shanghai harbour, the sunny skies, the flag snapping in the breeze and a gnawing fear griped at his guts. Jonas Malcolm realized he was the only trader in China hoping for bad weather and light winds.

****

Isabelle Reed scanned the horizon, eager to make port. Almost four weeks at sea sailing twenty-four hours a day had left her weary and battered. She flexed her left shoulder. It had been throbbing constantly since she had wrenched it nearly out of its socket a week back. Every day had been a reminder to the livery owner of how little she actually knew about sailing and how treacherous the sea could be. Isabelle had thought she’d mastered some aspects of crewing on a schooner, but the constant ache of her shoulder warned her how quickly nature could turn on the unwary. She had certainly learned her lesson.

She had been tending the sails one morning while Tah-mey had the helm and David rested below. For the first time this trip she had fouled the lines and was hastily untangling them before the Tahitian noticed. It was a calm sea and a light breeze. To make her task easier she took the line out of its cleat – just for a minute. In that instant, a small squall came out of nowhere.

The swirling wind blew up from opposite the prevailing breeze and left the sails hanging slack before snapping them hard the other way. The boom swept across the deck with vicious speed. She sprawled to safety only to spy the line paying out swiftly. She’d removed the rope from the cleat. There was nothing to prevent the mainsail from swinging loose. It would tear into the foresail’s rigging or even break off the gooseneck which attached the boom to the mast. If that happened they would waste precious time making repairs. She scrambled over to grasp the line. It burned across her palms as she desperately searched for a stanchion, something she could wrap the line around to slow the momentum of the boom.

As if in answer to her prayers the wind changed directions once again, swirling eddies pushing the sail back and creating some slack in the rope. She got the line looped around a post before a violent squall snatched at the canvas again. Though she braced herself she still felt a tremendous jerk on her arms. She held on but couldn’t stop herself from stumbling forward. She was granted another brief reprieve. Quickly, she wrapped the rope around her waist to give herself some leverage.

Another savage gust yanked her off her feet. She crashed headlong into the stanchion and sprawled there tangled up in the rope. Unable to escape she lay wedged against the pole. She was trapped in the rope’s uncomfortable grasp while she waited for a lull. When it came she wrenched a coil free from her body and looped it around the stanchion, finishing the clove hitch.

Finally she had the boom under control. She worked herself free of the remaining rope and unsnarled the tangled line. As the sail came back toward her in the swirling breeze, she cinched in the slack. Isabelle crouched there holding on grimly as she willed the wind to die down. Finally, it obeyed her command. She added another loop to hold the sail fast then sprawled against the rail nursing her bleeding hands.

As soon as the squall passed, Tah-mey left the helm and helped Isabelle unfasten the line and cinch it back into the cleat. He sucked in his breath when he saw her barked knuckles and the rope burns on her palms. Isabelle warned him in no uncertain terms that the captain was not to find out about her nearly-disastrous blunder. The last thing she wanted was for David to think she was careless and incompetent. The lean native nodded in acknowledgement.

Tah-mey found her a short time later and gave her a jar of home-made salve. The self-conscious woman didn’t bother telling him about the other bumps and bruises she’d acquired in her encounter with the thick wooden post. What hurt, even more than her pride, was her left shoulder. It ached like the very devil, keeping her awake at night since then. She’d avoided some of the heavy work after that, even though she was mortified that Grief and Tah-mey might think that she was a shirker. But in situations like today when Captain Grief gave a direct order she just had to grit her teeth and ignore the pain. She told herself it was getting better.

Nagging doubts continued to plague Isabelle. She was elated at the possibility they could qualify for the bonus payment. But once they had collected the money they still had to make their way back to Tahiti in the teeth of the rainy season, possibly with an empty hold. More than that, she couldn’t help but worry about how her stable was faring during her absence.

As a trader she needed to make some connections in Shanghai to fill their hold with paying cargo. As a sailor she would have to quickly develop the skills that she would need to play her role on the deck of the Rattler. Isabelle sighed. Since the idea for this contract had first germinated in her mind she had been pushed to her limits - physically, mentally and emotionally.

At least David had responded well to the challenge of this voyage. She’d been a little wary when she’d first boarded the schooner. After all she had only gotten him out of his habitual spot at Lavinia’s bar by punching him in the jaw. He apparently held no grudge though and his fine seamanship had gotten them through some tricky passages. The captain seemed to thrive on the test; he looked better than he had at any time since the sad affair with Jenny. His eyes were clear; it appeared that he had not been nipping at the bottle of rum she’d seen him stow away with his duffle bag. The change in David alone made this voyage worthwhile.

The canny trader gave her head a shake. An improvement in Grief’s outlook was all very good but she couldn’t afford to take her attention off the contract. The livelihood of both David and her - Mauriri as well – depended on a successful outcome to this voyage. The fulfillment of the contract would improve their reputation but it was the bonus that would give them a little financial leeway. Isabelle rubbed her sore shoulder and stared at the islands ahead looming larger on the horizon.

***

The Rattler navigated among the hundreds of vessels at anchor as she inched up the Hwangpoo River. Isabelle consulted the chart as Tah-mey minded the sails.

“Soochow Creek should be around the next bend. Hong Kong Shipping has its warehouse at the Hongkew Wharf,” Isabelle said, frowning at the hand-drawn sketch of the area that she had been given by the manager in Aitutaki.

Grief shook his head in amazement. “It’s been a few years since I’ve been here. It’s grown a lot.”

The Rattler put down anchor off the wharf they believed to be their destination. Isabelle and Grief boarded the longboat and rowed in. The partners climbed the ladder to the wharf and hailed the first dock worker they saw. He directed them to the warehouse office.

“Excuse me, can you tell where I’d find the manager of Hong Kong Shipping?” Grief asked.

“Well, not down here, that’s for sure. You’ll find him at the head office in town not on the docks where he’d have to smell the stink.” The man chuckled at this own humour then gave instructions to the company office in The Bund.

It took a little time and a few inquiries until they found the Hong Kong Shipping Company office, a brick building on Nanking Road almost a mile from the wharf. It was dwarfed by the newly-built Palace Hotel opposite. Grief looked around in amazement.

“This all used to be wooden bungalows,” he muttered astonished at the growth in the area. “Hong Kong Shipping must be doing pretty well for itself to have their offices here.

They walked into the outer office to be greeted by a clerk. When they stated their business, he led them to an inner office. He knocked on the door and they entered at the muffled greeting.

A rusty-haired man who looked to be about forty sat behind an enormous oak desk, cluttered with paper. Neatly dressed in the latest London fashion, his eyebrows were raised in an expression of inquiry. Isabelle approached the desk, unfolded the contract and placed it in front of the manager. He rose to his feet in the presence of a woman.

“Isabelle Reed,” She extended her hand and gripped his in a firm handshake then turned to introduce the tall seaman behind her, “Captain David Grief. We have a shipment of copra for you from the Cooks.”

“Miss Reed, Captain. Jonas Malcolm. Of course - Hollings’ shipment. You have made good time.” Isabelle noticed that the pleasant words were not reflected in the trader’s tone of voice or his eyes. She could feel nervous anxiety radiating from the man. She had a fleeting moment of exultation. She had obviously had made a good contract. Why else would this fellow be so obviously worried?

“Early enough to qualify for the bonus, in fact,” she stressed triumphantly. You’ll notice a line on the last page of the contract where you sign to confirm the date of delivery.” She indicated with a slender finger the place where he should sign.

“Indeed Miss Reed, you must be looking forward to receiving the dividend. It could not have been an easy voyage. I suppose it is your consummate skill, Captain – Grief was it, that you’ve reached your destination so swiftly.”

“Good weather and good luck, mostly,” replied the captain gruffly, uncomfortable with the flattery.

“However,” Malcolm continued, “I can’t sign until the copra has been unloaded. We’ll have to bring your vessel up to our dock. I’ll have a couple of the boys tow you in. I’ll take this contract. We’ll finish the paperwork while we’re unloading.”

“Good,” David broke in. “We’ll get back to the Rattler and prepare for unloading.” He stretched out a big hand which Malcolm shook enthusiastically. He turned to the woman more tentatively. She shook his hand too, though in a rather abstracted fashion. Isabelle’s mind was elsewhere. She hated to give up possession of the contract; that piece of paper was her only evidence of the transaction. Impulsively, she reached for the document.

“I’ll take this with me if you don’t mind. I wouldn’t want to see it lost. It’s like a – good luck charm. I’ll bring it with me when we unload.”

“I quite understand,” Malcolm’s initial frown turned into a tense smile, “We’ll meet again down at the warehouse on the wharf in a few hours?”

Malcolm kept that smile on his face until the door closed behind his departing guests. Then he smashed his fist on the desk and slumped back into his leather chair. Damn it, he’d been so close to getting his hands on the contract.

The embezzler had come to the conclusion that the only hope of avoiding the catastrophe of exposure was to falsify the contract that the Reed woman had. A date change of a single day would nullify the bonus clause. If he could get the woman’s signature confirming the counterfeit date no court of law would support any claims she made. It would be far better if they didn’t notice the substitution until after they had set sail. If they discovered his trick and made a big stink here in Shanghai, he would be forced to take stronger measures. There were thugs and assassins for hire on every corner. Many sailors had been found floating in Soochow Creek, their throats cut. It would be a pity if Miss Reed and her hulking partner had to join them.

Unfortunately, not having the contract in his hands made things much more difficult. Now he would have to be very clever to substitute the forged page without the two of them noticing. He’d heard from Hollings that the Reed woman was new to the trading business. He’d concentrate on her. Malcolm took out a blank contract form and fed it into his typewriter. Now what had he read on that contract page? It had been very kind of Miss Reed to point out all the details to him.

Captain Grief stood at the helm as the pilot boat towed the Rattler toward the dock. Tah-mey gestured directions from the bow while Isabelle unlashed the canvas covering the bales of copra on deck. David’s task required little attention and he found himself distracted by his novice crewmember as she climbed over the cargo, her movements graceful as a cat.

Isabelle Reed was an attractive woman. She’d caught his eye from the first time they’d met. She’d stood on the boardwalk in Matavai like a haughty aristocrat, ramrod straight as if she were on parade not bound in chains. Instead of shuffling silently off to her jail cell she had the impudence to taunt Morlais. Little appealed more to Grief than taking the good lieutenant down a peg and he’d joined in with relish. That feckless act had thrown them together and it had taken a good long time until his crush (as Isabelle had once described it) on her was over and he could concentrate on other women.

For months now very few emotions beside bitterness filled his heart. Recently, it seemed he felt a twinge every so often of that strange connection he had to this woman he’d once described as ‘just a common thief’. There had been a time Isabelle had obviously felt that way too. It was too late now; that ship had sailed. Isabelle treated him like he was her addled little brother most of the time, hiding his liquor, giving him orders and saving his hide. A shout from the dock brought his attention back to the task at hand and he watched Tah-mey grab the cable tossed from the dock.

Soon the Rattler was tethered snug to the wharf. A stevedore operated a crane that lowered a cargo net to the deck. Soon the bales of copra were being lifted out of the hold. Grief continued to supervise the operation while his partner climbed the ladder to the dock.

Isabelle spotted Malcolm near the warehouse itself, talking to one of the dockworkers, indicating where the copra was to be stored. As she approached him she was greeted with a pleasant smile.

“Good afternoon, Miss Reed. Looks like we’ll have your boat unloaded in a couple of hours.”

“I guess it’s time to get this contract signed.”

“Come inside and we’ll finish the paperwork.” He turned and walked into a barren outer office, a spartan room compared to the far more sumptuous suite in the office in town. Isabelle followed him as he sat down gingerly at the dusty desk. “We’ve got a secretary but he only works in the mornings. I’m sure I’ll find a pen in here somewhere. Ah there it is, but no ink. I say, Miss Reed, could you fetch some ink from the desk in the next office while I read over the provisions of the contract.”

