After a short wait, Higgins returned to where Whelp and Virginia stood waiting with an invitation to negotiate, which Whelp impetuously and greedily accepted. Thus, Higgins led the way through the streets of Zanzibar, just past one edge of the market, where rows of rough booths lined the streets and the clamor of haggling voices and the ringing of bells around the necks of a small herd of goats filled the air. Virginia was overwhelmed by the foreign smells that surrounded her, penetrating every pore of her skin and clothing--the heavy scent of curried spice, above all, laced with the aroma of jasmine, like a firm, steady thread weaving all these strange sensations together, though the foundation, beneath it all, consisted of the ever-present hint of waste, both animal and human. She wrinkled her nose as they were ushered to a near-vacant tavern, the back room of which was cordoned off by a purple silken sheet suspended from the ceiling.
"In here," said Higgins, pulling the sheet aside and revealing a separate room adorned with a single table, at which sat a solitary figure, though neither Whelp nor Virginia could discern his face from their angle.
"Very good," said Whelp. "Wait here."
"And what of me?" asked Virginia, wrenching her arm free from Whelp's unconscious grip, most likely brought about by his own nerves.
"You're coming in here with me, my dear. Come see the price we've put on a man's life. I believe you may find it enlightening."
"I doubt that," she scoffed. "Exactly what is it that you have against me, Whelp? Why do continually try to damage and destroy my beliefs, my faith?"
Whelp smiled politely. "Have you wondered why I haven't killed you, Ms. Pear? Have you wondered what your fate is to be? Well, this is it. I want only to crush your idealism, to hold your eyes open that you may see how what a horrid, wretched place this world truly is. Tomorrow I leave here, and I leave you behind, and once alone, perhaps, you may witness the way the world operates and how ill-suited such a thing as faith or hope is in this life. Here, there is no God to watch over us; we watch over ourselves. That is your punishment, Ms. Pear. That is your punishment for daring to judge me."
Virginia said nothing in return but now hoped, more than ever, that the man waiting on the other side of the curtain was Thomas Huxley, prepared to take her away from all of this. Whelp pushed her through, and as she stumbled across the threshold, he entered on her heels so that when they saw the face of the man before them, their reactions were simultaneous. Whelp grinned, and Virginia simply stared in astonishment. The fellow at the table was not, in fact, Thomas Huxley. Rather, he was a short, thin man with hair the color of the African desert. A bored, impatient look was fixed on his face, and he ceased rapping his fingers against the table and looked up at his guests with a warm smile.
"Hello," said the man, "my name is Terrance Westmoreland, and I'm here to buy your man."
Whelp nodded with an appraising look in his eye, sizing up the man before him in terms of possible value. He, of course, never had the opportunity to meet Westmoreland the porter. Virginia, on the other hand, was forced to pretend that she had never seen the man before in her entire life. At the sight of Virginia, Westmoreland indeed grew suddenly nervous, praying that she would say nothing to spoil his deception. Quickly, though, a silent bond was formed between the two of them, sealed by the determined looks in their respective eyes. Virginia would say nothing to ruin the plan, and Westmoreland would keep his calm about him at all times.
"I welcome all offers," said Whelp, wringing his hands. "But I feel I must warn you, my giant is not cheap. He's a rarity, after all--a miracle of nature blessed with the strength of two men, and I daresay that any gentleman would be lucky to own him."
"You received my gift, I take it?"
"The diamond? Yes, it was very intriguing, I must admit. It is the first black diamond I've ever seen."
Westmoreland smiled. "You might also be intrigued to know that I sent two of them."
"Ah, well," Whelp replied, "in that case, I'll have to arrange a chat with Mr. Higgins about the retention of my property. Once I'm in more advantageous company, of course. He's quite a large man."
"Indeed. So shall we get down to business?"
"Very well, I'm a merchant first and foremost. Legitimate, I might add," he said, flashing an arrogant glance toward Virginia. "First, may I ask, whom do you represent? It isn't everyday that I run across another Englishman here in Zanzibar. Particularly one in my industry."
"My employers are Turks, sir, and I'll say no more about them. Though believe me when I say they are very wealthy men. They've sent me simply because they knew with whom they were dealing. Perhaps they thought the face of a countryman would be less disconcerting." Westmoreland sat back comfortably, obviously taking some amount of joy in his imposture. With a furtive smile he recalled his boyhood dream of becoming an actor and now felt that, if nothing else, a small parts of said dream had come true. He had adopted a higher class accent, very similar to Huxley's, to which he took naturally.
"Indeed," said Whelp. "Very well, then, what is your offer?"
Westmoreland pulled a small pouch from his pocket and emptied the contents on the surface of the table. Whelp and Virginia's eyes both grew wide as they watched the black diamonds scatter, only to be swept into a single heap by Westmoreland's quick hands.
