A King`s Commander

and we may have enough men to go around, till we drop anchor at Vado Bay. It's only eighty sea miles or so. With this sou'east wind, we could be there by dusk, pray God.'

'Aye aye, sir.'

A late dinner, bites taken between writing. And fending off his young ram-cat, who was ever fascinated by the waving plume of his quill pen. 'No, Toulon. Sweetlin'? Can't you go play with mousey?' Lewrie attempted to cajole. 'Aspinall?'

'Sir?' his steward replied from the pantry. 'Dangle something tempting, will you, for God's sake?' 'Monkey-fist, Toulon,' Aspinall offered. 'See it swing, hey? Wanna fight yer monkey-fist, hey cat?'

Toulon would. With an excited trill, he jumped down to dash for the pantry door, where a newish toy of intricately plaited small-stuff swung and jerked alluringly. It was Aspinall's first successful stab at decorative knot- work, a skill he was picking up from Andrews. There were rather good place mats woven from sennet in the great- cabins now, a set of restraining ropes in the pantry where he labored, prettily served with turk's-heads, so he wouldn't go arse-over-tit in the next spell of nasty weather. But Andrews had done half of those himself as examples.

Crash! came the sound of a Marine guard's musket beyond the door. 'Cap'um's dark, Mister Mountjoy… sah!'

'Enter.' Lewrie sighed around a chunk of salami and goat cheese. 'Excuse me, sir,' Mountjoy said as he entered. 'But I expect you're almost ready for me to make a fair copy of the report from your rough, sir?'

'Just about, Mister Mountjoy. Glass o' chianti?' 'Aye, sir, that'd be welcome.'

'A tad puckerish, is chianti,' Lewrie admitted. 'But it grows on one. Aspinall, a glass for Mister Mountjoy. And a top-up for me.' 'Aye, sir.'

'A bit of news, too, sir,' Mountjoy offered. 'That French prisoner Mister Knolles brought aboard is Flemish. Did as you bid, sir, tried to speak with him, but I do declare, sir, I've never heard worse French in all my born days. But, most happily, Mister Rahl the quarter-gunner happened by.'

'Mister Rahl,' Lewrie posed, a trifle dubious. Rahl couldn't put four words of the King's English together with a pistol pointed at his head. 'The Austrian Netherlands, sir. Or rather, should I say, what was once the Austrian Netherlands,' Mountjoy explained. 'A polyglot, sir. Flemish, Waloon, bastard Dutch, a version of French as far from good French as Birmingham 'mumbletonian' is to English. But they do still know the tongue of their conquerors, sir. German. Mister Rahl was Wie Gehts?' and Was Machts Du?' with the clod, quick as a wink, sir. Our M'sieur Hainaut is the usual story these days. A 'prentice seaman, from Antwerp, or thereabouts, of French blood, sir. Joined up eager as anything, soon as the Frogs drove the Austrians out. Bad as the Frogs need skilled men, they took him on as a petty officer, much like Mister Cony…'

'Bosun's mate,' Aspinall said, almost under his breath, back to entertaining the cat after fetching the wine.

'Uhm, quite… ' Mountjoy frowned. 'Anyway, sir, Hainaut rose to become a midshipman, double-quick. Acting, one might suppose. And poorly paid, if that's the best uniform he could afford, what? Earned the notice of a senior officer, came under his wing…'

'Patronage,' Lewrie supplied to enlighten Mountjoy's continuing ignorance.

'Oddly, he won't tell me who he is, sir. Just refers to him as 'Die Narbe.' Rahl tells me that means 'The Scar,' Captain. Capitaine de Vaisseau Scar, sir. Might be another German who threw in his lot on the French side, but Mister Rahl believes it's more a nickname, sir. But then, German names, I've found, are much like Red Indian names… holdovers from tribal times, when 'Strong Arm' and 'Bear-Killer' were popular. So it could be a proper name, no matter what Mister Rahl believes. I gather this Captain 'Scar' is in charge of coastal convoys and their escorts.' Mountjoy blithely shrugged off, taking a sip of his wine.

