Havoc`s Sword

Charles… Sir Edward. That is all that we require. We'll not take long, I assure you.'

Pelham turned to beam false cheer at the man commonly known on the West Indies Station as 'The Wine Cask,' a hair away from shooing him from his very own office! Which prompted Lewrie to turn about and bestow his own 'shit-eatin' ' grin on that worthy, as well.

'Ah, hmm. Well, o' course, Mister Pelham,' Capt. Charles said, flummoxed, with much throat-clearing and frowning. 'Anything for the Crown, though?' Capt. Charles grumbled, slyly making his complaint known as he snatched up a thick stack of loose papers, files, and ledger books as if salvaging an inheritance-and gave his wine service a longing, famished, look; perhaps to gauge how much was left in the decanter, did they dare partake while he was away! With a few more stammers, he departed with a bow, and an ominous 'We must discuss things later, Captain Lewrie!' before the twin doors to his office suite clicked shut behind him.

Pelham did, indeed, amble over to the desk and pour himself a goodly measure of the white wine, after scrounging about for an unused glass in the set of four, all of which seemed to have been employed at some time or other since sunrise. 'Dear Lord, he's the taste of a Philistine! Not what I'd call even a poor vintage. Has a taste, and the finish, more like… horse liniment!' the young man snickered.

'May I, sir?' Lewrie bade, and Pelham offered the glass for his tasting. Lewrie merely sniffed it, though, and returned it. 'That's Navy-issue white wine, Mister Pelham. We call it 'Miss Taylor', and a bad vinegar it is, too. It's damn' cheap, and he can indent for it from the stores house, just down the quay. By the ten-gallon cask… then lose the chits, which all come through him, d'ye see. A dirty business.' Lewrie jadedly 'tsk- tsked' to Mr. Pelham in hopes that he might report the bitter man's peccadilloes. 'And aye, Navy surgeons can, and have, used it as a liniment.'

'You wish a glass, then, sir?' Pelham seemed to tease.

'No, thankee kindly. Bit early for me,' Lewrie beamed back.

'Really,' Pelham drawled, rightly skeptical of that claim, in light of Lewrie's dishevelment, and his breath. 'Gentlemen, be seated, please,' he bade instead, making free with Capt. Charles's furniture, and seeming to dither as to whether he himself should sit in authority behind the desk or appear more 'convivial' in one of the club chairs. He chose the chair, sweeping the long, but narrow-cut tail of his coat back with an elegant swish as he plopped down and crossed his legs at the knee, with his hands in his lap.

'All the 'go,' is it?' Lewrie asked, tongue-in-cheek, to bring the younker down a peg. 'We're years behind London fashions, out here. I haven't seen a coat such as yours… cut so high to the waist, with the tails beginning so far back. Damme, you make me wish the name of your tailor, Mister Pelham. Or yours, Captain Peel!'

Now that they were in private, Pelham no longer had to pretend to be amused. He raised one eyebrow, his face stony, resting his elbows on the chair arms and steepling his fingers in front of his mouth, whilst Mr. Peel coughed into a fist in warning.

'In answer to your earlier question, Captain Lewrie, Zachariah Twigg is now most honourably retired, though frequently consulted for his vast knowledge. Mister Twigg was one of my mentors, d'ye see, and as soon as I was given this assignment, I, and Captain Peel, were quick to call on him for background material. You will be relieved to know… or, not, given your past relations with that worthy that he keeps well, in the main, though his constitution will no longer admit to the travail of overseas adventures,' Pelham prosed, high-nosed from being twitted by a mere… sailor. 'We spent the better part of a day and a night in his company. And when your presence in the Caribbean was revealed to us, naturally we discussed your, ah… attributes. And your sense of wit,' Pelham concluded with a sniff.

'Well, what is the old saying… 'Forewarned is forearmed'?' Lewrie breezed off, unabashed. 'And what was the old fart's advice to you? 'Don't take any guff off him? Keep a weather-eye peeled for his foolishness,' was it?'

'Something very much like that,' Pelham rejoined, harumphing.

