A Jester’s Fortune

bosun's mates of our world. They slip you the King's Shilling 'fore you've noticed, and you're in, with no way out. Once aboard, they train you, same as we turn lubbers into sailors. Lay into you often enough with their tongues, stead of starters. Only problem being, they're the only ones who know the lore,,and only tell you what you need know, when they think you need to know it. Damn-all more to learn, of course, but they're not telling 'til-'

'Speakin' o' rope-end starters,' Rodgers muttered, almost nudging Lewrie off his feet, 'remind me t'tell you 'bout the one I met in London 'fore we sailed. Touch o' the oF hairbrush t'her, and you'd think she was entered in the Derby!'

And why do I think I know her? Lewrie silently shuddered. An old 'bareback ride'? My half-sister, Belinda? Sounds familiar…

'Gentlemen,' Captain Charlton announced at last, playing the genial host, 'I am informed supper is ready. Captain Rodgers, do you sit yonder, to my starboard side. And Commander Lewrie, here to larboard? Apologies, Charles…' he said to his First Officer, one Lieutenant Nicholson, a grave and studious-looking young man with dirty-blond hair. 'Fear you must take seat below the salt, and perform the role of Vice. Toasts and all.'

'With pleasure, of course, sir,' Nicholson assured him.

It was, surprisingly, very much unlike a typical English supper. Oh, the conversation was strictly limited, of course; nothing which amounted to shop talk was allowed. Religion, Politics and Women were right-out for subject matter, as well.

It was all books, plays, music and such, amusing trivia gleaned from the latest London papers; hunting, harvests, Fashion, all about which Captain Charlton was very well informed, displaying an impressive range of interests and a fair amount of knowledge.

But the soup course was a tangy, creamed-shrimp bisque instead of the mundane, and expected, oxtail, turtle, or pea soup. The fish that followed was a local snapper, but dredged in flour and crumbled biscuit and served crunchingly hot, aswim in lemon juice and clarified butter. Corsican doves appeared, breasts grilled separately, wrapped in fatty bacon; a mid-meal salad to cleanse the palate, but still piquant with a vinegar and mustard dressing. There was, at last, a roast. Not the hearty (and leather-tough) local beef, but a brown sugar-cured Italian shoulder of pork, sauced with a subtle mix of Worcestershire and currant jam. The removes had been baby carrots, tiny pigeon peas and small stewed onions, along with potatoes. Each, though, had come with its own enhancing spicing-the potatoes especially, surely the last shriveled, desiccated survivors from Lionheart's orlop deck, from home. But they were diced small, then pan-fried with minced onion, some melted Cheddar, a dab of treacle and a Jamaican pepper sauce.

Books, well, Lewrie could converse on some, at least. Gossip, plays, and music? He was near hopeless. But, food, now! He and their host were at it like magpies, comparing Cantonese, Bengali, Bahamian, Mediterranean and Carolina Low Country cooking, all but bawling 'you must give me that receipt!' to each other.

'Books, dear Lord, sir!' Rodgers dismissed airily, somewhere in red-faced mid-feed. 'I'll admit t'only readin' the one. And that a damn thin'un. 'Twas a book set us on the right trail in the Bahamas, though, wasn't it, Lewrie? To hunt a pirate chief?'

The wines were rather good, too, though Charlton apologised for each as they appeared with each course; they'd only come from Vigo, he said with a shrug, where Lionheart had broken her passage the past spring. There's more to this'un than most people'd suspect, Alan told himself, after a grand couple of hours at table with Charlton. He's not yer typical English sea-dog. There's a brain abaft that phyz o' his. And Lewrie cautioned himself to wait awhile longer before forming too quick a judgement of his new superior. And took a care to not imbibe too deep in his wines, either. It was a cruel ruse, but a useful one, to observe one's junior officers when they were deep in their cups, in vino veritas. Fortunately, even Rodgers, ever fond of spirits, knew that one, too, and while hearty, stayed upright.

The tablecloth was finally whisked away, the water glasses removed and the port, nuts, cheese and sweet biscuits were placed within easy reach. Lieutenant Nicholson, once they'd charged their glasses, did a midshipman's duty from the foot of the table as Vice, proposing the King's Toast, and they drank to their sovereign. Even if King George III had been talking to trees in Hyde Park lately, thinking them to be Frederick the Great of Prussia, as rumour had it.

