A King`s Trade

such?'

'Oh, is grand, America!' Eudoxia enthused. 'Big as all Russia, vit' peoples so rich and clean, not serfs. Not like Russia! Where I get my boots, wild Indian… moccasins, at Savannah…!'

'Ahem!' came a voice near Lewrie's left ear, making him freeze in dread; would he have to pet another new (mostly harmless) creature?

'Here is Poppa!' Eudoxia exclaimed, leaping to her feet, letting go of Lewrie's hand. 'Is our lion tamer!'

'Errp!' Lewrie gawped as he shot to his own feet.

The man with the eye patch stood near them, one hand on a dagger in his waist sash, the right holding his whip, uncoiled to the ground. The look on his harsh face could curdle sperm, piss, or strong brandy!

'B'lieve we were introduced a few minutes ago, sir, but I didn't exactly catch your name?' Lewrie smoothly offered, sticking out a hand in hopes the fellow would take it, thus partially disarming him.

'Kapitan Lewrie, of the Engliski Royal Navy, here is my poppa, Arslan Artimovich Durschenko,' Eudoxia contributed with all the guilelessness of the righteously innocent, going all giddy-giggly. 'Poppa, Kapitan…?' Alan.

'Kapitan Alan Lewrie, spasiba… thank you, I meanink to say,' Eudoxia repeated, all but bouncing on her (chaste) toes. 'Is proper manners to say Christian name and patronymic, Kapitan, to speak to my poppa.'

'Mister Arslan… Artimovich, yer servant, sir,' Lewrie said.

'Ummm,' Durschenko responded, not even looking down at Lewrie's offered hand, and making that 'ummm' rise from deep in his chest, like a bear awakened, grumpy and deadly, from his winter nap. The fellow's jaws flexed and worked from side to side as he ground his teeth, very much, Lewrie thought, like a slavering mastiff eager for his dinner.

'You must be very proud of your daughter, sir,' Lewrie quickly extemporised, striving for another of his 'shit- eatin' grins' and his nigh-perfected smarm. 'In her skill, her poise, and talent, that is. I came to offer my congratulations to her, and ev'ryone else, d'ye see, for a most enjoyable show, which I hope my sailors will be able to see, once we reach Saint Helena… ah ha.'

This ain't workin', Lewrie nervously considered.

'Hah!' Durschenko Senior barked, not buying that for a minute. His live eye glared bullets, but he did shift his whip to his other hand, and un-handed that dagger!, to at last take Lewrie's hand as if all was forgiven. Giving it a viselike squeeze, so hard that Lewrie felt his eyes were almost ready to water.

'Heh heh heh,' Durschenko muttered with a feral, toothy grin.

Lewrie gave back as good as he got, though, clamping down with all the strength he had. Never try that on with a sailor, Arse-lick Artimovich, he thought; nor a swordsman, either, ye old fart!

They stood there, arms beginning to quiver, fingers going numb and white, shuffling closer to each other like two wrestlers looking for an opening to a sudden throw.

'Oh, stoy!' Eudoxia snapped in exasperation, at last, seizing them by the wrists to pull them apart. 'Stop that, both of you! The Kapitan is nice man! He mean no harm!'

Don't lay wagers on it! Lewrie thought, wishing he could shake feeling back into his hand without anyone seeing him do it.

'Low bastard… fine gentleman, no difference,' Eudoxia cried, 'no matters. I never meetink nobody that Poppa do not… oh, tell me what is word?' she flustered, looking to him for aid.

Murder? Lewrie wryly supposed. 'Distrust?' he said, instead.

'Da, distrust, spasiba, Kapitan Lewrie,' Eudoxia hotly agreed, her eyes glinting as cold as the snowy steppes that had birthed her. She turned to face her father and launched into a rapid, gutturally-garbling bit of foreign 'argey-bargey.' Durschenko Senior glowered, scowled, gawped, and stamped a booted foot, by turns, leaning back and almost tittering at one point during her harsh tirade, growling and barking like the aforesaid mastiff in the same lingo whenever he could get a word in, which wasn't often.

Other circus people, including those smarmy clowns and mimes, were drawn to their little domestic 'tiff,' and Lewrie wondered if he could crawl away, unnoticed, for every now and then, Arslan Artimovich would snap his head about to glower and snarl at Lewrie, and everyone in Wigmore's Travelling Extravanganza surely had seen him and Eudoxia 'at loggerheads' before. Perhaps, Lewrie dourly fantasised, they had also seen Durschenko lash an interloper away from his precious girl, and were waiting with rising expectations of a good show, perhaps even laying wagers on the outcome?

Their business, now, not mine, Lewrie told himself, giving up all hopes of sporting with the girl, no matter how entrancing. / had a good, hot, freshwater bathe, a fine meal, and the circus was nice, really. Just toddle off? Stand here and look foolish?

For a second, Lewrie wished he had thought to fetch his penny-whistle ashore with him… or knew how to juggle.

The best he could do was manage a semi-dignified departure, if that, he sadly supposed. There was no point in risking being fed to Durschenko's lions at the worst, or being whipped bloody, at the best. Flirtatious and coquettish as Eudoxia was, as welcoming of his attenions, there didn't seem to be a rosy future in it.

Their palaver ended, finally, with a sideways cutting gesture on her father's part, which got his hand off the dagger and a 'nyet!'

'Well, I'll take my leave…' Lewrie said, doffing his hat.

'Eudoxia… goot girl, ponyemayu?' Durschenko rumbled deep in his chest. 'Keep goot, me. Dosvidanya, bolshoi Kapitan. Goot bye'

'Understand completely, sir,' Lewrie replied, sketching a bow to him. 'Ev'nin', Arslan Artimovich. Good ev'nin', Mistress Eudoxia. Hellish-good show,' he added, making a finer 'leg' to her.

'We see you again at Saint Helena, Kapitan Alan Lewrie,' she responded in kind, making a more graceful curtsy than he had suspected she knew how to perform. Dressing robes weren't made for such, though.

'Nyet,' from her father.

'Da!' she hotly retorted.

Time t' scamper, Lewrie thought, feeling the need to employ his hat for a fan, at the charms that curtsy had briefly revealed.

He left them, still yammering away at each other, slinking red-faced and feeling like the veriest perfect fool, as he threaded his way through the circus folk.

He could not help looking back, though, when he attained the draperies, to see the father leading Eudoxia away by her elbow, and she turned her head to watch him leave… for one last sight of him? She gave Lewrie a large-ish shrug as if to say, 'Well, what can we do?' yet… a second later, began to grin, her mercurial, minx-like impishness returning. She pursed her lips for a distant kiss!

Well, Lewrie thought, lustily stunned past dread; or close to it, anyway; Well well, well well, hmmm!

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

To where might they run, Sir Tobias?' Capt. Graves of Horatius asked with a weary note to his gravelly voice after listening to Capt. Treghues expound on why he had decided not to allow shore liberty for their hands, now that they were snugly anchored in James's Valley harbour, at the East India company entrepot of St. Helena.