Seasons of War 2-Book Bundle (43 page)

Trevelyan raised an eyebrow and hunched over to glower at Magpie, droplets from his cloak soaking into Prosper’s loaf of bread. Magpie was too terrified to answer, his mind now busy imagining that Mr. Lindsay would march him down a lonely back alleyway and fix thumbscrews to his private parts to make him talk. His only hope was that Prosper would pull his face out of that woman’s bosom long enough to see that he needed saving.

“This worthless mongrel was the
Isabelle’s
sail maker, sir,” said Mr. Lindsay, tightening his hold on Magpie’s shirt.

Magpie thought he was going to be ill.

Trevelyan was as serene as if he were greeting a friend. “Well, then, Mr. Lindsay, we must bring him back to the
Serendipity.
If we seize him up to the shrouds, he might have a few tales worth hearing.”

“Or we could treat him to a miscreant midshipman’s caning, sir.”

“Better still, we could feed his fingers to the local alligators.”

Up came Magpie’s stomach, his colourful, half-digested supper of oyster stew, corn pone, and plums spewed forth, splattering all over Captain Trevelyan’s cloak and Mr. Lindsay’s shiny boots. Both men jumped back in annoyance, knocking over a server and her liquor-laden tray. As tin and pewter connected with the floor’s flags, shrieks of surprise and dismay rent the tavern air. In the chaotic din that ensued, Magpie recognized Prosper’s provocative roar.

“Ya wee jackanapes, run fer it
now!”

Dumping the sodden loaf of bread into the putrid puddle frothing on the floor, Magpie scratched and clawed his way through the smelly tangle of sailors and flew like grapeshot towards the tavern’s front door.

“Stop that foundling!” shouted Trevelyan behind him.

“Don’t let that mongrel escape!”

“There he is! Grab hold of him!”

As he fled for his life, his terror turned his mind to mush; still, up ahead, he was able to distinguish Prosper Burgo in the mob. As if it were commonplace for Magpie to have enemy soldiers upon his heels, Prosper sat sedately at his table, one arm draped around his companion’s voluptuous shoulders, his head wobbling about on his scrawny neck, his back teeth now well-afloat. Fearing he was on his own, Magpie fixed his eye on the opening tavern door as he dodged grasping hands and leapt over legs meant to trip him up. And as he bolted past Prosper, he was certain he heard him say, “I’ll follow ya when thee way be clear.”

14

Tuesday, June 22

1:00 a.m.

(Middle Watch, Two Bells)

Aboard the
Prosperous and Remarkable

GUS’S EYES FLEW OPEN, the sudden noise having awakened him. Pemberton Baker was still sitting near his cot, whittling away at a chunk of wood with a small knife, his features unremarkable and placid in that large face of his.

“Was that cannon-fire, Mr. Baker?”

“It were only a clap o’ thunder. And it’s
Pemberton.
We don’t much stand on formalities round here.”

“But are you quite certain? It was so loud!”

“Common thing in these parts … thunderclaps.”

“Is Magpie back?”

“Nay! Whisht now and go to sleep.”

Alarmed, Gus lifted his head from his pillow. “Shouldn’t he be back by now? What time is it?”

“Close to two bells in thee Middle Watch.”

“You don’t think anything has happened, do you?”

“Nay! Yer friend’s as safe with Prosper Burgo as with God.” Pemberton returned to his whittling. “Sleep now. Thee more sleepin’ ya do, thee sooner ya’ll be leavin’ yer cot.”

“Why aren’t
you
in bed, Mr. … Pemberton?”

Another rumble of thunder rattled the brig’s timbers. Pemberton studied his knife. “Not sleepy. But I’ll be goin’ soon; me bed’s over yonder. You whisht now.”

Gus closed his eyes and tried to summon slumber, but the thunder frightened him, booming all around as if the
Prosperous and Remarkable
were under siege. He turned his head to watch Pemberton work, digging and paring away at his chunk of wood, the tiny shavings falling like crumbs onto the bent knees of his beige trousers. Then, raising his eyes to Pemberton’s wide, blank face, he whispered, “Would you stay awhile and talk to me? I should like to hear what became of the
Isabelle.”

