sometimes elude me when I am so long removed from company. Inform me of this villain you wish me to locate and bring to you. Who is it that you seek?’
Valentim spun back to the desk, his refined English reverting in his passion to that of the struggling foreigner. ‘He is a pirate! A filthy, stinking, pirate dog! His name is Devlin. As the pirate Patrick Devlin he is known. You have heard of him, no?’
Ignatius straightened his white silk cravat. Cleared his throat against Valentim’s vehemence.
‘I will do, I’m sure.’ He picked up a stylus. Pulled some vellum towards him. Valentim continued, seething, willing his hate into Ignatius’s pen.
‘He stole my ship! Killed my friend! My men! You write this!’ His left hand struck the oak desk with each outburst, and Ignatius’s eyes watched its unnatural movement at every emphasis.
Valentim tore the glove from his hand. ‘And with this he has affronted me even more so!’
The glove fell to the floor. Valentim held out the cold porcelain mould of a hand that protruded from his sleeve, its elegance mutilated by the rough leather straps and nails that clamped it to his arm. He rolled up his cuff to show the white scars like spilled wax that crawled up his forearm.
‘This he has done to me! For this you write his name, Ignatius! For this you bring him to me! And for this you may have your letters!’
Ignatius scratched on the paper beneath his hand. Valentim watched the ink spell the name. ‘It is written, Governor, it is done,’ said Ignatius, his voice reassuringly cold. ‘It will take time. One man takes up such little space in the world.’ He placed the pen back on the desk.
Valentim studied his china hand with its fingers permanently set half open as if about to grasp at an object of desire. ‘And when you find him, my friend, then I will tell you of where the letters lie. But not until that day.’
Ignatius smiled wearily. ‘You Iberians. Every page of you a threat always. How very dull.’ He pushed himself back in his chair and stretched. ‘I am a man unaccustomed to paying attention to those who threaten me. Most unaccustomed.’
His left hand gestured to the darkest side of the room. ‘Allow me to introduce to you my adjutant, Governor.’
Valentim turned his head. He saw the wall itself move. A shape formed in the gloom, too tall and wide to be human. It stepped into the circle of light and the study shrank as Valentim looked up into the wide-set dead eyes above the creature’s massive broken nose that made of its breathing a low growl. Its muscles pulsed and rippled beneath a thin shirt like a straining horse, as if the beast would explode if Valentim looked at it for too long.
‘This is Mister Hib Gow, Governor.’ Ignatius spoke quietly beneath the breathing. ‘Formally an executioner. Now my assurer.’
Valentim’s hand felt for his sword’s golden pommel while his eyes remained fixed on the giant. His voice sounded almost numb. ‘Assurer?’
‘He will assure me that the man you seek will be found. And he also assures me that I do not have to listen to idle threats from those who wish to be my partners.’
Valentim resumed his graceful demeanour, his hand clear of his weapon. ‘I understand. I intended no insult, Ignatius. Only a bargain. For which, remember, I promise to fund whatever price you demand. That funding, naturally, would no longer occur should anything …’ he shrugged away the rest of his words.
‘Naturally,’ Ignatius concurred and pointed Hib Gow back to his corner. ‘As long as we understand each other, Governor,’ he picked up his pen again, ‘we shall begin.’
Chapter One
It was said that the secret was in the clay. It had to be. Either that or it was something arcane, magical, like the mystery of silk centuries before. Yet that mystery had turned out to be something mundane, something natural. Stolen silk-worm eggs smuggled out by two priests in their hollow canes had brought it to the world.
The Chinese ware would turn out to be the same. It had to be. And if one man could make it, as with the silk, as with the miracle of gunpowder even before that, so another man could steal it.
La Société de Jésus had embedded itself comfortably within Chinese society under the Qing. Emperor Kangxi in his wisdom had welcomed the trade vessels of the West with open arms. In a few short years