Dewey Lambdin - A Jester’s Fortune

• Название: A Jester’s Fortune
• Автор: Dewey Lambdin
• Жанр: Морские приключения

The year is 1796 and the soil of Piedmont and Tuscany runs with blood, another battle takes shape on the mysterious Adriatic Sea. Alan Lewrie and his 18-gun sloop, HMS Jester, part of a squadron of four British warships, sail into the thick of it. But with England's allies failing, Napoleon busy rearranging the world map, and their squadron stretched dangerously thin along the Croatian coast, the British squadron commander strikes a devil's bargain: enlisting the aid of Serbian pirates.

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"Aye, sir. No problem, sir!" he replied, relieved that Lewrie would look the other way. He brought them after a quick search, rubbing off the drying blood with his musket cleaning rag. He laid them on Lewrie s palm. Lewrie peered down at them, glittering and clean again. Then folded his hand and shoved them deep into a pocket of his breeches.

"Now get me back aboard Jester, if you'd be so good, Spendlove," Lewrie sighed. "Away from this…"

And limped away… with his four guineas recovered for the wine- and the last to pay for all.

Epilogue

Quod sin ea Mavors abnegat,

et solis nostris sudoribus obstat,

ibimus indecores frustratque

tot aequora vectae?

But if Mars refuses,

and alone resists our efforts;

shall we depart disgraced

after traversing so many seas in vain?

Argonautica, Book V, 667-669

Gaius Valerius Flaccus

CHAPTER 1

"This, sir, is for you," Lewrie announced, handing over a canvas binder that contained documents for Captain Charlton, as soon as he'd been admitted aft in Lionheart's great-cabins, "I fear they may be bad news, after getting ashore at Venice. Our consul told me."

"And what led you as far afield as Venice, sir?" Charlton asked, with a dubious brow up. "And off-station more than a week?"

"My written report, sir, will discover all to you," Lewrie said, presenting him with a second folded-over sheaf of papers. "One from Leut-nant Kolodzcy is included, as well."

Charlton looked puzzled, but he broke the wax seal on the orders first, waving Lewrie to a chair and a decanter of wine while he took a seat behind his desk and began to read.

"Oh, bloody…" Charlton nearly moaned, dropping the orders to his lap and staring off into the aether, looking aghast. "It's true?"

"Aye sir, sorry," Lewrie confirmed. "Bonaparte's repulsed the Austri-ans again, round Bassano… taken Trent, up in the passes in the Alps and sent 'em running. French troops landed at Bastia, and we had to evacuate, so Corsica and San Fiorenzo Bay are gone. We still garrison Capraia and Elba, but… And the Spanish, sir. Consul told me-"

" Spain 's declared war on Great Britain, aye," Charlton sighed, with an uncomprehending shake of his head. "Thrown in with France, and the Coalition's broken. We're on our own, with half of Europe against us. Dear Lord…!" He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose in weariness. "That's it for us, too, it seems. Admiral Jervis has been ordered by London to evacuate the Mediterranean… retire upon Gibraltar. Therefore, he writes, we're to leave the Adriatic, and are to make 'the best of our way' there for further orders. At once."

"Our consul suspected, sir, but couldn't confirm that." Lewrie coughed into his fist. "He did suggest all British subjects get out of the way of the fighting, return home, so I surmised it would be coming. Leave Venice, too, he thought, and get to Denmark or a neutral Baltic port as best they're able… or take passage west on neutral ships. I beg your pardon for the delay, sir, but I took the liberty of informing Lord Rushton and Sir Malcolm Shockley. Whilst tidying up the… matter which forced me to Venice. Wouldn't do for the Frogs to capture members of our peerage, or one of our greatest manufacturers. Lord, and a

Member of Parliament?"

"And what matter was that, sir?" Charlton enquired, sounding a touch frosty.

"Clearing our escutcheon of murder, rape and torture, sir. And destroying the pirate Mlavic, who took a Venetian ship, slaughtered all the French prisoners held at Palagruza," Lewrie bluntly replied. "Making hostages of Kolodzcy and me… It's all in our reports, sir." "Hang yer reports!" Charlton blazed. "Tell it me!" And Lewrie did, paraphrasing, of course, but leaving few of the lurid details out, letting his unresolved revulsion and anger mask his duplicity. Quite well, he thought.

"So we dashed off to Palagruza, sir, hoping to find Mlavic. Not as mystical as his chief, d'ye see, sir?" Lewrie spun out, glib at his tale by then. "Since neither of us could talk Petracic out of his scheme, we thought Mlavic could… convince him there was a job of work still to be done for us, first… and that he wasn't anywhere near strong enough to launch his holy crusade yet, for the second. Wasn't time to inform you, sir, given Petracic's state of mind. He might've begun before Mlavic could get to him, so…" He shrugged, dipping his nose into a wineglass for cover. "Got there just in time to be made prisoner, forced to watch his butchery, and found he'd pissed in the font and taken a Venetian ship out of greed and simple stupidity. It was neck-or-nothing there for a while, but… we beat him. Killed him and most of his men, freed the women and children, got the survivors on their own ship and back to Venice, sir. Had a good word from their authorities for that, sir. Oh, by the by… sorry. This letter from the Doge is for you, sir. A vote of thanks. Sorry I was remiss. They're grateful to us! Swore they'd alert their garrisons and naval units to hunt Petracic down 'fore he does a mischief. Though we know what that amounts to, sir."

