Dewey Lambdin - A King`s Commander

Depart just after twilight, Lewrie pondered, hands in the small of his back, glaring down at the toes of his fashionable boots, pacing almost hunchbacked with impatient gloom. Show no lights, maybe a wee lanthorn… one fishing boat 'mongst a fleet of 'em?

Speed, though… has to get back, soon. Dash along the coast to be west of Vado Bay before tomorrow's dawn? French lines begin where? Can't count on anything tubby as Bombуlo -she's typical of boats hereabouts-to get him through the area where he'd be most vulnerable. A larger vessel, then. Longer waterline, schooner-rigged. A tartane or pencil-thin… he might try with the privateer. She's armed, and fast enough. Does that damned senator have himself a yacht? He looked like the sort to afford one… ruddy-faced. Hunting, I thought. Owns ships and such, so he must do some sailing, maybe it comes from… damn!

He stopped to scrub his face with dry hands and peer shoreward. Jester was on the easternmost leg of her patrol line, barely two miles off the harbor entrance. There were few signs of activity. Some small fishing boats about Bombolo's size working their way back into harbor. Few sail visible at all, save for them, and some even smaller with one lugsail or lateen, little bigger than Jester's jolly boat or gig. All heading in as sunset approached, or idling bare-poled close inshore for a final cast of the nets. And a two-master heading out! He crossed to the binnacle cabinet by the wheel to snatch his telescope and inspect it.

The elegant barge, at last! Within half an hour, she'd be alongside with news. Then he could arm her before full dark, put more hands into her, and double his patrol.

"Helm up a point, Quartermaster!" he snapped. "That'll be our Mister Hyde returning. We'll stand down to her."

"Aye aye, zir," Brauer crisply agreed, feeding spokes a-weather.

"A note from Mister Drake, sir," Hyde offered, once he was back on deck. "His compliments to you, Captain, and said for me to inform you that he already had the privateer under close scrutiny. Of yet, there's been no sign that anyone has left her. Though he also bade me tell you that they'd hoisted an 'Easy' pendant this morning, and allowed traders' bumboats to come alongside. Rather a lot of'em, sir," Hyde contributed. "Saw 'em myself. So many it's hard to keep track, that Mister Drake also said to say, sir."

"Do you carry any message for me, sir?" Mister Peel asked from the side.

"Aye, sir, I do." Hyde nodded, reaching into another pocket for a wax-sealed note. "Mister Drake gave it me, from some banker fellow?"

Kept in the dark so far, Hyde could only raise his brows and wonder why a commercial letter was just as important as one from the Consul representing HM Government at Genoa. Having this stranger Peel aboard, with the right of the quarterdeck, and put aboard so urgently, had Hyde and the rest totally mystified.

"Any vessels follow you to sea, sir?" Lewrie asked quickly. "A vessel of any kind that looked in the way of readying for departure?"

"None that I took note of, sir." Hyde frowned.

"Very well, Mister Hyde." Lewrie sighed, deflated. "Mister Buchanon, sir? Well arm the barge before dark. I wish you to take charge of her. Mister Crewe? A two-pounder with round-shot and canister in the barge, with two swivels and ammunition. Four extra hands besides boat crew, Mister Cony. The sharp-eyed, and some decent gunners. I'll want a pistol, musket, and cutlass for every man, as well. Mister Peel, with me for a moment, if you please, sir. Let us compare… notes."

They stepped aft to the taffrails for privacy. Peel had already perused his, and crumpled it up to toss overboard, astern.

"My employer has contacted the Austrian headquarters. They're to keep a close watch on all roads, looking for a scarred man with a limp. They're to particularly inspect any wagon or cart going to one of our Senator di Silvano's estates. Mister Silberberg has also placed a watch upon the senator's mansion, should Choundas be spirited there. But we don't have the willing agents to follow every coach coming or going to his house. The rest of the conspirators' houses aren't covered. Even with things coming to a head, Mister Silberberg doubts di Silvano will tip his hand that directly, I'm sorry to say, Captain Lewrie. I doubt we'd be able to watch close enough should this be happening in London."

"Mister Drake says there've been so many bumboats alongside the privateer, coming and going, that it's impossible to say if Choundas was in one of them, disguised, either." Lewrie groaned. "She's her sails har-bor-gasketed, and her crew ranti-poling with the local whores, as drunk as lords. She's not coming out tonight, at any rate. Or in the morning, either, the way he says they're celebrating their new fortune."

He crumpled up his own note and tossed it over.

"Their heads'll be too thick." Lewrie chuckled without amusement. "The senator does have a yacht. But then, so do almost all of the other conspirators. It's a local sport, yachting."

"Those we know about, sir," Peel cautioned in a covert mutter. "And them we still can't link to the plot, direct. A fishing boat, or a yacht. By dawn, there could be hundreds of 'em out here."

"Does Choundas come out tonight, Mister Peel," Lewrie schemed, trying to put himself in the wily Frenchman's head, "it'll most like be around nine or so, after full dark. Combined with us being close off the approaches, I should think. We'll be turning away, to stand west on our leg. He could idle just off the mole… no lights showing, and follow us, damn his eyes! Close inshore, with a local pilot who can smell a shoal or rock. Not much moon to speak of… him black against a dark coastline. Trail us as far as Voltri. That'd take a couple of hours, then we'd have to turn back east, and he could scoot along the twenty or twenty-five miles to Vado Bay and be just a few miles west of there by false dawn tomorrow morning. A fishing boat, 'bout the same size as yon barge, would be too slow for him. He must know that Vado Bay'd be well-patrolled. There's a decent wind tonight, and night winds are fairly steady in strength and direction. From the nor'east, for once. A perfect wind to ghost out on, and broad-reach west on. He'll want a longer, faster boat for that. I would. If he doesn't make it to Vado, he can't expect to lay up for the day along this coast, not with Austrian troops about. Where are the French, last report? How far east?"

"East of the inland road that comes down to Finale, sir." Peel shrugged. "How far East, I… of late, I have no way of knowing." He gave Lewrie a quick grimace before turning bland again. Hating to say "I don't know" as bad as any secret agent. "Along the coast road, we must assume they've advanced closer to Vado."

"Other side of the headland?" Lewrie grumbled in surprise when Peel told him that. "That'd be only ten miles west of our anchorage!" "It's possible, sir. Sorry I can't enlighten you further." "Forty miles, at most then," Lewrie puzzled. "Genoa to Finale or thereabouts. Seven hours to safety, at six or seven knots. Damme if I'll play his game!"

But not knowing how he was going to accomplish that, yet. That barge could never catch up a larger, faster vessel, once she got to sea, with a bone in her teeth. He'd have to place Jester more to the west, if he hoped to get a decent slant at interception. With his ship tied too close to the harbor entrance, though, Choundas might gain a precious lead that he could never make up, once Choundas slipped past them close inshore. Yet, to remain far enough west to counter that, Jester couldn't guard the entrance, could not spot any vessel leaving in time to overhaul her and inspect her. Or could he?