The Smuggler's Curse Read Free Page A

cabin, wooden chests of all different sizes take up the confined space.
    â€˜You can have Markham’s hammock — that one,’ says Teuku. ‘He don’t need his hammock, no more.’ His voice sounds slow and sad.
    â€˜Why? Why won’t he need his hammock? Where’s he going to sleep?’ I ask.
    â€˜He was ship’s boy before you, but the Dutch got him last time the Captain was on Sumatra. Got three of them. All good’uns too. We won’t be seeing them again for a good few years, I think. Even if they do keep their heads attached to their necks. Those Dutchy colonials, they invaded, and now they believe they own Sumatra. They are a nasty lot. Shoot you as quick as look at you. Killed hundreds of us on Sumatra they have. Thousands. Men, women, children. They are butchers. And they call
us
savages.’
    â€˜Oh,’ I reply rather pathetically, not knowing at all how to respond. ‘Is that where you are from, then?’
    â€˜Not any more,’ he answers. ‘I’m from here now. This boat. I have nowhere else. They killed all my family, burned down our village. They killed everyone. In reprisal, they say. Captain Bowen found me on the beach half-dead.’ He lifts his shirt to show me a white scar, vivid against his dark skin, running vertically down his chest and across his stomach. Another even uglier scar cuts across his forearm.
    I look at him, my eyes widening in shock. I don’t know what to say. What can you say?
    â€˜Sam Chi, the cook, he stitched me up.’
    â€˜Oh,’ I reply, again, stupidly. ‘Is there no one left at all? You’ve got nobody?’
    â€˜Just Captain Bowen.’
    â€˜Where do you think we’re headed?’ I ask, trying to change the subject.
    â€˜North,’ he says. ‘It nearly always is north. The Captain hasn’t told us just where yet. Maybe Aceh again to finish off his business. We had to get out of there in a hurry last time.’
    Aceh. There has been lots of talk at the Curse about Aceh, and reports in The West Australian newspaper of all sorts of death, destruction and atrocities in those parts.
    â€˜The Dutch bombarded the main town of Banda Aceh,’ continued Teuku. ‘They took over. Slaughtered a lot of people. The Sultan fled into the hills, formed the resistance and is fighting to win back our land. But the Dutch have sent thousands of soldiers from Holland to enslave everyone. They want Sumatra and are going to any lengths to keep it.’
    â€˜Why?’ I ask. ‘Why do they want Sumatra so much?”
    â€˜They are greedy,’ he replies fiercely. ‘They want the spices we grow. They want the pepper and chilli andtobacco. Especially the tobacco. And they’ll kill everyone to get them.’
    I peer into the gloom of the crew’s quarters. I am becoming increasingly worried about my future. Whatever was my mother thinking?
    â€˜Get some sleep,’ Teuku says. ‘You’ll be on the last dogwatch. Eight bells. We all do watch. Even the Captain. But fall asleep on watch, and it’s over the side for you. No discussing it, no second chances. Splash. Food for the fishes. Be warned, ship’s boy, Captain Bowen, he’s fair, but he’s tough. He don’t stand no nonsense when we’re at sea. Break his rules and he’ll break you. Into little pieces.’ Teuku runs his finger across his throat like a dagger and winks at me. I guess he is joking about that part at least. I certainly hope so.
    â€˜Are there headhunters in Aceh? Same as in Borneo?’ I ask. I have read all about savage headhunters in an old copy of the Illustrated London News a pearling master left in the Saloon Bar. They shoot you with poisoned blowpipes then they cut your head off as a souvenir.
    â€˜The headhunters of Aceh are even more fierce than on Borneo. I’d watch myself if I were you. Them headhunters, you’re just their type.’ He