Dewey Lambdin - A King`s Commander

Hoist by mine own bloody petard, he thought to himself, feeling a bit disconsolate, still. Oh, he'd always known their affair was just temporary, an amour eventually doomed by circumstances, but that didn't mean it hurt any less to have it over quite so soon. Or in such a messy way, so shamefacedly… or painfully, for the both of them. That long independent cruise had at least provided enough peace and quiet, and an isolated time to mend and ponder.

" 'Bout here, sir?" Knolles prompted.

"Aye, Mister Knolles." Lewrie nodded in agreement. "Round up to the eye of the wind, Quartermaster. Back the fore and main t'gallants… and make ready to slip the best bower, sir."

As Jester slowly came about, he had time to survey the harbor, and the wide roadstead of Vado Bay's anchorage. There were still some half-dozen prizes moored there, identifiable by being the only vessels stripped of all their canvas, so their crews couldn't make any escape attempts, nor could a French raid from seaward cut them out and sail them away. There were a pair of Austrian supply ships, another brace of British, though little sign that any cargoes were being moved. One small Austrian brig o' war was anchored, with her sails hung slack for airing- seemingly along with her crew, who had what looked to be an idle "Rope Yarn Sunday" going. Only one Royal Navy warship was in the roadstead close inshore, the Tartar brig. The rest were probably out at sea, farther west along the Genoese Riviera. Lewrie eyed the hills and pyramids of provisions and munitions for General de Vins's army, a sign his commissary troops and garrison had grown some since…

"Signal, sir!" Midshipman Hyde called out. " 'Board Tartar] I make it, 'Have Dispatches'… 'Urgent'… she shows 'Submit'… next is 'Close Me'… 'Send Boat,' no… that's 'I Am Sending a Boat,' sir."

"Does she, by God!" Lewrie growled, irked by the presumption of a junior lieutenant, or a commander farther down the Navy list than him, trying to order him about so.

Pretty much what got me in the mess I'm in, he found wryly amusing, after a moment, though; 'bout half a mile alee? Too far to row…

" 'Vast anchoring, Mister Knolles! Back jibs to larboard, brace the fore t'gallant to starboard tack. We'll anchor close to Tartar."

"Aye aye, sir."

Jester came around slowly, falling off the wind again, to ghost across the roadstead to within a cable of Tartar before turning up to fetch-to. But there would be no need to anchor, since one of Tartar's boats was already down, and stroking hard for her side. Lewrie opened his telescope to eye her. Bowman, eight oarsmen, midshipman in the stern sheets at the tiller, and… damn!

"Ah," he said, his face stony. "Hmm." He almost moaned as he slammed the tubes closed. And feeling an urge to spit, to cleanse his mouth of a sudden foul taste.

It was ex-Captain Peel in the boat, clinging to a tall hat, with a small clutch of traveling bags at his sides on the thwarts. Peel; no sign of his master, Twigg, but that wasn't cause for much joy. Peel at Vado Bay, as Twigg's urgent emissary, was bad news enough!

"Bosun, man the entry port," Lewrie directed. "We'll not drop anchor, after all, Mister Knolles, till we've sorted this out."

"Uhm… trouble, sir, do ye think?" Knolles simply had to ask.

"You might say that, Mister Knolles."

To Lewrie's great disappointment, Peel was an agile brute, just as spry as a seaman when it came to departing the boat and scaling the battens to the gangway. Alan had rather hoped he'd slip and break his devious neck-or at least get a good dunking, to wash the spy-stink off.

"Mister Peel, sir," Lewrie grumbled, doffing his hat as Peel doffed his in greeting. Feeling most uncivil, though.

"Commander Lewrie, sir," Peel rejoined, just as stonily. "I am required to give you this, at once… to be read at once, sir."

Peel produced a square of vellum, folded over from the corners and sealed with a large blob of candle wax. Lewrie took it and turned away, took a few paces to larboard for privacy, wondering what new vat of shit he'd tumbled into. He peeled it open.

"Well, damme…" He frowned in puzzlement.

