Endangered Species by Richard Woodman Read Free Book Online Page A

seriously, so button your lip! As to my being English, just remember I’m as Scots as yourself!’
    Stevenson saw the fox cunning of quick-witted malice appear as a gleam in Macgregor’s eyes.
    â€˜Bullshit,’ he said contemptuously, ‘and just
you
remember that ma name’s
Mister
Macgregor tae you.’
    Stevenson choked off a reply and began to walk furiously aft. It came to him, in a bitter moment of recollection, that somewhere, long ago, he had read or heard his profession traduced, the British mercantile marine described with contempt as the pickings of the prisons officered by the sweepings of the public schools. It was, like most generalisations, inaccurate in the particular, but possessed the tackiness of wit to stick, to lodge among those disposed to that most English vice, snobbery. The reflection grated on his nerves, reminding him he had abandoned Cathy for this life, this life that gave him Macgregor for a colleague.
    â€˜Shit!’ swore Stevenson.
    The rain, falling from the overloaded clouds in a solid mass, chilled him and he dripped water on the labourers now dozing on their mats along the outer alleyways. They shouted their protest. Gone were the days of the white
tuan
; now even an involuntary dripping of rainwater brought down the complaints of coolies upon him.
    He was in the shower when he heard the knock on his cabin door.
    â€˜It’s only me,’ sang out Taylor’s voice. ‘I’ve a beer for you.’
    Stevenson rubbed his hair vigorously, wrapped the towel round his waist and stepped out into the cabin. Taylor was lounging on the daybed; he handed Stevenson a beer.
    â€˜Thanks, Chas.’ He threw his head back and sucked greedily at the can.
    â€˜What’s up?’ asked Taylor, seeing the preoccupied look onStevenson’s open face.
    â€˜I’m bloody furious and this is just what I need. Thanks.’
    â€˜What’s happened?’ Taylor persisted.
    â€˜Oh, nothing much. That bloody man Macgregor gave me some lip . . .’ Stevenson outlined the incident. ‘My own fault, really. I shouldn’t have called him a bastard.’ He finished with an unhappy shrug.
    â€˜Oh, forget it, Alex. We’re all guilty when it comes to bad language. It doesn’t signify except when a troublemaker like Macgregor wants to make something of it. Here, have another beer and drown your sorrows.’
    With a sense of diminishing unease Stevenson slowly dismissed the incident from his mind. Beyond the jalousies the rain lashed down and a peal of thunder rumbled across Keppel Harbour. Stevenson looked at his watch.
    â€˜There won’t be any more cargo work this shift,’ he remarked, accepting the second can of beer from Taylor.
    â€˜That’s what I came to see you about. The Mate says he’ll stand this evening’s harbour watch so you and I can take a run ashore together. How about it?’
    â€˜That’s unusual for old Randy Rawlings, isn’t it?’ asked Stevenson, pulling on a clean white uniform shirt and musing on the Mate’s philanthropy. Second and Third Officers were customarily on watch and watch in harbour with no time to socialise beyond the brief few moments when they handed over the deck.
    â€˜I suspect he has ulterior motives. I heard him asking Woo for a Chinese special chow tonight; I expect he’s invited someone aboard. Hasn’t he got relatives here?’
    â€˜Oh, yes,’ Stevenson recalled casually. ‘I think you’re right.’
    â€˜Anyway, I thought it would be a good opportunity for you and I to enjoy a modest little piss-up and, er—’ Taylor rolled his eyes with exaggerated significance at the picture of Cathy on Stevenson’s desk. Stevenson turned from drawing on his shorts and for a moment both men stared at the photographedface that smiled back at them.
    â€˜She’s very attractive, Alex. She seems to me more like the kind