Havoc`s Sword

servants, as many suspicious coastal dwellers and fishermen as we could, but, with so little help, it may be weeks before I get round to 'putting the question' to them all, you see…'

'What do the 'Bloodies' say,' Desfourneaux smirked, 'that 'it's a poor workman who blames his tools'? Your clerk had but a few hours at best, between your opening General Hedouville's letter and his arrest, no? You've thrown in gaol half the poor fishermen and regular visiting tradesmen to your mansion, all your house servants. Patrols prowl the shores and the docks. Odds are, you caught those who'd pass messages. Odds are, your de Gougne never had a chance to pass on his discovery… assuming he's a spy in the first place, hmm?' Desfourneaux slyly suggested. 'De Gougne, well… a rather large black mark to be expunged from your records, Capitaine. If he truly is employed by the British. You agree with my assessment, then?'

'Most of what you say is true, Citizen,' Choundas was forced to admit, 'though the letter from Fleury, the British agent's slip…'

'You are sanguine, then, that the convoy may sail without risk of betrayal?' Desfourneaux pressed. 'Come, come, give me odds that the munitions will reach Saint Domingue,' he prissily requested.

'Uhm… nine or ten to one, against interception,' Choundas grudgingly had to say, after a long, irate fuming. 'With three ships to escort two…'

'And since you yourself admit that the back of the spy ring is at least severely hampered, if not broken,' Desfourneaux said with an expansive grin, 'there is no reason why you could not take command of the enterprise and personally see it through… before completing any investigations here on Guadeloupe. After your triumphant return.'

'But, of course, Citizen, I…!' Choundas blustered, insulted and angered, and mightily taken aback, both.

'Such a coup would go a long way to excuse your harbouring of a possible spy… and in expunging what so far has been a long, and sad, string of failures that your seeming lack of attention concerning your own staff allowed, hein?' Desfourneaux said with a leer. 'Such an act of personal responsibility, and daring, might even allay the niggling suspicion that your clerk was not the only person on your staff covertly corresponding with the British or their local informers.

'Moi?' Choundas thundered. 'You suspect me after all I've done… all I've suffered from the God-damned British? Is this the way I am to be repaid for my loyalty to the Revolution, to the Republic, and to France? How dare you, you tawdry, tarted-up little slug! You wish me to command the convoy? Good, I will, and bedamned to you!

'Run the same risk as your followers, my dear Choundas. Prove by your being there that it will get through,' Desfourneaux answered, lazing at sublime ease against the parapet stones, as if Choundas was no threat to him; his howling rage just a passing gust of wind. 'That is all I ask. Though we will have a little talk about your insulting manners… when you return, hein? Too many years of operating on a roving commission, with too free a hand in the disordered early years of our Revolution, has made you incapable of proper subordination, n'est-ce pas? Perhaps a few weeks at sea will give you time for much-needed introspection.'

'Bah!' Choundas snarled, raising his walking-stick. 'You…!'

Hard as it was for him to do, he swallowed his ire and lowered his hand, knowing that Desfourneaux was more dangerous than he seemed, that Hugues could have company on his way home in irons!

'You see, dear Capitaine, you begin to learn circumspection and manners already!' Desfourneaux gleefully pointed out, departing.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Welcome aboard, Captain Lewrie, sir,' Lieutenant Seabright said after Lewrie had doffed his hat to the assembled crew on Sumter's deck and plopped it back on his head. 'Captain MacGilliveray has been expecting you, and is waitin' aft,' he added, offering his hand, with a grin struggling to split open his face, making Lewrie wonder what he thought of getting introduced to Capt. Malachi 'Thunderation' Goodell.

Lewrie cocked a brow at him in query as they stood close.

'Okracoke, sir,' Lt. Seabright whispered, sniggering and about to bust.

'Heard o' that, have ye?' Lewrie whispered back with a careful grin of his own. Evidently, the Yankees had gotten wind of Mr. Peel's questions ashore-he hadn't been in the riot!-and the discovery of how completely the foppish Mr. Pelham had been gulled. Despite misgivings that fellow Americans were in the pay of the French, it was proof positive that lofty British aristocracy, the oppressive 'Mother Country' in general, was both heels short of a whole loaf.

'Sorry, sir, does it cause you any harm, but ya must admit it s droll,' Lt. Seabright snickered. 'Ah… Mister McGilliveray. Do you escort Captain Lewrie aft to the captain's cabins.'

'Aye aye, sir!' Desmond McGilliveray piped up, stepping forward from his deferential place beside the clutch of U.S. Marines, aquiver with expectation. 'Welcome aboard, sir,' he stated, face abeam.

'Thankee kindly, uhm… Mister McGilliveray,' Lewrie answered, tipping the lad a sly wink and smiling back. 'I've, ah… taken the liberty of fetching off a few items which might prove instructive for your nautical education,' Lewrie said, swinging a British Marine's issue haversack forward from off his right hip and shoulder. 'Some books of mine you may find useful… my first copy of Falconer's Marine Dictionary, the 1780 edition, sorry, but it can't have changed that much… When ashore I did discover an edition of the Atlantic Mercury, which depicts every pertinent feature of the North American coasts and harbours… so you don't run aground more than once in your career, d'ye see, uhm…'

He had also thrown in his second-best set of nautical instruments; parallel rules, dividers, and such, a shore- bought pencil case, folding nib-knife, and a full dozen virgin wooden pencils, to boot; and a small block of Brazilian gum eraser.

Desmond's face glowed as he opened the stained and bedraggled Falconer's and read the inscription in the inside cover: 'Alan Lewrie, HIS book, Jan. '80. Like Hell, it's yours!'

'Thank you…!' Desmond gushed, ready to tear up, quickly adding 'father,' in the faintest of whispers, in such a manner that Lewrie was like to cough, choke, and 'spring a leak' as well. He put the book back in the haversack and slung it over his shoulder. 'I found something I thought you might like when we boarded our foe, too… sir!' Desmond announced. 'A small relict of taking a French man o' war. Well, not such a big foe, but…'

'But 'tis early days,' Lewrie assured him. 'Who knows what a week might bring? Next year? Uhm… we mustn't keep your uncle, and captain, waiting, though. Or Captain Goodell. As forbidding as they say, is he?' Lewrie asked, with an expectant grimace.

'That, and more, sir!' Desmond answered, rolling his eyes, and looking as if, did naval custom and usage allow, he might fan himself.

'Well, let's get on with it, then. Lead on, young sir.'

'I'll fetch your present, soon as you're aft and below, sir.'

'That'd be excellent, thankee. And for your thoughtfulness,' he told his bastard son, hoping that pilfering valuables out of a prize-ship didn't run in the family blood; recalling a hidden chest of gold aboard a French ship, from which he had 'borrowed' a considerable sum whilst in temporary command of her in the last war.

Though I could use money, if he's offerin', Lewrie thought.

Captain Malachi Goodell was indeed forbidding, and did resemble an 'owl in an ivy bush,' as Capt. McGilliveray had said. Great, fierce glowing eyes flew open as soon as Lewrie was admitted to the great-cabins, then slitted in panther-y study, as he had himself a good look-see. A long, curving, beak-like raptor's nose jutted from the thatch of a sleek, plump beard. Lewrie assumed that Capt. Goodell had teeth and lips under