Havoc`s Sword

of… interrogation. Now, could a small, insignificant ship of war, with all the privations of seafaring, be more tempting than that? '

Jules Hainaut let his mouth fall open slightly as he cocked his head to one side in furious contemplation. Choundas knew him down to his boots, knew what motivated him, to what he eventually aspired, no matter how seemingly unattainable for a half-Austrian former farmhand and simple sailor. Tempting as the prospects were, though…

'If you need me so badly you must order it, m'sieur, of course,' he temporised, 'but… I still desire command of a warship. I am not so improved as you think. I came from before the mast, and the sea is what I know. I do aspire to advancement, but…'

'So be it,' Choundas growled, as if disappointed. 'This schooner you brought in, Jules, the one you claim would be a suitable replacement… you desire her?'

'I do, m'sieur, more than anything!' Hainaut vowed, though with his fingers crossed for luck, for he'd seen his master raise the hopes of others, only to delight in betraying them a moment later, breaking the spirit and heart of his victims-along with the bones.

'Then she is yours, Jules,' Choundas baldly told him, so firmly that Hainaut had no fears it was a cruel ploy. 'You will leave with a new commission into her. Your orders will be to arm her with the guns off both prizes, empty them and turn the cargoes over to the Prize Court officials at Basse-Terre, and assemble the crews off both ships into her. I will send what midshipmen, petty officers, and sailors I can spare, though after our most recent disaster, experienced officers I cannot offer.'

'I will make do, m'sieur,' Hainaut confidently swore.

'Good, for I have quick need of you,' Choundas said, businesslike, picking up the folded letter he had toyed with earlier. 'I have received a letter from General Hedouville, on Saint Domingue, at last. He intends to throw his support to that pompous Mulatto, General Andre Rigaud, and has urgent need for the munition ships to sail as soon as possible. With La Resolue and Le Gascon away, though, I cannot despatch the arms convoy and hope that it gets through. I can not entrust their safety to even the worthiest of our privateers as an escort, either. As soon as you are ready for sea in all respects, you must dash back down South and recall Griot and MacPherson from raiding the Americans. We must do all this before the British can act.'

'I will do so, m'sieur!' Hainaut vowed with mounting joy.

'The vile 'Bloodies' sent an agent to Saint Domingue, to try to bribe L'Ouverture and Riguad,' Choundas sneered, 'a total ass. It was quite droll, was it not, Etienne?'

'Oh? Indeed, m'sieur,' clerk de Gougne chirped back, jerked to wakefulness at the mention of his name. He had been nodding off, now that it seemed his bitterest abuser had gotten away with a whole skin, and a grand reward… again!

'That salopard Twigg does not direct every insidious scheme the British work against us, Jules,' Choundas snickered. 'Even he is compartmented to deal specifically with me, while others woo the ignorant noirs. Their latest agent was so clumsily disguised he might as well have gone ashore with a regimental band! He even hired a boat to take him to Ile de la Gonave, then Jacmel, that had been at Kingston to spy for us, if you can believe it… the silly shit!'

'No! He didn't!' Hainaut hooted with open glee. 'What an ass!'

'Americans, from Okracoke Island, on the Outer Banks near Cape Hatteras,' Choundas cackled. 'Long a pirates' and buccaneers' haven, where they make their prime living salvaging the many shipwrecks that come onshore. Perhaps luring some when times are lean. Who can say? A most practical and realistic lot, with a distinct English accent. They told this idiot that Okracoke was a smallish cay off the Abacos, in the Bahamas, and the ignorant fumier bought it! Naturally, they betrayed him for extra money, as soon as they put into both ports, being rewarded by L'Ouverture, then Rigaud, then by Hedouville!'

Choundas had to pause to let his harsh laughter subside.

'Before they left Jacmel, an aide to General Hedouville handed them his letter… this letter, and brought it and that twit straight to Antigua at the same time, then hared off here to Guadeloupe on the very next tide!' Choundas all but tittered, wiping his good eye with a handkerchief. 'And he never knew a thing about it! They even taught him sea-chanties, and to dance a horn-pipe in his sailor's costume!

'Mon Dieu, what a hopeless…' Hainaut wheezed, himself. 'Well, I will get a few hours' sleep, then get back to Mohican as quickly as I can, to ready her…'

'No real rush, Hainaut,' Choundas countered, so easily turning grim and business-like after savouring his little coup. 'Your orders will take time to write, extra crew to assemble… The British agent promised much more than he can possibly deliver at short notice. It will be weeks before his blandishments are assembled and loaded, while ours just wait for the arrival of our ships to escort them. A midnight repast, a good night's sleep, face-down if you must, and a hearty breakfast before you depart will be allowed.'

'Very good, m'sieur,' Hainaut gratefully agreed.

'Time enough for me to discover the spy network, so this time I do not tip my hand, or the day or hour of departure to Lewrie and his spy-master,' Choundas mused, looking rather weary and ill no matter if he should have been chortling over his clever master-stroke. 'I have two small, additional things for you to do for me, dear Jules, if you do not mind.'

'But of course, m'sieur,' Hainaut replied, anxious to seem full of eager cooperation, now that all his dreams had been launched.

'First of all, uhm…' Choundas grunted, arthritically twisting in his chair, no matter how comfortably padded, and with his eyes carefully averted. 'Before the arrival of Hedouville's letter and the news you brought, I was beginning to despair. Oui, even me, Hainaut! Time lingers heavily when plans are set in motion, and one cannot see or know how they progress, n 'est-ce pas? Go to my bed-chamber and… you will understand. A slight, amusing diversion,' he said crankily. 'She's very young and pretty, so you might even take joy of her, too do you find her pleasing. If not, dispose of her. Discretely.'

Hainaut chilled with foreboding as he rose and crossed to the double doors that led to his master's ground- story chambers. Hainaut gently pulled them back and stepped inside, fearing what he'd find.

A single candle burned on a night-table, a small bottle of good brandy lay on its side on the carpet, empty, along with two abandoned glasses. And a girl lay tangled in the bed-linens, her nearly White cafe au lait complexion a tawny contrast to the white of the sheets. Her hair was raven-dark and curly, now undone and bedraggled, down to the small of her back, and spilled like dried blood over the pillows.

Hainaut stepped to the side of the high bed-stead and swept her hair back from her face. She was beginning to purple with bruises his master had inflicted in his 'passion,' her lips split and caked with a colour darker than paste. Dried tears streaked her artful makeup, but she was indeed very pretty. Not over thirteen or fourteen, as most of Choundas's bed-mates always turned out to be, slight, slim, and petite. Child-women, with spring buds for breasts.

Hainaut put a hand under her nose and half-opened mouth to feel for breath, touched the side of her neck to see if life still throbbed in her. Yes, she was still alive. Hainaut knelt and sniffed the neck of the empty brandy bottle, and detected the aroma of laudanum, which Le Hideux had used to drug her into deliriously sweet helplessness, if not complaisance. Into furtive, whimpering silence, instead of wails or screams that could draw unwelcome attention from neighbours. Snuck in the back way, as always, long after full dark, muffled in anonymous cloaks or blankets. Carried out, before dawn, and still insensible.

Hainaut heaved a disgusted sigh before pulling the sheet up over the girl's bare shoulders and stepping out of the room, quietly closing the doors on her fate.

'Allow to me ask, m'sieur' Hainaut said, almost tip-toeing, and his voice a whisper, in some form of deference for that pitiful chit, 'but what degree of disposal did you have in mind?'

'Scruples, dear Jules?' Choundas mocked. 'This late in our association? My, my. Nothing drastic. She's a