A King`s Trade

seemed to be flying the distinctive 'Post-Boy' flag of a mail-packet, a Red Ensign sporting a Union flag in the canton, with the horn-blowing rider on a horse that filled the rest of the fly. 'A convoy coming in,' Lewrie muttered.

'Ah, oui?' Durant replied, cheering up as he came to Lewrie's side by the gallery overlooking the wide bay. 'Too soon, I am told, for ships from England, so this must be a convoy from China or India. I hope M'sieur Hodson or I may go aboard them while they are here… to ask of ingredients for fresh medicines. Oil of cloves is…'

'And the mail-packet?' Lewrie asked. 'What of her?' 'Oh, she came in yesterday,' Durant answered. 'I trust there are letters from Madelaine and our babes. For a time, both Hodson and I had to be up here to tend our wounded, but, now their care is not so urgent, M'sieur Hodson return-ed aboard Proteus, leaving me with only three loblolly boys,' he gently complained, his old plaint of being a better-educated and trained physician serving under a 'saw-bones' surgeon. 'I would ask, should you discover any mail forme…?'

'Done, and done,' Lewrie assured him, half his attention still on the incoming ships. 'Well, let us go and visit our hurt men. Once that's done, I'll sort through our mail and send a Midshipman up here with anything for you, or our patients, sir.'

'Merci, Captain. Merci beaucoup.'

I think I can trust a Midshipman not t'run off with the circus! Lewrie grimly told himself.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Welcome back aboard, sir,' Lt. Langlie said, once the salutes of the side-party and officers were done. 'Might I enqire if the hunt went well?'

'It did, indeed, Mister Langlie,' Lewrie gleefully told him as they began to walk aft together. 'The rudder and sternpost are sound as the pound, and now in the local contractors' yard. A week or three more, and we'll be completely ready for sea, again.'

'Excellent news, sir!' Langlie enthused.

'What's happened aboard, now two of our Black sailors have run?' Lewrie asked him. 'And, how did that happen?'

'I stopped all shore liberty since, sir,' Langlie reported, turning sombre. 'My fault, sir… should have seen it coming, what with that mountebank, Wigmore, beguiling them. Perhaps as early as our stop at Saint Helena, I now gather…'

'When they return, if they return, we'll have to make examples of 'em, Mister Langlie,' Lewrie grimly announced. 'Was Wigmore after any of the others?'

'The more exotic, the better, I believe, sir,' Langlie replied. 'Play-act as Hindoo mahouts, should they get themselves some elephants… trick them out as eunuchs or Turk swordsmen for one of his plays, or the circus parades, but, I also have ascertained that the rest of our sailors thought it a daft idea, and rightly reckoned the consequences of desertion. Especially in a land that keeps native Blacks as slaves, and makes war on the rest, sir.'

'Good!' Lewrie declared, relieved to hear it. 'Mister Durant tells me a mail-packet has come in. Was there anything for us?'

'Scads, sir!' Lt. Langlie said, brightening. 'And, may I convey my congratulations, Captain.'

I've quickened another babe somewhere in the world? he thought in confusion; I've inherited all of Surrey?

'You have me at a loss, sir,' Lewrie said to that.

'The latest Captain's List, sir!' Langlie gushed. 'Your name now appears among those of More than Three Years' Seniority. You may 'board' your second epaulet!'

'Well, damn my eyes,' Lewrie replied, after a stunned moment, then began to chuckle. 'With all that's occurred lately, the date that I was 'posted' quite slipped my mind. Thankee for that news, Mister Langlie. A ream of officialese from Admiralty, too, I s'pose.'

'All your letters are in your clerk's possession, sir, awaiting you in your cabins,' Langlie told him.

'Very well, sir,' Lewrie said, eager to be at them, for, with a slew of official documents, there might be personal letters from home as well, word from Twigg or that gaggle of earnest do- gooders who had sworn to defend his good name. 'I'll be aft and below. Do you, in the meantime, see to victualling arrangements for our shore working-party, and send a Lieutenant along to supervise the work, when it begins, on the morrow.'

Aye aye, sir.

'Hello, lads!' Lewrie cooed as Toulon and Chalky swarmed him. 'Miss me, did ye? Yes, I smell exotic, don't I? African dirt, blood, and meat… ain't it tasty? Yes, love you, too, Toulon,' Lewrie told the black-and-white ram-cat as he knelt down, allowing both of them to sniff him, raise up on their hind legs to rub chins on his clothes, and make snoring noises over such blissful new scents. 'Welcome back, sir,' Aspinall happily said. 'Will ye be havin' a sip o' some-thin'… a scrub-up? There's lashin's o' fresh water comes aboard every mornin', enough for a hip-bath, do ye care for it. And, I've your workin'-rig uniform fresh as a daisy, when ye call for it. Cool tea'll take no more than half an hour, too, sir.'

'Should have taken you along, Aspinall,' Lewrie said, as Chalky swarmed up his thigh to scrub the side of his little head on his chin, and start to snuffle his hair. 'I could have used a bit of civilised seeing-to. Ah… a sponge-down, first, aye. A gallon of water, if that much is aboard… two gallons, and I'll wash Africa out of my scalp, too. Ow, Chalky! Here, lad… biltong!' he beguiled, as the newest cat's affection turned 'nippish.' Lewrie reached into a pocket of his slop trousers and pulled out two strips of dried springbok wrapped in a handkerchief. 'Wild game meat, lads. Could have brought it down yourselves, I'm certain, but you can pretend. Smell good, hmm? Taste it, Toulon, ooh yes!'

He tore a strip into wee bites, feeding both cats a bit or two from his fingertips as they swished their tails, rose up on their hind legs again, and went frantic, meowing loudly for more.

'I've two hundredweight coming aboard, Aspinall,' Lewrie said, still on his knees. 'We'll have to find a safe place to store it, else they might founder on it, the first dark night.'

'I'll think o' somethin', sir. Hot water's on the way.'

Lewrie rose at last and went to his desk, where he discovered a fair-sized mound of correspondence, sorted out by his clerk, Padgett, into official Must-Read-First, personal and newspapers, bills, and a slush-pile of Who-Cares and Future-Toilet-Necessities.

Surprisingly, the official pile was rather small, the most of it those sort of directives sent out at quarterly or half-year intervals to every warship in active commission, and yes, it was delightful to pore over the Captain's List to see his own name among those who'd lived long enough, and hadn't come a cropper, with the beginnings of real seniority; down at the bottom of that list, even so, but his name was finally there. And, Lewrie could smugly note, about a quarter of the names above his did not command ships or hold active commissions.

He had to stop and play some more with the cats, reach into the larboard pocket of his trousers, and dig out another strip of biltong with which to placate them before he could pore over the list for the names of friends or foes.

Keith Ashburn, a fellow Midshipman in 1780, was listed in the lower third, in command of a frigate; Francis Forrester, that fubsy fart with all the 'interest' and patronage, was above Keith, now pestering the crew of his own Fifth Rate. His old captain in the Far East, Ayscough, was near the top of the list, with a two-decker 74.

Dropping down to Commanders, he found that Midshipman Hogue of those Far East adventures under Ayscough had just taken command of one of those new-fangled Brig-Sloops, and even more pleasingly, his First Officer into HMS Jester, Lt. Knolles, had been promoted into a Sloop of War with an