Winds of Change & Eye of the Storm

by Lee Rowan

  Chapter 4

  DAVID ARCHER had to commend Captain Smith for his suggestion of a trysting place. The Valiant had a fine, wide carpenter’s walk, with room enough for a man to swing a hammer or use any of the other tools that might be needed to make speedy repairs to the hull below the waterline. And it was private. Dark, naturally—the walk was nothing more than a passage between the ship’s outer and inner hulls, and the inner hull was several more inches of oak that blocked off any light from the compartments within. Besides, they were currently at the level of the larboard cable tiers, and since the ship was under sail and the anchors catted, there was no reason for that deck to have anything in it but miles of anchor cable.

  “Listen,” David said, holding his lantern low. “It echoes.” They both fell silent, hearing the hiss of the water against the hull as the Valiant cut through the water. “This almost feels like another world.”

  “That’s a dark-lantern?” Will asked.

  “Yes, why?”

  “Close the shutter for a moment, if you please.”

  David did—and the space they were in became pitch black and seemingly endless. In the darkness, he felt the warmth of Will’s breath, as lips brushed against his face. David turned his head to meet Will’s mouth, and they shared a quick, utterly silent kiss. David smiled as it ended. Kissing—under Captain’s orders! A pity they would not have any chance to do more, but a kiss was one thing, outright stupidity quite another.

  He felt Will move back a step, heard him clear his throat. “Open it again, Davy. I had just wondered if it would be like standing on deck on a moonless night.”

  “I’d say yes, very like—only it would be a wretchedly close and airless night. The planks look tight enough, don’t you think? She might admit a little water, working in a rough sea or tacking, but I’ll wager there’s no more than a foot in the well, if that.”

  “Yes. A good tight hull, stiff and seaworthy.” This sort of general inspection was perfectly reasonable, and at some point the Captain himself would probably retrace their steps. Technically, Captain Smith had only ordered David to make the inspection, but since Will was off-duty, there was no reason he should not have come along. Equally, there was no reason he needed to.

  “I didn’t notice anyone watching us when we left the deck,” David said, his voice low. “Not that we made any secret of what we were about.”

  “Too soon,” Will said. “Even if our mole is suspicious, he won’t be fool enough to jump to conclusions on the basis of one inspection tour. Do you still have that French play your cousin sent you?”

  “L’École des Maris? Yes, why?”

  “I was thinking that we might make a translation… we could say it was to improve our French, but it would also give us the excuse to spend time together in our cabin—yours by preference, it’s more private with the bulkhead behind and the cannon on the other side.”

  “And canvas walls?”

  “Sitting beside one another on your sea chest? It’s very romantic, I think. And we might even be holding hands.”

  Davy could not see Will’s grin in the dim light, but he could hear that smile. And in fact that was the sort of thing they did do from time to time, just so they could sit close together. He and Will had read one of Shakespeare’s plays over the course of many evenings, each taking several parts.

  “Very romantic indeed,” he said. “If we solve our mystery by Christmas, I believe we might organize some of the crew into an amateur production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream.”

  “It’s a pity we don’t have any classics—we might translate from Greek and kill two birds with one stone. We can’t ask the crew to perform Molière.”

  “No, of course not. The play is more contemporary and I’m sure we could translate it into easier dialogue, but no crew of British tars would stoop to perform a play written by a Froggie.”

  “I wouldn’t, myself,” Will said. “You will cast yourself as Puck, I suppose?”

  “How did you guess? I should have to, Will. His lines are critical, and I have no great hope of budding thespians on the foredeck. I suppose if you were casting the thing, you would prefer to see my Bottom.”

  Will groaned. “And watch you make an ass of yourself? Please, Mr. Archer, I know the Captain’s orders as well as you do, but I beg you not to lose yourself in the part.”

