by Lee Rowan
Watching Curran working with their own injured crew and seeing the way he willingly went to help the others, David mentally dismissed him as a suspect in their investigation. He knew that was premature, possibly even foolish, but he felt an instinctive trust and liking for the man. He had, so far, been unable to form much of an opinion about the other warrant officers. Purser, gunner, carpenter, cook, armorer, sailmaker, master-at-arms, schoolmaster—they all appeared to be nothing more than mariners doing their jobs. And there was no reason to assume that their saboteur was any sort of officer, was there? He could be an ordinary seaman, a resentful newcomer caught up by a press-gang, even one of the midshipmen… or possibly more than one.
With his division squared away and everything under control, David was delighted to be released from duty so he could retire to his cabin and get some much-needed sleep. But something nagged at him as he drifted off. Just after daybreak, Captain Smith had told him to go to the midshipmen’s mess and make sure the younger mids had survived the blow in good health, which they had, for the most part—the one who had not was in the sick berth with his arm in a splint—but David had not seen the three older midshipmen. When he’d come back on deck, he’d seen two of them, Laird and Hatfield, supervising their gun-crews. They had no idea where Gannon might be.
He had not found Dickie Gannon anywhere. And though he had been just as pleased not to have seen him, he wondered where the boy had gotten to. But Lieutenant Carter was a man with a great many years’ experience, and he was on duty now. When Gannon’s watch came round on the duty roster, it would be Carter he had to report to.
David pulled his blanket up over his still-damp head and let his weary body rest. The little beast would turn up eventually. After all, he had to be on the ship somewhere.
Chapter 7
WILL MARSHALL had the morning watch the second day after the storm and was treated to a glorious sunrise. A day closer to the West Indies, with the sun and breeze so warm it was hard to believe they had been so very cold and wet the night before.
“Sail to windward!”
The sail appeared briefly as the sun rose above the horizon—its dazzle had hidden the other ship’s approach. Almost immediately, it ducked back over the horizon. Will sent word below to the Captain, who came up, considered the wind and current, and chose not to pursue it. He ordered Commander Edwards to keep the Terrier well behind the rest of the convoy, however. In these waters, the stranger could be anything—British, French, Spanish, American, even a slaver. But unless it came closer, it posed no threat, even to the sluggish Dutch-built brig that had lost half its mainmast in the blow. Only a fool would take a ship as big as a seventy-four off her course to pursue a smaller, faster ship and leave a convoy sailing unguarded into an unknown situation, and Sir Paul was no fool.
It seemed someone thought he might be, though. The sail showed up for a little while just before sunset, and vanished again. They were drawing close to the Leeward Islands now, where a small, quick vessel could play hide-and-seek indefinitely in these waters.
And the unknown ship was not the only one playing hide-and-seek. Davy, up at eight bells to take the forenoon watch, joined Will at the leeward rail of the quarterdeck. “Any sign of our lost sheep?” were his first words.
“No,” Will said. “Nor does anyone I’ve spoken to remember seeing him since the storm hit.” When Gannon had failed to report for his afternoon watch the day before, Captain Smith had ordered the ship searched. There had been no sign of the missing mid.
“Two days.” Davy frowned. “What does the Captain say?”
“Precious little. Gannon could be hiding, planning to jump ship in Kingston.”
“He could be dead.”
“That’s possible.” Will regretted the words as soon as he’d said them; the look of guilt on Davy’s face was a terrible thing. “Still, we’re only a few more days out of port—a week at most, if the weather holds. With a bottle of water and a sack of biscuits, there are plenty of places he could hide.”
“But why should he, Will? If the Captain hadn’t called him immediately, he’d no reason to fear I had reported him.”
Will didn’t have an answer.
