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curious about Mr Daniels. Although nowadays I would probably enjoy the man, would want to walk through some botanical garden of his, listening to him speak of the unusual qualities of a plant we were passing, the fronds and palms and hedgerows brushing our arms.
    One afternoon he gathered the three of us and took us where he had promised – into the bowels of the ship. We went through a foreroom where there was a rush of air from two turbine fans linked with the engine room. Mr Daniels had a key, and with it we entered the hold – a cave of darkness that disappeared down several levels into the ship. In the distance below us we could make out a few lights. We climbed down a metal ladder attached to the wall, going by levels full of crates and sacks and giant slabs of raw rubber with its intoxicating smell. We heard the loud croaking purr of a chicken run and laughed at the birds’ sudden silence when they became aware of us. We heard rushing water in the walls, which Mr Daniels explained was water being de-salinated after being drawn out of the sea.
    Reaching the bottom level of the hold, Mr Daniels set off into the darkness. We followed a path of dim lights that hung just above our heads. He turned right after about fifty yards, and there we came upon the mural Mr Nevil had told me about, of women astride gun barrels. I was startled by its size. The figures were twice as big as we were, and they were smiling and waving though they had no clothes on and the landscape behind them was desert. ‘Uncle …’ Cassius kept asking, ‘what is that?’ But Mr Daniels would not let us pause and herded us on.
    Then we saw a golden light. It was more than that. As we came closer it was a field of colours. This was the ‘garden’ Mr Daniels was transporting to Europe. We stood in front of it, and then Cassius and I and even Ramadhin began racing through the narrow aisles, leaving Mr Daniels behind in a crouch, studying a plant. How big was this garden? We were never certain, because not all of it was ever fully lit at the same time, for the grow lights that simulated sunshine turned on and off independently. And there must have been other sections we never saw during that journey. I don’t even recall its shape. It feels now as if we dreamt it, that it possibly did not exist at the end of that ten-minute walk in the darkness of the hold. Now and then a mist filled the air, and we would raise our faces to receive the fine rain. Some plants were taller than we were. Some were titchy things no higher than our ankles. We put our arms out and patted the ferns as we passed them.
    ‘Don’t touch!’ Mr Daniels said, pulling down my outstretched hand. ‘That’s Strychnos nux vomica . Be careful – it has an alluring smell, especially at night. It almost tempts you to break open that green shell, doesn’t it? It looks like your Colombo bael fruit, but it isn’t. It’s a strychnine. These with their flowers facing down are angel’s trumpet. The ones facing up, wickedly beautiful, are devil’s trumpet. And here’s Scrophulariaceae , the snapdragon, also deceptively attractive. Even if you just sniff these, you will feel woozy.’
    Cassius inhaled deeply and staggered back dramatically and ‘passed out’, crushing a few frail herbs with his elbow. Mr Daniels went over to move his arm away from an innocent-looking fern.
    ‘Plants have remarkable powers, Cassius. This one’s juice keeps your hair black and your fingernails growing at a healthy rate. Over there, those blue ones—’
    ‘A garden on a ship!’ Mr Daniels’s secret had impressed even Cassius.
    ‘Noah …’ said Ramadhin quietly.
    ‘Yes. And remember, the sea is also a garden, a poet tells us. Now, come over here. I think I saw the three of you smoking bits of that cane chair the other day … This will be better for you.’
    He bent down and we crouched with him while he plucked some heart-shaped leaves. ‘These are Piper betel leaves,’ he said, placing them