"That is very impressive," Whelp stuttered.
Virginia stared at him, questioning with her eyes about where such remarkable gems had come, but Westmoreland ignored her completely, focused only on his job.
"This, Mr. Whelp, is just a down-payment. Think of it as an advance, in good faith. There are more where these came from. I will need a favor first, however."
"And what might that be?"
"I want to see your giant," said Westmoreland with a sly grin. "Up close."
"In here," said Higgins, pulling the sheet aside and revealing a separate room adorned with a single table, at which sat a solitary figure, though neither Whelp nor Virginia could discern his face from their angle.
"Very good," said Whelp. "Wait here."
"And what of me?" asked Virginia, wrenching her arm free from Whelp's unconscious grip, most likely brought about by his own nerves.
"You're coming in here with me, my dear. Come see the price we've put on a man's life. I believe you may find it enlightening."
"I doubt that," she scoffed. "Exactly what is it that you have against me, Whelp? Why do continually try to damage and destroy my beliefs, my faith?"
Whelp smiled politely. "Have you wondered why I haven't killed you, Ms. Pear? Have you wondered what your fate is to be? Well, this is it. I want only to crush your idealism, to hold your eyes open that you may see how what a horrid, wretched place this world truly is. Tomorrow I leave here, and I leave you behind, and once alone, perhaps, you may witness the way the world operates and how ill-suited such a thing as faith or hope is in this life. Here, there is no God to watch over us; we watch over ourselves. That is your punishment, Ms. Pear. That is your punishment for daring to judge me."
Virginia said nothing in return but now hoped, more than ever, that the man waiting on the other side of the curtain was Thomas Huxley, prepared to take her away from all of this. Whelp pushed her through, and as she stumbled across the threshold, he entered on her heels so that when they saw the face of the man before them, their reactions were simultaneous. Whelp grinned, and Virginia simply stared in astonishment. The fellow at the table was not, in fact, Thomas Huxley. Rather, he was a short, thin man with hair the color of the African desert. A bored, impatient look was fixed on his face, and he ceased rapping his fingers against the table and looked up at his guests with a warm smile.
"Hello," said the man, "my name is Terrance Westmoreland, and I'm here to buy your man."
Whelp nodded with an appraising look in his eye, sizing up the man before him in terms of possible value. He, of course, never had the opportunity to meet Westmoreland the porter. Virginia, on the other hand, was forced to pretend that she had never seen the man before in her entire life. At the sight of Virginia, Westmoreland indeed grew suddenly nervous, praying that she would say nothing to spoil his deception. Quickly, though, a silent bond was formed between the two of them, sealed by the determined looks in their respective eyes. Virginia would say nothing to ruin the plan, and Westmoreland would keep his calm about him at all times.
"I welcome all offers," said Whelp, wringing his hands. "But I feel I must warn you, my giant is not cheap. He's a rarity, after all--a miracle of nature blessed with the strength of two men, and I daresay that any gentleman would be lucky to own him."
"You received my gift, I take it?"
"The diamond? Yes, it was very intriguing, I must admit. It is the first black diamond I've ever seen."
Westmoreland smiled. "You might also be intrigued to know that I sent two of them."
"Ah, well," Whelp replied, "in that case, I'll have to arrange a chat with Mr. Higgins about the retention of my property. Once I'm in more advantageous company, of course. He's quite a large man."
"Indeed. So shall we get down to business?"
"Very well, I'm a merchant first and foremost. Legitimate, I might add," he said, flashing an arrogant glance toward Virginia. "First, may I ask, whom do you represent? It isn't everyday that I run across another Englishman here in Zanzibar. Particularly one in my industry."
"My employers are Turks, sir, and I'll say no more about them. Though believe me when I say they are very wealthy men. They've sent me simply because they knew with whom they were dealing. Perhaps they thought the face of a countryman would be less disconcerting." Westmoreland sat back comfortably, obviously taking some amount of joy in his imposture. With a furtive smile he recalled his boyhood dream of becoming an actor and now felt that, if nothing else, a small parts of said dream had come true. He had adopted a higher class accent, very similar to Huxley's, to which he took naturally.
"Indeed," said Whelp. "Very well, then, what is your offer?"
Westmoreland pulled a small pouch from his pocket and emptied the contents on the surface of the table. Whelp and Virginia's eyes both grew wide as they watched the black diamonds scatter, only to be swept into a single heap by Westmoreland's quick hands.
"That is very impressive," Whelp stuttered.
Virginia stared at him, questioning with her eyes about where such remarkable gems had come, but Westmoreland ignored her completely, focused only on his job.
"This, Mr. Whelp, is just a down-payment. Think of it as an advance, in good faith. There are more where these came from. I will need a favor first, however."
"And what might that be?"
"I want to see your giant," said Westmoreland with a sly grin. "Up close."
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