Dewey Lambdin - A Jester’s Fortune

"Our consul suspected, sir, but couldn't confirm that." Lewrie coughed into his fist. "He did suggest all British subjects get out of the way of the fighting, return home, so I surmised it would be coming. Leave Venice, too, he thought, and get to Denmark or a neutral Baltic port as best they're able… or take passage west on neutral ships. I beg your pardon for the delay, sir, but I took the liberty of informing Lord Rushton and Sir Malcolm Shockley. Whilst tidying up the… matter which forced me to Venice. Wouldn't do for the Frogs to capture members of our peerage, or one of our greatest manufacturers. Lord, and a

Member of Parliament?"

"And what matter was that, sir?" Charlton enquired, sounding a touch frosty.

"Clearing our escutcheon of murder, rape and torture, sir. And destroying the pirate Mlavic, who took a Venetian ship, slaughtered all the French prisoners held at Palagruza," Lewrie bluntly replied. "Making hostages of Kolodzcy and me… It's all in our reports, sir." "Hang yer reports!" Charlton blazed. "Tell it me!" And Lewrie did, paraphrasing, of course, but leaving few of the lurid details out, letting his unresolved revulsion and anger mask his duplicity. Quite well, he thought.

"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."