"I never drink on duty." Constable Mundy paused, making a decision. "However, just this once, I might make an exception, I suppose."
"Fine." Jamie brought out the bottle of whiskey, wondering how Banda could have known. He poured out two fingers into a dirty tooth glass and handed it to the constable.
"Thank you, Mr. Travis. Where's yours?"
"I can't drink," Jamie said ruefully. "Malaria. That's why I'm going to Cape Town. To get medical attention. I'm stopping off here a few days to rest. Traveling's very hard on me."
Constable Mundy was studying him. "You look pretty healthy."
"You should see me when the chills start."
The constable's glass was empty. Jamie filled it.
"Thank you. Don't mind if I do." He finished the second drink in one swallow and stood up. "I'd best be gettin' along. You said you and your man will be movin' on in a day or two?"
"As soon as I'm feeling stronger."
"I'll come back and check on you Friday," Constable Mundy said.
That night, Jamie and Banda went to work on the raft in the deserted warehouse.
"Banda, have you ever built a raft?"
"Well, to tell you the truth, Mr. McGregor, no."
"Neither have I." The two men stared at each other. "How difficult can it be?"
They stole four empty, fifty-gallon wooden oil barrels from behind the market and carried them to the warehouse. When they had them assembled, they spaced them out in a square. Next they gathered four empty crates and placed one over each oil barrel.
Banda looked dubious. "It doesn't look like a raft to me."
"We're not finished yet," Jamie assured him.
There was no planking available so they covered the top layer with whatever was at hand: branches from the stinkwood tree, limbs from the Cape beech, large leaves from the marula. They lashed everything down with thick hemp rope, tying each knot with careful precision.
When they were finished, Banda looked it over. "It still doesn't look like a raft."
"It will look better when we get the sail up," Jamie promised.
They made a mast from a fallen yellowwood tree, and picked up two flat branches for paddles.
"Now all we need is a sail. We need it fast. I'd like to get out of here tonight. Constable Mundy's coming back tomorrow."
It was Banda who found the sail. He came back late that evening with an enormous piece of blue cloth. "How's this, Mr. McGregor?"
"Perfect. Where did you get it?"
Banda grinned. "Don't ask. We're in enough trouble."
They rigged up a square sail with a boom below and a yard on top, and at last it was ready.
"We'll take off at two in the morning when the village is asleep," Jamie told Banda. "Better get some rest until then."
But neither man was able to sleep. Each was filled with the excitement of the adventure that lay ahead.
At two A.M. they met at the warehouse. There was an eagerness in both of them, and an unspoken fear. They were embarking on a journey that would either make them rich or bring them death. There was no middle way.
"It's time," Jamie anounced.
They stepped outside. Nothing was stirring. The night was still and peaceful, with a vast canopy of blue overhead. A sliver of moon appeared high in the sky. Good, Jamie thought. There won't be much light to see us by. Their timetable was complicated by the fact that they had to leave the village at night so no one would be aware of their departure, and arrive at the diamond beach the next night so they could slip into the field and be safely back at sea before dawn.
"The Benguela current should carry us to the diamond fields sometime in the late afternoon," Jamie said. "But we can't go in by daylight. We'll have to stay out of sight at sea until dark."
Banda nodded. "We can hide out at one of the little islands off the coast."
"What islands?"
"There are dòzens of them - Mercury, Ichabod, Plum Pudding
Jamie gave him a strange look. "Plum Pudding?"
"There's also a Roast Beef Island."
Jamie took out his creased map and consulted it. "This doesn't show any of those."
"They're guano islands. The British harvest the bird droppings for fertilizer."
"Anyone live on those islands?"
"Can't. The smell's too bad. In places the guano is a hundred feet thick. The government uses gangs of deserters and prisoners to pick it up. Some of them die on the island and they just leave the bodies there."
"That's where we'll hide out," Jamie decided.
Working quietly, the two men slid open the door to the warehouse and started to lift the raft. It was too heavy to move. They sweated and tugged, but in vain.
"Wait here," Banda said.
He hurried out. Half an hour later, he returned with a large, round log. "We'll use this. I'll pick up one end and you slide the log underneath."
Jamie marveled at Banda's strength as the black man picked up one end of the raft. Quickly, Jamie shoved the log under it. Together they lifted the back end of the raft and it moved easily down the log. When the log had rolled out from under the back end, they repeated the procedure. It was strenuous work, and by the time they got to the beach they were both soaked in perspiration. The operation had taken much longer than Jamie had anticipated. It was almost dawn now. They had to be away before the villagers discovered them and reported what they were doing. Quickly, Jamie attached the sail and checked to make sure everything was working properly. He had a nagging feeling he was forgetting something. He suddenly realized what was bothering him and laughed aloud.