Flood of Fire Read Free Page A

almost fifty silver dollars– it’ll take me more than a year to save that much from the jobs I’ve been doing here in Calcutta.’
    Mr Doughty scratched his large, plum-like nose as he thought this over. After several sips of ale, he said: ‘Now tell me, Reid – am I right to think that you were trained as a shipwright?’
    â€˜Yes, sir. I apprenticed at Gardiner’s shipyard, in Baltimore. One of the world’s best.’
    â€˜D’you think you’re still up to snuff with your hammer and saw?’
    â€˜I certainly am.’
    â€˜Then I may know of some work for you.’
    Zachary’s ears perked up as Mr Doughty told him about the job: a shipwright was needed to refurbish a houseboat that had been awarded to Mr Burnham during the arbitration of the former Raja of Raskhali’s estate. The vessel was now moored near Mr Burnham’s Calcutta estate. Having been long neglected the budgerow had fallen into a state of disrepair and was badly in need of refurbishment.
    â€˜Wait,’ said Zachary, ‘is that the houseboat on which we had dinner with the Raja last year?’
    â€˜Exactly,’ said Mr Doughty. ‘But the vessel’s pretty much a dilly-wreck now. It’ll take a lot of bunnowing to make her ship-shape again. Mrs Burnham bent my ear about it a couple of days ago. Said she was looking for a mystery.’
    â€˜A “mystery”?’ said Zachary. ‘What the devil do you mean, Mr Doughty?’
    Mr Doughty chuckled. ‘Still the greenest of griffins, aren’t you, Reid? It’s about time you learnt a bit of our Indian zubben. “Mystery” is the word we use here for carpenters, craftsmen and such like
    â€“ men such as yourself. You think you’re up for it? The tuncaw will be good of course – should be enough to clear your debts.’
    A great wave of relief swept through Zachary. ‘Why yes, Mr Doughty! Of course I am up for it: you can count on me!’
    Zachary would willingly have started work the next morning, but it turned out that Mrs Burnham was preoccupied with the arrangements for a journey upcountry: her daughter had been advised to leave Calcutta for reasons of health, so she was taking her to a hill-station called Hazaribagh where her parents had an estate. Between this and her many social obligations and improvingcauses, Mrs Burnham was so busy that it took Mr Doughty several days to get a word in with her. He finally managed to catch up with her at a lecture that she had arranged for a recently arrived English doctor.
    â€˜Oh, it was frightful, m’boy,’ said Mr Doughty, mopping his brow. ‘A satchel-arsed sawbones jawing on and on about some ghastly epidemic. Never heard anything like it: made you want to dismast yourself. But at least I did get to speak to Mrs Burnham – she says she’ll see you tomorrow, at her house. You think you can be there, at ten in the morning?’
    â€˜Yes of course I can! Thank you, Mr Doughty!’
    *
    For Shireen Modi, in Bombay, the day started like any other: later, this would seem to her the strangest thing of all – that the news had arrived without presaging or portent. All her life she had placed great store by omens and auguries – to the point where her husband, Bahram, had often scoffed and called her ‘superstitious’ – but try as she might she could remember no sign that might have been interpreted as a warning of what that morning was to bring.
    Later that day Shireen’s two daughters, Shernaz and Behroze, were to bring their children over for dinner as they did once every week. These weekly dinners were Shireen’s principal diversion when her husband was away in China. Other than that there was little to enliven her days except for an occasional visit to the Fire Temple at the end of the street.
    Shireen’s apartment was on the top floor of the Mistrie family mansion which was on Apollo