  ONE DAY followed another in the usual Navy routine, and although Marshall missed the close-knit familiarity of the Calypso’s smaller crew, he came to see that Captain Venner and Lieutenant Gillette had been commanding a reasonably taut ship. The Valiant showed no sign of neglect. The foremast jacks knew their job, the decks were cleared and scrubbed every morning, the hands in general were respectful but not servile. In a fairly short time, Will had become accustomed to his duties and even to the box-sided cot. Better still, once they were far enough south to keep a few ports open for ventilation, he had the occasional treat of seeing Davy’s body silhouetted against the canvas wall of his cabin as his lover undressed. They followed the Captain’s orders too—discreetly—but it was difficult to tell if anyone was paying attention.

  Until one afternoon.

  Davy had come off-duty at the end of the forenoon watch, and Will was not due on until the second dogwatch. They had dined with the Captain, who made it a point to share meals with various officers and midshipmen. The midshipman of the watch this time was Jack Justin, a sturdy youngster whose voice had a tendency to crack. He had been aboard Valiant since the age of nine—nearly five years, now—and like most growing boys, he was able to put away prodigious amounts of food.

  Mr. Justin’s presence prevented them from discussing the investigation directly, but Sir Paul directed the conversation in a way that allowed him to glean bits of information about the previous cruise without making a Spanish Inquisition of it. By the time they reached the pudding, the lad had mentioned several of the suspicious incidents; he put it down to the bad luck that fell on the ship with Captain Venner’s illness.

  “But my gun crew’s stopped that talk, sir, I told ’em it was superstitious.” Blithely contradicting himself, he added, “And we’ve got you to change our luck, regardless.”

  “You did well to discourage superstition, Mr. Justin,” Smith said. “Chance is a fickle thing, but I was brought along under a captain who taught me that a ha’porth of luck doubles with every pound’s worth of hard work and attention to details.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Would you care for another slice?”

  Mr. Justin happily accepted a second helping, which vanished with amazing speed. He then made his manners and departed.

  “Everything going well?” the Captain asked.

  Davy nodded. “Yes, sir, touch wood.”

  “Yes, sir,” Will echoed. “We have inspected the entire ship, and she appears to be well found and in good order. No sign of the kind of carelessness that might lead to trouble.”

  “That’s been my impression as well,” Smith said. “And your translation—is that going well?”

  “Yes, sir. We intend to work on it for an hour this afternoon.”

  “Excellent. My wife had occasion to see the play in its original language and tells me it is most amusing, but her French is much better than mine. You must let me see your manuscript when you finish.”

  “Gladly, sir,” Davy said, “but I’m afraid you will not find our language up to Molière’s original.”

  “I’m sure I’ll find it more intelligible,” Smith said. “If I read a play or a novel, I lose track of the thread if I have to translate constantly. I prefer to read in my native tongue.”

  As they were leaving his cabin, he called them back. “Gentlemen, I nearly forgot to tell you—the officer who is above suspicion has graciously given me leave to inform you as to why he is above suspicion, but he does not wish to discuss the matter in any way whatsoever, nor have any conversation outside your normal shipboard contact.”

  “That suits my own wishes exactly,” Davy
said, and Will nodded his agreement.

  Smith smiled. “I thought it might.” He reached into his inner pocket and drew out two small folded packets, closed with a seal used for official documents. “I saw him write these… my own signature is on them as witness, and I sealed them myself. They should remain sealed unless you require them as evidence in your own defense.”

  Will felt as though a great weight had lifted from his shoulders. “Thank you, sir!”

  “A reasonable precaution, I believe,” Sir Paul said. “Keep me informed, gentlemen.”

  And so with the Captain’s blessing—nearly his direct order—they repaired to Davy’s cabin with the play and a copybook. Davy’s grasp of the language was better than Will’s, so he read the phrase aloud. When they agreed on the translation, Will wrote it down in pencil, to be copied in ink, in a fair hand, when they were finished. The wardroom outside was empty at the moment, with the other two lieutenants on duty, so they had plenty of privacy and quiet.

  “…put right into my chamber a box,” Davy read, “enclosing a letter, sealed like a… chicken.”