As Isabelle walked away, Malcolm pulled the phoney page from the desk drawer and quickly replaced the real one. When the Rattler’s partner returned with the ink, he signed with a flourish and extended the pen to her. She signed below and he blotted the fresh ink.

“There, we’re finished. Your stipend will be issued by Mr Hollings to your account from our office in Matavai.” He folded Isabelle’s contract and placed it in an envelope and sealed it with wax. She watched him as he imprinted the melted wax with the company’s hallmark. He placed it in her waiting hand.

“There, now it’s official. Thank you, Miss Reed. I’m sure we’ll do business again. If there is anything I can do to help you while you’re here in Shanghai, don’t hesitate to ask.”

“Thank you, Mr Malcolm. Since you mention it, I wondered if there was anything you would like to ship back to the Polynesian Islands. It would seem a waste to go home empty-handed.”

“Nothing that I can think of, but allow me to write you a letter of introduction to Ben Higgins. He’s the manager at Masters & Newfield. They are always looking for independent shippers.” He jotted the letter off on a sheet of paper and described how to find the company’s office.

Isabelle Reed left the warehouse with a spring in her step. She left the contract in her cabin on the Rattler before wishing Grief well with the rest of the unloading. When she told him where she was heading, he gave her a stern warning.

“Shanghai isn’t safe for a woman alone. Make sure you stay in the International Settlement and be back before nightfall.”

“Nonsense, David, you know I can take care of myself.”

“I mean it, Isabelle. This isn’t a place where your strong right hand is going to keep you safe. A white woman on the street alone can be a target, both for drunken sailors and Asian thugs. I’m warning you, this is the most dangerous town in the world.”

“Alright, alright. I’ll go right there and come straight back. Wouldn’t want to alarm my partner.” Isabelle smiled that mischievous smile that always distracted Grief from any coherent thought.

“Be careful,” he muttered and then called after her as she walked away, “and good luck with getting us some cargo.”

Isabelle strode down the street, whistling under her breath, ignoring the glances and stares of passers-by. She proffered her letter of introduction at the offices of the shipping company and after extended negotiations hammered out a contract to take on crates of china to be delivered to various ports in French Polynesia. She left in an almost giddy mood. All of her plans were coming off without a hitch.

She made her way back toward the waterfront now paying a little more attention to the exotic locale in which she found herself. The streets were filled with beggars shouting for change, priests in black clothing and coolies, their huge loads suspended from either end of a bamboo pole balanced across their shoulders. Customers bartered with rickshaw drivers for transportation through the city. Shanghai was one of the largest cities in the world and she was curious to see some of the real city. The area she was in was called the Settlement- it officially belonged to the nations that traded there like Great Britain, France and Japan. She wondered what the rest of the city was like

Isabelle sighed. Her investigations would have to wait. It was getting on toward evening and she had promised her partner she’d be back on the Rattler soon. She looked with interest at the sidewalk stands she passed, some selling sweets and other foods she didn’t recognize; others had letter writers and fortune tellers. Everywhere was a scene of chaos, people walking down the street rather than the cluttered sidewalks, rickshaws going in every direction and, above it all, voices raised in shouts, arguments and bargaining until the air buffeted her ears.

When she arrived at the Hongkew wharf Isabelle found David replacing a pulley that had broken on their voyage. She jumped down the last few rungs of the ladder and approached her partner, a big grin on her face.

“We’ve got cargo for the return trip,” she announced, her green eyes bright with excitement.

“Fantastic!” David lifted her off her feet and twirled her around in a spontaneous gesture of celebration. This won a peal of laughter from his partner. She stumbled slightly as he put her down and Grief steadied her. They stood there, his hands at her waist, triumphant grins on both their faces. Without thinking, he bent his head and kissed her full on the lips. There was a moment of surprised hesitation then Isabelle responded. It was David who broke it off. He cursed himself. He hadn’t meant to do that. Isabelle was his partner and mixing business with pleasure would disturb that delicate balance. Besides, he had to admit that there were times she reminded him of Jenny – her looks, slender figure, maybe something in her confident bearing. It was just so damned confusing.

There was a brief moment of awkwardness as he drew back a little, a silence Isabelle avoided by looking down at the contract she had clenched in her hand. Grief recovered his voice.

“A drink then, Isabelle. Come down to the galley and I’ll pour us a libation.”

“Wonderful idea,” Isabelle had collected herself after that unexpected kiss, “Where’s Tah-mey? He should join us.”

“I gave him the rest of the day after we finished unloading. Shanghai is a wonderful place for sailors. Lots of bargains to be had.” The captain’s eyes had a twinkle and Isabelle responded with a snort.

“Likely story. I doubt that he’ll be searching for ‘bargains’.”

“Perhaps not.”

Isabelle watched as the tall sea-captain poured a couple of fingers of brandy into a cut-crystal wine glass. He poured an equal amount into a tumbler. She wondered where the fancy stemware had come from. Possibly a remnant from a shipment that had been smashed in a storm. He extended the fine glass with its amber contents toward her. They clinked their glasses together as he proposed a toast – “To the first major trading endeavour of Reed Enterprises.”

“Grief and Reed, you mean.” They emptied their glasses in one gulp. Grief poured another.

“I’m surprised you aren’t out celebrating with Tah-mey,” Isabelle remarked.

“I wanted to make sure you were back safely before I made any plans.” Grief looked a little fidgety as he told her this.

“Here I am, safe and sound. I free you from your vigil. I will stand guard over our trusty schooner.”

He thought he heard a challenge in her words.

“You know it’s not safe for you out there at night. For any woman and most men. Even seasoned sailors have been known to disappear.”

“I understand, David. Have your fun. This warrants a night on the town.” The partners toasted with an empty glass. David’s face widened into a mischievous grin.

“Maybe just one more drink. After all I want to set my eyes on that contract and look at the signature that makes it official.”

“I don’t know if we should, David; it’s sealed.”

“Sealed?” replied Grief with a puzzled frown.

“Yes, why? Is that unusual?”

“Well, I’ve never had a buyer give me a contract in a sealed envelope before as far as I can remember.” Grief mulled it over for a moment. “Let’s open it up. I can’t think of any reason not to.”

His partner shrugged her slim shoulders and fetched the envelope from her cabin. She carefully broke open the seal, scanned it briefly and handed it to Grief, a smile on her face.

The captain scrutinized the signatures, letting loose a low whistle when he reread the part that referred to the bonus.

“Well-done, Isabelle.” It wasn’t until today that he had let his mind linger on the exact sum involved. He turned back to the final page to admire the signatures once again. He frowned.

“There’s a mistake here. The day’s wrong. This says we had to get the shipment here in twenty-seven days to earn the bonus.”

“That’s not right. Let me see.” The annoyed woman practically snatched it out of his hand. She looked it over, flipped the pages and finally threw it down on the table. “It’s a phoney. The son of a bitch - he’s changed the wording.”

Her eyes smouldering with righteous indignation, Isabelle began to fume.

“That dirty cheat! I’m going over there right now and beat him until he signs the rightful paper and hands it over.”

“Hold on, Isabelle. You’ve signed this contract. We haven’t got a leg to stand on.”

“Hollings knows what we agreed to. He’ll support us.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure. If he saw a way of saving his company some money, he’d be more than happy to say it was twenty-seven days you agreed to.”

Isabelle slammed back in her chair, still furious. But David was right. If it came to her word against Malcolm’s, he’d just pull out the contract and point to her signature. She had been conned. Again. And just like last time she wouldn’t be the only one who would lose money. What a stupid fool she was. Was it her lot in life whenever she tried something new to be taken in by some smooth-talking swindler? Maybe she should have stuck with the stables – at least she understood horse trading. This other world – at times like this she wasn’t sure if she was really meant to do this. She leaned forward on her elbows, her face in her hands.

David could barely hear the muttered “Damn’ as her mop of sun-bleached hair fell over her face. His own anger had passed. It was replaced by a dismal accounting of his credits and debts with the balance plunging well into the red. He had allowed himself to hope that some of the profit could go to Mauriri – as a kind of peace offering. Now he’d have to nurse a load of delicate china through the North Pacific during the monsoon season to earn any profit at all.

Isabelle raised her head. “I’m going back to see Malcolm. Perhaps I can make him change this thing.”

“I don’t think it will do any good but I’ll go with you.”

Luckily, they found Malcolm still working in his office on Nanking Road. It was dusk when they arrived and the manager had just lit the coal-oil lamps.

“I didn’t expect you, Miss Reed, Captain Grief. Still looking for cargo for the return trip? I might just have a small shipment for you.”

“Well, actually Mr Malcolm, we were going over the contract and it appears there has been a mistake. Perhaps another contract got mixed-up with this one. Ours was for delivery in twenty-eight days. You must remember, we were talking about the bonus payment. Well this page says twenty-seven.”

Malcolm took the contract from her; his smile had lost its warmth. He read the document carefully, turning the pages as he went.

“No, this appears to be in order. I admit you came very close to earning the bonus but I’m afraid close just isn’t good enough.”

Isabelle exploded to her feet and leaned on the edge of the desk, her fists planted as she stared down at Malcolm in a rage.

“Give us the right contract back and sign it, you little weasel!”

Malcolm found himself backing away, the smile gone from his face. “I’m sorry. Miss Reed, but you’re mistaken. I can understand how you’d be angry, but…”

“No but’s, just get a new contract out, type it up and we’ll all sign it right now. Then we’ll be gone. Why are you doing this to us, it’s not your money!” she said hotly, leaning forward as if poised to attack.

A flush crept across the seated man’s cheeks. This woman was asking too damned many questions. He was starting to think that a ‘nasty accident’ in the streets of Shanghai was the only avenue left to him.

Suddenly, the sea captain who had been standing back observing the confrontation stepped forward.

“That’s enough, Isabelle. If Mr Malcolm says we’ve made a mistake, then I guess we have. No point in beating a dead horse. We’ll say goodnight, but if you’re serious about that cargo, we’ll be back tomorrow to load it up. Come along, Isabelle.”

Malcolm slumped back in his seat in relief. At least the captain had some common sense. Not like that wild woman. He might get out of this yet.

Grief hooked his elbow through the arm of the sputtering horse-trader and dragged her reluctantly away. He’d been watching Malcolm’s face when Isabelle started to lose her temper. He had a feeling that this man would make a bad enemy. That was the last thing they needed. He glanced back as Malcolm bade them farewell.

“Splendid then. There’ll be a dozen barrels of motor oil. I’ll have them ready on the docks by noon. See you then. Sorry about the misunderstanding, Miss Reed.”

Grief had her through the door before she could respond. She shook herself free just outside the building.

“What was that all about? We went there to get our money back not to get some lousy little contract that’s hardly worth our time!”

“Sometimes, Isabelle, you’ve just got to cut your losses. We’re in his court now. Let’s go home. Maybe we can work it out with Hollings.” His slumped shoulders betrayed his dejection. Isabelle felt the anger drain out of her to be replaced by embarrassment and guilt.

“I’ve gotten off to a great start as a South Seas trader, haven’t I –taken in by swindlers already. Is there a sign on my forehead – ‘stupid fool’?”

“What’s done is done. I’m not sure I’d have done any better. That’s why I let Mo handle that end of the business. No-one could pull a fast one on him.”

Grief was oblivious to the flush of blood that went to Isabelle’s cheeks. The comparison to the partner she had replaced was a sore point for her. She knew she wasn’t as experienced as Mauriri but she thought David had come to respect her in the past month. Now, she’d fouled things up and instantly that fragile trust had been shattered.

They walked along in silence through the streets. The coolies had been replaced by amahs leading their sing-song girls to the dancing palaces and brothels. The streets were still full of beggars and street vendors. Now the sound of music- Asian drums, Chinese fifes and western dance bands - mingled with the shouts and calls she’d heard earlier. Tonight the hubbub irritated her. Isabelle wanted only to return to the Rattler to lick her wounds.

