Havoc`s Sword

cat's-paw for a bit, and all unwitting? Wouldn't that be delicious? Oh, decimate his privateers should you meet them, it goes without saying. Gather information from the prizes you might take, in particular any written directives from Choundas himself, so we can do a bit of forgery to sow distrust and confusion, should the need arise… and, do you meet up with one of his men o' war, of course you will be free to engage her, and fetch me prisoners to interrogate. Can't let Choundas think he's a completely free hand, ha!'

'One would hope not, sir,' Lewrie gruffly said, most unamused.

'You're here, he's here, you know he's here, and we will make sure that he knows of your presence, does he not already,' Mr. Pelham cackled with glee from his schemes. You're his nemesis, too, ye know. The temptation to do for you, on his part, must distract him from the proper discharge of his mission. That, and your preying upon his too-few ships, will blunt whatever aid he can deliver either L'Ouverture or Rigaud, making Britain, in the end, appear the best choice to whoever wins over yonder. Either one, really,' Pelham confessed, almost whispering to impart his inside knowledge once again, 'so long as he is dependent upon the Crown for his continued peace and prosperity. I do believe we might even tolerate an independent, abolitionist, Black Republic to gain that end, Captain Lewrie.'

'But preferably under Rigaud,' Lewrie said, sniffing sourly in world-weary amazement at that revelation.

'Of course,' Pelham answered, shutting his eyes and nodding as if saying 'Ever and Amen' in his family's pew-box.

'Slave or free, no matter?' Lewrie pressed, a dubious brow up.

'Mmm,' Pelham uttered, nodding again over steepled hands, as if the re-enslavement of nearly 300,000 people was simply a cost of doing business. 'As to that, this new man out from Paris is just the fellow to stir that pot. General Hedouville. Have you heard of him, Captain Lewrie?' Pelham asked expectantly, as if preparing to be clever again.

'Not in this life, no,' Lewrie slowly intoned, preparing himself.

'Hedouville's a bloodthirsty butcher,' Pelham was happy to say. 'Conquered the Royalist enclaves in the Vendee region in the early days of their Revolution… rather brutally. A 'Monsieur Guillotine' and a real terror. He'll sort things out in quick order, most-like. Get the colony aboil, likely purge Citizen Sonthonax, perhaps even Laveaux as well. We still have got agents and influence on the island to prompt Hedouville to do just that. And, launch Rigaud at L'Ouverture if God is just, and our slanders take root,' Pelham sniggered. 'He's the new power over yonder, is Hedouville.'

Lewrie looked away towards Peel, rolling his eyes, just about fed up with Pelham's 'how shall we torment the headmaster?' titterings. He found an equally unimpressed ally in Peel, whose blank attentiveness relaxed enough to curl up his lips in the faintest of weary smiles.

'Hedouville is reputed to be blunt, direct, and quick off the mark,' Peel said. 'Once he's made up his mind, he's very hard to divert. Much like a Spanish fighting bull, beguiled by the cape. None too clever, really, but a force of nature once set in motion. The ideal instrument for the Directory.' Peel had a clever simper of his own. 'We pour our subtle poisons in his ears, and mayhem and disorder will surely follow, in short order.'

'Well, you seem to have it all arranged,' Lewrie said, surrendering to Fate; especially when it seemed he had so little choice, else: 'My congratulations on a most knacky plan, sirs.'

'Well, thankee, Captain Lewrie,' Pelham smirked, overcome by the required, befitting modesty of an Englishman accused of being too clever by half, no matter how well it secretly pleased him. 'Not all my doing, but…'

'Hopefully,' Peel said, rising at last as if the tedious task was outlined well enough for even Lewrie to follow it, 'this may make up for the fact that, since this war began in '93, we've lost untold millions of pounds, and over one hundred thousand men trying to take all the French 'Sugar Isles'… half of 'em dead and wasted, t'other half so fever-raddled they're unfit for future service. Damn 'em, all these tropic pest holes. Look so beguiling, but…'

And Pitt and Dundas didn 't see that goin ' in? Lewrie cynically asked himself as he got to his feet as well. It ain't like the French could hold 'em if their fleet can't get t'sea. Better we'd blockaded 'em, let 'em rot on the vine, so the Frogs didn't get ha'pence o' good from 'em.