THE SHIP that had been following them from a distance discarded its reticence the next morning. By the time the sun was high enough to see the convoy, the stranger was closing fast with the slowest ship in line, the damaged brig, which as usual had lagged far behind the rest. The intruder was well in the open now, and they could see it was a thirty-six-gun frigate flying French colors. Edwards had the Terrier under way to intercept, but his eighteen nine-pounders were no match for the French guns that threw more than twice that weight.
The Captain was on deck, luckily—or maybe more than luck. Marshall had been half-expecting something like this himself. As the marines beat to quarters, Smith gave orders for the Valiant to wear and come about to meet the enemy.
And then the Frenchman did something extremely peculiar. Instead of turning tail immediately, the only reasonable course of action when facing the long guns of a seventy-four, it allowed Smith to bring the Valiant to just outside accurate range. Holding the Terrier at bay with little more than its stern-chasers, the frigate sent up a flurry of signals—signals from every mast, nothing Will recognized at all. And then, leaving the Terrier crippled with a mainsail yard hanging useless, the Frenchman ran before the wind, once more leaving the formidable but massively slower Valiant far behind.
“That’s the last we’ll see of him,” said the Captain to the four lieutenants standing with him on the quarterdeck. “Quickly, now. While those signals are still clear in your mind’s eye, write them down.”
“Thank you, sir,” said Humberstone. “Every bit of information could prove useful.”
“Particularly when we see what happens in the next few days,” Smith said. “We may not have understood that message, but I’m certain someone aboard did.”
“But there are many who would never have seen it,” Davy said, at Will’s elbow. “Dr. Curran, his surgeon’s mates, the men in the powder room—”
“And the lower-deck gun crews,” Humberstone said. “Only the men on deck could be guaranteed sight of the flags.”
“Excellent,” said the Captain, surveying the hundred or more still swarming about the deck. “At this rate, a sail around the Horn should be just long enough to do the job.”
Marshall was grateful that he was not the only one inadequately thankful for small blessings.
“WILL. A moment, please?”
The words were ordinary, but the tone of voice was not, nor was the stony look on Davy’s face. Marshall gathered his equipment—he had been taking longitudinal sightings for his own amusement—and followed his lover below to their quarters. “Another note?”
“Yes. And I was right here when beat-to-quarters sounded, so he had no more than fifteen minutes, the devil. Look at this.”
Another note, lying on Davy’s cot. The same cheap paper, this time with a skull and crossbones crudely drawn, and a more serious threat: The key to the weapons locker, or I’ll tell them where you put the body.
Will shivered, resting a hand on his lover’s shoulder. He needed to touch Davy, but that was all he could allow himself.
“This has gone on long enough,” David said.
“He must be mad.”
“No—only ruthless.” He put his own hand atop Will’s. “You were right. It’s a damned good thing we told the Captain. And thank you for not reminding me that you told me so.”
“Davy, I’m not worried about proving I’m right!”
Davy laughed sharply. “No, but it’s a good thing one of us was—and that I listened to you.” He folded the note in half. “Let’s go inspect the hull again. We need to talk without worrying about anyone sneaking up on us.”
“Yes.” Will wanted very much to be alone with Davy, if only for a few moments. “But I’d like to do it differently this time. You go in from the forward access, I’ll go aft—w
e can meet in the middle. I’ll watch and see if anyone follows you.”
“Very good. I’ll get a lantern, no need for both of us to carry one. You come forward in the dark. If someone does follow me, you follow him and we’ll catch him between us. Is your pistol charged?”
“Ever since that first note. And I should dearly love the chance to use it.”
But he really could not tell whether anyone was watching Davy as they went back up on deck, observed the sky, and spoke to a few of the men on duty. There were too many men on deck, men who had every right to be there—Dr. Curran had come above to extract a small splinter from the purser’s thumb, the light being so much better on deck. Half a dozen of the younger midshipmen were skylarking in the rigging, the usual marine guard was standing at attention beside the ladders to the quarterdeck, the sailmaker was supervising repair to a topgallant sail that had unaccountably been found slashed when it was put back up after the storm… their phantom could have been any of these men, or none of them.