As they reached the ladder to descend to the Rattler, David pulled back.

“I’ve seen you safely home, Isabelle, now I’m off to my much-delayed night on the town. Nothing much to celebrate anymore, but a good reason to get drunk.” His voice took on that self-disparaging tone that reminded Isabelle far too much of the man who had sat slumped in the bar every night after Jenny’s death. Just when she thought she’d seen the end of that, her blunder had set him off again.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t want to stay here? I’ll fix you a bite to eat. We can have a drink, figure out what we’re going to do about this.”

“Isabelle, there’s nothing to do. You go and bar the door. I’ve got a date at the Palais.”

“What’s that?” Isabelle blurted out before regretting her words. What if David were going to a brothel? She found herself surprised by an unexpected surge of anger and betrayal at the idea.

“The Palais, my dear, is a dive, filled with drunken sailors, opium-smokers and women of ill-repute.” David’s voice was filled with weary sarcasm. “It is the worst place on the Rue Chao Pau San, better known to the folks around here as ‘Blood Alley’. I intend to find Tah-mey to tell him the bad news, get stinking drunk and come back here singing a sailor’s shanty loud enough to wake up you and everyone else in the vicinity.” He put his hands together in a mock Eastern bow and backed away. Isabelle stared after him until he disappeared in the darkness.

She descended to the cabin and lit a lamp, lost in a foul mood. Her anger and self-recrimination mixed with annoyance with Grief. On top of it all she was worried about him - tonight in the dangerous streets of Shanghai and more than that, about his - what would you call it - his state of mind. David didn’t need to have his hopes dashed yet again. The man was at his best when he was brash and arrogant - then it was fun to tweak his ego. But not now, not when he’d lost his reputation, his best friend and nearly his livelihood. He had changed since the Jenny Duval affair and just when she’d thought he was getting back to normal, this had to happen. Damn it. Isabelle reached for the bottle of brandy and poured herself a stiff drink.

A healthy gulp burned down her throat as she sat enmeshed in self-pity. She was a simple horse-trader; what did she know about bills of lading, phoney contracts and con-men? She was getting a crash course now; that was for sure. Her blood boiled to think that that sanctimonious little toad had had the gall to lie to her face. Wouldn’t she love to turn the tables on that bastard.

Pity she couldn’t take a look around that office of his and see if she could find the original contract. Maybe it was crumpled up in the rubbish basket over at the warehouse. Malcolm must have replaced it when he’d sent her away to get the ink. He had to have typed up a new one himself, knowing she’d be so eager to sign it she’d never look at the fine print, especially since she had it committed to memory.

How he must have laughed to see what an easy mark she was! She finished her drink and poured another. By the time it was finished she had made up her mind. She was going back to the warehouse to find the original copy of the contract. Grief had insisted that Malcolm would have destroyed it, but she just had to give it a try. And if that didn’t work, she would take her pistol, go over to that bastard’s office and make him sign a new contract.

She swayed a little as she stood and realized she might have had a little too much to drink. It didn’t keep her from realizing that she would stick out on the wharf in her usual attire of jodhpurs, boots and blouse. She rooted through David’s sea chest to find baggy cotton trousers and a voluminous shirt. She threw on a jacket with a wide collar and swept her hair up to stuff it under a cap. She examined herself in the looking-glass and decided even with the collar up she didn’t look much like a man but if she applied a little grease from the anchor-chain she’d pass for one of the urchins that served on the larger ships.

Luckily the air was somewhat cooler in the evening. It cleared her head a little and she managed a straight line as she approached the warehouse across the wharf. Isabelle used her sailor’s knife to pry open the hasp on the front door and entered the huge dark warehouse. She trailed her hand along the corrugated tin wall until she reached the office where she had signed the contract. She found a lamp, lit it and shielded it with her hand.

A sense of futility overtook her as she found ashes in the waste-paper basket, but stubbornly she searched through the desk in that office and the one where she had found the bottle of ink. So David was right; Malcolm had obviously destroyed the original contract. She fingered her pistol stuffed in her jacket pocket.

So it was on to her back-up plan. She would go to Hong Kong Shipping’s head office on Nanking Street and hold Malcolm at gun-point until he signed the contract. Even if she had to tie him up and type it out herself on a blank form, he was going to sign that page. It occurred to her that the manager might not still be at work; it was getting awfully late. A tiny idea materialized in her sobering mind. She blew out the lamp and sat there letting the plan develop while her eyes acclimatized to the dark.

***

Jonas Malcolm blew out the lamp in his office and locked the door. He didn’t know whether he should be relieved that Captain Grief had hauled that firebrand woman away or anxious about what she’d be like when she came back tomorrow. He’d been stupid to offer them another contract but he hoped it might alleviate their anger and quieten them down. As desperate as he was, he wasn’t quite ready to have two people murdered particularly when one was a woman. It would be far better if he could brazen it through. If not… he fingered a scrap of paper in his pocket. On it was written the name of the boss of one of the triads. He walked down the stairs and hailed a rickshaw. He needed a drink tonight before he could face having dinner with his wife and children. His family thought he was a decent man, not the kind who could be up to his ears in gambling debts or capable of ordering a murder.

***

David Grief hoisted a glass of gin as the band on stage finished a number. Tah-mey slumped snoring in the chair beside him. The captain had a number of dance tickets he could use to purchase the attentions of one of the lovely young sing-song girls seated along the bar. Many were already draped on the laps of other patrons, but David simply hadn’t felt like making the effort. His plan was to get rip-roaring drunk, but he found himself sitting abstracted for minutes at a time, his drink untouched.

Grief thought about his ruined friendship with Mauriri – Isabelle had told him his old partner wasn’t interested in returning to the Rattler, that all he wanted was his money back. He thought about the bonus they had just lost. Without it they had enough to keep the Rattler running but that was about it. Maybe if he got the Rattler back to Matavai with their cargo in one piece there might be a small profit for them.

Isabelle had done a good job to get two contracts on such short notice. Maybe he’d been a bit hard on her earlier. It was easy enough to be taken in by a clever swindler. Mo likely wouldn’t have fared any better than Isabelle.

David thought about kissing Isabelle on the boat last night. It was probably a good sign - he was finally getting over Jenny. But it would never work. Isabelle Reed, of all people. He owed her money, she played fast and loose with the law and she had killed Jenny…

Jenny. He remembered a bitter argument he’d had with his father – one of the last before he’d left home. The old man had told him that he had an unerring eye for every lying whore with a sob story and that they would bleed him dry. It was just one more bitter humiliation that his father had proved to be right. He finished his drink and poured another.

He surveyed the crowd, the din of voices drowning out the lousy band. He noticed a grubby little sailor making his way toward Grief’s table, head down, his demeanour furtive. The captain’s guard went up and he placed his hand on the hilt of his knife. He relaxed a bit as the figure neared. It was a fresh-faced youngster. He was probably looking guilty because he was too young to be drinking in here – didn’t want his captain to catch him or the owner to throw him out. He was surprised when the boy pulled up a chair at Grief’s table and glanced up at him from under his peaked cap.

Isabelle! What the hell was she doing here? David sat back, dumbfounded.

“David, we’ve got to talk. I need your help.”

“Isabelle, what in God’s name are you doing here? Didn’t you listen to a word I said? There are thieves in here and out there that would stick a knife in you - man or lad – just for the boots you’re wearing. And you won’t fool anyone with that get-up if they take even one glance at you.”

“Well then, let’s get out of here. I’ve got to tell you my plan.”

With a grunt of irritation David stood and hoisted Tah-mey out of his chair by one arm. Isabelle fell in on the other side and they dragged the native’s limp body out of the cabaret. They paused for a moment outside the door while Grief shot Isabelle a glare.

“You are the most infuriating woman I have ever met. Why can’t you just do what I tell you to?”

“Oh, shut up, David and let’s get Tah-mey back to the Rattler. We’ve got a lot to do tonight.” Grief snorted sceptically and started back to the Rattler.

In a few blocks, Tah-mey recovered a little and they made better time after that. He leaned heavily on Grief’s shoulder as Isabelle kept guard, her hand on her pistol, her eyes darting to every shadowy alleyway. As they stowed him in his bunk, Isabelle swiftly told Grief her plan.

“We’re going to take Malcolm in with his own nasty trick. I realized we just need him to sign a contract that’s got the real date on it and we’ll sail away with him none the wiser. Hollings knows what we agreed to; he’s got to go along with it.”

“And just how are we going to do that. We have no contract and even if we did, how would we get Malcolm to sign it? He’s no fool.”

Isabelle waved her hand impatiently and hitched up her oversized pants.

“Simple. We go over to his office right now, find a blank contract and just fill it in.”

Grief’s jaw dropped. He had to admire the bold way this woman thought; it reminded him of some of the best plans he and Mauriri had had –audacious and often somewhat illegal.

“So we break in and forge a phoney document? What’s the point? That doesn’t mean anything without his signature.”

“We have to sign a contract tomorrow for that oil shipment right? You just leave the rest to me.”

David felt a laugh bubbling up from within. He shook his head as he chuckled.

“Takes a thief to catch a thief. Should have known that a dishonest woman would find some underhanded way to get our money back. I’m in.”

Isabelle’s exultation had grown with Grief’s laugh but her smile died on her lips. It was with bitter resignation she realized that no matter what she’d done in the past year, David still saw her as the common thief she had been when he’d first encountered her. It didn’t seem to dawn on him how she’d turned her life around. She put aside that train of thought. She was going to get back the money she’d been cheated out of and nothing else mattered. “Good. Let’s go.”

They made their way through the crowded streets toward Malcolm’s office. At one bar, a couple of drunken sailors reeled out of the swinging doors and knocked Isabelle into a bookseller’s stand. She disentangled herself as David held up the one fellow from falling on top of her.

“Leggo,” the sailor objected and took a roundhouse swing at David’s chin. Grief, sober now, ducked it easily and slugged his attacker in the midsection. The man crumpled to his knees. His friend, seeing what he thought was a second person spoiling for a fight, aimed a punch at Isabelle. She stepped aside and he stumbled into the stand, the Chinese vendor pushing him back upright to prevent damage to his goods.

The bellicose sailor threw his arms around Isabelle and held her in a vicelike bear hug. She rained blows at his face as he drove her backwards up against the side of the building. The air was driven from her lungs. Isabelle gasped for air as she pushed her attacker’s chin back in a futile attempt to loosen his grip. Suddenly the weight pinning her against the wall was gone. Instead she found herself pulled forward still wrapped up in an iron grasp.

Grief had grabbed her assailant by the scruff of his neck and threw him into the street. Held tight by the slow-witted sailor, Isabelle felt herself flung into the roadway as well. Released by the impact she rolled away from the fray. As Isabelle saw curious onlookers gather she swiftly checked her cap to make sure her hair was still covered. She rose hastily to her feet and started walking away. David soon caught up.

He growled under his breath, “Are you all right?”

“Just catching my breath,” she replied gasping.

They finally reached the office of the Hong Kong Shipping Company. No lights could be seen in the windows.

“Looks like no-one’s home.” Grief said.

The captain jimmied the front door lock with the blade of his knife while Isabelle stood lookout. When the coast was clear, they slipped through the door and entered the office. David closed the shutters in the window as Isabelle lit a couple of candles.

“You see if you can find his copy of the old contract while I find a blank and type up a new one.” Isabelle’s voice was a sibilant whisper.

The only sounds in the room were the clacking of the keys as Isabelle filled out the form, and the rustle of papers as David hunted. Finally Grief whispered “I got it.”

Isabelle looked up from her typing. “I don’t suppose there’s any sign of the original?” she asked hopefully.

David couldn’t believe she still had hopes that the document existed. “There’s no sign of the original,” he parroted in a mocking tone. Isabelle gave him a sharp look but returned to her typing, copying the page she’d brought from their contract, changing only the one word. What a difference between twenty-seven and twenty-eight, she mused. Enough to risk being arrested.