Alerts sent to empty forts, skeleton garrisons, abandoned fleets rotting at their moorings, with but one sailor each as harbour-watch?

"More effectively, sir," Lewrie went on in the stunned silence, "our consul said they'd also sent notice to Ragusa, Dulcigno and some of the Croatian navy bases. I expect it'll be they who'll do the hunting, and the bringing to book."

"Did they, indeed!" Charlton goggled. "Vote of thanks? But… Jesus Christ. Had you come to me first, I might've been able to talk to Petracic-"

"With this order to evacuate, though, sir, isn't that moot?" he pointed out. "And us gone, 'fore anyone linked us to the taking of the Venetian ship? Or whatever bloody raid Petracic had in mind?"

Charlton opened the Doge's letter, done in both flowery Italian and even more florid English, just in case. He swelled with pride for a second or two, then deflated just as quickly, dropping that one into his lap, too, and looking bleak.

"Christ, we were a single step away from infamy," Charlton realised. "Gulled us, they did. Had this in the back of their minds from the start. Would have shouted our involvement to make them sound legitimate! Oh, Dear Lord…" he groaned, passing a hand over his face. "I've been a fool, Lewrie. A total, purblind, goddamned fool!"

And a hearty "Aye aye, sir!" Lewrie rather doubted would be necessary, nor desired, at that moment.

"Tried to warn me off it, God knows," Charlton sighed, looking ready to weep, staring at nothing-possibly a vision of a completely ruined Navy career? "But no, I had to be so damned calculating, sly-boots… so damned clever and… improvising]" he chid himself, sneering at his pretensions. "Thought a brilliant coup, great results, the master-stroke'd… hmmph! Broad-pendant, that sort o' fancy? Should have known, clever ain't in my nature. Not that sort o' subtle backbiting clever. Best left to your sort, Lewrie… no slur on you, sir. Hope you won't take it as such. You're one of the truly clever, more suited for subtle endeavours. I'm just a straightforward sea-dog… give me a proper fight, nothing too taxing on my poor modicum of wit? And, a total failure, it would now appear. Too lack-wit for this…"

"Not at all, sir!" Lewrie felt it politic to toady. "Why-"

"Well, at least I'm man enough to own up to my idiocies," Captain Charlton sighed, patting his greying, frazzled hair. "Write a report for -Admiral Jervis, no wheedling or hair-splitting. S'pose I'm still man enough to do that… when I can't seem to manage much else. He'll string me up from a yard-arm by my thumbs, I'd expect…"

"You mustn't take it quite so hard, sir," Lewrie objected, in true sympathy for Charlton; he had no wish to see the man ruinedl He had made one mistake out of hundreds of decisions, and it wouldn't be even a minor footnote in anyone's history, since their folly had been nipped in the bud. "Managing the diplomatic niceties, sir? Directing an under-strength and far-flung squadron well as you did? Swept every French trader into harbour quaking in their boots, sir. Scared every large vessel from the trade, too. I doubt Petracic or Mlavic took more than four or five, not counting the Venetian, o' course. And he burned all but one of those, sir! Acting under our aegis, sir, so to speak… that is to say, we eliminated four or five more, in toto. I burned that brig I took for Mlavic, too, so…"

"Aye, one might look at it that way, couldn't one?" Charlton brightened. Only for a second, though-then he reached out to pour himself a glass of wine. "Thing that irks, though, Lewrie is… e'en so, well as we did, really…"

That's the way! Alan noted; "we did well," now. You did! "… end result of our efforts, we didn't make a tinker's damn's worth of difference. French fleet's at sea, what we hoped to prevent. Allied with the Dons, so we're beaten. Skulking away with our tails between our legs. And I don't much care for it!" Charlton fumed.

"Our turn'U come, sir, just you watch," Alan tried to cheer him. "A good, clean gunnel-to-gunnel fight or two. Win 'em, too."

"Well, then…" Charlton huffed, looking more businesslike. "We're probably the last Royal Navy vessels east of Corsica, and this may be an infrestiri passage out. Our British civilians at Venice… we should put in there, take aboard as many as wish-"

"Beg pardon, sir," Lewrie exclaimed, quite happy to discuss any other matters. "I took the liberty as well of embarking Lord Rushton, his traveling companion Mr. Chute, Sir Malcolm and Lady Lucy Shockley, their servants, and a Mrs. Connor. In my report, sir… third page…" Charlton thumbed through to it and nodded, raising his eyebrows in wonder. "Jhm-humm" he commented. "So this lady and her son might need dropping off at Zante, in the Ionians? Delaying our departure?"