But it didn't appear likely that the Prime Minister, nor the Secretary of State for War, would have asked him his opinion then, or would much care for his chary opinion of them now. No, they were too damned 'brilliant,' too full of themselves, just like their wee minion Pelham. He felt it would be an excruciatingly frustrating adventure.

'Orders for me and my ship, then, sirs?' Lewrie asked.

'As I earlier stated, Captain Lewrie,' Pelham energetically said, shooting upright and resetting the cut of his cuffs and waist-coat, playing with the lapels of his coat to tug them fashionably snug across his shoulders and the back of his neck. 'Raid, cruise, make a right nuisance of yourself versus Choundas's ships. I have arranged a roving, open brief for you with Admiral Parker, so… wherever, and whenever you and Mister Peel wish, or are led by the evidence you _may discover. I am not squeamish as to the means you employ. So long as the end is attained,' Pelham coldly stated.

That sounded promising, even was he saddled with Peel as supercargo, a slab of 'live lumber' who would surely, sooner or later, try to boss him about as if he were in actual command.

'Oh… joy,' Lewrie growled in a monotone, looking at Peel.

'I promise I'll be gentle, captain, sir!' Peel chuckled, voice pitched high and virginally sing-song, drawing Lewrie's wry amusement.

'And Choundas,' Lewrie insisted, wary of oral instructions from such a man as Pelham. 'What of him, for now? Do I just watch, stand aloof 'til we get what we want from his efforts, or…?'

'As Mister Zachariah Twigg once instructed you, in the Mediterranean I believe it was, sir,' Pelham intoned, high-nosed and for once in deadly earnest, 'you are, sir, given opportunity, no matter how early or late in our plans, 'to kill him dead,' and put paid to his noxious existence.'

'Well, good God, why didn't ye just say so!' Lewrie exclaimed in great relief, forced to laugh out loud at such long-delayed end to such [a tortuous preamble. 'Could've saved us all the palaver.'

'Guillaume Choundas, sir,' Pelham piously declared, 'is still possessed of such demonic cleverness that, despite his monstrous soul, and his ogreish appearance, he was not sent out here by his masters as an exile. Mister Twigg, and Captain Peel, both have stressed just how dangerous he remains. Most-like, does he fail out here, that's an end to his usefulness to them, but… we cannot take the risk of him popping up somewhere else, in future. His head on a platter might mean a knighthood to the one who fetches it. As Salome was rewarded when she brought King Herod the head of John the Baptist.'

'B'lieve she's the one demanded Saint John's head, after Herod saw her dance, sir,' Mr. Peel corrected, coughing into his fist.

'Quibble, quibble, quibble,' Pelham groused, waving off petty, inconsequential facts, and laughing at his mistake. 'It don't signify, Mister Peel. Lewrie gets my meaning.'

'Indeed I do, sir,' Lewrie vowed, though irked by Pelham's iffy lure and mixed messages, as if he needed any further incentives to pursue Choundas, or was so venal as to fall for such a faithless promise.

'Working together, again, after all this time, sir,' Peel said, feigning fond reverie, making Lewrie stifle a lewd comment and a snort of sarcasm. They'd gotten on much like mating hedgehogs, really; testy and spiky. 'What jolly times they were!'

'Well, there you are, then!' Pelham concluded, pleased that their pairing, and their plot, was off on a good footing. Or so he blithely assumed. 'Let us not waste a single hour.'

'Uhm… best let me avail myself of that 'Miss Taylor,' after all, Mister Pelham,' Lewrie said, changing the subject before he broke out in peels of laughter at just how dense Pelham really was.

'That horrid stuff, Captain Lewrie?' Pelham asked, aghast.

Lewrie soaked his handkerchief from the decanter and began to sponge his hat. 'I told you the Navy finds it useful.'