“Finished,” she said, separating the document from the copy and placing the carbon paper back in the drawer. She carefully folded the first copy and placed it in the envelope with the contract she’d received from Malcolm. She took the file copy from David. She knew she hadn’t signed this one; Malcolm was probably afraid she’d have read it if she’d had to sign all the copies. She crumpled it up and gave David the replacement she’d just made. He placed it back in the filing cabinet. Isabelle made sure the desk looked the same as when they had entered the room and blew out the candle. They left as stealthily as they had arrived.

After a trip back fraught with anxious moments, the pair arrived back at the Rattler The bars had been emptying as sailors and adventurous civilians hired female companionship for the rest of the night. Pick-pockets and hoodlums prowled the streets preying on the unwary and the drunks. Grief’s intimidating bulk and the weapons brandished by both of them encouraged the wandering ruffians to back off and search for easier game.

They went below, to Grief’s office. At his questioning glance Isabelle told him, “Get some sleep. In the morning we’ve got to go to the other wharf to pick up the porcelain shipment then back here to get the oil.”

“Aren’t you going to bed? You’ll need to be in top form to pull this off tomorrow.” David reminded her.

“Soon,” she said with a weary smile, pulling off the cap and letting her hair tumble free. She tossed her head and ran her fingers through her hair to loosen any tangles.

David stared at her transfixed. “Good night,” he muttered and turned away, wondering how much sleep he was going to get after the stir of physical attraction he’d just felt.

Isabelle stared after him, a little confused by his abruptness. She shook it off, her mind consumed with the details of her scheme. She walked to the desk and pulled out the papers she had taken from the office of the Hong Kong Shipping Company.

***

The next morning dawned sultry and bright. The tropical breeze was heavy with moisture and redolent with unpleasant odours. David looked over the rail at the garbage floating in the river. It was easy to tell where all the refuse and sewage of a city of five million people ended up. He could hardly wait to cast off and sail back down the river to the open sea. He’d take his chances with the reefs and the storms rather than the duplicity and the degradation of this sprawling city. He made ready to cast off. Tah-mey was on deck, a little green around the gills, preparing the sails. Isabelle had not shown her face yet. As if on cue she emerged from the companionway. She was a vision. Clean and tidy, she was no longer the grease-smeared urchin of the previous night. Though, as he recalled, she was damned attractive in that guise too. He gave her a warm smile.

“Ready to cast off?”

Isabelle’s response was brisk and business-like. “You go pick up that cargo without me. Higgins has the contract. And get him to sign this paper.” She handed him a page and quickly reeled off the provisions of the contract; David had her repeat herself so he could memorize them. She climbed the ladder with a final reminder.

“I’ll see you at noon back here. If this works, we should be ready to set sail as soon as the oil is loaded. It would be good to have a little ocean between us and Mr Malcolm in case he finds out we tricked him.” Grief nodded in agreement. He could hardly wait to be back on the open ocean.

The Rattler swung back into the slip about thirty minutes past noon. It had taken a little while to safely stow the delicate cargo so that the china wouldn’t be damaged in heavy seas. The captain could see his partner pacing along the wharf as they drew near.

“About time,” she greeted him as he climbed off the ladder.

“I was busy trying to earn a living while you were gallivanting around – shopping, no doubt,” he teased, trying to ease the anxious look off her face.

She shook her head in amused disbelief.

“Come on, let’s beard the lion in his den. You know your part?” she said.

Grief nodded. She stood there barely able to keep still as David held a conversation with the foreman. In minutes the barrels of oil were being lowered to the deck of the Rattler where Tah-mey lashed them down tightly. Isabelle waited until they were all aboard then accompanied David into the warehouse.

“Mr. Malcolm,” David called out engulfing the man’s hand in his big fist. “I’m hoping you’ve got that contract drawn up for the oil shipment.” He watched as the manager displayed visible relief. Malcolm turned to Isabelle Reed.

“I’ve made this a particularly generous contract, Miss Reed, in light of our previous misunderstanding.” He brought out the contract as he spoke and pointed out the key clauses. “You see, here and here. An open delivery date so there’s no rush to return to Polynesia; you can sail at your leisure.”

“I’ve no desire to stay here one minute longer than I have to. There are too many cut-throats in this town.” She levelled a stare at Malcolm, her grey-green eyes drilling a hole through him.

“Indeed thieves and beggars seem to multiply in the streets daily. They’re giving Shanghai a very bad reputation.”

“They sure are,” Isabelle muttered under her breath.

The company manager seemed to lose interest in small talk. “Shall we sign then?”

Isabelle read the contract carefully, then put pen to paper and blotted her signature. Malcolm followed suit. Isabelle gathered up the contract and placed it on top of other papers she held in her arm.

Grief watched them sign the contract then stepped forward to shake hands. “I hope you’ll put the word out that the Rattler is a first-rate trading ship. We can use all the business we can get.”

“Certainly, Captain Grief. I’ve been very pleased with your performance.”

Isabelle spoke from behind them. “That reminds me, Mr Malcolm. We’re putting together a kind of business testimonial. I’ve jotted down a statement here that says that Captain Grief’s schooner, the Rattler, is one of the finest and most reliable trading ships in the South Seas. We’ve been getting contented customers to sign it. I wonder - would mind adding your name?” She flipped past the contract to the letter she had written and extended a pen to the manager.

Malcolm groaned as he stepped toward her. Would these people never go away? As long as this cursed woman was in Shanghai, there was the chance she’d cause enough of a hue and cry that there would be an investigation. Just sign the damned thing and she’ll be gone, he decided impatiently.

“Why, of course, Miss Reed, what do you have there?” He read the testimonial hastily. It went on for over a page praising the qualities of the Rattler. Not only that, but she had already gotten several signatures including Ben Higgins. He signed at the bottom where she indicated.

“You’ve got a number of people impressed with your skills, I see. Quite a novel idea, this testimonial,” Malcolm said. The female trader deftly blotted the wet ink, tucked the document in with the others and held out her hand.

“Thank you, Mr. Malcolm; perhaps we can do business some other time.”

“No hard feelings, I hope, Miss Reed?” he said, a smug smile on his face.

“None. I’ve had an opportunity to reconsider since yesterday. I realize I have a lot to learn about business. So I thank you for the lesson.”

The partners left the warehouse. Malcolm felt a wave of relief as he saw the schooner make its way toward the mouth of the Hwangpoo. He had pulled it off. The manager picked up the flimsy of the oil contract and folded it up. He would take it to his office and file it with the other. Those two were finally off his back. He still needed to find a ‘sure thing’ at the races that would let him pay back the money he’d borrowed from the company. This time when he won it would be the last time he played the horses. He didn’t want something like this to ever happen again.

Isabel practically flew across the wharf to the Rattler. When she was safely in the cabin she took out the letter of testimonial and ran it carefully over the top of the candle flame. The wax that held the two pieces of paper together melted and she separated the testimonial from the contract that lay below it. Malcolm’s signature was almost exactly where it needed to be. She pulled out her pen and signed with delight. Grief descended the ladder to find his partner reading the contract, triumphant.

“Look at this; we’ve done it!”

He read the document and nodded. “Yes, we have,” he agreed, “A toast then!”

Isabelle looked sheepish. “I’m sorry, David, I finished the brandy last night.”

“You mean that crazy scheme of yours was fuelled by the demon rum? Speaking of which, I have a bottle of the evil brew in my cabin. I’ll be back with that.”

Isabelle was pleased to note as Grief poured that the rum bottle was almost full. So he hadn’t been drinking alone, she thought with satisfaction. They toasted and threw back the drink. Isabelle made a face at once. “Ugh, that’s terrible stuff. Where did you get it?”

“This is the finest rum from the West Indies. I traded the captain of the Mariana a bottle of scotch for this.”

“Bad deal,” Isabelle muttered with a grin.

She struck a match and held it the corner of the page. They watched as the phoney contract that Malcolm had tricked them with caught fire. She dropped the paper as the flame drew close to her fingers. The ashes curled up on the floor until she crushed them with her booted foot. Now there was no evidence.

“All we have to do now is sail the most treacherous passage in the South Seas and try not to get blown into the reefs by the monsoons,” Grief observed with a grin.

They clinked glasses in a mutual salute, unwilling to spoil their triumph with thoughts of an uncertain future. Isabelle made a face once again as the alcohol burned a trail down her throat. On deck, Tah-meh readied the Rattler to sail.

***

Jonas Malcolm swore aloud as he stared at the forged copy of the contract. He had found the damning document when he went to file the new contract in the cabinet. Curse them both. How had they done it? He collapsed into his chair and held his head in his hands. What would they be able to do with an unsigned contract?

He relaxed a little until he recalled signing his name to the contract this morning. What if there had been a piece of carbon paper under it. He flashed back to the morning meeting. The Reed woman had flipped the contract over; he’d seen no carbon. The letter of support – he’d signed her damned affidavit! Could they use that somehow? Or could they forge his name now that they had a sample. He groaned. There were too many loose ends. He was going to have to do something. But how – the schooner was underway.

His last sight of the troublemaking pair was the Rattler leaving the slip and sailing downriver. How long ago was that? A couple of hours at least. They would be at the mouth of the river by now, no chance to intercept them. Perhaps an accident at sea. The signed contract could be in the hands of that she-devil. He’d gladly see her and her partner at the bottom of the ocean.

There must be pirate captains down at the waterfront; men who’d kill their own mothers for a few dollars and a schooner as a prize. Especially if they thought the ship was carrying something valuable. He slammed the door behind him as he hurried down to the public wharf.

***

Chung Wang-shu sized up the nervous Englishman in front of him. He had not given his name, just told him that Big-Ear Du, the boss of the Green Gang of which Chung was a member, had said to look him up. The stranger wanted Chung and his crew to board a schooner and kill the occupants. The businessman didn’t have much money to offer but told the grizzled smuggler that he’d heard the sailboat contained valuable cargo and it was his for the taking. All Chung had to do was slit the throats of the captain and crew and throw them and any papers into the sea with enough weight to sink them to the bottom. Chung spat before he answered.

“Pirating’s a young man’s game. Don’t do much of that anymore.”

“Du mentioned your name – said you’ve got a fast new cutter.”

“She’s fine in the river, the harbour. But the open ocean – bah. Long as the weather is fair, sure. But monsoon’s comin’; I feel it in my bones. Don’t want to risk my new boat.”

Malcolm figured swiftly and came up with a sum that would stretch him to the limit.
Chung nodded in seeming reluctance. Inside though, he was very pleased.

“I want my money now.”

“I don’t have enough here. Half now, the rest later.”

“Bah,” Chung spit in derision but nodded grudgingly, “Half then. What is this boat called?”

“The Rattler - a two-masted, gaff-rigged schooner, foresail, small mainsail, runs a standing jib and a flying jib. Heading for Tahiti likely by the fastest route possible – through the Marshalls, I would think.” Malcolm held out the bills in a tight grip, reluctant to let them go.

“How far ahead?”

“She cast off from the wharf about four hours ago.”

“Not bad,” Chung nodded, “She’ll go slow down the river. Might be able to catch her before Loochoo Islands. Everything on her’s mine?”

“Everything. Just make sure they’re dead and every piece of paper on that boat is sunk to the bottom.”  Malcolm rose to leave; the sickening smell of opium was starting to make him woozy. “Bring me the boat’s nameplate– and I’ll give you the rest of the money.”
The bargain made, Malcolm left to figure out how he was going to raise the money he had just promised the cagey old smuggler.

Chung rose. He’d have to hire a few extra toughs for this job and get Huang to fuel up. It could be a good test for his beautiful new motorboat.

***

David Grief breathed a sigh of relief as the Rattler nosed into open water. The Hwangpoo River was awfully congested for a sailboat with no engine. Mauriri and he had talked about mounting a small outboard on the transom, but the idea had fallen by the wayside in all the troubles of the past few months. It would be a long time before there would be enough money for something like that.

