Silence Is Golden (Storm and Silence 3)

Another thunderous ca

nnon shot sounded in the distance. Another warning shot, but one that went by no means as wide as the first one. A fountain spewed up next to the Mammon, splattering us with saltwater. Something that felt like a small fish bounced off my head. I stumbled back, sputtering and cursing. Mr Ambrose didn’t move one inch, not seeming to notice the rivulets of water dripping from his top hat. I glared at him.

‘It’s not very hard to deduce at the moment, Sir!’

‘Correct.’

He still hadn’t deemed to look at me, but stood on deck, a wet and chiselled statue, his arms crossed and his face showing not a hint of worry or anxiety. I wondered if throttling the captain was acceptable nautical behaviour. Probably not.

Damn!

‘You can’t bloody sell goods without paying taxes!’

‘Why not, Mr Linton? It’s the preferable way of selling goods. It generates maximum profit.’

‘But that means we’re smuggling!’

‘No, Mr Linton. We are defending one of the inviolate rights of man: the principle of free trade.’

‘Which is?’

‘I can sell whatever I want, whenever I want, wherever I want.’

I took a moment to translate this from Ambrosian speech into normal language. ‘In other words: you smuggle.’

‘Of course not! There’s a vast difference between free trade and smuggling.’

‘Indeed, Sir?’

‘Indeed, Mr Linton. Brave defenders of free trade such as ourselves have the armed power of the British Empire behind them. Smugglers don’t.’

‘But… it’s still illegal.’

‘Technically not.’

‘Oh, really? Care to explain?’

He deemed to glance at me then. ‘The Argentinians closed their borders a few years ago. Now, trade is weighed down by heavy tariffs, and restricted to a few large ports controlled by the government. It is illegal to sell goods anywhere else on Argentinian soil.’

‘And?’

‘And we are not going to sell goods on Argentinian soil. With brand-new steam engines made in Britain, we can sail up Argentinian rivers, and sell our goods along the river. If the customers come aboard, they will in fact be on water, not on Argentinian soil. Therefore, our selling goods is not illegal.’

I stared at him.

‘Are you serious?’

He turned the full force of his cold, sea-coloured eyes on me. ‘Do I look like I am joking?’

‘That’s splitting hairs!’

‘Very profitable hairs. They are well worth splitting.’

‘And the Argentinians? Do you think they agree with your creative ideas on the legality of free trade?’

Mr Ambrose considered for a moment, gazing at the ships and smoking cannons in the distance, tapping his lip. A thunderclap ripped apart the air as a third, and probably final, warning shot sounded.

‘Probably not,’ he conceded.