Dewey Lambdin - THE GUN KETCH

"They were compatriots?" Alan started.

"Oh, Billy Doyle was a mate of his, long before the war. And master of one of his privateers," Boudreau replied breezily, as if it were no matter. "After the war, Finney sold off half his ships and got replacements more suited for trade. Paid half his men off, too. Gave Doyle title to a schooner, in gratitude, along with ten thousand pounds sterling profit! A splendid gesture. Doyle was along with Finney and Deveaux on the expedition to retake New Providence, don't y'know. He…"

"No, sir, I did not know that. It is news to me," Lewrie said. "And no one commented upon the connection? No one even wondered…"

"And why should they, after they parted company a year ago?" Boudreau sniffed. "With Bahamian society riddled as it is with former pirates and privateers, former cut-throats, and merchants greedy as highwaymen, what's one more knave with a scandal?"

"Amazing," Lewrie goggled.

"Oh, Doyle and Finney were thick as thieves at one time. Haw, haw, thick as thieves, do y'see, sir? I would suppose he dropped him once he'd wasted his money, and his chances to better himself. Quite the cock-of-the-company for awhile, was Billy Bones. But he spent it all on drink and whores, on flash clothes and gay amusements. And some disastrous investments whenever he drew a sober breath. Now I ask you, how may a man lose his last farthing in a market so brisk as the Bahamas, were he not a total fool, sir? Made a sorry, surly, besotted spectacle of himself in the end, and sailed off to God knew where to escape his creditors. For which respite the good people of Nassau thanked God, I tell you!" Boudreau related with glee. "Just goes to prove the lower orders haven't the wherewithal to improve their lot, to emulate their betters, no matter that the opportunity to do so falls from on high like manna, and is beaconed by a burning bush, haw haw!"

"So the schooner I captured at Conch Bar wasn't a recent prize he'd taken," Lewrie realized. "She was the one Finney gave him."

"Very likely, indeed. Bound to come to a bad end, that sort. Illiterate guttersnipes and mongrels! No matter how high they assay to rise, they always revert to their sorry roots when they fall upon hard times. Back to the criminal habits they learned in their stews! And to be rewarded for criminality in wartime, given stamps of approval, letters of marque, and praised for looting enemy ships! Tosh, I say, sir! What else may one expect, I ask you!"

"Or become a royal governor, like Morgan. Or Woodes Rogers," Alan commented with a wry grin. "They both sailed under the 'Jolly Roger,' Mister Boudreau."

"Well, they were successful pirates," Boudreau dismissed with a leer. "And turned on their own kind in the end. Ah, ladies, may we join you for our repast, now you're decent, haw haw?"

Alacrity would be sailing soon, and Lewrie needed to replenish his personal stores for his pantry and wine cabinet. Leaving Caroline after breakfast, he borrowed a horse and cantered to town. And, out of prurient curiosity, he wandered into Finney's.

There was an entire row of shops for clothing, for shoes, for ladies' fashions and fabrics, with the latest miniature gowns on the porcelain dolls sent from Paris and London depicting the height of that season's styles and colors. There were cheese shops, spirits stores awash in wines, brandies, harsh whiskeys, gins, and liqueurs of a dozen nations. Finney had furniture for sale, wallpapers and chintz for drapes or recovering; kitchen wares from America and home, fine china and silver services, glassware from utilitarian to finest crystal pieces. One entire block of Bay Street on the southern side, and around the corner of Market Street for half of another block was his so-called mart, his commercial fiefdom.

Though he rued giving Finney any of his trade, or any of his money, he did find good prices on quality merchandise, and ended up purchasing stationery and ink, various cheeses and meat sauces, and several interesting books to fill his solitary hours, some with the pages already cut by a previous owner, though offered as new.

Alan opened one of the books and found it dog-eared on several pages. It was a recent English translation of a French novel he had heard about, Les Liaisons Dangereuses by some Frog scribbler named de Laclos. The dog-eared pages contained scenes of a most pleasing and salacious nature, which made Alan smile, even as he winced at the chalked-on price of six shillings. Thumbing further through it, he discovered an inscription in the frontispiece.

"From Daniel,

To his scamp of a brother Nathan. May this inspire you aboard Matilda on your next Voyage! May her New 1st Mate have similar Joy of the swarthy Bahamian ladies!"

Wonder if he did, Alan thought with amusement. And did he have to sell it to pay for the Mercury Cure to rid himself of the pox those Bahamian "ladies" gave him?

He decided to buy it, and added it to the pile on the counter.

"That should be all here," Alan said to the young clerk who was following him about, keeping a running total from store to store.

"Might have a peek at this before you leave, Captain sir," the young man suggested. "The very latest scientific device to predict the tropic storm. Hang this on your bulkhead below-decks, and you'll have all the warning a sailing man would ever need."

"How does it work?" Alan asked, looking at a bulbous glass flask with a tall, narrow, sealed neck. Inside the flask was a blue liquid of some kind. It was brass-bound to a wooden plaque.

"The better the weather, the more of the liquid will gather at the bulb-end on the bottom, sir," the clerk told him. "But when there is a storm brewing, why 'twill soar up the neck. The worse the storm to-be, the higher will it go, sir. 'Tis said, sir," he confided with an air of secrecy, "that the Admiralty will be requiring every one of their ships to be equipped with one soon. We've shown one on display over t'the ships' chandlery all this past year, and 'tis been a wonder to all who've seen it for how accurately it reflected the weather, it has. And only twenty guineas, sir!"

"Should the Admiralty require it, then let them buy it for me," Alan scoffed. "Let's go select some wines."

"Very good, Captain sir."

The spirits shop was set up much like a coffeehouse, or an inn's public room, with tables and chairs. The walls were lined with barrels and wooden cases of bottles, with a combination counter and bar at the rear.

"Well, damme!" Alan was forced to exclaim as he espied an oil painting over the counter. It was his harem scene that Caroline had traded off, to the life! There were the same buxom darlings on the same draped couches, with a slender lass featured in the foreground standing to be toweled after her bath, the one who so-muchresembled his first whore in Covent Garden, the infamously handsome " 'Change Court Betty" in all her bare splendor.

"Inspiring, ain't it, sir?" the clerk simpered. "Here, Davie, the captain would like to sample some wines this day."

"Aye, sir," the vendor smiled, wiping his hands on his apron as he came from behind his counter. "Pray, have a seat, sir, and take yer ease. Tell us yer wants, sir, an' we'll trot 'em out for yer to select those as best suits yer palate."

Lewrie took a seat and removed his cocked hat. "Let's begin on port. I'll need one case."

"Going back t'sea, are we, sir?" the vendor clucked. "Got a fine 'Rain-Water' Madeira just in. Got a lovely nose, ain't it, sir? Try a sip of that, now."

A door in the back that led to the storerooms opened, and Alan paused with a sample glass to his lips as John Finney emerged, intent on a loose sheaf of papers. He looked up, spotted Lewrie, and smiled hesitantly, then put a bold face on it and stepped forward.