3:30 a.m.

(Middle Watch, Seven Bells)

Aboard the USS
Serendipity

PULLING THE HOOD of his borrowed rain cloak over his head, Leander stepped onto the weather decks of the
Serendipity.
Instantly, the rain found his face, but he welcomed it after the heat and oppression of the ship’s bowels. The decks were empty except for the glum souls on watch and a handful of others who had earlier been celebrating a bit too heartily and had simply dropped before they could stumble off to their beds. On a discarded heap of canvas, he spotted a sleeping Meg Kettle, snuggled up with a snoring sailor, both of them oblivious to the pelting rain in the happiness of their makeshift bed. It was perhaps fortunate that Trevelyan and his new toady, Octavius Lindsay, had made plans to spend the night in Charleston.

With a pounding heart, Leander wandered to the part of the ship where Emily was housed. Flashes of lightning revealed the area around her cabin to be clear; no one stood guard there now. Nevertheless, in the event he was stopped and questioned, he had invented an excuse and, for insurance, brought his medical chest along. As he neared his destination, he strode past two sailors who were busy clearing the upper deck of the filth and clutter from the night’s carousing. Both of them nodded in his direction, nothing on their worn-out features indicating they thought it amiss that the British doctor should be wandering near the great cabin in the middle of the night.

Leander studied the closed doors before him. Rattling snores filled the air, though he could not pinpoint their origin, as the walls of the cabins were nothing more than flimsy sheets of canvas stretched upon frames of wood. Thanks to information provided by one of his patients, Leander now knew where it was that Emily lay, and twice now he had spied young Charlie Clive coming out of her cabin, carrying a tray. He moved towards her door and quietly set his medical chest on the floor by his feet. Then, reaching into his coat pocket, he pulled out the package of bread and meat that Joe Norlan had kindly brought back for him from town. He knocked once and took a step backwards to listen. Inside her cabin there was movement – of that he was certain – but to his dismay the snoring suddenly stopped. Had his knock awakened a nearby officer? Hardly daring to breathe, he waited, but when nothing happened, he grew restless.

“Emily?” he whispered into the night. “Emily, it’s me.”

The long-awaited reply – one word mumbled in a sleepy voice – caused him both joy and physical pain.

“Doctor?”

Faint with excitement, he called out again. “I’m right here at your door. I’ve – I’ve brought you some food.”

“Why, Doctor, was ya lookin’ fer me?”

Whirling about, Leander came face to face with Meg Kettle. She stood there, one hand on her prodigious hips, the other rumpling her untidy hair, a jubilant expression pressed upon her fat cheeks. She snatched away the meat sandwich and sank her grey teeth into it. Then, producing from her apron pocket a key that she dangled before him, she unlocked Emily’s door and, keeping her eyes on him, squeezed her bulk into the cabin. “Doctor,” she said, chewing with her mouth open, “it’s a bit late fer me to be entertainin’ visitors, if ya knows what I mean.”

Leander reddened. “This – this is
your
cabin?”

“’Tis
now,
so shove off or I’ll report yer mischief to Cap’n Trevelyan when he returns.” She slammed the door in his face.

Thunderstruck, Leander remained rooted to the floor timbers, unable to comprehend this disastrous turn of events.
She
was there, a few feet from him, a bit of canvas separating them, yet he could do nothing. The two sailors were now watching him. By lantern light, Leander could see sportive smiles upon their faces. Retrieving his medical chest, he reluctantly left Emily in the hands of Meg Kettle, and with his head held high, brushed by the sailors, ignoring their mirthful clucks. His fingers tensed around the handle of his medical chest and determination burned in his breast. Sooner than later, he would find another opportunity.

5:00 a.m.

(Morning Watch, Two Bells)

Aboard the
Prosperous and Remarkable

OUT OVER THE OCEAN there were still muted bursts of thunder, but the driving downpour that had knocked for ages against the sides of the
Prosperous and Remarkable
next to Gus’s head had finally ceased. Lying in his cot, Gus waited for Magpie to strip off his sodden clothing and pull on the oversized muslin shirt that Prosper had donated for his night attire. He was anxious to hear about Magpie’s explorations in Charleston, but didn’t dare tell him he’d been awake for ages, listening for the sound of his familiar step.