He called out to his crew for more sail. The greater volume of canvas increased their speed significantly even though the winds were light. The sun was setting behind him; soon they’d be sailing across a darkened sea. He reminded Isabelle to light the running lanterns; there was a lot of traffic, both sail and steam heading in and out of Shanghai. He might keep Tah-mey on deck as a lookout tonight. On second thought, Isabelle might be a better bet; the islander still didn’t look very well after his night of carousing.

***

Isabelle sat on deck propped up against the hatch cover. Covered by a light jacket, she fought to stay awake in the starry silence. The gentle slosh of waves against the bow lulled her into a light doze. The late night in David’s office last night and the rum she had swallowed before they left the wharf had conspired to leave her heavy-lidded and dopey.

David stood at the helm, eyes alert for milky white patches that would indicate waves shoaling on a reef just below the surface. The bottom of each wave was jetty dark, a sprinkle of starry brightness on each tip. He spared a glance at Isabelle, annoyed to see her chin slumped on her chest. Some lookout!

Without really meaning to, he felt a melancholy steal over him. Not long ago it would have been Mauriri in the bow, alert for dangers. He could see him leaning into the rigging, strong as a bull yet graceful as a cat. Maybe it was because he was a native, but his old partner seemed almost connected to the sea. He could tell David a little bit of the history and life of almost every island they passed; he spoke the language and got along with every tribal chieftain in the South Seas. Isabelle would never be able to fill that role. The easy camaraderie, the crazy adventures he and his old friend had gotten into, fighting side by side. Lord, he missed that.

He knew he shouldn’t resent Isabelle for not being Mauriri; it wasn’t her fault the islander had walked away and wasn’t coming back. No, the blame lay squarely on his own shoulders. Grief wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to laugh and joke and enjoy the shipping business the way he had before everything had gone wrong.

****

Focused on the horizon, Grief didn’t see the cutter behind him in the far distance, a slatted lantern throwing a meagre light. Chung and his crew had made record time getting underway. A half dozen seasoned bandits lounged in the aft section while Huang squatted next to the motor. They had overtaken five schooners since leaving the port. Each time they’d stayed low, weapons in hand, ready to board, then relaxed when the nameplate of each sailboat became visible. The craft ahead, its sails dimly visible, was a likely target – about as far as a sailing ship could get from shore in the time that had passed. If this wasn’t it, they might have to give up the search; he was running low on fuel.

Isabelle was wakened from her doze by the distant drone of an engine. She roused herself in a stretch then guiltily took a look at the captain to see if he had noticed her drop off on duty. He looked pretty grim, she decided. Best to make her apologies. She stood up and walked over to the helm.

“Sorry, David. You’d best not ply me with alcohol if you want me to stay alert all night.” She was rewarded by a reluctant smile.

“What’s that noise?” she asked.

“Sounds like a gas engine– unusual for a small boat to be out this far.” David peered into the darkness behind them. “There. I see a light.”

“You have sharp eyes,” Isabelle responded, “No wonder you can find your way in the pitch dark.” Her voice was filled with genuine admiration.

“Like Masefield writes, all a sailor needs is ‘a tall ship and a star to steer her by’”

“Masefield?”

“A modern poet – writes about sailors and the sea.” David finished the verse,

      And the wheel's kick and the wind's song and the white sail's shaking,
      And a grey mist on the sea's face, and a grey dawn breaking.

Chung ordered his men to crouch low in the stern. As they drew alongside, he saw the nameplate – the Rattler! They had found their prey. The aging smuggler gave a signal to Huang who fiddled with the engine. It began to cough and sputter, and finally died.

“Ahoy, you on the sailboat,” Chung shouted out, “we need help.”  

“What’s your problem?” the captain of the schooner replied in the darkness. He pointed the Rattler into the wind; she lost headway as the sails began to luff. Chung nodded to his cutthroats. Two of them reached for their rifles as four others armed with knives slipped over the rail and began to swim silently toward the nearby sailboat.

“Engine problems. It keeps stalling.”  The Chinese captain shouted. shrugging his shoulders in seeming helplessness.

Grief turned to Isabelle and spoke softly. “It does sound bad. Likely the fuel line’s blocked or something. I’ll give him a hand, but keep your pistol handy. It could be a trick. These waters are full of pirates and smugglers.”

“What would pirates want with dishes and motor oil?” Isabelle questioned, though she pulled out her pistol anyway.

“Wake up Tah-mey. I’ve got a funny feeling about this.”  

Isabelle nodded and went forward to the companionway. Just as she was about to descend, she caught sight of motion at the bow. “David, watch out! Tah-mey! Get up here now!!”

The cutthroats heard her shouts and rushed toward her. Isabelle loosed a shot at the figure bearing down on her. The man fell like a stone, but three others leapt over his fallen body toward her. She had time to fire off two more shots before they crashed into her. She went down in a tangle of arms and legs, her pistol skittering across the deck.

David Grief pivoted at Isabelle’s shout. Before he could move, a bullet smashed into the wheel housing beside him. He ducked low and spun the wheel to change their heading. He fired back at the motorboat as the sails filled with wind. The Rattler slowly pulled away as the exchange of gunfire kept both Grief and the men on the other boat under cover.

Isabelle put up her arms to protect herself when the first attacker smashed into her. She felt the fiery sting of a knife blade along her left arm as she hit the deck hard. She grabbed the man’s wrist with both hands, holding on grimly as he attempted to free his knife to finish her off. Isabelle twisted in a desperate attempt to wriggle out from under him. Suddenly, the man fell limply on top of her, a dead weight.

Isabelle looked up to see the taut face of Tah-mey, his bloody knife poised ready for another strike. She struggled to release herself from the body that had her pinned to the deck. Tah-mey grabbed a fistful of cotton tunic and hauled the dead man off her. The horse trader scrambled to her feet. She observed four bodies lying on the deck. No other pirates could be seen.

A bullet splintered the cabin wall before she had time to register the sound of the shot. She and Tah-mey flung themselves to the deck. Spying her pistol beside the far rail she crawled over to retrieve it. “Isabelle, no!” Tah-mey shouted to her, but she ignored him and crawled on. Stretching, she caught it with her fingertips and pulled it to her. She scurried back to the protection of the cabin, noticing with relief that the distance was increasing between the two ships.

The Rattler’s captain continued to exchange fire with the desperados in the motorboat. He popped up and loosed a round while one man was exposed. He was rewarded with the sound of a scream. The gunfire became sporadic as the distance grew between the boats.

The pirate captain cursed at Huang. The Rattler was almost out of rifle range and his boat was dead in the water. The engine had stopped when Huang had cut off the fuel supply and now the mechanic couldn’t get it started again. He swore at the motor. He would have to take it apart and clear the fuel line. It could take hours.

***

Grief shouted out to his crew as he hunkered behind the wheel-housing “Isabelle, Tah-mey, are you alright?” He hadn’t seen either of them since the shooting had begun. He hoped that the two of them had been smart enough to take cover.

“We’re fine, just taking inventory over here.” Isabelle’s cryptic response made no sense to David at all. Why would they be taking inventory? What the hell was she talking about?

“Keep your heads down. We’re almost out of range,” Grief commanded.

Tah-mey looked up at Isabelle from where he crouched beside the last body. He shook his head. All dead. The echo from one final rifle shot died away. All that could be heard now was the sound of the sea. Right away Tah-mey and David began to look around frantically as they heard a distinctive swishing noise. It took Isabelle a second longer to identify it as waves broaching on a nearby reef. The islander pointed to port and shouted out. “There it is!! Over there! It’s all right, we’re safe.” Isabelle sighed in relief. Grief looked up at the telltales on the sail’s edge to check the wind direction. He stared hard at the drifting motorboat.

“It looks like our friends are heading straight for it,” he muttered, not displeased. The three of them stood along the port rail to watch as the motorboat ground onto the coral and spun about with the surf. Two figures aboard could be seen using a pole to push themselves free.  They heard a groaning sound as the surf swirled around the foundered craft. Eventually the boat broke free. They could see it riding low in the water as it drifted toward the nearest of the Loochoo Islands.

“Should we rescue them?” Grief inquired, leery of endangering the Rattler’s hull to save the murdering cutthroats.

“Leave them,” responded Isabelle without a second thought.

“They’ll make it to the island.” Tah-mey surmised, “lots of ships pass this way.”

David grinned. “Just thought I’d ask.”

The three turned back to assess the damage aboard the Rattler. David took in the sight of the bodies littering the deck and let out a low whistle.

“Where did all those guys come from?”  he asked as Tah-mey lit a lantern and brought it near.

“From over the bow,” Isabelle pointed as she replied.

“Isabelle,” David’s voice took on a note of concern. “Your arm.”  The sleeve of her shirt was soaked with blood. She followed his glance, a surprised look crossing her face. She bent her elbow to take a closer look.

“Damn. I forgot. One of them cut me before Tah-mey helped me out.” Isabelle offered her crewmate a thankful smile. She unbuttoned the cuff and rolled up her sleeve matter-of-factly. The gash ran from wrist to elbow, getting deeper as it went.

“Come below,” David ordered in an aggravated tone. “Tah-mey, take the helm and keep a sharp eye. There may be more reefs.”

David ripped a length of cloth from the dead man’s shirt and wrapped up the dripping wound. “I don’t want blood all over my cabin,” he grumbled.

Isabelle was surprised and annoyed at his attitude. She couldn’t understand why he’d be angry with her. She’d held her own in the fight, killed two pirates before being knocked over. What more did he expect of her?

Grief followed his partner down the ladder. Damn her, always making out like she was tougher than any two men. She could have been killed and here she was – acting like nothing had even happened. David got out their medical supplies while Isabelle poured water in a basin and began to clean the gash. He heard her suck in her breath as the lye soap stung the open wound.

The captain turned to his injured partner. “Over here, let me take a look at it.” She sat down at the table and held out her arm. He patted it dry with some rolled-up gauze and examined the wound. “Jesus, Isabelle, you can see the bone in a couple of places.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ve cut myself plenty of times before. It’s really not that deep. ” Despite her off-hand attitude he noticed she looked a little pale. He looked at the wound again, staunching the blood that still oozed along its length.

“Seriously, it needs some stitches.”

“If you think I’m letting you stab a needle in my flesh on a sailboat tossing around in the open sea, you can just think again.” Isabelle’s look of defiance suddenly turned to one of pain. Tears sprang to her eyes as Grief held the gash open to slosh rubbing alcohol into the long wound.

“Ow, damn it, David. Mmmf.” Isabelle did her best to suppress the groan that threatened to turn into a scream. Through clenched jaws she snarled, “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you.”

“Isabelle,” David’s lips quirked into a little grin, “How could you think such a thing?”

His smile faded into a softer look. “I know it hurts but I don’t think your friend on deck was likely to be any too careful where he’d been putting his knife blade. A cut this deep, it’s easy for it to get infected.”

Isabelle nodded in acknowledgement, afraid to trust her voice. After a few more applications of the disinfectant Grief pressed the edges of the wound together and held a dressing tightly over it. A sharp yelp exploded through Isabelle’s clenched teeth, “Ouch! Damn it. Now what?”

“Here, hold this dressing. Apply some pressure while I wrap some gauze around it. I can’t do anything until the bleeding stops.” He finished the bandage and dried his hands. “So just sit quietly until I come back and put in some stitches. And keep your arm up – that’s it, on the table. It’ll slow down the bleeding.” Grief found himself trying to command Isabelle’s obedience with strong words and a fierce frown. He could tell from the defiant flare of her green eyes that she was having none of it. His tone softened.

“Come on, Isabelle, you’ve lost a lot of blood. If you don’t stay still, it won’t stop bleeding. Then what use will you be to me or Tah-mey, huh? Give it half an hour. I think we should take refuge in the lee of one of these islands. We’ll drop anchor so we can all rest for a few hours. Tah-mey and I just need to clean things up a little first.”

