THE GUN KETCH

Governor's Council and the Bahamian Assembly were kicking 'round the idea of turning Nassau into a free port If they vote that in, Finney's undutied goods are safe as houses from here on out. Might as well void the Navigation Acts, too, I suppose.'

'Did you really let him off last year?' Rodgers grinned.

'Needed his testimony hellish bad, sir,' Lewrie blushed. 'Only way I knew to have evidence the pirates were caught in the act. But I thought he was smart enough to take my warning to heart. What was Captain Grant up to?'

'Sellin' bricks an' timber, buyin' salt, so the Yankee fisheries can preserve their stock-fish for export,' Rodgers sniffed. 'Hell, name a good he wasn't sellin'!'

'So he's bung to his deckheads in salt now, sir?'Lewrie asked.

'Aye. Takin' it north as evidence against him.'

'Hmm, sir,' Lewrie grinned.

'What, sir?' Rodgers grinned in reply, expectantly.

'I was thinking, sir, that bagged salt is just as good as dirt-filled gabions to absorb round-shot and musketry,' Lewrie mused.

'Whatever are ya drivin' at?' Rodgers asked, sitting up.

'Bait, sir,' Lewrie explained. 'Were we to find where pirates are operating, we could trail Sarah and Jane under Yankee colours as a tempting bit of bait with a Navy crew, armed and ready for anything.'

'And just where'd we do the trailin', Lewrie?' Rodgers demanded. 'We haven't more of a clue than we did last year. Walker's Cay was a fluke o' fortune.' He winced. 'Of a rough sort, mind.'My Lieutenant Ballard suggested that one of us put into Harbour Island or Spanish Wells, on Eleuthera,' Lewrie went on quickly. 'They're major ports, and a man o' war from the squadron should be in the area, or at anchor. They could inform us where our ships are operating, sir. Now we know Finney's a pirate for certain, now we almost have it as Gospel our commodore's involved, where our ships are would point the way. Or, more to the point, where our ships are not.'

'Or where fools such as your Lieutenant Courtney 'Cow-Flop' hangs his hat?' Rodgers grinned briefly, then scowled. 'Lieutenant Ballard. God! He's the one got us banished, when you get right down to it. All that talk o' his 'bout irrefutable evidence, and that missin' slaver, Matilda.''

'Damme, sir, but wasn't he right?' Lewrie pointed out. 'Matilda was pirated, and her people slaughtered. There's a knacky wit churning in that head of his, sir, 'click-clack' like some German clockwork. I know he's right about this, too, sir.'

Pray God Peyton Boudreau was wrong for once, Lewrie cautioned his eagerness; don't let him be a slender reed one couldn't count on!

And, Alan also warned himself; keep your bloody mouth quiet for once! I can't urge him any harder, or he'll balk like a hunter at the high fence! We either pull this off successfully, or we get cashiered at the easiest-or hanged for mutineers!

Rodgers twisted and turned for many long minutes like a corpse on the gibbet, shifting restless and frightened on his chair, trying to decide what to do that wouldn't ruin his career if they failed.

'There's Captain Childs in Guardian,' Rodgers said at last. 'I think he should be informed, Lewrie. About the commodore, that is.'

Shit! Lewrie thought.

'The more who know, the more who talk, sir, and word gets back to Garvey and Finney, and then we'll have abandoned our patrol areas for nought,' Alan shrugged, taking the softest approach he could.

'If Coltrop's in an Eleutheran port, word'll get back to them, you can wager a rouleau o' guineas on't,' Rodgers spat, lips pursed in a sour pucker. 'Dammit t'hell. Dammit t'hell, though… if they get away a second time! If we end up with nothing to show for it!'

'Not if they take the bait, sir,' Lewrie promised.

'Hmm,' Rodgers stalled. He slapped the table top hard with the flat of one hand. 'Damme, let's do it, then! This Yankee-Doodle Captain Grant… I s'pose I'll have t'let him off, same as you did, once we find our pirates?'