'Mister Twigg sends you his warmest regards, Captain Lewrie,' Peel said, interjecting to keep their initial interview running smooth, and perhaps to allay any rancour. 'Believe it or not,' Peel went on, with a knowing smirk.

'Pardon me, sir, but that's 'fiddler's pay,' ' Lewrie commented. 'Mere thanks and wine… less the wine. And easy for him to say after all the shitten messes he got me into. Told you all our doings together, did he?' he said, returning his attention to Pelham. 'The Far East and then the Mediterranean? Well, here's another platitude for you…'Once bitten, twice shy,' Mister Pelham. So you will understand why I have my qualms at being dragooned into another neck-or-nothing affair, one involving that ogre Choundas, most especially.'

Pelham and Peel exchanged glances, at that.

'That is why you're here, I take it,' Lewrie stated. 'He's in the Caribbean, I'm in the Caribbean, and suddenly here comes a brace o' spies from the Foreign Office just slaverin' t'put me back in harness to deal with the bastard, just one more time,' he sneered. 'Thought I was summoned t'be broken for seconding my friend at his duel, which turned to shit, by the way… what with Charles an' Admiral Parker so tight with the planter family we just winnowed, but no… to my lights, it's even worse. Beggin' yer pardon, o' course.' Lewrie said, facetiously bowing from the waist in his chair.

'You are demurring from such duty, sir?' Pelham charily asked.

'Damme, you know I can't, Mister Pelham,' Lewrie snapped back. 'You surely hold sealed orders up your sleeve, directing me to aid you, no matter what I think of it. Don't you.' It was not a question.

'Yes, I do, Captain Lewrie,' Pelham quirkily informed him, with a faint, superior grin. 'Believe me, I do understand, should you hold any misgivings.' And he seemed so sincere that Lewrie could almost believe him… for a moment. 'And, yes, Mister Twigg also discovered to me all your past doings. And, again, yes… my mentor told me how you react when pushed. That since it is beyond your power to demur, or be too truculent and insubordinate when handed extraordinary duty beyond your customary brief… that your last refuge is an acid and sarcastic wit. Which wit will seem to border upon insubordination, and truculence. I was strongly advised to make allowances for when you suffer the odd 'snit,' Captain Lewrie.'

That old bastard Twigg knows me too well! Lewrie thought with a wince.

'Mister Twigg, despite his vast wisdom, and his unbroken string of successes,' Pelham drawled, fingers steepled once more to feign the sagacity that a man in his position should possess, 'was, believe it or not, always more sanguine, more… easy-going than I. More accepting of those who would frustrate his efforts, or gainsay his directives. I believe you will find me to be a fairly tolerant and forgiving fellow, Captain Lewrie… but only up to a point, and no further.'

Threaten me, would you? Lewrie heatedly thought, utterly nettled by then; you damn' puppy! It was like being chided by one of his sons.

'Perhaps because he had more experience dealing with people, not things, Mister Pelham,' Lewrie pointedly drawled back, crossing his own legs at the knee and pretending to flick lint from his breeches. 'Nor did he, no matter his necessity or impatience, ever confuse the two.'

Good God! Lewrie thought, wincing again; did I actually compliment the old cut-throat? Mine arse on a band-box!

'Now that we know where we stand…' Mr. Peel tried to mollify.

'Quite, Mister Peel,' Lewrie quickly said, accepting his offer to move along before he reached over and slapped the wee fool silly. 'You're here, I'm your cat's-paw, you've press-ganged me, and there it is, then. You might as well tell it me.'

'Ahem,' Peel said, seizing the initiative so his superior could sit silent and gather his aplomb before speaking too rashly. 'As you may assume, Mister Pelham and I are not to be revealed as Crown agents,

Captain Lewrie. The Governor-General, his excellency the Earl of Balcarres… Admiral Sir Hyde Parker and some few of his senior officers, are aware of our true identities. To the general population, we're to be known as speculators, out from London to make our fortunes. Mister Pelham will pose as the younger son of a wealthy, landed family, seeking acreage, and I will make myself known as the family's advisor from Coutts' Bank… a junior partner sent to determine the practicality of the enterprise.'