"No, sir. She's of Greek parentage, Venetian citizenship, but the widow of an Irish trader. Converted to his faith… Catholicism, when she married, so… she's not exactly welcome with her family, I gather… Eastern Orthodox? She was aboard that ship Mlavic took, on her way back from closing her late husband's final accounts. She had planned to take passage to England, to reside with her former in-laws, the child's grandparents, in Bristol. Her household goods have been sent on, and there'd be no cause to call at Zante."

"And Leutnant Kolodzcy?" Charlton asked, still "My wording" and "Good God'-ing" over Lewrie s written account. "Our liaison?"

"Disembarked at Venice, sir, and took a packet to Trieste."

"Good." Charlton nodded, looking pleased. "Good, then! There will be no need to put in at either port, so we may exit the Adriatic at once."

"Uhm, sir…?" Lewrie frowned. "Not put into Trieste, sir? I thought their Prize-Court, uhm… ain't they owing us a rather hefty sum by now?"

"There is that, I grant you, Commander Lewrie," Charlton said with a chuckle. "But… our orders are to sail 'with all despatch'… no time for a side-trip, no matter how rewarding. You know the usage, surely! Our own Prize-Courts take years to adjudicate the simplest of captures, and awards come even later, long after the taking vessel has paid off or been recommissioned. I'd expect our mutual ambassadors to wrangle it out, most-like. Else we'd be laid up for weeks and caught by a French squadron with no hope of aid. And," Charlton mused, wearing a cynical expression, "the Austrians have a lot more to worry over than anything to do with us, or their own naval affairs. Such as they are, mind. The worthless…" He bit off what else he thought of the Austrian "navy."

"Very well, sir," Lewrie said with a shrug, as if the loss did not matter, all that lovely gold he was due!

"Your wound, sir… you mentioned." Charlton turned all consoling. "No complications? You're mending well?"

"Aye, sir… no trouble of it."

"Good, good." Charlton nodded, sipping at his wine. "My stars, sir! Your great-cabins must be crowded as the very Ark. 'Twill never do for anyone to say I made a peer suffer. Nor one of our most eminent industrial gentlemen… and both with a seat in Parliament, what? We must put in somewhere and shift them about, share the burden equally. I can only think that you've had a most int'restin' passage thus far, sir."

"Quite, sir," Lewrie replied with a shy grin.

Don't know the half of it, he confessed to himself.

"This Lord Peter Rushton and his traveling companion, Mr. Chute, are old schoolmates of yours, I recall, Lewrie? Perhaps it might best suit that they remain aboard Jester."

Oh, Christ, no! Lewrie wished he could shout.

"Well, sir… he is highest-ranking. Wouldn't it be… pardon me for daring to presume to suggest, sir, but… like-with-like, sir? Aboard the flagship? Though you may find them perhaps too-boisterous company. Chute's a bit 'fly,' a born rogue. And Lord Peter, well… they're both bachelors, sir. A tad, uhm… dare I mention, rakish?"

And sniffin' round Theoni like ram-cats on a queen on-heat! he allowed himself to fume; smarmy shits, never done me a single favour, and know too much about me already!

"Oh, better yet, sir!" Lewrie exclaimed. "The perfect pairing. They could be put aboard Pylades with Captain Rodgers. His ways are near theirs… bit of the rough-and-tumble? Besides, sir, Sir Malcolm and Lady Shockley… though they are a step below Lord Rushton in the peerage… Sir Malcolm is known to be a dab-hand at whist, sir. Much more influential, I recall, too. Scads richer, to be certain."

Long as you don't pair 'em with Fillebrowne, Lewrie thought; or, do! God, what a catfight that'd be, should Fillebrowne even try to have himself a quick "upright" in the chart-space!

"Aye, an excellent suggestion, Commander Lewrie," Captain Charlton said with a smile. "I stand in your debt, sir. And I find your kind consideration of my hobby most gratifying. Seas are a bit rough for a transfer at the moment, so… hmm. Ah. There," he said, consulting a chart that lay spread on his desk with pen-eases and such. "I own to a certain morbid curiosity… and it is the closest sheltered lee we have. Palagruza. We'll put in there this evening. Anchor overnight, and shift your passengers and their dunnage about in calmer water. I will dine them all aboard Lionheart, with all our captains. You and… this Mrs. Connor, as well. Then sail tomorrow morning for the straits."

"Very good, sir. Well… s'pose I should get back to Jester," Lewrie offered, rising. "Unless there's anything else you need, sir?"

"Uhm, no, Lewrie, your reports more than ample," Charlton told him, rising to see him off. "Uhm… anent our pirates. Does this lady know our involvement with Petracic and Mlavic?"

"No, sir."