The Flashman Papers: The Complete 12-Book Collection. George Fraser MacDonald

nothing. Wait. Wait. Do not despair. I will make inquiry. I see you again. Only wait, don’t despair. Now, my friend – forgive me.”

      On the heels of the last word he suddenly shouted something in what I took to be Malagassy, gesturing angrily. Heads came round, my guard stooped and wrenched at my shoulder, and Laborde struck me full in the face with his open hand.

      “Scélérat!” he cried. “Canaille!” He swung angrily on his heel and pushed his way back into the grinning crowd, while the guard kicked me upright and thrust me back into line. I tried to call to Laborde, but I was choked with horror and my own tears, and then one of the officials mounted a rostrum, shouting an announcement, the chatter of the crowd died away, the first of our coffle was pushed forward, and the bidding began.

       Chapter 9

      No one who has not stood on the block can truly understand the horror of slavery. To be thrust up in public, before a crowd of leering niggers, waiting your turn while your fellow-unfortunates are knocked down, one by one to the highest bidder, and you stand like a beast in a pen, all dignity, manhood, even humanity gone. Aye, it’s h--l. It’s even worse when nobody buys you.

      I couldn’t credit it – not even an opening bid! Imagine it – “here’s Flashy, gentlemen, young and in prime fettle, no previous owners, guaranteed of sound wind, no heelbug, highly recommended by superiors and ladies of quality, well set-up when he’s shaved, talks like a book, and a b----r to ride! Who’ll say a hundred? Fifty? Twenty? Come, come gentlemen, the hair on his head’s worth more than that! Do I hear ten? Five, then? Three? For a capital bargain with years of wear in him? Do I hear one? Not for a fellow who dismissed Felix, Pilch, and Mynn in three deliveries? Oh, well, Ikey, put him back on the shelf, and tell the knackers to come and collect him.”

      It was downright humiliating, especially with the bidding for my black companions as brisk as a morning breeze. Mind you, the thought of being bought by one of those disgusting Malagassies was revolting – still, I couldn’t but feel disgruntled when they shoved me back in the warehouse alone, the Selling Plater nobody wanted. It was night before I found out the reason – for night brought Laborde, past bribed officials and guards, with soap, a gourd of water, a razor, and enough bad news to last a lifetime.

      “It is simple,” says he, when he had slipped a coin to the sentry and we were locked in alone. He spoke French now, which he’d been afraid to do in public for fear of eavesdroppers. “I had no time to tell you. The other slaves were being sold for debt, or crime. You, as a castaway, are in effect crown property; your display on the block was a mere formality, for no one would dare to bid. You belong to the Queen – as I did, when I was shipwrecked years ago.”

      “But … but you ain’t a slave! Can’t you get away?”

      “No one gets away,” says he, flatly, and it was now I learned a good deal of what I’ve told you already – of the monstrous tyranny of Queen Ranavalona, her hatred of foreigners which had caused Madagascar to be quite cut off from the world, of the diabolical practice of “losing” – which is their word for enslaving – all strangers.

      “For five years I served that terrible woman,” Laborde concluded. “I am an engineer – you will have seen my lightning rods on the houses. I am also skilled in the making of armaments, and I cast cannon for her. My reward was freedom” – he laughed shortly – “but not freedom to leave. I shall never escape – nor will you, unless—” He broke off, and then hurried on. “But refresh yourself, my friend. Wash and shave, at least, while you tell me more of your own misfortune. We have little time.” He glanced towards the door. “The guards are safe for the moment, but safety lasts a short while in Madagascar.”

      So I told him my tale in full, while I washed and shaved by the flickering light of his lantern, and sponged the filth from the shreds in which I was clothed. While I talked I got a good look at him – he was younger than I’d thought, about fifty, and almost as big as I, a handsome, decent-looking cove, fast and active, but plainly as nervous as a cat; he was forever starting at sounds outside, and when he talked it was in an urgent whisper.

      “I shall inquire about your wife,” says he when I’d done. “They will have brought her ashore almost certainly – they lose no chance of enslaving foreigners. This man Solomon I know of – he trades in guns and European goods, in exchange for Malagassy spices, balsam, and gums. He is tolerated, but he will have been powerless to protect your lady. I shall find out where she is, and then – we shall see. It may take time, you understand; it is dangerous. They are so suspicious, these people – I run great risk by coming to see you, even.”

      “Then why d’you do it?” says I, for I’m inclined to be leery of gifts brought at peril to the giver; I was nothing to him, after all. He muttered something about befriending a fellow-European, and the comradeship of men-at-arms, but I wasn’t fooled. Kindness might be one of his motives, but there were others, too, that he wasn’t telling about, or I was much mistaken. However, that could wait.

      “What’ll they do with me?” I asked, and he looked me up and down, and then glanced away, uneasily.

      “If the Queen is pleased with you, she may give you a favoured position – as she did with me.” He hesitated. “It is for this reason I help you to make yourself presentable – you are very large and … personable. Since you are a soldier, and the army is her great passion, it is possible that you will be employed in its instruction – drilling, manoeuvring, that kind of thing. You have seen her soldiers, so you are aware that they have been trained by European methods – there was a British bandmaster here, many years ago, under the old treaty, but nowadays such windfalls are rare. Yes …” he gave me that odd, wary glance again, “your future could be assured – but I beg of you, as you value your life, be careful. She is mad, you see – if you give the least offence, in any way, or if she suspects you – even the fact that I, a fellow-foreigner, have spoken to you, could be sufficient, which is why I struck you publicly today …”

      He was looking thoroughly scared, although I felt instinctively he wasn’t a man who scared easy. “If you displease her – then it will be the perpetual corvée – the forced labour. Perhaps even the pits, which you saw yesterday.” He shook his head. “Oh, my friend, you do not even begin to understand. That happens daily here. Rome under Nero – it was nothing!”

      “But in G-d’s name! Can nothing be done? Why don’t they … make away with her? Haven’t you tried to escape, even?”

      “You will see,” says he. “And please, do not ask such questions – do not even think them. Not yet.” He seemed to be on the point of saying more, but decided not to. “I will speak of you to Prince Rakota – he is her son, and as great an angel as his mother is a devil. He will help you if he can – he is young, but he is kind. If only he … but there! Now, what can I tell you? The Queen speaks a little French, a few of her courtiers and advisers also, so when you encounter me hereafter, as you will, remember that. If you have anything secret to say, speak English, but not too much, or they will suspect you. What else? When you approach the Queen, advance and retire right foot first; address her in French as ‘God’ – ‘ma Dieu’, you understand? Or as ‘great glory’, or ‘great lake supplying all water”. You must give her a gift, or rather, two gifts – they must always be presented in pairs. See, I have brought you these.” And he handed me two silver coins – Mexican dollars, of all things. “If, in her presence, you happen to notice a carved boar’s tusk, with a piece of red ribbon attached to it – it may be on a table, or somewhere – fall down prostrate before it.”

      I was gaping at him, and he stamped, Frog-like, with impatience. “You must do these things – they will please her! That tusk is Rafantanka, her personal fetish, as holy as she is herself. But above all-whatever she commands, do it at once, without an instant’s hesitation. Betray no surprise at anything. Do not mention the numbers six or eight, or you are finished. Never, on your life, say of a thing that it is ‘as big as the palace’.