'Sweethearts and wives, sirs,' Charlton offered next, with a cocked eyebrow, giving them a searching, amused glance before finishing the traditional Saturday mess toast. 'May they never meet!'

And why'd he look so long at me for? Lewrie wondered as he was forced to echo that platitude. Has the bastard heard something?

'Now, sirs,' Charlton said more seriously, 'I would suppose you've received your formal orders from the flag by now? Good. That makes you mine, officially. I also trust you've seen to victualling, and stores, 'pon the receipt of a transfer to a new command? Again, good. Nothing to delay a dawn departure but thick heads, should the winds suit. I can tell you now, we're off to the Adriatic. What was known as the 'Mare,' or the Gulf of Venice.'

Charlton took pains to outline the political situation, using many of the same terms as Admiral Jervis had that morning: the strengths, or lack of them, of the maritime nations that fronted that sea, and just how much help, or friendship, they might expect to find.

'Damn' shoal, I've heard, sir.' Rodgers grimaced. 'Pylades draws 'bout two-fathom- four, proper laden. Your Lionheart must draw nigh three. Be like glidin' 'cross the Bahama Banks on tippy-toes, anywhere close inshore. Like Lewrie and I did once, sir.'

'Well, like I did, sir,' Alan began to rejoin. 'You went north-about the Banks, while Alacrity did the-'

'I would hope that we could avoid, sirs, the rockier eastern shore on the Ottoman Turk and Austrian side,' Charlton interrupted, knowing the sound of a long-winded heroic reverie when he heard one. 'Let those sleeping dogs lie, hey? I believe our greatest concern will be in the Straits of Otranto, the mouth of the Adriatic, and the nearby Ionian Sea. Those Venetian Ionian Islands, to the east'rd, have deep-water harbours for watering and victualing. By the by, you are aware of a new diplomatic nicety? Since the largest 42- pounder coastal artillery piece may throw solid shot three miles, many nations are now claiming sovereign jurisdiction up to three miles off their coasts, guns or no. A safe enough offing, even for Lionheart and Pylades, Captain Rodgers, d'ye see. And she does draw nigh seventeen feet aft, as you surmised.'

Four little ships, Lewrie pondered as he chewed on a chocolate biscuit and waited for the port decanter to make its larboardly way. Only four ships, far from aid, unless the Austrian Navy was a whole lot better than he'd seen off Vado Bay last year. A week's voyage, too, should the winds be contrary, for orders or information. There were too many Republican plotters, too many spies and their agents to trust a message sent overland ever arriving. Or being true.

'You frown, Commander Lewrie,' Charlton noted.

'Sorry, sir. Wishing there were more of us.'

'A wish every senior British officer shares of late, Lewrie,' Charlton agreed with a faint smile. 'Had I my way, there'd be a good dozen ships. Half dozen of the line, and a half dozen sloops of war and frigates to scout. But then a more senior man would have charge of 'em, not me. And we'd miss this grand opportunity of ours.'

He shook his head with a sheepish chuckle. 'Had I my way,' Charlton went on jovially, 'I'd wish for it all! Be a full Admiral of the White, richer'n the Walpoles, maybe next-but-one in line for King! But we must play the hands we're dealt, and there it is.'

'Growl we may, sir,' Nicholson chimed in, 'but go we must?'

'Aye, there's that saying, too, Charles, my lad.'

' Venice, hmm…' Rodgers mused aloud. 'D'ye think we would be puttin' in at Venice sooner or later, sir?'

'Of a certainty, Captain Rodgers,' Charlton assured him.

Rodgers all but rubbed his horny palms together in glee. 'I've heard good things 'bout Venice. Carnival and, well, hmm! That it's a paradise for sailormen. Fiddlers Green and Drury Lane together!'

'Show the flag, of course, sir,' Charlton assured them. 'Do a short port-call now and again. See if Venice, and her navy, which I am assured is still quite substantial, might be available, should a further French offensive on land threaten her interests, certainly.'