"So we dashed off to Palagruza, sir, hoping to find Mlavic. Not as mystical as his chief, d'ye see, sir?" Lewrie spun out, glib at his tale by then. "Since neither of us could talk Petracic out of his scheme, we thought Mlavic could… convince him there was a job of work still to be done for us, first… and that he wasn't anywhere near strong enough to launch his holy crusade yet, for the second. Wasn't time to inform you, sir, given Petracic's state of mind. He might've begun before Mlavic could get to him, so…" He shrugged, dipping his nose into a wineglass for cover. "Got there just in time to be made prisoner, forced to watch his butchery, and found he'd pissed in the font and taken a Venetian ship out of greed and simple stupidity. It was neck-or-nothing there for a while, but… we beat him. Killed him and most of his men, freed the women and children, got the survivors on their own ship and back to Venice, sir. Had a good word from their authorities for that, sir. Oh, by the by… sorry. This letter from the Doge is for you, sir. A vote of thanks. Sorry I was remiss. They're grateful to us! Swore they'd alert their garrisons and naval units to hunt Petracic down 'fore he does a mischief. Though we know what that amounts to, sir."
Alerts sent to empty forts, skeleton garrisons, abandoned fleets rotting at their moorings, with but one sailor each as harbour-watch?
"More effectively, sir," Lewrie went on in the stunned silence, "our consul said they'd also sent notice to Ragusa, Dulcigno and some of the Croatian navy bases. I expect it'll be they who'll do the hunting, and the bringing to book."
"Did they, indeed!" Charlton goggled. "Vote of thanks? But… Jesus Christ. Had you come to me first, I might've been able to talk to Petracic-"
"With this order to evacuate, though, sir, isn't that moot?" he pointed out. "And us gone, 'fore anyone linked us to the taking of the Venetian ship? Or whatever bloody raid Petracic had in mind?"
Charlton opened the Doge's letter, done in both flowery Italian and even more florid English, just in case. He swelled with pride for a second or two, then deflated just as quickly, dropping that one into his lap, too, and looking bleak.
"Christ, we were a single step away from infamy," Charlton realised. "Gulled us, they did. Had this in the back of their minds from the start. Would have shouted our involvement to make them sound legitimate! Oh, Dear Lord…" he groaned, passing a hand over his face. "I've been a fool, Lewrie. A total, purblind, goddamned fool!"
And a hearty "Aye aye, sir!" Lewrie rather doubted would be necessary, nor desired, at that moment.
"Tried to warn me off it, God knows," Charlton sighed, looking ready to weep, staring at nothing-possibly a vision of a completely ruined Navy career? "But no, I had to be so damned calculating, sly-boots… so damned clever and… improvising]" he chid himself, sneering at his pretensions. "Thought a brilliant coup, great results, the master-stroke'd… hmmph! Broad-pendant, that sort o' fancy? Should have known, clever ain't in my nature. Not that sort o' subtle backbiting clever. Best left to your sort, Lewrie… no slur on you, sir. Hope you won't take it as such. You're one of the truly clever, more suited for subtle endeavours. I'm just a straightforward sea-dog… give me a proper fight, nothing too taxing on my poor modicum of wit? And, a total failure, it would now appear. Too lack-wit for this…"
"Not at all, sir!" Lewrie felt it politic to toady. "Why-"
"Well, at least I'm man enough to own up to my idiocies," Captain Charlton sighed, patting his greying, frazzled hair. "Write a report for -Admiral Jervis, no wheedling or hair-splitting. S'pose I'm still man enough to do that… when I can't seem to manage much else. He'll string me up from a yard-arm by my thumbs, I'd expect…"
"You mustn't take it quite so hard, sir," Lewrie objected, in true sympathy for Charlton; he had no wish to see the man ruinedl He had made one mistake out of hundreds of decisions, and it wouldn't be even a minor footnote in anyone's history, since their folly had been nipped in the bud. "Managing the diplomatic niceties, sir? Directing an under-strength and far-flung squadron well as you did? Swept every French trader into harbour quaking in their boots, sir. Scared every large vessel from the trade, too. I doubt Petracic or Mlavic took more than four or five, not counting the Venetian, o' course. And he burned all but one of those, sir! Acting under our aegis, sir, so to speak… that is to say, we eliminated four or five more, in toto. I burned that brig I took for Mlavic, too, so…"
"Aye, one might look at it that way, couldn't one?" Charlton brightened. Only for a second, though-then he reached out to pour himself a glass of wine. "Thing that irks, though, Lewrie is… e'en so, well as we did, really…"
That's the way! Alan noted; "we did well," now. You did! "… end result of our efforts, we didn't make a tinker's damn's worth of difference. French fleet's at sea, what we hoped to prevent. Allied with the Dons, so we're beaten. Skulking away with our tails between our legs. And I don't much care for it!" Charlton fumed.
