A Jester’s Fortune

Breadroom,' Lawless. When a purser grinned, it could put the fear of God in even the greatest sinners, and Lewrie felt a sour shudder take him. It would be one of those mornings, then, all hen-scratches and receipts, all finger-cramp, eye-strain, and ink-smuts.

'Bloody…' Lewrie whispered, as he sipped his hot coffee black and unsweetened. Trying to make it last so long that perhaps Mr. Giles and his pettifogging ledgers might go away.

'Sail ho!' The main-mast lookout halloed. 'One point abaft th' larboard beam! Bilander! Sailin' large!'

'Ah, too bad, Mister Giles,' Lewrie cooed, trying not to sound too gleeful at this most-welcome interruption. 'Later in the day, sir? Or tomorrow? Same for you, Mr. Padgett, less there's something very urgent?' Lewrie more than strongly suggested.

'No, sir. 'Scuse me, sir.' Padgett nodded and heading aft for the narrow, after-captain's companionway ladder. He wasn't half the man Lewrie's former clerk, Mr. Mountjoy, was; a taciturn, silent plodder of a fellow. Though he was miles more competent.

'Mister Knolles, once you've enjoyed your coffee, I'd admire you put us nearer the wind… say, Sou-Sou'east, to intercept. Plain sail will do, for now. No need to spook her too soon. And no colours.'

'Aye aye, sir. Quartermaster…?' Knolles burbled, trying both to obey at once and finish a rather well-brewed cup of a very good Venetian coffee.

'Deck, there!' The lookout halloed, again. 'Two sail! Bilanders both! One point abaft the larb'd beam, an' sailin' large!'

Lewrie set his cup down to rub greedy palms together. Two vessels to pursue, and both bilanders! They were hellish-ugly ships, bad as any hermaphrodite brig, with a large lateen mains'l aft and square sails on the foremast. From two years' service in the Mediterranean, he couldn't recall seeing that antique rig much, except on the French Provence coast, round Marseilles, Toulon and in convoys running the Riviera to supply the French army last year. Short, squat, round as Dutch butter-tubs… and not particularly fast or weatherly, either! Meat on the table?

He certainly hoped so.

So far Pylades had taken the honours, furnishing prize-crews for both their captures, and it was time Jester held up her end of the bargain. Both captures had been sizable vessels, requiring larger prize-crews to guard the sailors and mates they'd taken and to work their ships for them. It was quite likely that Pylades had given up over 30 hands from her crew already! Even a 5th Rate frigate had only so many hands to spare, before safeguarding prizes took so many people that she would be ill-served should they run across an enemy warship.

'Mister Spendlove?' Lewrie barked.

'Aye, sir?'

'Signal to Pylades. Inform her we've sighted two strange sail to the east'rd, and are closing the coast to stop and inspect them,' Alan said quickly, even as Jester heeled as she took the Levanter more upon her larboard bows as she turned Sou-Sou'east.

He finished his coffee, begrudging his breakfast, which would be cooling and congealing below. But he didn't think, this time, to go to his cabins for it. No, he'd stay on deck to oversee every moment of their closure and possible pursuit. After Ragusa, and the sight of all those pale, round fundaments aimed at him, he'd be damned if he'd let a prize slip away again! Or let a Frenchman have reason to insult or jeer him!

* * *

It promised to be a clear, fine day. The sun rose a little higher over the forbidding inland mountain chains, casting its glow over the waters like the raising of a stage curtain. For a precious half hour it left Jester in murky shadows, alee of the dawn. And, for that precious half hour, Jester ranted and rolled, even under all plain sail, closing swiftly on a course almost at right angles to the unsuspecting merchantmen, with the knot-log's every cast showing over eight knots or better. The hands were spared the daily deck-sluicing and holystoning, sent down to their breakfasts early-so they could come back on deck, rig the guns for action and wait… completely ready for whatever came.

'Deck, there! Chases go close-hauled on larb'd tack!'