His changed approach won a grudging nod from his patient. He smiled and touched her shoulder briefly before climbing the ladder to the deck.

Isabelle knew that cleaning up meant heaving the bodies of their attackers into the ocean. She wouldn’t miss performing that chore. She hadn’t killed so many people in her life that she felt comfortable looking into the dead eyes of her victim. The chilling vision raised a shiver on Isabelle’s body. Sitting there with her eyes closed Isabelle relived the attack. She had locked eyes with the man who had been intent on killing her. Don’t be stupid, she scolded herself. Considering the bloody intentions of her attacker she should thank her lucky stars that it was him and not her lying dead on the deck right now.

Isabelle sat back in her chair, cradling her injured arm. She felt a little rockier than she had let on. The wound that she hadn’t even noticed during the fight was throbbing fiercely after David’s ministrations. She closed her eyes, only to relive the attack in her mind. What else could she have done? In minutes, she had drifted away to a twilight land between sleep and waking. When the captain clumped down the ladder thirty minutes later, she was startled into wakefulness.

“Finally got a chance to get your beauty sleep, I see.” Grief teased his bleary partner. He turned to the medical kit and pulled out something that looked like a fishhook. He brandished it in front of her before lighting the kerosene stove.

“You see. I’ve got a proper needle and I assure you I’m quite an expert.” Isabelle wasn’t sure if she loved or hated the way David’s hazel eyes lit up when he was teasing her. Even though his condescending tone usually raised her hackles, the pure maleness of him aroused a feeling more primal than anger. At her best she could guard against displaying that attraction by keeping a distance both physical and emotional. But she was not at her best right now and any number of emotions were boiling around in her overtaxed brain. Isabelle decided the safest choice was silence.

The captain put a saucepan full of water on the cooker. As the water boiled and sterilized the needle and some thread, Grief prepared a new bandage. He gently unwound the gauze from her forearm and eased away the used dressing. The wound had almost stopped bleeding and now looked rather innocent. The sharp blade had sliced cleanly, at least. If they could avoid infection, it should heal well. He rose and took the pot off the heat. He felt her eyes following his movements.

“Don’t tell me that the invincible Isabelle Reed is afraid of getting a few stitches,” Grief jibed as he reached into his back pocket. He pulled out a bottle of brandy and placed it on the table.

“Where did you get that?” Isabelle asked, “I finished the brandy in Shanghai.”

“Tah-mey’s private stock,” he replied, looking at the label, “Not the best vintage but it will do.”

As he went to get her a glass, Isabelle reached for the bottle and pulled the cork with her teeth. She took a healthy swig.

“Forget the glass,” she growled. Grief shrugged and turned to remove the sterile needle from the boiling water.

“I told you I don’t like doctors,” she grumbled, holding tight to the brandy bottle with her good arm.

After dousing his hands with rubbing alcohol, he lightly swabbed her forearm with the same stuff. With careful motions he sewed up the worst of the injury. Isabelle drowned her pain with gulps of brandy, doing her best not to flinch each time the needle pulled at her flesh. As he finished his work, he took the brandy bottle from her hand and drained it.

“You didn’t leave me much,” he complained.

“You needed to keep a steady hand,” Isabelle responded, her voice shaky.

Grief wrapped a fresh bandage around her forearm. After he tied it off he began to fashion a sling.

“I don’t need a sling. I’m going on deck, give Tah-mey a rest.” Isabelle was tired of feeling like a helpless child. She stood up to go on deck and staggered visibly.

“Heavy sea,” the slim woman muttered, bracing herself against the chair back.

“Isabelle, we’re in harbour. We don’t need a look-out. You need to get some rest.”

She stood there, still swaying. “I don’t need a sling.”

“Fine. No sling for tonight,” Grief retorted annoyed by her mulishness, “We’ll get one made tomorrow morning. Right now, it’s time you get some sleep so you can recover – and sober up.”

Isabelle stood straight and still for an instant, annoyed that he thought she was drunk and determined to prove him wrong.

“Fine,” she stated in a haughty tone. She lurched a little as she set off for her cabin. Grief slipped an arm around her waist and guided her along the passageway. Without asking he helped take her boots off and supported her injured arm as she lowered herself into the bunk.

As he turned to walk away he heard her mumble softly. He couldn’t tell if she was addressing him or talking to herself, “-so beautiful when he’s angry.” He turned to see if he’d heard correctly, but her eyes were closed and her breathing regular. He left quietly, mildly wondering about what she had said.

***

The next day dawned bright and sultry. Tah-mey and Grief weighed anchor as the sun rose. When they were underway Grief thought he should do something about making a morning meal. It would give him a chance to see how Isabelle was doing. She’d been fast asleep when he’d looked in on her before going on deck. One step down the ladder and the smell of frying bacon told him Isabelle was up and breakfast was ready. His first sight of her made him marvel. There was no sign that last night she had been injured and somewhat inebriated. Her eyes were bright and her colour was good. Breakfast was on the table and, in her long-sleeved blouse and jodhpurs, she looked the same as usual – healthy and beautiful.

“David, right on time. Sit down to breakfast before it gets cold. I’ll just relieve Tah-mey so he can have a bite to eat as well.”

“Good morning, Isabelle. Looks like you’re feeling better. How’s the arm?” Grief was determined to match his partner’s nonchalant manner.

“Good as new. You’ve missed your calling – you should have been a doctor.”

“Well. I’m glad to hear it. Where’s that sling I made? We’d better immobilize that arm if you’re going on deck. Wouldn’t want you to rip out my beautiful stitches.”

“I’ll be careful,” she replied as she climbed the ladder. She paused and turned as she reached the top step. “And I’m not wearing a sling.”

Was there ever a creature more stubborn than Isabelle Reed? After a brief hesitation, Grief shrugged and sat down to his meal. Damn she was a good cook.

The days remained humid, the winds steady out of the southeast. Isabelle was back at her duties as if nothing had happened. Whenever Grief inquired about the condition of her arm Isabelle brushed him off and a week later when he offered to remove the stitches, she informed him she had already taken them out herself. Grief shrugged his shoulders, feeling a little put-out that his partner was so bull-headed. What the hell was wrong with him helping her when she was hurt?

Isabelle felt a little guilty about being rude to David. Maybe she’d gotten too used to taking care of herself; after all she’d managed on her own for as long as she could remember. She hated the feeling of helplessness she got whenever she was sick or hurt and somehow it seemed far worse when the handsome sea captain was around.

She didn’t bother to mention to him when part of the gash became infected. When she was alone she treated the angry wound with iodine; when on deck she masked her discomfort. In a few days the wound healed clean. Only where it was cut the deepest was the arm weak and tender to the touch. First her shoulder, now a knife cut, she thought ruefully. She wondered how long it would take till her left arm was back to normal. The Rattler sailed on toward home.

The weather held until they had passed through the Marshalls. It changed abruptly as they approached the Gilberts. Tah-mey walked back to the wheel from where he was tending the sails. He touched the captain’s arm and pointed at the horizon where the clouds were beginning to pile up.

“Gonna have a blow,” the native remarked laconically.

Grief nodded in acknowledgement. He knew the weather had to change sometime; they’d had excellent luck so far. In a couple of hours the wind changed directions and blew hard out of the northwest. The Rattler leapt along, crashing through the rising sea. Isabelle approached David, curious about the change in winds.

“The monsoons have begun. We can expect strong winds and heavy rains for the rest of the voyage,” he said, anticipating her inquiry.

They fought their way through the weather for a week, sailing steadily homeward. They took on water and supplies in the Phoenix Islands. After they crossed the Equator into the South Pacific, the rains stopped and the breeze died. They made little progress in the next two days, the schooner lonely on the open ocean.

“I’d hoped we’d be in the Northern Cooks by now,” Grief mused as he looked up at the near-empty sails.

Isabelle had the charts and the sextant in front of her. “They can’t be far. We should see Penhryn Island on our starboard soon.”

Suddenly the sails filled with a south breeze. The Rattler sailed swiftly for half an hour until the wind died again. Shortly after, it picked up again, this time from the west only to shift ten minutes later to the northeast. Grief scanned the horizon. Tah-mey looked up from his sails as the lanyards tapped a steady beat against the mast.

“Isabelle, check the barometer,” the captain ordered.

“Aye,” she said, tapping the device gently, “It’s falling.”

All three of the crew now searched the horizon. The sun beat down hot and the choppy breeze provided no relief from the humidity. The Rattler sailed on, taking good advantage of the brisk wind. In time it steadied into a stiff southeast breeze. The barometer continued to fall. The sun was now covered by a high cloud cover but the sweltering heat remained the same. Around noon a low atoll could be seen on the horizon.

“I think it’s Penhryn. At least it should be,” Isabelle offered, “Are we going to sail on or take cover?”

Grief took little time to answer. “Take cover. I hope you’re right because if it’s Pukapuka, we’ll get no protection from a big blow.”

The wind died off yet the sea rose in long regular rollers.

“The sea’s starting to set. It’s going to be a big one.” The Polynesian uttered the words with the trepidation of an experienced seafarer. “Tawhiri.”

“What’s he talking about?” asked Isabelle, uneasy as she watched the sea rise without a wind to blow it up.

“It’s the sign of a big storm, could be a hurricane. Tawhiri is the Polynesian god of wind and storms. Tawhiri likes to blow away those who he hates – and he hates almost everybody,” the captain replied, his unease showing in his tone.

“How soon? Can we make it to the lagoon?”

“I don’t know. It’ll be close.”

The wind now picked up from the northwest until it was howling through the rigging. Grief ordered the jibs taken down and the foresail shortened. Clouds now surrounded them, lowering with every hour. The low atoll could be glimpsed one minute, then it would disappear the next as they dipped into the belly of the wave.

“That’s got to be Penhryn Island, It looks right.” Grief shouted as they drew closer to the atoll, “Isabelle, check the cargo. We don’t want anything shifting around.” Isabelle disappeared into the hold and checked every rope. All the crates of china were snugly fastened. She returned to deck to examine the oil drums that were tied down amidships. Grief had never been happy that they’d have to store the barrels on deck, but there was no room below. The heavy cylinders would be a menace if they came loose. Isabelle took special care to make sure they were secure. Every rope was taut, every knot well-tied. She moved back to her station at the mainsail.

The waves were larger now, froths of foam flying off in the stiff breeze. Though it was mid-afternoon, the sky continued to darken, the atoll difficult to pinpoint as they pounded through the ocean toward it. The schooner pitched in the heavy sea, her deck tilting alarmingly before she settled back on her keel. Isabelle and Tah-mey listened for instructions that the captain would bellow from time to time. Tah-mey scanned the sea for uncharted reefs while Grief strained to maintain a heading that would lead to their destination. Isabelle had no responsibilities for navigation until they drew nearer to the atoll. Then she’d need to guide David through the entrance to the lagoon, telling him how deep it was and where the dangers were.

Suddenly Isabelle spotted a slight movement out of the corner of her eye. She turned her attention toward it. She saw it again, a slight shift of the canvas-covered barrels. She’d checked those barrels; how could they have worked themselves free? Keeping a handhold at all times against the pitching of the deck she scrambled over to the cargo. She saw what had happened. One end of the cleat to which the rope was fastened had torn out of the deck. The cleat swivelled with every motion of the boat allowing the rope wrapped around it to loosen off. It was almost at the point of coming untied. Isabelle was frantic.

What would she do if the barrels came loose? She refastened the knot but realized the cleat would soon wrench completely free of the deck. If she left her position, the barrels would begin to roll. The inexperienced crewmember could think of nothing else she could do to take the pressure off the cleat but to put her back against the stack of barrels and brace her feet against the side of the boat. She could only hope that Tah-mey or David could come to her aid in the next short while. Otherwise the barrels would thunder back and forth across the deck like rampaging bulls causing damage wherever they struck. There was a chance she’d be crushed underneath if they broke free now.

