The King - Dewey Lambdin

"She could be escorted north by one of the patrol vessels here in the harbor already, sir," Ayscough allowed, turning to peer out the open window once more. "There's a ketch-rigged ship out there that's suit. See her yonder? And if not her, perhaps the brig lying farther out. That might be best, after all. In addition to whatever vessel we may send out from Calcutta before Telesto is ready to rejoin our endeavor."

"Little better than fishing smacks and packets," Twigg scoffed.

"Some fresh paint, the proper flag flying, and at a distance who may deny they are not well-manned warships?" Ayscough shot back. He was in a fine and confident fettle now, and would not be gainsayed. "Were I a pirate, I'd not wish to fight one of them. One hard battle yardarm to yardarm would cause so much damage the raiding season would be over right there.

That's the risk a privateersman takes. I doubt if this Frog Choundas wants to fight a real battle against a flotilla, after all. Overpowering one weak merchantman at a time is more his style."

"Even more reason for him to turn tail and run for God knows where as soon as he spots strange ships in his harbor," Twigg gloomed.

"They might look like early captures," Lewrie suggested. "If they were in harbor, sirs. Even more reason to enter and moor, to see what the booty amounts to so far."

"And should Choundas arrive early, enter harbor," Twigg carped, "and not be utterly destroyed, then Telesto hits that empty bag you spoke of, with him days' gone and free to plunder still!"

"Come, Mister Twigg, you cannot have things both ways," Captain Ayscough smirked. "Either he will arrive early, as Lewrie suspects, or he shall keep to his previous schedule, as you bejieve. Either way, sufficient force shall confront him."

Twigg opened his mouth to make further objections, but Ayscough raised a restraining hand and cut him off.

"You, sir, have fulfilled your brief. You were charged with an investigation into the disappearance of so many of our merchantmen, of identifying which native pirates were responsible. And that you have done. You were further charged with the task of unmasking the French behind their activities. And that, too, you have accomplished. You have found their base of operations, when to expect their arrival to launch more depredations against English shipping and have raised a naval and military force to destroy them."

"Yes, but…"

"But now, sir," Ayscough hammered on, "the said destruction is a naval and military matter, the proper use of those forces allocated to you. And that use, Mister Twigg, is my bailiwick at sea, and it is Sir Hugo's on the land. From here on out, sir, allow other batsmen to have their innings. Now, you may hold our coats."

And about bloody well time, too, Alan thought! Damn all civilian meddlers. Especially the ones that dreamt this horror up in the first place.

"Are you familiar with the vessels in harbor, Sir Hugo?" The captain asked.

"Hmm, I fear it's my son who understands things nautical, Captain Ayscough," Sir Hugo replied, chuckling. "The brig, I believe, though, is a Macao packet. I've heard tell the… what-you-called-it… a ketch?… is the local supply ship from Calcutta or Madras. I've met their owners."

"I shall wish to speak to them about hiring or selling us their ships, should they prove suitable," Ayscough said decisively. "I believe that we have sufficient funds aboard Telesto at present to do so, and pay a guinea joining-bounty for every hand that signs into service. Do we not. Mister Twigg?"

"Aye, sir, we do," Twigg nodded, all fight blown out of him.

Sir Hugo took Alan's arm and steered him out to the verandah as the details were thrashed out. It was a little cooler, but not much, out of the overcrowded rooms. They could hear Twigg, still insisting they sail for Calcutta as soon as the weather moderated.

"Thank you for that back there, Alan."

"Oh, you're welcome, sir."

"I'd have done just about anything to get my troops out of this malaria-ridden sink!" Sir Hugo said with some heat. "Do you always up and speak your mind like that? Can't promise you an ambitious naval career if you keep that up. But for now, I'm grateful. And for what you said. About 'your dear father.' "

"Well, about that, sir…" Lewrie cringed. "It was the only way to get your support, you see. Get you to listen to what I had to say and back my play. I expected you wanted to get your arse out of Bencoolen, before you went under to some sickness, so what you want, and what I thought needed doing, could work together."

"Damn you, you little shit!" Sir Hugo stiffened. "Get mine own arse out of here? Do you think what I said about my men was so much moonshine?"

"I've never known you to care very much about anyone. I don't know what to believe," Lewrie replied evenly.

"By God, Alan, you may think me the biggest sinner you'll ever meet, but you'll not lay that on me!" his father growled. "Before I wasted seed enough to quicken your miserable life, I was a soldier! May not have been a great one. May not have been a glad one most of the time, but I was good enough. Think what you will of me, but by God above, this battalion is mine. I fought with it, marched with it, killed with it and bled with it. We've cracked lice together, eaten the same rotten food, swilled the same filthy water, and they look to me to do what's right by 'em! And I will, no matter what you think. You may sneer at 'em. Sneering's a thing I remember you're quite good at. So they're not a fashionable English regiment! Think they're not good soldiers just because they're Hindoos? Think it's a come-down for me… all I can command is a tag-rag-and-bobtail pack of bare-arsed Bengalis? Well, let me tell you, even when they were at their worst, they're the best troops I've ever seen, Goddamn your blood! And now they've been fleshed out and equipped proper, I could take them through the Brigade of Guards like suet through a goose. Something else I'm prepared to do, and they know it… I'm their colonel-I'm ready to die with 'em, if it comes to that. Aye, you sneer all you bloody well want. Maybe you were born a bastard after all!"

