The Rat Merchant

     

The Rat Merchant

Vanay Agarwal signs aboard the merchant ship, The Star of India, to prove his family’s loyalty to The East India Trading Company. Can he overcome monstrous beasts, grave illness, prejudice, his own demons, and poor profit margins in this new life?

            “Your mother isn’t going to like this.”

“Inshallah, I’ll come home. I’ll come home and things will be better.”

“We’ll be here. They won’t send me back now. They’ll know we’re loyal with a son on one of their ships.”

The British compounds were the safest place these days as it was the last place food shortages were felt but only those most loyal were allowed in. The skull famine had left Vanay with only the memory of two younger brothers. Memories of hunting rats in the barren rice fields of his childhood home and of pale white bones peeking through the unburied, paper-thin flesh of entire villages on the road to Surat.

Vanay covered his father’s balding head with his own small rounded Taqiyah cap and then turned to the company man and nodded. They left his father’s office and picked their way through a maze of crates and burlap sacks. The company man would occasionally ask Vanay the name or price of an exotic item in the warehouse as he led him to the dockside doors.

“Your father’s a good company man.”

“Yes, sir. He is indeed, sir.”

“A lot of warehouse clerks these days have fancy clothes for themselves and excuses for me when I inspect the ledger. Not your father.”

The East India Trading Company was built on ledgers. He was trying to reassure Vanay in taking a job that tended to end in death. Vanay shifted his bag and proceeded down the road between warehouses and docks.

“That is very kind. Thank you, sir.”

“You ever been on a clipper ship?”

“Yes sir, to inspect merchandise.”

“Well, that’s more than some. There she is. The Star of India. Let’s get you aboard.”

He called permission to come aboard and mounted the gangplank upon hearing it granted. Vanay’s eyes twitched reluctantly to the faint lights dotting the rugged outline of hills behind the city but he urged his feet on. Upon reaching the captain’s quarters they heard a man’s earnest voice within cut off by a rough response before knocking on the modest wooden door.

            “Enter.”

            “Captain Berwick, I think I’ve got just the man for you. This is Vanay Agarwal.”

            “Agarwal? I’ve seen you on the docks. Your father know you’re here?”

            “Yes sir, he sent me.”

            “S’pose we’ll see if he was trying to be rid of you or not soon enough. Sign your papers and have First Mate Cobb show you below deck.”

            “But, Sir! An India man?”

            “The men in this company are all East India men! That’s twice, tonight, yeh’ve questioned an order. Don’t risk a third, Mr. Cobb.”

The captain pulled out a book of sailors’ names and wages. He stopped short before handing Vanay the quill to sign.

            “You ought to know what your signing before you put your name in this book. Every name in this book is mine. Every man aboard this ship signs this book and gives me his life. I won’t give it back until your service is finished. I decide how to use a life from the moment a man signs until he’s discharged. Think well, before you sign, on whether it’s worth your life.”

Though the captain’s speech was unexpected Vanay was ready with his answer.

First Mate Cobb jerked his head as he walked past. Vanay quickly followed. Mr. Cobb had that peculiar way of walking that marked him a sailor. His feet placed wider than his shoulders and his arms swung in front of his chest with each swaying step. Vanay was tempted to try it but did not want to appear to mock a superior as his first act on the ship. A few heads turned when Mr. Cobb showed Vanay where he could stow his bag but most of the hammocks were empty. The crew was enjoying the few hours left in Surat before they set sail. Mr. Cobb advised he sleep while he could and left him to a hammock aft deck. Vanay stared at the tightly woven planks worrying that this life would be a hard adjustment.

He woke up at the call and followed the men to the main deck. After his introduction as the quartermaster in training, no one spoke but to give orders he didn’t understand. A muscled arm on the man in front of him flapped over his shoulder and Vanay followed. The man bent over the starboard rigging and made a wide motion of untying a line. Vanay quickly set to untying the next line. More orders were shouted but Vanay waited until his teacher heaved on his line and then mimicked. Vanay shadowed his motions through a maneuver that appeared to have turned the ship about and set the wind at the stern of the ship. His teacher checked his knots and ducked his head once in approval.

            “I’m Will. What’d he say your name was?”

            “Vanay Agarwal.”