Grief looked away from the horizon for a moment and noticed that his female crewmember was not at her post. His stomach lurched in fear until he spotted her, leaned up against their cargo, her slim arms wrapped around a barrel. What the hell was she doing? It took only a second to realize she was pitting her small frame against the power of the sea to keep the giant cylinders of oil from rolling free. He swore and jumped into action. He slipped the loop of the becket over a spoke of the wheel to keep the ship on course. Then he rushed to rescue Isabelle and maybe his ship.

Grief fought his way forward until he was next to Isabelle.

“Are you trying to get yourself killed?” he bellowed.

“No, I’m just trying to save our damned cargo. I could use a little help.”

“Hold on!” he put his dripping face close to hers to be heard. As Isabelle used main force to keep the oil drums in place, he untied the rope from the cleat and wrapped it around a stanchion near the rail.

“That should hold it,” he rose and signalled Isabelle she could let go. At that instant, a gust of wind even fiercer than those that went before pushed the Rattler up on her side. The captain stumbled backward, the rail catching him behind his knees. Grief had no chance to save himself. Isabelle watched in horror as he tumbled overboard.

“David!!” Isabelle screamed. She immediately slithered to the safety ring on the rail ready to toss it out after the captain. She couldn’t see him in the heaving waters. Then she spotted a raised arm twenty yards to stern, beyond the reach of the life ring. Isabelle shouted for Tah-mey and ran toward the helm. She flipped the loop off the spoke, spun the wheel and brought the Rattler about. The native reacted instantly adjusting the boom-tackles on the foresail and running to the mainsail to trim it as well. He rushed as quickly as he could to the wheel.

“David’s overboard,” Isabelle shouted, “We’ve got to go back for him.” The native nodded. “You take the helm, Tah-mey!”

The islander took her place and Isabelle made her way back to the life ring. She braced herself against the shrouds and waited for the schooner to return to where Grief had fallen overboard. Damn it, where is he?

David had hit the water flat on his back. Knocked breathless, he instinctively sucked in a breath as he came to the surface and was rewarded with a mouthful of seawater. He spent the next few minutes just trying to get some air as waves cascaded over his head. When he rose to each crest he’d wave his arm, praying that he could be seen from the Rattler. Though he was a strong swimmer, his sole objective was to stay afloat. This sea was too powerful for his swimming stroke to make any impression at all.

Suddenly the Rattler loomed directly in front of him. Damn, he was going to be run over by his own boat! The irony of it almost made him smirk. The Rattler veered at the last minute and he was nearly brained by the safety ring as it flew out to him. He grabbed it and held on, catching a glimpse at the top of each wave of Isabelle hauling at the rope. He was alongside now but the Rattler was plunging too much for him to get a handhold. Grief knew he was far too heavy for Isabelle to hoist up on deck. Not for the first time, David wished it were the muscular Mauriri on the other end of the rope. He held on grimly.

Isabelle heaved with all her strength and realized she’d never get David aboard. She tied the rope to a cleat, hooked her good arm around the rail and extended the other. She poked her head over the side and shouted out to the waterlogged captain.

“Put your foot in the ring and climb on up.”

Grief followed her orders and grabbed on to her extended arm. He pulled himself to a stand. From there he crawled over his rescuer and slid into the boat. Isabelle flopped back against the barrels, exhausted. They sat facing each other, too breathless to speak. Isabelle’s arm throbbed hotly where the husky sea captain had grabbed it. It hurt like holy hell. She found herself clutching it to her midsection and hoped David didn’t notice. Thank God he was safe.

“Are you all right?” she asked Grief who was still racked with coughing.

He nodded, unable to speak. Eventually he caught his breath. “Fine. Thank you.” His grateful smile left Isabelle feeling a little weak-kneed.

“Then get over there and steer this tub. Tah-mey’s making me sea-sick,” Isabelle complained, her grumbling covering a wave of emotion that threatened to destroy her composure.

Grief stumbled back to the helm. Tah-mey and Isabelle returned to tend the sails. The howling winds drove the Rattler toward the atoll. The destruction on the island was shocking. The palm trees didn’t sway; they were heeled over as far as they could stretch, vibrating in the wind. Many had been uprooted and some were actually being tumbled along the beach by the force of the winds. Huge patches of flattened trees carved new shapes in the lush jungle. Grief sailed around the island looking for the most sheltered entrance to the lagoon. Isabelle grabbed the chart and huddled close.

“Taitua Passage, on the northwest side. That’s our best bet,” she shouted. He nodded and steered toward it.

“How deep is it?”

“Eight fathoms at high tide.”

He calculated her answer and the tide. “We’ll make it,” he assured her. I think, he whispered under his breath. The waves crashed on the sand beaches of the atoll, the passage a thin strip of blue between the breakers. They shot through it, Tah-mey sucking in his breath as he saw the reef no more than three fathoms down, just below their keel.

Entering the lagoon was like turning down the volume on a gramophone. The wind still howled, the waves were whipped up and crashed into the beach. But compared to what they had just been through, it was positively peaceful. Following Isabelle’s directions, Grief sailed into a deeper section of the lagoon directly in the lee of Te Tautua Island. In minutes they had set the anchor, lowered the sails and lashed them to the booms. The three weary crewmates stumbled below and shared a swig from Tah-mey’s last bottle of brandy as they passed it from hand to hand. They finished half its contents before Grief divided them into watches and Isabelle began to prepare a meal. The islander clambered back on deck as David lingered.

“That was fast thinking, partner. I didn’t stand a chance in that sea.”

“Well, I owe you one… or two,” she responded, her back to him as she pulled food out of the pantry. Grief walked up behind her and nudged her in the back with the brandy bottle.

“You owe me more than that! A toast,” he proposed as Isabelle turned to face him, “to our partnership!” He took a swig of the brandy and extended the bottle to her. She took it from him and took a healthy gulp. She could hardly contain her pleasure at hearing David toast their partnership.

“You seem awfully happy for a man who almost lost his boat and his life,” she observed.

“I am happy. We’re alive. We can wait here snug in harbour till this thing blows itself out. We didn’t even lose our cargo, thanks to you.”

Isabelle chuckled. “I never thought I’d see the day you’d admit I was of some use on a sailboat.”

“You were hopeless back then. I used to give you a hard time about it, didn’t I?” Grief laughed out loud at the thought.

“I’m glad you find that funny,” Isabelle sniffed, somewhat annoyed.

“May I remind you that it was your fault for not getting the mainsail down when we were shipwrecked. Obviously you’ve picked up a few things on this trip even if you still have a lot to learn – like not falling asleep on lookout duty,” he replied, enjoying teasing the novice sailor.

Isabelle could feel her irritation start to rise. Why couldn’t he just compliment her and leave it at that? David Grief would never understand anything and that was all there was to it. She took another mouthful of the fiery brandy and turned back to her work.

Grief was puzzled by her stiff silence. Sometimes, he just didn’t understand women. The cargo needed to be checked and he had to make sure that the anchor would remain set even if the wind shifted during the night. That he understood easily. He left the galley and the scowling horse trader behind.

As soon as he left Isabelle stopped her work to examine her throbbing arm. As she expected, the rough treatment had torn open the healing wound and it was bleeding again. Typical, she thought. Even though she’d rescued the sea captain, she was the one who’d ended up hurt again and David Grief had come out of it fresh as a daisy and full of obnoxious comments.

Damn the man. All he ever seemed to say about her was how dishonest or incompetent she was. The only flattering thing he ever had to say to her was that she was good in a fight. All she had ever dreamed about was a good future, a successful business and the respect of the people of Matavai. And yet time and time again she’d been willing to throw all of that away to accompany David in some dangerous hare-brained scheme.

She had been there when he needed her – to save his life when he’d been shot, to back him up when he needed an extra hand, to pay off the bank when the Rattler was about to be lost. Despite all this she had lost count of the times he had insulted her, ignored her and warned her off.

In angry disappointment she smashed her fist against the counter. The wave of pain resulting from her ill-considered action snapped her out of her silent rant. Obviously David would never change. If he couldn’t see her for the person she had become by now, she didn’t suppose he ever would. She’d just have to accept that fact. Never mind, she told herself, there’s more to life than David Grief. She wrapped a length of gauze around the reopened wound, changed shirts and went back to her cooking.

***

As they entered the harbour at Matavai the rain fell steady and hard, driven at a forty-five degree angle by the northwest winds. It had been ten days since the hurricane. The by-now-seasoned crew set the boat on its chain and prepared to disembark. David launched the skiff and brought it around to the ladder so Isabelle could board. With a brief wave to Tah-mey who had volunteered to stay and watch their cargo, the partners set off to shore in the downpour.

Isabelle always found it a pleasant sight to watch David Grief in his longboat, powerful shoulders pulling at the oars. Few activities accentuated his tremendous strength the way that rowing did. Right now his rain-soaked shirt was plastered to his chest leaving little to her burgeoning imagination. He really was a beautiful figure of a man, she thought with a sigh. Realizing that she must be staring at David with her mouth agape, Isabelle mentally scolded herself. Hadn’t she vowed she wouldn’t allow herself to react to the man’s obvious charms? More than once since the hurricane she had reflected on the captain’s words. She had to accept that their partnership was only a business one. She brought her mind back to business.

She was filled with a sense of nostalgia now that the voyage was over. She would miss the easy camaraderie, the circumscribed nature of life on a boat, the tidy organization essential to living in such close quarters. Isabelle had gained an appreciation for the interdependence of wind, water, stars and tide and where man fit into the sum of it all.

The livery-owner gave her head a shake. She was sounding like the sailors at Lavinia’s now, all this deep talk of the majesty of the sea. All the same she would miss it when she went back to her regular life in Matavai. It was important not to lose sight of the fact that her presence on board had been a stopgap measure not a way of life. She found she had a lump in her throat at the thought of never sailing again. This was no time to get sentimental. Her focus shifted to the immediate future.

Isabelle was torn between checking on the condition of her livery business and seeing Hollings to collect payment of the contract. She had thought about the upcoming meeting with increasing anxiety. Malcolm would surely have discovered their ruse and telegraphed the Matavai manager by now. For all she knew, Hollings could have been in on the swindle and had dreamed up some vile plot to keep David and her from getting their rightful dues. With David’s reputation so uncertain right now, a ‘his word against mine’ dispute could go badly in the tight-knit business community of Matavai.

Perhaps she could soften any antagonism by employing a feminine touch in their meeting. She looked down at her salt-stained jodhpurs and faded shirt. The decision was made. She would freshen up at home before approaching Mr. Hollings.

David and Isabelle parted company at Lavinia’s bar. He still had to make arrangements to unload one crate of china and the last few barrels of oil here in Matavai. The rest of the cargo had been delivered to Aitutaki in the Cook Islands and a couple of ports here in the Society Islands in the past few days. David was eager to have a bath, a drink and to catch up on the gossip he’d missed in the past two months. He felt so good he thought he might even be able to stand it if Mauriri walked in and sat down at a table that wasn’t theirs. Maybe. His stride hesitated just a little as he walked through the doorframe and entered the shady bar.

Isabelle carried on toward the livery. On a whim she ducked into the newspaper office. Claire was in the back room setting type. Her face lit up when she saw Isabelle. Hastily scrubbing the ink from her fingers she flung her arms around her friend in a warm hug.

“Welcome back, stranger. Have I ever missed you!” the Englishwoman held Isabelle at arm’s length to get a better look at her.

“I’m glad to be home again,” said the tanned woman before her, “How have things gone since I’ve been away? At the livery I mean.” Isabelle could tell from the fleeting look of discomfort on Claire’s face that the news wasn’t entirely good.

