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“Please,” Singh pleads, “he is sacred, this one. He has power.”
“Don’t give me that.” Harris yanks the basket away and hurls it.
Singh screams, “Curses upon you! You are doomed.”
Gasps turn to ‘Ohhhs!’
In one fluid motion, Zenji has leapt from deck to railing and back to deck, catching the tumbling basket mid-arc and tossing it to the snake charmer. A beautiful move except, by accident or design, the lid is not secure. It flaps open. Upended, the loosely knotted bag comes undone, releasing the cobra in a hard thud. This time, everyone flees the deck. I do stand back but refuse to follow the mayhem.
I know what many do not. Besides, the snake is not heading my way. I’m reassured by this as the sailors in the rigging, with their bird’s-eye view, are shouting out the serpent’s direction.
I watch the captain rather than the snake.
“You Goddamn heathen!” His cry is theatrical as he grabs at Zenji, who easily eludes him. There is something to be said for agility. “This is my ship. Do you understand?”
The cabin boy, another unafraid of the snake, rushes forth, right in front of the rabidly angry Harris. “It weren’t poisonous,” he cries out, “wouldn’t hurt no one.”
But Harris shoves him aside.
“Out of my way. It’s a cobra!”
“Naga will not forgive you.” Snake now in hand, Singh stalks the captain, upper body swaying side to side, much as the snake moves from the basket. “She watches over her children, she protects them, gives them power, and” — in a flash, he slips the snake inside his shirt and claps his hands in front of the captain’s face — “she avenges her deathththth.”
“There will be no heathen witchcraft on this ship,” Harris warns.
“He’ll curse us all!” sailors shout.
Even I know ships are awash in superstition.
“He won’t!” I yell above the cacophony, and somehow, my voice is heard over the rest. Everyone silences and looks at me. “There was no danger to anyone, Captain Harris, and you know that.”
His jaw works, as if he wants to say something but cannot.
“The knife was not meant to hit anyone,” I tell all gathered. “Mr. Goddard is well and happily eating cabbage in steerage, the turning over of my cabin was a distraction, and the snake” —I look at the snake charmer— “was a rather disturbing prank but never dangerous.”
“It was a cobra,” Lady Bentwood protests.
“Without teeth or venom, and rather old,” I explain.
Montague snickers. “Rather takes the wind out of your heroism, Lady Bentwood.”
Bentwood rounds on him, “What would your reaction be, Montague? To faint?”
“Enough!” Lady Bentwood proclaims. “How did you determine this? You saw the gashes on the ship’s railing, the blood.”
“A rat, just as the captain guessed. What you saw was Zenji and his charge trying to capture it and throw it over.”
“His charge? That’s Bentwood, who was with me. And what about the scream?”
“Zenji?” I look to the foreigner, “Isn’t it time. You’ve accomplished your task. The Bentwoods have moved past their foolishness.”
He blinks at me, still as a cat deciding to pounce or move away, then bows, looking up at the rigging.
Dressed in baggy trousers and shirt, a lithe figure climbs down to stand beside him. She is striking in an impish way, glistening eyes slanting upward in a heart-shaped face.
“Is this your charge?” I ask.
Zenji bows again gesturing to the delightful urchin. “Gawa.”
