Kydd sat down suddenly. ‘This is a hard thing to put on a man, Nicholas. You would not have been thought the less if you had refused – are there not, should we say, men of that profession Dacres could call upon?’
‘There is little on this station that warrants the maintenance of such, therefore no. Time is very limited and any person entering in on Curaçao must have knowledge of military and naval affairs to be aware of the significance of what he observes.’
Kydd looked at him with the tiniest touch of amusement. ‘And as it’s your theory to be proved you won’t leave it to another.’
‘Not at all,’ Renzi said, with dignity. ‘We are beset by the greatest threat yet launched by Bonaparte. If it succeeds in cutting off our Caribbean trade, he will take note and deploy it elsewhere. It has to be stopped – and I know my duty.’
‘Yes, Nicholas, you always did.’ Kydd pondered. ‘It’ll be a tricky thing. We haven’t any good charts of that side of the Caribbean and a night landing from L’Aurore will—’
‘Rest your concerns, dear fellow. L’Aurore will not be needed.’
The baffling light winds relented at last and, resolving out of the bright haze ahead, the island of Curaçao spread gradually across their field of view.
It had been only three days but the strain of maintaining his disguise was telling on Renzi. The amiable American master had gone out of his way to show an interest in his business prospects, this Herr Haugwitz coming all the way from the small Hanseatic town of Bremen. Just how did he think he was going to deal with the twin hazards of Napoleon’s decree on the one hand and the iniquitous British on the other?
Renzi had countered the well-meaning interrogation in heavily accented English by saying that he was on an exploratory trip only, to gauge possibilities for a product that, for commercial reasons, he was not at liberty to reveal. It had satisfied and he had had then only to fend off the friendly prattle of a gregarious captain gratified that his modest vessel had been selected for the passage.
The pilot and Customs cutter appeared and, while the formalities were concluded, Renzi’s pulse quickened.
It was the very height of impudence to think he could just come to the Dutch colony, spy out the operation and leave. But that was what was planned, and the longer he stayed the more dangerous his situation. The American had told him that he was calling to offload molasses and take aboard seventeen barrels of aloes and then would be off – say, two days in all. Renzi had every intention of leaving with him.
On its own a simple count of men-o’-war in harbour would be misleading for there would be far more out at sea on their predatory occasions, but it would be necessary only to sight two or three to confirm matters. And he knew where the controlling base was and the name of its principal. He had only to verify they existed and he would have all the proof Dacres needed that this was indeed the place.
The shoreline was beautiful: long beaches overhung with palms and studded with houses; judging by their spacing from each other, they must be well-appointed villas.
Renzi could not see the town of Willemstad and its harbour until they drew closer, then made out a channel. It was barely a couple of hundred yards across but they confidently entered it in the light but steady easterly trade wind.
So close, every detail was clear: dominating the entrance to the channel on one side was the angular pentagon of a stone fort; further in, the buildings of the town were charming reminders of Cape Town’s Dutch-influenced architecture, almost in exaggeration with their exuberant colour and quaint grace. At the far end of the channel stood another impressive fort, atop the heights of a conical hill where it was able to menace the channel and the inner harbour that now opened up.
‘The Schottegat,’ Renzi was informed. It was an impressive sight – two or three miles of open water snugly within the island, completely sheltered from the worst hurricanes. Eagerly his eyes darted about, taking in what he could of the harbour and its seafront.
There were sea-craft in abundance, from small native coastal smacks to respectable traders at the inner wharves, but safely out of the way at a trot, a row of mooring piles set out from the shore, five near-identical low-built schooners were roped together.
They were not in view for long as the ship rounded to and doused sail. Lines were sent ashore and they were hauled alongside.
‘Well, Herr Haugwitz, we’re here in Curaçao right enough. This’n is Willemstad – where you stayin’, may I ask?’
Renzi indicated that he rather hoped to have the use of his cabin for the two days while he had his meetings. This was agreed on and Renzi was left to his own devices while the ship prepared to land its cargo.