Turning upwind, Lewrie fretted, gnawing on a thumbnail corner. They're turning on the same course we're steering-Sou'-Sou'east. But close! Not four miles between us, now they've finally spotted us! Not like yesterday, Christ, no! Slow, wallowing… a scant wind…

Christ, pray not, he amended a moment later, still fretting, even though he could see that Jester was pinching up close-hauled a full half point, about six degrees higher to windward than the bilanders.

'Mister Knolles, Mister Cony!' he snapped. 'Get t'gallants set!'

Bosuns' calls shrilled high and eerie and insistent, piping hands aloft, as Will Cony and his mate, Sadler, drove them by dint of call and the sight of their stiffened rope 'starters' in their hands-an unspoken threat for the slow and clumsy.

Up the ratlines, out over the futtock shrouds and past the fighting tops to the upper masts they went. Spry young teenage topmen and wary top-captains scampered up, then out, along the arms of the t'gallant yards, even as the hands on the deck tailed on the jears and halliards to hoist those heavy yards up from their resting positions to far above the crosstrees. Men stood ready, freeing clew-lines and buntlines as gaskets were cast off. More wind-greedy canvas began to appear as the t'gallants were drawn down, bellying and flagging as crisp as gunfire. And Jester moaned as she heeled even more, masts groaning and hull-timbers resettling as she set her starboard shoulder to the sea and surged forward. T'gallant sails shivered into taut stillness, arced outward and alee by the force of the winds, set more fore-and-aft than the tops'sls, or the courses, in a proper spiral.

A rogue wave, a placid little three-footer, broke under her bows on her cutwater, and she drummed as she shattered it to foam. Another and then another, soggy crashes and hull-drummings, which turned to hisses and sibilance as Jester stretched her legs and began to lope, shrouds and rigging beginning a faint, atonal but eager hum.

'Nine and a quarter knots, sir!' One of the afterguard shouted after another cast of the log.

'Go, lady!' Buchanon muttered to their ship. 'Go it, darlin'! Ah, th' joy o' it, sir! A fine mornin' f'r a neck-or- nothin' chase.'

'It is, indeed, sir,' Lewrie heartily agreed, springing at the knees, feet spread wide, to ride her as she galloped windward.

'Like she's hungry, sir,' Buchanon extolled further. 'Like ol' Lir's hungry with her. Not twelve mile more, an' 'ose bilanders'll be hard aground, do 'ey hold 'is course, sir.'

Lewrie looked aft. Once more, there was Rodgers's Pylades back to leeward, a touch to starboard of Jester's stern, should one of the Chases haul her wind and run Sou'west.

And that'd be about all they could do, Lewrie pondered; it made no tactical sense to try and tack this far offshore, to run northerly. Even the finest-handled warship-5th or 6th Rate, or sloop-could not tack quickly enough without losing a horrendous amount of speed for a long minute or two, then a long minute or two more to accelerate back to her original speed. Should the bilanders turn, should one or both of them try and tack once they got closer ashore, Jester would be nose-deep in their transoms before they could say 'Merde dors!'

Rising, swooping, her wake almost sizzling as it creamed along her quarters, Jester strode toward the two bilanders. Three miles, then two miles off. Then one mile and almost within Range-To-Random-Shot, with that ruggedly beautiful coast looming up higher and higher: stark, dramatic, green but seemingly desolate.

'Coasters!' A lookout called down. 'Small ships t'wind'rd. A point off t'sta'b'd bows!'

'Damme, not again!' Lewrie growled, all but stomping his feet in anger. With a telescope to his eye, he could see a gaggle of sails off to their Sou'east, at least half a dozen. More damned pirates?

The bilanders weren't waiting round to find out. In the blink of an eye, the left-hand of the pair tried to begin a tack, whilst the right-hand bilander, which was leading by perhaps a half mile, hauled her wind suddenly, almost laying herself on her beam-ends as she swung abeam the wind, pivoting about to run off the wind to the Sou'west.