Havoc`s Sword

fruit of an American victory, and I will brook no further dispute of the matter.'

'But France isn't at war with the United States, he'll be let go he'll…!' Lewrie spluttered, appalled.

'Thun-der-ation!' Goodell bellowed. 'Did I not say the matter is closed, sir? Thou wouldst gainsay me on my own quarterdeck, sir?'

Lewrie withered under Goodell's fury, blushing furiously to be dressed-down before the American officers and sailors like an idiotic midshipman… before Choundas's sly scorn! 'He's dangerous he…'

'No longer, Captain Lewrie,' Goodell said, seeming to relent. 'At limited liberty ashore in the United States, Choundas will work no more deviltry. And since no formal declaration of war exists, there will be no prisoner exchanges possible, Captain Lewrie. Neither do the French yet hold a single U.S. Navy officer of comparable rank to offer in exchange… dost thou see, sir?' Goodell concluded in much calmer voice, his beard-shrouded lips curling in the faintest of grins and his owl-eyes, for a brief moment, twinkling with glee.

Damme, did the old stickleback just wink at me? Lewrie gawped.

'Captain Choundas will be sent to an American seaport, with my report of his capture… and his nature… made public knowledge to one and all, Captain Lewrie. He will work no further havoc. Nor, return to France before the turn of the century, in my estimation. That is the most I may promise thee, sir, and thou must be satisfied with that.'

Lewrie realised that the game was blocked at both ends; he had lost, and must put the best face he could on his defeat. He heaved a bitter sigh, then said, with passable good grace, 'I s'pose I must, at that, sir. Please forgive my zeal to see such a dangerous foe placed where I'd know he could do no more mischief. Had I captured Choundas, I could do no less, did he offer his parole… no matter how galling! My congratulations to you, sir, and I wish you all the notice and fame that pertains to such a triumph. To yourself, your officers and tars… and to the glory of your Navy, and the United States of America.'

/ nabbed him, though, Lewrie grimly told himself; I'd not have given him the chance to hand over his sword. Board his ship and shoot him down, run him through… not give Choundas time to strike colours/ Could I have… in the heat of the moment? Or lose my command and my honour, get court-martialed for murderin' a prisoner? God, please, he looks so old and sick, You could pluck him with a fever, or something! A bad batch of oysters… any cause! He has to die, else I'll never be able to rest easy! Hmmm… there must be a way…

'Zealousness in the pursuit of one's duty is ever forgivable, sir,' Capt. Goodell was saying, stroking his whiskers in glee to have a Briton apologise to him for anything, 'even though thy zeal might be adulterated by personal motives. Thank thy Maker, Captain Lewrie, that, in thy pursuit of just revenge upon such a monster, personal zeal did not overcome the professional, and that thine own hands, and immortal soul, remain unsullied. Great Jehovah's justice will grind Choundas, be sure of that, yea, even unto chaff and powdered, blighted seed, so 'black and withered that his evil will be spurned even by the hungriest birds of the air or beasts of the field… and shalt never take root in the fertilest soil.'

'Amen, sir,' Lewrie replied with a fervor he could not really feel; what he felt was oily and unctuous to sham piety, but… needs must. 'Well, then sir. I will take my leave. You will sail back to English Harbour, Captain Goodell? Good. Please allow me to request that you bear my despatches about today's action to my superiors.'

'Thou will not enter harbour, sir?' Goodell asked.

'Fear I'm bound away on another matter, sir,' Lewrie answered, tipping him a conspiratorial wink, as if a duty of even greater import awaited him, one of a secret nature. 'I shall say my goodbyes to Captains McGilliveray and Randolph. My congratulations, again, and… do we have future occasion to work together, to the confusion of the French… or another mutual enemy, please recall that I owe you a duty, and a service, and would move Heaven and Earth to fulfill it.'

'Loath though I am to admit it, Captain Lewrie,' Goodell said as he tentatively offered his hand, looking down at it for a moment as if he could not credit that he was doing so, or that his hand moved of its own volition, 'I find myself almost looking forward to such cooperation. Should my country and thine find common cause, mind.'

They shook on that informal bargain; even though Goodell's paw felt much like a limp, dead flounder, they at least shook on it.

'Off again, are ya, Cap'm Lewrie?' McGilliveray said, frowning. 'I was hoping you could dine aboard just one more time. The lad-'

'Fear I must, sir,' Lewrie said, shrugging sadly. 'Promise me that, if Sumter bears Choundas to America, you watch him close, parole be damned, will you?' he urged. 'And keep Desmond away from him, every minute! If Choundas learns who he is to me, and he will, I'm certain of it… he has his ways!… he'll find a way to take revenge on me and kill him, if he can. Cripple him as bad as he's crippled, at the least! For God's sake, I beg you, Captain McGilliveray, don't trust Choundas with a rusty fork.'

'I will, though I don't quite-' McGilliveray quickly vowed.

'Before I depart, I'll send a letter aboard for the… for my son, telling him the same, and that… that he's… that Desmond is shapin' main-well to become a fine young man, and I wouldn't want any harm to come to him. Which I hope you'll say, as well, sir, from me?'

Lewrie dug out his wash-leather coin-purse and clawed down for a few shillings. ' 'Til we meet again, he might find need for some things at the chandleries and shops, so-'

'No need o' that, Cap'm Lewrie,' McGilliveray protested. 'He's his Navy pay, such as it is, and a modicum o' private means as my adopted nephew. Desmond needs time with his real father, more than money. Once you're back from your pursuit, sir, we'll make time for that to happen. For the nonce, count on me t'keep him safe, and well t'windward of that devil.'

'I could ask no better than that, Captain McGilliveray, thankee kindly,' Lewrie responded, somewhat eased in his mind, but knowing his foe of old, worries for the lad's safety would not quite disperse that easily. He put his purse away, chiding himself for a callous bastard, for feeling relief that 'fatherhood' wouldn't cost too much; that his new-found son Desmond came with his own sustenance!

'A lucky lad, sir,' McGilliveray commented, 'with two families, two fathers, really… so concerned for his wellbeing.'

'One who left it much too late, sir, but…' Lewrie confessed.

'But makin' up for it in splendid fashion,' McGilliveray told him warmly. 'God speed your fine ship, Cap'm Lewrie, and your return.

EPILOGUE

You lead a charmed life, Lieutenant Hainaut,' Representative-on-Mission Desfourneaux told Jules over a convivial glass of wine, at the end of his verbal report. 'So…' Desfourneaux said, prissily setting his wineglass down on his 'appropriated' marble-topped desk with a precise little click. 'The redoubtable Capitaine Choundas was taken, both corvettes and the arms convoy were taken, by the Americans, you say, not the British. Yet Choundas's bete noire, Lewrie, discovered it, and led them to it… yet took little part, hmmm. A failure. A regrettable failure, and a great loss to France.'

'Yes, Citizen, assuredly,' Hainaut replied, not sure of what he could say, in safety. Would he be blamed for surviving, or did their representative from the Directory imagine that he was the one who had alerted the British and the Americans?

'In the long run, though, your former master had outlived his usefulness,' Desfourneaux went on with a wee moue of regret. 'He was ill, one could see that, and as a result his faculties were diminished. Had this Lewrie person not been present as a lure, Choundas might have put about and saved the