"Our turn'U come, sir, just you watch," Alan tried to cheer him. "A good, clean gunnel-to-gunnel fight or two. Win 'em, too."
"Well, then…" Charlton huffed, looking more businesslike. "We're probably the last Royal Navy vessels east of Corsica, and this may be an infrestiri passage out. Our British civilians at Venice… we should put in there, take aboard as many as wish-"
"Beg pardon, sir," Lewrie exclaimed, quite happy to discuss any other matters. "I took the liberty as well of embarking Lord Rushton, his traveling companion Mr. Chute, Sir Malcolm and Lady Lucy Shockley, their servants, and a Mrs. Connor. In my report, sir… third page…" Charlton thumbed through to it and nodded, raising his eyebrows in wonder. "Jhm-humm" he commented. "So this lady and her son might need dropping off at Zante, in the Ionians? Delaying our departure?"
"No, sir. She's of Greek parentage, Venetian citizenship, but the widow of an Irish trader. Converted to his faith… Catholicism, when she married, so… she's not exactly welcome with her family, I gather… Eastern Orthodox? She was aboard that ship Mlavic took, on her way back from closing her late husband's final accounts. She had planned to take passage to England, to reside with her former in-laws, the child's grandparents, in Bristol. Her household goods have been sent on, and there'd be no cause to call at Zante."
"And Leutnant Kolodzcy?" Charlton asked, still "My wording" and "Good God'-ing" over Lewrie s written account. "Our liaison?"
"Disembarked at Venice, sir, and took a packet to Trieste."
"Good." Charlton nodded, looking pleased. "Good, then! There will be no need to put in at either port, so we may exit the Adriatic at once."
"Uhm, sir…?" Lewrie frowned. "Not put into Trieste, sir? I thought their Prize-Court, uhm… ain't they owing us a rather hefty sum by now?"
"There is that, I grant you, Commander Lewrie," Charlton said with a chuckle. "But… our orders are to sail 'with all despatch'… no time for a side-trip, no matter how rewarding. You know the usage, surely! Our own Prize-Courts take years to adjudicate the simplest of captures, and awards come even later, long after the taking vessel has paid off or been recommissioned. I'd expect our mutual ambassadors to wrangle it out, most-like. Else we'd be laid up for weeks and caught by a French squadron with no hope of aid. And," Charlton mused, wearing a cynical expression, "the Austrians have a lot more to worry over than anything to do with us, or their own naval affairs. Such as they are, mind. The worthless…" He bit off what else he thought of the Austrian "navy."
"Very well, sir," Lewrie said with a shrug, as if the loss did not matter, all that lovely gold he was due!
"Your wound, sir… you mentioned." Charlton turned all consoling. "No complications? You're mending well?"
"Aye, sir… no trouble of it."
"Good, good." Charlton nodded, sipping at his wine. "My stars, sir! Your great-cabins must be crowded as the very Ark. 'Twill never do for anyone to say I made a peer suffer. Nor one of our most eminent industrial gentlemen… and both with a seat in Parliament, what? We must put in somewhere and shift them about, share the burden equally. I can only think that you've had a most int'restin' passage
thus far, sir."
"Quite, sir," Lewrie replied with a shy grin.
Don't know the half of it, he confessed to himself.
"This Lord Peter Rushton and his traveling companion, Mr. Chute, are old schoolmates of yours, I recall, Lewrie? Perhaps it might best suit that they remain aboard Jester."
Oh, Christ, no! Lewrie wished he could shout.
"Well, sir… he is highest-ranking. Wouldn't it be… pardon me for daring to presume to suggest, sir, but… like-with-like, sir? Aboard the flagship? Though you may find them perhaps too-boisterous company. Chute's a bit 'fly,' a born rogue. And Lord Peter, well… they're both bachelors, sir. A tad, uhm… dare I mention, rakish?"
And sniffin' round Theoni like ram-cats on a queen on-heat! he allowed himself to fume; smarmy shits, never done me a single favour, and know too much about me already!
"Oh, better yet, sir!" Lewrie exclaimed. "The perfect pairing. They could be put aboard Pylades with Captain Rodgers. His ways are near theirs… bit of the rough-and-tumble? Besides, sir, Sir Malcolm and Lady Shockley… though they are a step below Lord Rushton in the peerage… Sir Malcolm is known to be a dab-hand at whist, sir. Much more influential, I recall, too. Scads richer, to be certain."