            “Well Vinn, you can tie a knot but you’re greener ‘an seaweed. Stay close with your eyes open and your mouth shut, you’ll be alright, alright?”

Vinn ducked his head once and followed Will the rest of the watch.

After a few weeks Vinn understood the orders before Will showed him what to do. He even learned to widen his stance without feeling foolish giving him stable footing on the constantly rocking deck. He worked four-hour watches when he wasn’t keeping the books. He kept a careful accounting of how much of the hold was filled for the long haul and what had to turn a profit at each port. If profits were improved sufficiently from last year, Mr. Cobb would be promoted to captain of the King Charles, a schooner that ran the slaving route to and from Havana.

Captain Berwick had taken Vanay on as quartermaster with no sailing experience following the death of his previous quartermaster because Vanay’s father was known to be a keen and an honest accountant. Captain Berwick found those two qualities rarely coalesced in the company and so asked Vanay to join First Mate Cobb as they planned what to buy and sell at the next port of call.

            “The Star isn’t outfitted to hold them, Mr. Cobb, and none of my lives will be spent taking another man’s.”

            “If we only took on a few we could lash ‘em together around the posts on the tween deck.”

            “Mr. Cobb, when you are captain of a ship you may insist on a course of action and expect it to be carried out. But on my ship, you’ll take my word as final on the matter.”

            Mr. Cobb’s frustration burned out of his nostrils as he responded with a sharp, “Aye, Aye, Sir!” and retreated to the far side of the table laden with past years reports and trade logs.

            “Captain, if I may, the last port of call on the west coast of Africa is Gambia. If we can sell sufficient jute in Sierra Leone the hold can take a large enough shipment of gold to exceed our estimated profits.”

            “We can’t leave the hold half empty until we get there. We’d have to have more than Japanese lumber in Togo.”

Mr. Cobb listened silently until the two finalized a plan for the last ports on the West African coast then Captain dismissed him. Captain complimented Quartermaster Agarwal on a job well done as the door was closing.

            “You’ve proven yourself the man for the job. You ought to move your things into a cabin on deck.”

            “Thank you, Sir.”

            “You’ll need to keep your watch, just the same. Too many men are wasting with scurvy and anyone as can stand must run the lines. Alright, dismissed.”

            “Aye, Aye, Sir. Sir?”

            “Yes, what is it Vinn?”

            “I think I know of a way to help the men and preserve our cargo.”

            “Save it from the vermin, you mean? I’ve heard some call you The Rat Merchant.”

            “Yes Sir, I do not mind. The meat helped Will Barnes and he’s back at watch. If I could get them all in one day, we’d have one less problem in the hold.”

            “I thought Barnes would die of scurvy. What made you think to feed him rat meat?”

            “Men on other ships with scurvy have eaten rats and somehow recovered. I don’t believe all the stories I heard on the docks in Surat but I thought it was worth a try.”

            “Alright, take Barnes. He’s not likely to object, leastways. What else do you need?”

            “Something that will smoke but not burn. Clear the men out from below deck for a watch, maybe two.”

            “I could lose a life in it. You’ll have a knife in your belly before you convince some of those men to roust themselves and the rest will hold you accountable for missing a whole watch’s sleep.”

            “It’s better than sleeping in tarps at the bottom of the ocean.”

            “Aye, get it done. I’ll talk to the men myself.”

Vinn ignored the scowls from the men as he worked. He deposited smoking handfuls of coconut fibers on plates laid periodically from stern to aft and clambered topside. He’d replaced the fibers lining crates of delicate porcelain with rags. Will held the canvas at the ready watching for a human shape to emerge from the gathering smoke. Without warning, Vinn leapt through the hatch and turned to help Will lash the canvas tight across it. Just in time, the screeching beasts came clawing through a small hole in the bottom of the canvas and began filling a heavy net affixed to it. The men stopped scowling at their quartermaster and grimaced at the melee escalating in front of them. The rodents writhed in a heap of primal fear and rage, trying to escape the smoke-filled decks below. Their high-pitched screeching doubled as Will and Vinn laid to with heavy clubs. Soon the deck was a frothing mass of blood and fur, and the only sounds left were labored breathing and the slow creak of the ship. Fortunately, the captain had spoken to Cook and after just one huge swallow of rum, he set to work on the dripping pile of fresh victuals.

