A King's Trade Read Online Free

brimming measure.
    â€œAnd, do you come this way, sir,” Lewrie had offered, gesturing aft, “we’ll ‘splice’ our own. I’ve a case of fine French claret.”
    â€œDelighted!” Nicely had cried; though his eyes
had
been shifty.
    Once below, with Aspinall and Andrews, Lewrie’s long-time Black Cox’n, to take charge of hats, swords, and such, Capt. Nicely shied a bit, peering about intently, though managing to hide most of his nervousness deuced well.
    â€œIt, ahh…you’ve re-painted lately, have ye, Lewrie?”
    â€œNossir, not in some time, why?” Lewrie said as he did honours with the first ready-opened and breathing bottle with his own hands.
    â€œIt smells…fresher than I recall,” Nicely tentatively allowed, accepting a semi-conical, low-stemmed, and footed glass from him.
    â€œOh, the cats, d’ye mean, sir,” Lewrie replied with a well-hid simper. “Don’t know quite
what
got into ‘em, when you were aboard. A tribe that don’t brook ‘change’ all that well, I’ve discovered. A new person where their master usually is…pining for me, as well, sir? My apologies, again, for what harm they did your things.”
    Far aft in the bed-space, Lewrie could espy two pairs of ears, two sets of hard-slit and wary eyes, perhaps even two noses, one with pink nostrils, the other grey, lurking over the top of his extra pillow and the folded-up coverlet, inhis wide-enough-for-two hanging bed. Where, he fervently hoped at that moment, they would be content to stay…muttering only the
faintest
spiteful “Mrrrs,” scheming nothing.
    â€œDelightful creatures,” Nicely intoned without even attempting to sound convincing.
    â€œAnd didn’t they take to you, just, sir!” Lewrie couldn’t help saying as he led Nicely to the dining-coach and a seat at the table.
    â€œUmmm…yayss,” Nicely rejoined, “and aren’t you so fortunate?”
    High summer in Jamaica, even with wind scoops erected at every hatchway, the awnings rigged tautly over the quarterdeck against direct sunlight, and all the transom or coach-top windows of the great-cabins opened, mitigated against a heavy repast. They’d begun with a thin but spicy chicken broth, which was followed by freshly-caught red snapper with lemon and clarified butter sauce, and boiled carrots. Green salad with shredded bacon and oil-and-vinegar cleansed the palate for a main course of de-boned pork chops served with fried potato wedges and middling dollops of mushy peas, which repast required the opening of some hock with the fish, soup, and salad, and a second bottle of claret with the chops.
    Not a single word was said about their coming mission far to the South’rd, of French and Spanish foes sheltered at Aruba or Curaçao, at Caracas or Cartagena, nor what dangers lurked in the port of Cayenne, or the marshy inlets of French Giuana, and Lewrie
had
begun to squirm a bit, waiting for a particularly ugly, but “inspired,” shoe to drop.
    It was expected, of course, that naval officers never discussed Politics, Religion, Women, or “Work” in the mess, so…perhaps
after?
    It was only once the tablecloth had been whisked away, the sweet biscuits and mixed nuts, and the port bottle, had been set out, that a nigh-broody Capt. Nicely had appeared to wince, or steel himself for a secret discussion, requesting that Aspinall make himself scarce.
    Secret doings?
Lewrie had wondered;
Or… look out, here comes another of his brain storms, with me up t’my neck in the quag, again.
    â€œSo…what is it to be, sir?” Lewrie had prompted, scooting up closer to the table, expecting to hear Capt. Nicely whisper revelations about secret sailing times, sealed orders for
rendezvous
out at sea, so the French, who still had informers on Jamaica despite efforts to root them out, would hear nothing of the