“Why are you back so late?” he snapped.

Magpie hopped into his cot, drew his knees up to his chest, and pulled his thin blanket around him. In the light cast by the lantern that hung near their cots, Gus could see that Magpie’s cheeks were aglow and his eye sparkled, and when he finally spoke in a loud whisper, his words tumbled out in a breathless, jumbled torrent. “Oh, sir, when we come back here, I wanted to see ya straight off, but Prosper was insistin’ he change me bandages. And then he was wantin’ to ask me hundreds o’ questions ’bout Cap’n Trevelyan and Octavius Lindsay.”

Gus was aghast. “Trevelyan? Mr. Lindsay? Why?”

“Oh, sir, you’ll never guess – I saw them, in a tavern near the docks. And Trevelyan stands eight feet high and ya wouldn’t like the looks o’ him. He’s got the eyes o’ Lucifer and his hands – they’re all cut up like a farmer’s plough runned him down. And Mr. Lindsay – I don’t understand it, sir, ’cause the last I saw him, he were clapped in irons on the
Isabelle,
but – well, he’s workin’ for Trevelyan now. And ya see, while I were gettin’ Prosper somethin’ to eat, I heared them usin’ big words I didn’t understand and talkin’ ’bout Halifax and Bermuda and the Duke o’ Clarence comin’ to rescue Emily.”

“Emily?”

“Oh, sir. She’s alive. She’s on the
Serendipity,
just like I guessed. Just like I told Prosper. But then I got real scared and threw up me supper all over Trevelyan and Mr. Lindsay’s boots, and they didn’t much like that so I had to run fer me life. And, sir, we … we had to wait ’til the wharf were clear o’ Yankees afore we could get to the cutter and come back. I kept on thinkin’ ’bout that dungeon, and I were so distressed, I couldn’t stop me tears. Prosper told me again and again to quit me snivellin’ or he were gonna feed me to the alligators. They ’ave alligators in these waters, sir, with big teeth! And I didn’t like the thought o’ alligators eatin’ me legs. All the while it were rainin’ and I had to keep hidin’ and watch out for Trevelyan and Mr. Lindsay and the soldiers runnin’ around, hollerin’ and chasin’ us with their muskets, ready to shoot us dead.” He stopped to take in air.

Gus could see Magpie’s body trembling beneath his blanket. “You must slow down and tell me everything from the very beginning.”

Magpie took a deep breath and was about to try again when Pemberton’s firm voice sounded in the darkness. “Lads! Pipe down! Out with thee lantern. Thee call fer hammocks up will come afore ya know it. Whisht now!”

Scurrying from his cot, Magpie quickly blew out the lantern candle and came to kneel beside Gus’s head. “Sir, afore I tell ya ’bout what I saw and heared tonight,” he whispered, “I gotta tell ya ’bout the
Isabelle.
Ya gotta know it first.”

“I do know,” said Gus, glad that Magpie could not see his welling tears. “Pemberton told me everything – that is, everything he’d learned from
you.
He said you didn’t know what happened to the crew, because – because you’d come away in the skiff – to find me.” Gus’s throat closed up and he paused until he once again had full command of his voice. “He did tell me how you came by that embroidered hat you keep under your cot.” Gus felt Magpie’s warm hand close around his forearm, beneath his splints.

“Oh, sir, I wished ya’d never had to learn the truth. I wish we was on the
Isabelle
still, sittin’ in Emily’s corner readin’ that book and Dr. Braden smilin’ upon us and Mr. Crump makin’ wisecracks from his hammock. And Prosper’s biscuits aren’t nearly as tasty as them what Biscuit used to bake.” Magpie began to weep.

“Start from the beginning, Magpie.”

But Magpie’s weeping only grew louder until at last Pemberton raised his voice in warning. “If ya don’t stop yer blubberin,’ I’ll toss ya overboard meself, and trust me, them alligators ya don’t fancy none will be sure ta find ya.”