“Not bad,” the newspaperwoman hedged, her open face a mixture of emotions, “The horses are all healthy. Business was good. Mr. James was doing very well at the beginning taking your place – well, except for those customers who will only deal with you. But Mr. James had to leave; his mother died and he had to go back to London. He left me to find someone to replace him and I finally got Daniel Thompson to step in, but it hurt business, I’m afraid. Paiku was upset after he had a run-in with Mr. Thompson and he was nowhere to be found for a week. It goes on and on. All I can say is that we’ll all be glad to see you back again.”

Isabelle turned down the offer of a cup of tea and after a few moments of catching up, she went on her way to the stables. She walked past every stall offering a handful of hay to her favourites. Paiku was back on duty, a reproachful look on his face as he went through his list of grievances.

She went up to her rooms, lit the stove and set a large pot of water on to boil. She had asked her stable-boy to bring some water to fill the tub. After he left she stripped off her grubby garments and luxuriated in her bath until the water cooled. As she dressed to leave she took a look at herself in the mirror.

Two months at sea had had its effect. Her face was sun-burned and roughened by the wind, her hands calloused and hardened. The last bruises from their adventures had faded to a faint yellow and her arm was marred by a long livid scar. She shrugged it off with a smile. The scars would fade.

Years of indentured labour and now working with horses had inured her to injury and physical pain. She prided herself on her toughness and was pleased that, if nothing else, she’d earned some respect from Tah-mey and David. She finished dressing and set off toward the Hong Kong Shipping Company Office, contract in hand.

***

Abner Hollings sighed after David Grief left his office. After they had arranged to unload the oil shipment, Grief’s parting statement was that Miss Reed would be by later to collect on the copra shipment. Hollings wondered what he would say to her when she came in.

The long-time trader read the letter from his counterpart in Shanghai again. Malcolm had accused Grief and his partner of doctoring the contract to earn the bonus. He had also reminded Hollings that it had been his miscalculation in proposing such a large bonus that had tempted the Rattler’s owners to cheat to attain it.

Hollings had been in turmoil since he had received the letter on the mail packet a few days ago. He resented the tone of Malcolm’s letter - his shrill accusations, his casting of blame. Malcolm might be in a more important office than his own but that was no reason to order him around like he was some kind of underling. He couldn’t imagine what had gotten into the man. One would think the bonus money was coming directly out of his own pocket!

Hollings own penurious character caused him to cringe when he contemplated the large outlay of company funds for a single load of copra. On the other hand he was troubled by the thought that Grief would have sunk to the depths of forgery and lying. In this business a trader was as good as his word and, whatever his shortcomings, Captain Grief had always been an honest and forthright man.

From all he had heard Miss Reed’s business was on the square despite the dreadful reputation she had when she first arrived. She’d seemed like an upstanding woman when they’d sealed the deal. He could only surmise that they must have been desperate for the money. He pulled out the original contract, looked at the dates and made his own calculations. When had they picked up the copra at Aitutaki?

***

Grief whistled as the crate of china was unpacked at the general store. No breakage at all. Payment in hand he hummed a tuneless sea shanty as he walked back to Lavinia’s. He was eager to celebrate the end of the voyage.

Isabelle sat tensely as Hollings read the signed contract she handed him. She could tell from his demeanour the moment she entered the room that he had been in communication with Jonas Malcolm. He laid the papers gently down on the desk.

“Mr. Malcolm has made some serious accusations about your business practises.”

Isabelle’s hands clenched. “You’ve got a copy of the contract. You know the bonus was to be paid for delivery in twenty-eight days. We did that. Malcolm tried to cheat us, the no-good -” Isabelle broke off before she said something she would regret later.

The manager sighed. “There is no mention of when you picked up or dropped off the goods. How do I even know you made the twenty-eight day deadline?”

A flash of triumph crossed the face of the woman in front of him. She leafed through the papers in her lap and pulled out two letters.

“Here’s your proof. An affidavit from the foreman at the Shanghai dock and one from the manager at Aitutaki testifying as to the dates of pick-up and delivery.” The look of resignation on the man’s face told her that she had won. She was doubly glad now that she had spent the last morning in Shanghai gathering her testimonial signatures and this affidavit.

“Very well. It certainly appears that you have earned the bonus and we will honour our contract.” Hollings took out a sheet of paper and authorized the contract and the bonus to be paid out. He folded it and held it out to the woman who was so eagerly waiting.

“Take this to my secretary in the outer office and he will arrange payment.”  Isabelle rose and took the letter.

“One more thing, Miss Reed. There were obviously some serious indiscretions on the part of my counterpart in Shanghai and I intend to make a full report to company headquarters in Hong Kong. They will deal with Mr. Malcolm. However, there appear to be indications that you and Captain Grief were also involved in some underhanded behaviour. It is not my policy to deal with traders who are not completely above reproach. I think it is only fair to tell you that it would be highly unlikely that the Rattler will win another contract with my company. I’m sorry, Miss Reed.”

“But, Mr Hollings,” Isabelle began to defend herself, “we had no choice. We were only righting a wrong.”

“As you say,” the seated manager turned to his work, “If you would, please see yourself out, Miss Reed.”

Isabelle stood in the secretary’s outer office fuming at the injustice of it all, as the clerk wrote out the cheque. She had had high hopes that their impressive performance would lead to more contracts with Hollings’ company – once he accepted that Malcolm was a liar and a cheat. Those hopes were dashed. With the livery’s poor performance in the last month and this blow, her nagging worries about her financial situation were back in full force.

Her feet dragged as she walked to the bank to deposit the cheque. An inquiry into her balance confirmed the bad news. This cheque enriched the Rattler’s business account but the livery profits were far lower than she would have earned if she’d stayed home. With no one she could trust to oversee the stables she couldn’t afford to leave the business for that long again. And that meant no more crewing with David. She was surprised to realize how deeply disappointed she was.

Isabelle dreaded telling David the bad news Hollings had given her. She knew how much he was looking forward to the bonus they had earned. The minute she told him they had got it he would be delighted. She could imagine clearly what it would look like when she told David about her meeting - his face beaming with that bright smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes, the smile fading when she told him they’d never get another contract with Hong Kong Shipping. The closed wounded look would slide back over his face until it took on that haunted look she’d seen so often since Jenny died. She wished she could just walk past the bar and take refuge in her home, but she had never shrunk away from unpleasant duties. Isabelle took a deep breath and entered the saloon.

Captain Grief sat at a card table with four other sailors. A sizable pile of grimy bills was near his elbow, an equally large stack in the middle of the table. David and the man opposite him laid down their cards. Grief’s big paws reached out to scoop the pot toward him. Her partner was a picture of carefree pleasure and triumph, taking the time to jibe the fellow who’d held the losing hand. What a change from the slumped figure that sat here night after night before they left for Shanghai!

Thinking that it was not an opportune time to share disappointing news, Isabelle repaired to the bar and ordered a drink. She tossed one back and ordered another, which she proceeded to sip as she exchanged small talk with Lavinia and others. She heard herself hailed and turned to see Daniel Thompson striding toward her

“Miss Reed, I’m so glad I found you.” The young man’s brow was creased with worry.

“Mr. Thompson, I’m sorry I haven’t had a chance to thank you. I hear you stepped into the breach when Mr. James had to leave unexpectedly.”

“That’s what I wanted to talk about, Miss Reed. I wanted to apologize for my poor performance as your replacement. I got off to a horrible start with your stable-boy and I didn’t have anyone to show me the ropes,” he paused for a moment to take a breath before launching once again into his discourse. “Enough excuses. I just wanted you to know that if you ever need someone to take your place again, I would be more than willing… if you’d like.”

“Really, Mr. Thompson, it sounds like it was quite an unpleasant experience. Why would you want to do it again?”

“Please call me Daniel. You see, I help my father run a rather large ranch and we recently started raising horses. When my father bought some brood mares from you he was very impressed with your knowledge of breeding. Father encouraged me to volunteer when Miss Devon sought help. He told me that I could learn a lot from you if you were willing to teach me. It would be a little quid pro quo –your knowledge for my time. Great training since I’m going to take over my father’s ranch someday soon.  I wouldn’t ask you to make up your mind right now. If I could come over to the livery tomorrow and tell you about some of the business that went on while you were away. Perhaps then…?” He finally ran out of steam and fell silent.

Isabelle was having difficulty taking in the unexpected course of the conversation. Fumbling for words she thanked Thompson again for his help and his offer and promised to meet with him the next day. Thompson left with a smile. She finished her drink and ordered another. She sat there deep in thought.

“Well, partner, let’s see that cheque.” Isabelle jumped as David sat down on the barstool next to her. “So, were you daydreaming about how you were going to spend the money?” he asked with a chuckle.

“You mean which of our many creditors was I going to pay?” Her smile was matched by Grief’s mischievous grin. His face sobered.

“If we can, Isabelle, I want to pay Mo a part of it. God knows I owe him and he likely needs the money.”

“Sure, David, that’s a great idea. I was thinking the same thing.” Isabelle fidgeted a bit with her glass. “It’s not all good news though,” Isabelle glanced up at the captain briefly before turning back to her glass. “Hollings was not too happy with us turning the tables on Malcolm. Apparently he doesn’t want to deal with a ‘dishonest’ woman in the future.” Her voice took on a bitter tinge as she drained the liquor in her glass. She couldn’t bear to watch David’s face fall.

“That’s takes a bit of the fun out of my news,” he responded after a brief pause. Isabelle raised her head, startled at his mild reaction. He appeared only slightly annoyed and even that was soon washed away by a big grin.

“You see, around here people are pretty impressed with the Rattler. And everyone who’s heard our tale is buying me a drink for getting the upper hand on that dirty swindler. There’s a lot of captains here who’ll think twice about carrying goods for Hong Kong Shipping in the future. And a few traders that had good things to say about our speedy delivery. I’ve already got a couple of offers, but I told them I had to discuss it with my partner.” Grief waved Lavinia over to pour another drink for both of them.

“So what do you say, Isabelle? Ready to start planning our next trip?” Grief could barely control his excitement. The tale of their voyage had spread through the waterfront. Old pals had congratulated him and he’d had a receptive audience to listen to him talk about beating the crooked manager at his own game. It had been like old times – a tall tale, a few drinks. Even the poker game had gone the way it used to. A little luck and some big wins. Tomorrow he was going to take some money over to Mauriri’s place and give it to him. Maybe they would talk, bury the hatchet. He’d love to tell his old friend about the trip. A fellow trader gestured at him and he went over to talk to him.

Isabelle sat, befuddled. Here she was, bracing for trouble and instead her partner was more happy and alive than he had been in months. She’d lost a customer she’d depended on but two more had taken his place. She had been sure she’d never be able to ship out on the Rattler again and Daniel Thompson had raised her hopes once more. She’d left Matavai on the verge of bankruptcy and had come back to deposit a fat cheque in their account. She shook her head in wonder.

Be practical, Isabelle, she reminded herself. They were still just one lost cargo away from losing the Rattler to the bank. The livery business needed her attention and trading required a great deal of time and energy. Even more sobering was the realization that David might never want her on board again. She still wasn’t much of a sailor compared to the men who had spent their entire lives at sea. If he patched up his friendship with Mauriri he wouldn’t need her any more.

The raw alcohol bit a path down her throat. She ought to go home; she was feeling a little high. Just then Lavinia came along to pour another drink.

“No thanks, Lavinia. I’d better be going.” Isabelle demurred.

“David’s treat,” the bartender responded, nodding toward the captain, standing with friends. He caught her eye and raised his glass in a toast. Isabelle raised her own drink and tossed it back. Her eyes lingered on him as he joked with the other men, his face lit up by a wide smile. She took in his impossibly broad shoulders, the overlarge shirt open to show a glimpse of his tanned chest. Not too hard on the eyes at all.

It might all come crashing down tomorrow. The shipping companies might have second thoughts. The Rattler might need expensive repairs. Something might set David off again. But what the hell. Today was a victory and tomorrow was still up for grabs. She leaned back against the bar and let Lavinia pour her another drink.

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