'Sail hoi' came the interruption, making Lewrie almost tip his glass over.

'Later, Mister Mountjoy,' Lewrie said, getting to his feet and into his coat and hat; and finishing his wine. First things first, he told himself. 'Do you go ahead with the fair copy of the report, while I see to this.' A final pat on Toulon 's head, and he was out the door and pounding up the ladder to the quarterdeck.

'Where away, Mister Buchanon?'

'Three points off th' starboard bows, sir,' the sailing master told him, pointing an arm in the general direction. 'T'gallants 'bove th' horizon, so far, Cap'um. I make us 'bout ten miles off th' coast, an' 'bout ten miles east o' San Remo. She's almost bows-on, sir, an' that could mean she's on a course t' a French-held port.'

'From somewhere to the sou'east, then…' Lewrie mused. 'From Leghorn? To San Remo?'

'Very possible, sir. Might be one o' 'em so-called neutrals 'ey told us t'watch for,' Buchanon agreed.

'Check with the signalman-striker, Mister Buchanon. Have him fetch out that French Tricolor we used off Ushant. And order Lieutenant Knolles in La Follette to come under my lee. I'm sure he has a tricolor aboard… but he'll be needing one of our smaller ensigns, to declare his proper identity when the time comes. A boat ensign'll do.'

'One aboard Bombуlo now, sir,' Buchanon reminded him.

'Very well, have him send a boat for that one,' Lewrie schemed. 'Damme, Mister Buchanon, were you an Italian captain, running goods to the Frogs, what would you make of our motley group?'

'Be relieved, sir,' Buchanon guffawed. 'Couple o' French warships, escortin' a three-ship convoy long th' coast? Just th' thing. Better'n runnin' afoul o' one o' 'em nasty Englishmen!'

'Would you be tempted to come close enough to speak them, sir?'

'Were I worried 'bout any Royal Navy ships in th' area, I would, sir. Aye, I surely would sail right up an' ask, 'fore I put in to San Remo. Might have too much wagered to lose, else.'

'Let us devoutly hope, Mister Buchanon,' Lewrie enthused along with him. 'Once we've our flag situation settled, we'll harden up to windward a point, as if we're standing out to 'smoak' him. Like what a properly wary escort'd do.'

'Very well, sir.'

'I'll send Knolles a quick note. Tell him to guard the prizes while we're gone. And what we're about. And conform to my flag when I show them false colors. Damme!' Alan swore in wonder again. 'I do believe this could turn out to be a Dev'lish profitable day!'

'It could, at that, sir!'

'Oh! Mister Rydell,' Lewrie said, snapping his fingers at the small lad. 'Nip below and order Mister Mountjoy to come to the quarterdeck. And for him to fetch my new gold-laced coat, with the epaulet. And my full dress hat. Has the gentleman a sword, he's to fetch that from his cabin, as well.'

'Aye aye, sir,' Little Rydell replied with a puzzled look.

Thankee, Captain Cog-burn, Lewrie thought with a wry grin; one of us, at least, is going to look very convincing to that ship.

CHAPTER 5

'Ooh Law', Sah,' Andrews drawled, doffing his hat and making a formal leg, 'but don' ya look pretty. Why, ah expects dey ain' nevah been such a dashin' lookin' cap'um in de whole Royal Navy, sah.'

'I really…' Mountjoy protested bashfully, aware that he was the object of the entire ship's amusement. 'Sir, how can I pose…?'

'Put your hands in the small of your back, sir,' Lewrie said, beaming. 'Frown a lot. Right, Mister Spenser?'

' 'At's a cap'um's way, sir,' Spenser said from the wheel.

'And when you speak, do it from deep down in your chest,' Alan further instructed Mountjoy. 'And shout. Shout