Tourist

It was still dark when the Zephyr arrived, so the crew weighed anchor until morning. A dozen sepoys met the clipper at the pier to tie her moorings and prepare the gangway. Waiting to disembark, Juliet watched them work from under her parasol. Lord Kent strode confidently from the ship and down the pier without acknowledging the sepoys, who had lined up after finishing. Their cottons were mottled with sweat and Juliet avoided their gaze.

Juliet had given a shilling to a young boy to show her around the port, but when the sun rose further in the sky she had to seek the shelter of the cottage. She lay on the bed and ate a mango as Lord Kent’s quill scratched against paper. The sea breeze blew in through the windows, teasing her hair.

Later they sat out on the verandah, looking over the palms at the sea. The sun fell off to the side and they heard the gulls and the lapping waves and the Zephyr bobbed in the distance.

“Beautiful, as I promised?” asked Lord Kent.

“Yes,” she replied, and turned away.

After a week the Zephyr departed. The same twelve sepoys cast off the lines, and the crew stowed them and were off. The sepoys held their salutes until the great mainsails bloomed, then walked wordlessly back to their village.