  “It doesn’t say that,” Will objected.

  “Yes, it does, actually. Look. ‘Comme un poulet,’ which, my dear sir, is a chicken.”

  “Perhaps the printer was drunk. I shall put an interrogation point beside it.”

  “Perhaps I should write to my sister and ask her….” Davy glanced up, and their eyes met.

  Will had heard it, too. The door to the wardroom had creaked, very slightly, and then stopped as though someone had caught it. Over the ever-present sound of the sea, it was impossible to tell whether there was someone in the adjoining room.

  “In fact,” Davy said, a little louder, “I shall write and ask her to see if she cannot find a published translation of this blasted play.”

  “And what good will that do our French practice?” Will asked, nodding. He did hear some slight sounds outside, in the wardroom. It could be anyone; it could be an unusually bold rat. But it was all he could do to keep from leaping up for a look when he heard the slight whisper of sound, no more than fabric brushing against itself, outside his own cabin on the other side of the cannon they sat facing.

  “I’m not saying we should stop the translation,” Davy rambled, “because, after all, it’s only an exercise and it’s at least more interesting than un, deux, trois and lundi, mardi, mercredi. But if we had a good copy in English—and no matter how quickly Amelia sent it, you know we won’t see the thing until we strike soundings back home—at least if we had a proper translation, we could find out why they’d fold a letter like a chicken.”

  “Where is that lexicon?” Will tossed his copybook into Davy’s cot, and the sounds in his cabin stopped abruptly. “I must’ve left it in my cot. Won’t be a moment.”

  He moved slowly enough to let the intruder escape—if there was one—and sure enough, before he could open the door of Davy’s cabin, someone ran—four long steps—and the wardroom door squeaked and slammed.

  Will ran, too, and yanked the door open. The passage beyond was empty. Two closed doors to his left, the purser’s cabin and a small storeroom for costly supplies, both locked.

  “He’s gone?” Davy asked over his shoulder.

  “Like a phantom,” Will said. “Just as well—what would we have done if we’d caught him? But I was hoping for a look.” They returned to his cabin, and sure enough, the ties holding his door shut were hanging loose.

  “Well, someone thinks we’re interesting,” Davy said. “Either that, or we have a shipmate who admires Molière but is terribly, terribly shy.”

  “He’s gone now, at any rate,” Will said. “Before we return to our labors….” He motioned Davy into his cabin, tied the door shut, and made sure they were in a dim corner without back-lighting. Then he pulled his lover close and released all his tension in one long, passionate kiss. It wasn’t as much as he wanted, but it helped.

  “We shall have to be careful with this French language project,” Davy said when he got his breath back. “It seems to be having an effect on you.”

  Will could only shrug. Something was having an effect on him, and he could not say what it was. For reasons he could not define, a fear that made no sense, he had a constant need to reassure himself that Davy was still there with him. “Let’s return to Molière, then,” he said. “Perhaps we can lure back his admirer.”

  THERE WAS a note in David’s cot the next day, written in pencil on the sort of coarse paper the purser sold to all the foremast hands for their infrequent letters home. I know what you’re doing, it read. Do you want it to stay a secret?

  “I suppose we ought to be pleased,” Will said, when David took him up to the fighting top to give him the note.

  “Would you pass it to the Captain? I should avoid him, if I’m feeling guilty and furtive.”

  “Yes, I’ll give it to him later. I have to report to him at the change of watch, after I review the mids’ journals and give them a lecture on an officer’s duty. Apparently the young gentlemen take turns writing the thing and then the others all copy it down, so they only ever have to do a proper log entry a few times a year.”

  “Well, what of it? The navigational readings are all the same—or they ought to be—and it’s not as though there are that many ways to say ‘today we sailed one-hundred-fifty miles.’”

  “They should write their own entries so they will be accustomed to keeping a log when they’re officers,” Marshall said, sounding like a prig even to himself. “They do need the practice—their penmanship is a disgrace. It’s the principle of the thing, Mr. Archer.”