Long as you don't pair 'em with Fillebrowne, Lewrie thought; or, do! God, what a catfight that'd be, should Fillebrowne even try to have himself a quick "upright" in the chart-space!
"Aye, an excellent suggestion, Commander Lewrie," Captain Charlton said with a smile. "I stand in your debt, sir. And I find your kind consideration of my hobby most gratifying. Seas are a bit rough for a transfer at the moment, so… hmm. Ah. There," he said, consulting a chart that lay spread on his desk with pen-eases and such. "I own to a certain morbid curiosity… and it is the closest sheltered lee we have. Palagruza. We'll put in there this evening. Anchor overnight, and shift your passengers and their dunnage about in calmer water. I will dine them all aboard Lionheart, with all our captains. You and… this Mrs. Connor, as well. Then sail tomorrow morning for the straits."
"Very good, sir. Well… s'pose I should get back to Jester," Lewrie offered, rising. "Unless there's anything else you need, sir?"
"Uhm, no, Lewrie, your reports more than ample," Charlton told him, rising to see him off. "Uhm… anent our pirates. Does this lady know our involvement with Petracic and Mlavic?"
"No, sir."
"Let's keep it that way, shall we?" Charlton suggested. "Your presence there,.. you'd come to anchor to investigate, and were gulled. Then taken prisoner, before you could inform your ship. Thought they were French, found they were Venetian, or so they claimed. And offered to render assistance… laws of the sea, that sort of thing. A silly error on your part, an even greater stupidity on Mlavic's."
"Is that the way you'll report it, sir? That I was silly?" "God, no, Lewrie!" Charlton frowned. "Admiral Jervis will know the whole truth, no matter the consequences to me. But that's for the Fleet to know… and for honest Crown subjects to not. I'll tell him you were against it from the first, and that I was a fool for ignoring your advice. That I find you clever, aggressive and enterprising, and a man of many parts. A most resourceful fellow, whose value to me and this squadron was… well, inestimable, to be blunt. Is the admiral of a mind to keep this squadron together… and me in charge"-he winced for a rueful moment-"I'd hope you and Jester are part of it. If not, then I will press most strenuously for Admiral Jervis to make use of your talents in another, more responsible capacity."
"God, uhm… thankee, sir. That's most kind of you to say," Alan flummoxed, blushing with pride. And with guilt for how he ruined Charlton's scheme-and was now being praised for it! "Most kind."
Poor honest bastard. Lewrie felt like cringing. So straight you can't imagine…!
"My warmest regards to your passengers, sir. My heartfelt condolences to Mistress Connor for her ill treatment and her bereavement. We'll do everything to speed her on her way, tell her. And extend my invitation for supper to one and all. Uhm… her son…"
" 'Bout five, sir. Breeched, but you know young lads and table-manners. Polite little git, but…" Lewrie shrugged.
Charlton shivered, regarded his good carpets and upholsteries with a certain foreboding. "Well, if we must, we must. Roll up those carpets… I've slipcovers. On your way, then, Lewrie." "Aye aye, sir."
CHAPTER 2
Lewrie watched Pylades' gig and his own launch and cutter row away. So much luggage, chests and such Lord Peter and Clotworthy had brought aboard! And those mysteriously heavy wooden crates that had had to be stored on deck, too. Lewrie wished Commander Fillebrowne joy of their contents: those allegedly "Roman bronzes" of female acrobats that Clotworthy had had cast from a sketchbook, then antiqued in an acid-bath and a few days in the salt water of Venice 's Lagoon!
"Bloody ancient what?" Clotworthy had haw-hawed. "Old-hokin! at any rate. Heard he was anglin' for the very old. Just dug up from the Morea… Turk lands, and you know what they think o' images in human likeness. Why, 'twas a wonder they didn't melt 'em down for guns!"
"Think he'll bite, Clotworthy?" Lewrie had asked. To his untrained eye, they looked authentic; he'd have bit… if they had come from anyone else!
"Pay well for th' privilege, too, I'll warrant!" Clotworthy had roared with glee. "If not him, some other fool. If not them, I've an 'early' Canova, 'long with his sketches t'prove it. Best forgeries ever. We may not see each other after supper t'night, so… a quick departure on the Lisbon packet, right after the sale, hmm? So, good-bye, me old. I spect we'll be readin' 'bout ya in th' damn Gazette, hey?"