It was from Captain Nelson, in his own hand, not his clerk's. Lewrie and jester were to consider themselves under his orders again. But the next paragraph instructed him to place himself and his ship at Mister Peel's service until further notice, and to render to him, and his superior Mister Twigg, any and every service and assistance they requested.

"Shit," he whispered, hoping he'd seen the back of them, that Twigg had told the truth for once that his duties ashore at Leghorn had been "quits." He'd lied, o' course. Again. And what else was new?

"Very well, Mister Peel, sir," Lewrie drawled, stalking back to the man. "What assistance do you require from us?"

"That I am only allowed to tell you in the strictest privacy, sir," the stolid ex-cavalry officer replied rather guardedly, muttering only as loudly as necessary; as if sharing even a cryptic conversation with Lewrie was too much to bruit about in public. "Might I be allowed to urge you to do whatever it is you do, to return to sea, though, sir?"

"Get underway?" Lewrie hinted, with a faint grin.

"If that's how sailors phrase it, sir, yes."

"To where, sir?" Lewrie inquired.

"Uhm…" Peel darkened, clamming up.

"Point, if you can't say it," Alan suggested resignedly. "East, is it? Very well, sir. That wasn't so difficult, now was it. Mister Knolles? Secure the anchor party, and make sail. We'll stand out to sea. Get way on her and ready to come about to larboard tack. Once we make an offing, come back to starboard tack, course due east."

"Aye aye, sir! Bosun? Hands to the braces! Topmen! Trice up and lay aloft! Make sail!" Knolles bellowed.

It took half an hour to work Jester back to sea, to scoot along inshore, rounding up and gathering enough speed to tack, to stand away from the coast until it was about six miles astern, then come about to the east. Once assured that Jester was secure, Lewrie could head below at last, his simmering anger, and his dubious curiosity, both at a fine boil, by then.

"So where is it you wish to go, Mister Peel?" Lewrie asked, as he opened the wine cabinet, after shooing his steward and servant out.

"Genoa, sir," Peel announced finally.

"But didn't you just come from there?"

"I did, sir. To await your arrival and deliver those orders to you," Peel admitted, accepting a glass. "My employer said to extend to you his compliments, Commander Lewrie. And his apologies. For the uhm… upshot of Leghorn. And for not being able to fulfill his word to you that he would pester you no longer. But it's quite urgent that you assist us just this one last time, sir."

"So?" Lewrie snapped.

"It's a total, bloody cock-up, Commander Lewrie," Peel confessed, his shoulders sagging in defeat. "The trap we so carefully laid… went amiss. Choundas never even went near 'em! They didn't see anything on their voyage. Put in at Vado, then had to scamper back to San Fiorenzo to rejoin Hotham."

"So I am still your bait?" Lewrie fumed.

"No, sir, we're a bit beyond that, I fear." Peel groaned as he took a seat, looking as if he needed one. "The real ship… the vessel that was really carrying the gold for the Austrians… well, sir, it's been taken! That Choundas bugger outsmarted us, after all!"

"Well, damme!" Lewrie exclaimed in surprise. Though he really didn't think it much of a surprise, that Choundas had once more shown himself to be fiendishly clever. "Where, and how, sir? And how much'd he get away with?" he demanded, suddenly all impatience.

"As to where, Captain Lewrie," Peel sighed, "soon after she left San Fiorenzo Bay. 'Least the solid coin for the Navy, and our garrison on Corsica was safely landed. Perhaps within a hundred miles of Vado Bay? As to when, five days ago, we think. At any rate, four days ago, a French privateer put into Genoa… sailed right into Genoa itself, I tell you, sir! Put all the gold and silver ashore. As for how much? Nigh on Ј100,000! Which is now being used, sir, to pay the recruiting bounty, and to purchase boots and small-clothes at least, to raise volunteers to serve in the French Army! They're drilling and mustering on the main plazas all over the city, Lewrie… swaggering and swilling as bold as brass! Singing their version of 'La Marseillais,' damn' 'em!"