Will counted two minutes after Davy left the deck, then went down the nearest hatch and headed aft. He made his way through the maze of levels and ladders and ducked into the access to the carpenter’s walk, stepping carefully in the dark, one hand just touching the wall. He heard nothing but the sound of the sea, and as he came around the curve of the hull, he saw the glimmer of Davy’s dark lantern.
“Ahoy, shipmate!” he called softly.
Light glinted on Davy’s hair as he raised the lantern. “Any luck?”
“No. Six hundred souls… even with half them cleared, there are too many possibilities. I would swear no one followed you, but—”
“Hush!” With a single movement, Davy shuttered the lantern and held it low, behind his body. Barely breathing, they faced back the way Will had come, senses alert for the slightest sound.
There! A scrape, a footstep—and then a dim light came swinging around the curve, and Davy opened the dark-lantern again.
“Mr. Marshall, is that you?”
“Klingler?”
The Captain’s steward stepped forward hesitantly, his tanned face squinting as he raised his own lantern. “Yessir.”
Of all the ratings aboard, Klingler and Barrow were thankfully above suspicion. “What the devil are you doing down here?”
“Well, sir, I noticed you hared off like you was after someone, and seein’ as the Captain told me to keep my eyes open and keep an eye on the both of you, I thought you might need a hand, so here I am.”
“I see.” Will met Davy’s glance. “Thank you for your good intentions. Mr. Archer and I are doing much the same as you—also by the Captain’s orders. We’re hunting the vandal who damaged our topsail, and we were hoping we might be followed. We had not expected a friendly face. But since you’re here, can you tell us if you’ve noticed anything suspicious in the past few days?”
“Among the ratings, sir, that’s one thing I have not seen, unless you’d say two left thumbs on each hand’s suspicious. This poor barky’s got a couple of sawdust-for-brains grass-combers aboard who might as well have been left ashore for all the good they do.”
“Always a few of those, aren’t there?” Davy said. “But we’ll turn them into seamen yet.”
“Aye, sir,” the steward said, in a tone that made it clear he was making allowances for Mr. Archer’s rank and excessive optimism.
Will looked down the dim corridor the steward had just traversed. “Well, you’ve proved one thing, anyway,” he said, keeping his voice low. “No one else followed me. If you would, Klingler, take your lantern and go on through. If you meet anyone, call out, ask him if he’s seen either of us… and remember his face.”
“Aye, sir. And if I don’t see anyone?”
“Stay near the access, if you can do it without anyone getting curious as to why you’re there, and make a bit of noise if anyone starts down. I’d like to see whether our ship’s ghost means to pay us a visit. We’re going to move back toward the stern and lie in wait.”
The seaman nodded, touched his forehead, and started down the corridor. Davy shut his lantern’s flap again, putting them into near-total darkness. In less than a minute, Klingler’s light was gone, with only a reflected glow bouncing off the hull, and soon that disappeared as well.
“Set the lantern down for a moment, Davy,” Will said. He heard the muffled clank as Davy did so.
“How long do you want to wait here?”
“Not long,” Will said quietly. “Only long enough to hold you for a moment.”
“What? Will, that’s mad, we—” His whispered protest was muffled by Will’s lips, but he joined in eagerly, pulling Will close.
It probably was a little mad. This was not a safe place. But there was no safe place on this damned ship, and here at least they would have a few moments’ warning if anyone came creeping along. At worst, they could say they were trying to lure in the phantom.
But that was not what drove Marshall. He had been intensely furious with that damned he-whore Gannon, for making advances toward his lover. Ever since Davy had told him of Gannon’s proposition, he had been aflame with jealousy. Even the thought that the transgressor might now be dead did not quench the fire. He desperately needed to reassure himself that Davy was his, only his, needed to taste that beautiful mouth, feel their bodies move together. Here in the darkness, with the whispering sea just outside, he leaned against his lover, pinning Davy against the inner wall of the ship.