  David grinned. “It’s efficiency, Mr. Marshall.”

  Will smiled back, but he was worried—concerned that of the two of them, David had been the one to receive the threat. “You be careful.”

  “Of course. And I think perhaps we should pointedly avoid one another for a day or two—leave off the French letters.”

  “That’s lessons!”

  “Merci, mon cher,” David said, and went back down the ratlines.

  Chapter 5

  AS IF the grand charade were not enough, in addition to their usual duties of supervising their divisions and overseeing the midshipmen, David began to sense that he was being watched. He did not believe it was their phantom of the wardroom, however, because this watcher was nowhere near fast or agile enough to keep from tripping over his own feet. Nor was he invisible.

  The nuisance was another of the Valiant’s midshipmen, known to his messmates as Dickie Gannon. He seemed to have developed a fixation on his Second Lieutenant, and scarcely an hour went by that the lanky, goggle-eyed little beast was not directing his unlovely orbs in David’s direction.

  David aired his discontent to Will when they took a turn along the starboard carpenter’s walk. Marshall seemed to find it amusing. “Perhaps he admires your seamanship.”

  “I’m afraid he’d leave out the first ‘a’ in that,” David said darkly.

  “Or your stylish turn of a neckcloth. You are an admirable figure of a naval officer, you know.” He said it with no intent to flatter; even in the dim light of the dark-lantern, Davy’s trim, square-shouldered form was well suited to his perfectly tailored uniform. It was only a pity that the tails of his coat hung down to cover that beautifully rounded arse. “That’s all we need, isn’t it—to be saddled with a lustful mid.”

  “It’s no joke, Will.” Davy stopped and held the lantern high to peer down the dimly lit recess of the walk. “You and I have always exercised the utmost discretion—perhaps more than necessary, but it has kept us above suspicion. Since we’ve been letting just a hint of the appearance of misbehavior show in our actions—and, I believe, in our thoughts—”

  “Do you honestly think the little we’ve done could have such an effect?”

  “Consider where we are right now, Will! Would we ever have risked this sort of questionable activity under normal circumstances?”

  “Probably not. Not more t
han once or twice in a year’s time.”

  “Exactly. Having this scrub tagging after me… it makes me think of my father’s hounds. The pack would be perfectly normal, then all of a sudden one bitch would be the center of attention, and their keeper would have to mew her up before she went into heat. There would be no outward sign that any human would detect, but every other dog knew exactly what was going on.”

  “But, Davy, we’ve done nothing!”

  David suddenly realized that his lover was truly ignorant—or perhaps “innocent” was the better term. He said gently, “Will, you do not understand how things are between men who prefer other men. In the ordinary way, no one would dare make an overt offer. Meaningful glances, the mention of certain poets… if any gentleman asks whether you know the poetry of Barnfield, I beg you, cry ignorance.”

  “I shall, with a clear conscience,” Will said. “Is he suggestive?”

  “He is shameless, wonderfully so—I must recite his eleventh sonnet to you in better circumstances. But had you ever given me such looks as Gannon is throwing, it would not have taken a pirate and a fortnight’s imprisonment to get us into bed together. The boy is on the prowl, Will. He may well be the other side of the indiscretion that forms part of our larger conundrum.”

  Will was silent. “I see the problem,” he said finally.

  “Yes. Is he merely stupid and indiscreet, or a deliberate member of a conspiracy? If I could be sure of the latter, a word to the Captain would be sufficient. But if he’s nothing more than a careless young fool, I should hate to betray him for something I’m equally guilty of.”

  “Indeed. Still, until he makes an advance of some sort, there’s nothing you can do, and if he does, you can fend him off in a way that makes it clear he’d better not try again. You would fend him off, I hope?”

  There was such a note of worry in his voice that David had to laugh. “With the longest spar I can find, I assure you. I am a monogamous creature, Mr. Marshall. I’ve found my heart’s desire, and I’m not fool enough to throw away a diamond for a road-apple.”