‘This is a place of law,’ he said then. ‘The king’s law. And I won’t have it sullied by the filthy tongue of one such as you.’
I nodded but said nothing. The room was silent again and I wondered whether the French gentleman would speak, but he said nothing for the time being and it was left to Mr Henderson to initiate the conversation.
‘Master Turnstile,’ he said to me eventually. ‘You are familiar with the gentleman seated behind you?’
I turned to look at him again, to make sure that my eyes had not deceived me, and then looked back at the magistrate, nodding my head in shame. ‘To my eternal dishonour, I am,’ I told him. ‘He is the very fine gentleman before whom I disgraced myself this very morning. I stand before you an infamous fellow.’
‘Infamy is too small a word for it, Master Turnstile,’ said the magistrate. ‘Too small a word indeed. You behaved like a monster, a rascally knave, no better than a pickpocket of the lower orders.’
It went through my head that I should point out that that was exactly what I was, that it was the world in which I had been reared, having never known the succour of either mother or father, but sense asserted its virtues and I buttoned my lip, knowing that these were not the words he wanted to hear.
‘I am most apologetic for my actions,’ I said instead and then, turning to the French gentleman, I spoke with something approaching honesty. ‘You were kind to me earlier, sir,’ I told him. ‘And spoke to me in a way that made me feel like more than I am. I apologize for letting you down. If I could amend my actions, I would.’
The gentleman nodded his head and I thought that my words had touched him and, to my surprise, I found that I had meant them too. He had been thoughtful to me when our conversation had begun. And he had spoken to me as if there was more than just a mash of cobwebs between my ears, which was a rare treat for me.
‘What say you, Mr Zulu,’ said the magistrate then, looking at the Frenchman. ‘Is he a likely lad?’
‘It’s Zéla,’ said the gentleman in a tired voice, and I guessed that he had corrected the mispronunciation on more than one occasion since coming into the room before me. ‘I am not of African descent, Mr Henderson. My birthplace was Paris.’
‘I do apologize, sir,’ said the magistrate.
I could tell by his tone that he couldn’t care any less and simply wanted this interview to reach a happy conclusion as swiftly as possible. I looked at the gentleman and wondered who he could be to hold such sway over a rabid dog like Mr Henderson.
‘He seems just the ticket, though,’ said Mr Zéla then. ‘How tall are you, boy?’ he asked me.
‘A little over five feet, sir,’ I told him, my face flushing slightly, for there are those who said that I was on the small side and it was a burden that I had borne my whole life.
‘And your age, it is fourteen years, am I correct?’
‘Fourteen years precisely,’ said I. ‘And two days,’ I added.
‘A perfect age,’ he said, standing up now and stepping towards me. He was a fine figure of a man, I’ll give him that. Tall and thin, with an elegant look to him but a touch of generosity about the eyes, as if he wasn’t the type to make a fellow’s life troublesome. ‘I wonder, would you mind opening your mouth for me?’ he asked.
‘Would he mind?’ roared Mr Henderson with a laugh. ‘Does it matter whether he minds or not? Open your mouth, boy, and do as the gentleman bids you!’
I ignored the screeching from my left and decided to focus my attention on the French gentleman instead. He can help me, I thought. He wants to help me. I opened my mouth and he cupped my jaw with one hand – it held it entirely – and peered inside at my teeth. I felt like a horse.
‘Very healthy,’ he pronounced after a moment. ‘How does a lad like you keep his dentals in such a fine state?’
‘I eat apples,’ I announced in a confident voice. ‘As many as I can find. They’re uncommon good for the gnashers, or so I’ve always been told.’
‘Well, they’ve done the trick, that’s for sure,’ he said, smiling a little at me. ‘Hold out your arms, boy.’
I stretched them out before me and he pressed his hands to my sides and then to my chest, but he did it in the way that a doctor might and not to give himself the motions. He didn’t seem that type at all.
‘You’re a healthy lad, I think,’ he said. ‘Well positioned, with good bones. A little on the short side but that’s no harm.’
‘Thank you, sir,’ I told him, choosing to ignore the last remark. ‘Very generous of you to say so.’
Mr Zéla gave a nod and looked towards Mr Henderson. ‘I think he might do,’ he said cheerfully. ‘I think he might do very well.’
Do for what? For immediate release? I looked from man to man and wondered what lay in store.
‘Then you’re a lucky lad,’ said Mr Henderson, picking up a bone from his plate now and sucking on it in such a fashion that it gave me the revulsions. ‘How would you care to avoid a twelvemonth in the gaol, then, eh?’
‘I should like it very much,’ I told him. ‘I have repented of my sins, I swear I have.’
‘It’s neither one thing nor the other whether you have or you haven’t,’ he said, selecting another cut and examining it for the choicer parts first. ‘Mr Zéla, would you care to let the lad know what lies in store for him?’
The French gentleman returned to his seat and looked me up and down for a moment, appeared to be considering something, and then nodded his head as if his mind was fully made up. ‘Yes, I am decided,’ he said, more to himself than anyone else. ‘Have you ever been to sea, lad?’ he asked me.
‘Sea?’ I said with a laugh. ‘Not I.’
‘And would you care for it, do you think?’
I considered the idea for a moment. ‘I might care for it, sir,’ I told him carefully. ‘In what capacity exactly?’
‘There’s a ship anchored not far from here,’ he told me then. ‘A ship with a most particular mission of great importance to His Majesty.’
‘Do you know the king, sir?’ I asked, my eyes opening wide to be in the presence of one who might have been in the presence of royalty.
‘I have had the very great pleasure,’ he replied quietly, but not in a way that made you think he wanted you to think him a fine fellow for it.
I uttered an oath in astonishment and Mr Henderson banged the table and offered one of his own in reply.
‘This ship,’ continued Mr Zéla, ignoring us both, ‘is due to set off on its mission today and a small problem has presented itself, but one that we think you, Master Turnstile, can be of assistance to us with.’
I nodded and tried to rush his story along in my brain in order to understand what might be required of me.
‘A young lad,’ he continued, ‘a lad your age, as it goes, who had a place on board the ship as the captain’s servant, was making his way down the gangway yesterday afternoon at a pace not commensurate with wet and slimy woodwork and the long and the short of it is that he has cracked his legs and will not be fit for walking, let along for sailing. There is a suggestion that he had taken drink, but that’s neither here nor there for the purposes of our conversation. A replacement needs to be found, but quick-smart, as the ship has been delayed by the weather long enough and must set forth today. What say you, Master Turnstile: are you prepared for an adventure?’