Davy resisted for a moment, but then his hands dropped to Will’s arse, kneading and squeezing as their cocks ground together through their clothing.
Only for a moment—and then he whispered, “Will, we can’t—it would show, if Klingler’s waiting when we—”
“Shh.” Will slid to his knees, appalled at his own recklessness even as he was working at Davy’s trouser buttons. Stupid, stupid and dangerous, but Davy was shivering so beautifully as Will licked and sucked and brought his lover to a quick, silent release. He stayed there for a few seconds, resting his face against Davy’s thigh, then slid up to hold him once more.
Davy’s voice was shaky. “Will—shall I—”
“No. You’re right, it was mad. I—I’m not sure what came over me. Just button your trousers, Davy. I’ll take care of myself later.” It would be madness to go any further, and in any event, he certainly deserved a little frustration for putting Davy at such risk.
He held his lover close until their breathing slowed, until he could convince his own excited cock to calm down at least a little. A good thing they were in undress uniform, with dark trousers that were looser than the more formal breeches.
Davy kissed him one last time, then picked up the lantern. “Mr. Marshall, that was the most idiotic thing I have ever known you to do. Why, in the name of sanity?”
Will shook his head, equally flummoxed at his own recklessness. “I’m not sure. Not something I’ll do again, I promise you.”
“Not under these circumstances, at any rate—I hope you do not mean forever!”
“Of course not.” Will was already regretting his rash behavior—and yet not regretting it at all. This uncertainty was new to him, and most distressing. He hoped that in explaining it to Davy, he might explain it to himself. “It has to do with being hung as well for a sheep as a lamb, I think. Taking such pains to give the appearance without the reality, having this unknown enemy threatening you for something we were not doing….” He shrugged helplessly. “Hubris, perhaps. After all, Davy, under these circumstances, even if our phantom materialized and caught us at it—do think the Captain would believe him?”
“Oh, for God’s sake,” Davy said.
IT WAS long after supper—in fact, nearly midnight—when one of the younger ship’s boys came running up to David, who was just about to go off-duty.
“Captain’s compliments, Mr. Archer, if you would report to him at your earliest convenience?”
That meant immediately, of course. The Captain’s convenience was always sovere
ign, but except in battle, Sir Paul phrased his orders with the utmost courtesy. David made certain his uniform was in good order and presented himself at the Captain’s cabin.
Will Marshall was already there, and he looked as somber as David had ever seen him.
“Mr. Archer,” the Captain said. “I need to have a few words with both of you. Over here, if you please.” He led them to a corner of the day cabin where he kept a small writing desk, well away from skylights and out of earshot of even the most determined eavesdropper, and handed a folded piece of the familiar cheap paper to David. “Klingler found this sealed in a scrap of sailcloth, addressed to me personally and confidentially. It had been left in my cupboard—directly abaft your berth.”
“Our ghost has been busy,” David said. He unfolded the note, held it near one of the hanging lanterns, and felt the color drain from his face.
“2nd Lt. Archer has been engaging in unclean practices with 1st Lt. Marshall.”
Stunned, he heard the Captain say, “I must congratulate you gentlemen on your convincing performance, and give you permission to cease and desist. You would surely do so had you been called in and given a dressing-down for illicit activities.”
David swallowed, trying to make his voice work. “Thank you, sir.” He dared not look at Will.
Sir Paul took the note back. “I believe it is actually our phantom who should be congratulated—for his excessively active imagination. Apart from the carpenters’ walk excursions, I had not noticed any unusual behavior, and even that activity was reasonable for officers acquainting themselves with a new ship. If it were not for that peculiar French display the other morning, that frenzy of signaling, I would begin to wonder if our sabotage was simply the product of a disordered mind.”
“There is our missing midshipman as well, sir.”