Lewrie shook his head in bewildered merriment, glad to see the back of him, though amused as always by Chute's scandalous antics. Just as long as it was others who got fleeced!
"Frolicsome pair, sir," Lieutenant Knolles commented, "what?"
"You didn't buy anything from him, did you? Play cards…?"
"Forewarned, sir… thankee." Knolles smiled.
"I'll go below for a moment, see the Shockleys to the deck."
He marveled all over again, as he entered his great-cabins, to see the pair of Venetian red-lacquered commodes-the geniune article, not lacca povera … at least Chute had assured him. He'd have to crate them back up, store them on the orlop. They'd never last a month, when his every furnishing was rushed below every gun-drill or call to Quarters. Free, he scoffed; free, gratis… from Clotworthy?
"Make up for th' tatties an' gravy, Alan, old son," he'd sworn. "Not pinched, neither. Made such a killin' an' expect such a killin', I could afford t'be magnanimous, hey? Yer wife'll love 'em."
And there sat Sir Malcolm and Lady Lucy, sipping tea with Mrs. Connor. Rather forbiddingly, Alan thought; rather frigid. Well, Sir Malcolm was all affable… but Lucy was a bit nose-high and snippish.
"Cap'an Lewrie!" little Michael cried, leaving off his games with the cats. He ran to hug Lewrie s leg and look up adoringly, making Lewrie cringe inside anew. "Look what! Whiskers can play ball!"
"Ah, that's marvelous, Michael," Lewrie enthused, kneeling to his level. "Did you teach him all by yourself? He's a clever kitten, isn't he? And you're a clever lad. Or did Toulon show him how?"
The first night aboard, shivering with fright, weeping and wailing most miserable from all he'd been forced to see and hear so young, little Michael had been inconsolable. 'Til Toulon had slunk up close and pressed against him, climbed in his lap and rubbed, bestowing cat-kisses and purring. Slept with him, too, in a hammock slung low in the chart-space, and never left his side. 'Til they'd come back from shore at Venice, of course, with Michael's present, a grey-and-black-striped tabby kitten of his very own-best of the thousands.
"No, I did!" Michael insisted loudly. "Come see!"
"I will, I promise. After supper tonight, we'll all have us a rare old romp, hey? But there's ship's business right now. Can't be a slack-hand captain, remember?"
"I 'member." Michael nodded, solemnly but impishly.
"Sir Malcolm… Lady Lucy, the boats from Lionhear
t are near, and your trunks and such are slung, ready to load," Lewrie told them.
"Ah, then we must be going. Come, my dear," Sir Malcolm said, finishing his tea and getting to his feet. "You'll join us on deck, Mistress Connor?"
"Your pardons, sir, but," Theoni replied, standing up and dipping him a short curtsey, "this close… I mean no discourtesy to you, but I have no wish to even have a glimpse of that island again, nor ever hear it mentioned. I hope you understand."
"I understand completely, ma'am, truly," Sir Malcolm said with sympathy. "Good-bye, then. And may I express to you my fondest wishes you may have a safe and tranquil journey to England. And find every contentment and joy once there, for both you and your fine little man. Come, Michael! A parting kiss! You're such a splendid young fellow. We'll miss you desperately, that's the boy!" And Michael complied.
"Good-bye, Lady Shockley," Theoni said, dipping her a departing curtsey as well. "A safe journey for you."
"Good-bye, my dear. Though we will see each other at supper?" Lucy answered, gushing so honey-sweet Lewrie almost winced.
"I'll see you out on deck, sir… ma'am?" he offered. "Want to come, Michael? Just you, not your kitten. He's not an old salt yet, not like Toulon."
"I'll mind him, Michael, you go on and watch the sailors and all," Theoni assured him.
"Why, d'ye know," Sir Malcolm suddenly announced, "we could all end on the same packet from Gibraltar. Certainly the same packet from Lisbon. See Commander Lewrie's things through customs, and make sure you arrive safe, Mistress Connor! Couldn't we, Lucy?"
"Why… yes!" Lucy replied, nonplussed for a moment at such an egregious notion, but recovering quickly. "How delightful a prospect!"
She shot Lewrie a glare; who took a squint to see what Theoni had made of that; receiving in turn a subtle arch of a perfect, artfully arched (and lovely, he thought!) brow, and a faintly amused cast to a forced-to-be-pleasant smile. The passage to Venice had become heaven. Passage from Venice had been all elbows and knees, grumblings and cattiness. No privacy, of course, not a jot; no chance to…
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