'I fear so, sir,' Lewrie nodded, all but turning St. Catherine wheels with barely repressed glee. 'A small price to pay, after all.'

'Best it be Whippet stands into port To water, let's say,' Commander Rodgers schemed. 'You take over escort for Sarah and Jane, make what arrangements you will aboard her, and stand off-and-on, tops'l down over the horizon, t'the east'rd. Pray God Childs an' Guardian be the ship in port. Not that Lieutenant 'Cow-Flop'!'

'He may be as out of touch with Nassau as we were, sir,' Lewrie hoped out loud. 'And that somnolent arse wouldn't stir up his bones to see the Second Coming.'

'Somnolent, sir?' Rodgers laughed, rising and fetching his hat 'Damme, but you've been readin' again, ain't ya? After I told ya it was bad for ya, for shame.'

'Well, it was only the one book, sir,' Lewrie chuckled, getting to his feet to drain his glass. 'And a damn' thin 'un, at that.'

'Let's go on deck, then, and beard our Captain Grant, sir. And then, lay a course for Eleuthera!'

Chapter 6

Sewallis Alan Lewrie lay sleeping in his cradle, at last, after a noisy afternoon of colic and wailing that had quite worn his young mother to a frazzle. Caroline sat at the side of the cradle, formed in the shape of a miniature dory, that a New England Loyalist joiner had made for her months before, feeling vaguely disloyal.

Women were supposed to adore children, she thought wearily. It was a given that all a young woman could wish for in this life was a brood of offspring to tend. But so far, one was more man enough to deal with, and after six weeks of maternal devotion following the boy's birth, she wasn't so sure she cared to experiencethe terror and pain again. The physician had rated her labor easy, a mere nine hours! To hold her firstborn like a tightly swaddled roast at the end of it, to peer into those grave little eyes, had not seemed worthy enough reward.

Then had come the interrupted nights, at the mercy of his cries, the shambling sham of wakefulness between precious naps, to brave his supping at her breasts with the frantic lustiness of his absent father, almost dreading the aching, until Heloise and Betty had suggested a wet nurse to spare her, to let Wyonnie tend him for a few hours.

Her body felt destroyed. Where was the lissome figure she'd had, she wondered when she bathed? There was still a heaviness, a gravid and palpable puffiness that only now was departing as she began to take rides and putter in her gardens, her kitchen and pantry. And the stretch marks which traversed her formerly alabaster flesh like fault lines, or desert tributaries of a failed river. Would Alan be repulsed by the sight of her when he returned? She could no longer claim to feel like the lithe girl she'd been-and she had yet to feel comfortable accepting a role of young matron; it was surreal.

Yet… She looked down at the puffy little face screwed up into a puckered repose. And had to fight the urge to pick him up to hold him close to her, to carry him out to the dog-run and croon to him as she sat and rocked in the clean air, instead of the humid stuffiness of the bedroom, permeated with the smells of incontinent infancy.

Sewallis Alan Lewrie had been powdered and changed, and she bent down, fearful of waking him, to inhale the aroma of his skin, and of the milky, corn-silk smells he bore like a Hungary Water. She kissed him lightly, brushed his little tuft of hair, and sat back in her straight-backed chair with a fond smile, in spite of all.

Yes, he was a darling baby (most of the time), with his father's gray blue eyes, but with her nose, her paler hair. And her mouth. It felt more than odd to feel his tiny, demanding lips at her nipples, yet it was her mouth, not Alan's.

'You take a rest, missus,' Wyonnie offered, entering the room. 'I watch 'im fo' awhile. Po' chile cry hisse'f right out. But, he be bettah when 'e wakes. Dot obeah-mon's yarbs get rid de colic, jus' as I tole ya. Un de corn-meal fo' dot rash'll ease 'im.'

'And I expect he'll wake up hungry,' Caroline grinned with a wry lift to a brow. 'God save womankind,