Sir Hugo reset his waist-coat, the hang of his smallsword, and thumped down the steps to the muddy yard, leaving Lewrie at a loss for words, red-faced with sudden shame.

"Sir?" Alan called out, stepping down into the mud and drizzle. "Father?"

Sir Hugo halted and turned around, squelching mud on his boots.

"Yes?" he snapped.

"I'm sorry. I didn't know," Alan admitted. "I didn't even know there was anything you really cared about. Except for money and quim."

"Well, they still rate pretty high on my list of favorites," Sir Hugo confessed. "Doing what I'm best at, horrible as it can be, is on that list, too, you know."

"I most heartily apologize, Father."

"Apology accepted. Son. To be expected, I suppose. You know very little about me. Part of that's my fault. Come to my quarters."

"You haven't brought your band with you, have you?" Alan smiled.

"No, and the girls are in someone else's bibikhana now. Still, I never travel without a decent wine cellar. There's some claret you might appreciate." Sir Hugo laughed.

"I'd admire that, thankee… Father."

"You know," Sir Hugo commented as they trudged across the muddy maidan of die military cantonment, "I don't half trust your man Twigg."

"I've yet to know what to make of him, yes."

"What bothered me most was what you said about scouting out the islands we're to capture. He sounded more eager to get his precious goods back to Calcutta. First ship in would reap a fortune. Fortune to fund your expedition out here, yes. And fortune enough to line the pockets of a palatikal with what's left over."

"He knew!" Alan spat out. "That's what surprised me. Right after we sank La Malouine, he knew. By that morning at the latest. And yet he kept it to himself, told no one, didn't suggest we look in on the Spratlys. If that taifun hadn't forced us down here to Bencoolen for shelter, I expect we'd be halfway up the Malacca Straits by now, your battalion be damned, and he'd sit on his news until we'd crossed the Hooghly Bar. Probably wanted something to impress Warren Hastings with."

"Ah, well he'd better be quick about it, then. Hastings is under a cloud. There's talk from home of him sailing for England to face impeachment charges with 'John Company.' Might have someone new in the Bengal Presidency soon."

"Someone who doesn't know a bloody thing about our mission?"

"That could make things very interesting." Sir Hugo frowned. "Damme, here come the bloody rains again! I assume a sailor can run? Run or get soaked."

'This sailor can," Alan said, matching the older man's stride easily.

"One thing to expect," Sir Hugo puffed.

"What?"

"Twigg probably cares for you now… as much as cold, boiled mutton," Sir Hugo replied between breaths. "Look for a spell of the dirty."

Chapter 4

It didn't seem like a spell of the dirty, even if Twigg had a hand in influencing the captain's decision.

Ayscough had explained it to him. Lieutenant Choate, as first officer and his most reliable man, would be the one first in line to take the job, normally, but he would be needed to take command of whichever suitable vessel they hired in Calcutta while Telesto was refitting.

To fill his vacancy, he had to draw upon his next-most experienced and skilled officer, Lieutenant Percival, to remain aboard Telesto to advance to first officer in Choate's absence. Lieutenant McTaggart had to remain aboard Telesto, at least to Calcutta, and go as first officer for Choate in his new captaincy.

Captain Ayscough could advance the midshipmen-in-disguise now serving as master's mates to Mr. Brainard into acting lieutenants, but they would be slender reeds upon which to depend to command the escort north with Lady Charlotte.

"As I said in my journal about this matter, Mister Lewrie," the captain had told him, "that leaves only you, but you have shewn yourself to be more than reliable, competent and daring, but not too daring. I also made note that you only of the remaining commission officers, had, no matter your lack of seniority, commanded a King's ship even briefly. The chore is fairly simple, if you do not exceed your brief and go off chasing pirates too rashly. If they don't kill you, then I shall."

Lewrie got command of Culverin.

She had started life in 1778 as a bomb-ketch, laid down in Calcutta once the last war had spread from the Colonies to a world-wide conflagration against the Spanish, the Dutch and the French. To be a bomb-ketch, she had to be solid and heavy enough to absorb the kick of two twelve-inch mortars firing at high angle, so she was made of teak, as overbuilt as a 1st Rate line-of-battle ship, though her sides did not need to be as thick. She would never have been required to stand in the line of battle, anyway. She was further stiffened with riders that were scarfed from her frames as cross-members, to the keelson up to the deck beams, making her interior a maze totally unsuitable for large cargoes, with much of her centerline length taken up below deck as magazine and shot racks for her former weapons.