By the time The Star of India reached Togo, all the men were back on the lines except Mr. Whip who swore he’d rather fill his belly with seawater than the filthy brutes. Those well enough to go ashore regaled bawdy crowds with tales of The Rat Merchant who saved their lives. Vanay remained aboard with promises from some to bring him back proof of their gratitude. Captain Berwick had business in Togo, and so left the ship in Mr. Cobb’s hands who called Vanay topside.

            “Mr. Agarwal, you’ll need to record six head o’ chattel as come aboard tonight. I secured ’em on the tween deck.”

            “Captain Berwick did not – “

            “Captain Berwick has instructions to make a profit where it’s to be had and I expect you to obey an order when I give it.”

            “Aye, Aye, Sir.”

As Vanay left the cabin, he was met with the raucous sound of long silent men free to carouse at last.

            “Oy, the mighty Rat Merchant appears!”

            “Come and have a dance with m’lady!”

            “A bottle for the Rat Merchant!”

Will pulled out the small hand made flute he played when he was called by neither sleep nor Captain Berwick. He annoyed the men with lonely Scottish Aires on windless days, but tonight he played a lively jig.

            “They didn’t say you was a India man! You some kind of prince?”

After teaching the wench a dance supposedly from the courts of Mir Jafar Ali Khan Bahadur but which was really a dance his sister Anjali taught him, Vanay returned her to the men with a shudder. He knew the prostitute was meant as a token of appreciation from the men but the only change he wished to make to the pleasure trull’s state of dress was to cover the bone white skin on her shoulders.

Despite the cloud of rum, the men were back on the lines in the morning. Captain Berwick hadn’t been seen since he gave the order to set sail at sunrise but emerged from his cabin like a bleak horizon on a gale wind after Vanay reported his morning inventory of the cargo on the tween deck.

            “Mr. Cobb, did The Star take on more cargo than I ordered in Lomé Harbor?”

Mr. Cobb stiffened as he answered in the affirmative.

            “Mr. Hurd! Take these irons and hitch Mr. Cobb to the chattel on the tween deck.”

            “CAPTAIN! I’ll not go with the devils or you will afore me!”

Mr. Hurd’s massive forearm flashed in front of Mr. Cobb’s fist before he could land a blow. He had Mr. Cobb fettered and wedged between two bulging arms seconds later.

            “Those men didn’t sign, Mr. Cobb. You did. I won’t take any man who doesn’t sign and once he does his life is mine to spend.”

            “They can’t sign, they’re not really men! Get off me you sons o’ goats!”

Mr. Hurd hauled Mr. Cobb like a hissing bushel of wheat below deck. The wrothful curses abated at the bottom of the ship ladder and Mr. Hurd returned topside ashen faced. The rest of the men stood dazed until Captain barked an order.

            “Turn the ship about! On the main! Man your headsails!”

Before the commotion of turning back to Togo commenced a piercing scream from below was cut off in a gurgling stutter.

            “Man your headsails!”

Vanay oversaw the disembarking of First Mate Cobb’s body as the ship retraced the morning’s travel. He found comfort in the way the foam spread around the tarp in a single dull splash and then returned to a uniform blue green again. Here, death did not dry and decay in the sun. The ocean buried it all. He knew in that moment he’d return home only as trade brought his ship to port in Surat. He’d follow that smooth horizon for the rest of his life.

The Star of India made its unexpected return to Lomé Harbor by nightfall. A rowboat was immediately dispatched to the far side of the harbor, away from the docks on which the black skinned passengers had been sold that morning. Vanay went ashore to replenish their store of tarp and report their half day’s journey in The Star of India’s log kept at the company offices in Togo. He reported Mr. Cobb’s departure from the ship and six lost chattel.

            “Mr. Cobb was First Mate, was he?”

            “Yes, Sir, he was.”

            “And what was the nature of his departure from the ship? Discharged?”

            “Dead, Sir. In an incident with the chattel.”

The dockmaster tutted bracingly.

            “This Mr. Rat is to take his place as First Mate?”

            “Yes, Sir!”

            “Well, may you have a more profitable day’s journey ahead. Good day to you.”

Thanks to the Rat Merchant’s keen and honest accounting they’d have many profitable days ahead.