"I saved yours, and every man-jack aboard, sir," Alan retorted. "Besides, Claghorne was ready to strike as soon as he saw that brig, and nothing you or anyone else could have said would have changed his mind, and not doing everything in one's power to prepare a ship to fight, or offering no resistance when there's a chance to do so is cowardice, at least a court-martial offense on one charge, sir. But we did offer resistance, and I proved that resistance was possible, so Claghorne should have been strung up, or cashiered. Now it's not my fault Sir Onsley gave that fatuous clown Parrot, sir. Had he given it a little thought, he would have known it was a death sentence, and…"

"God, I knew you were base, but I had no idea you were such a cold-blooded, dissembling hound, Lewrie!" Kenyon marveled. "Had the colors still been flying, your resistance would have resulted in every man-jack, as you put it, slaughtered with cold steel. And to smear a good man's name, to call him a clown, a fatuous clown… I once thought highly of you, Lewrie. I asked for you in Parrot. I took you under my aegis when I saw how you were floundering about those first weeks in Ariadne. I'd like to think that what little you have learned about the Navy was partly my doing."

"It is, sir, believe me."

"I gave you my trust," Kenyon went on, his heart almost breaking as the enormity of Alan's perceived sins overwhelmed his anger. "I brought you up from a seasick younker, taught you, gave you room to grow as a seaman, gave you responsibility, and I thought you were growing into a fine young man. But then you let me down so badly."

"I am sorry you see things that way, sir." Alan calmed, knowing he would not be able to get through Kenyon's screen of bile with any logic. "But I was technically second in command of Parrot at the time, and had a responsibility to do everything I could to prevent us being taken. Lord Cantner's knowledge of government secrets, their persons, the ship's people…"

"Don't cloak your actions in any false sense of duty," Kenyon snapped, back in rancor again. "I told you in my letter I'd not abide you in my presence, nor in my Navy, and I meant it. There's a vile streak to you that belongs in the gutter, not strutting about a quarterdeck as a junior warrant. Now I'm first officer into this ship, I shall make sure you serve her, and the Fleet, no longer than necessary."

"And satisfactory performance at my duties could not alter your resolve, sir," Alan sighed, steeling himself to use his ammunition.

"Not a whit, Lewrie. I mean to see you cashiered, or broken to ordinary seaman and sent forward in pusser's slops."

"That's devilish unfair, sir."

"Not to my lights it ain't."

"There are other officers who think highly of me in this ship, sir," Alan countered. "Your intent will look like persecution."

"I've been in the Navy ten years longer than you, Lewrie, I can find a way, believe me," Kenyon promised with a lupine grin that lit his countenance for a bleak moment. "And when you are broken, I'll shed a martyr's tears over your lost potential. No one shall portray sadness more than I."

"Ah, but you are good at acting, sir," Alan let slip out as the threat loosened his last cautions. "By the way, sir, have you seen Sir Richard Slade in Kingston lately?"

"What do you mean, sir?" Kenyon asked, suddenly on his guard.

"I was just wondering if he was still buggering his little black link-boys, and the odd house-guest?" Alan replied. In for the penny, in for the bloody pound, he thought grimly.

"You think that I…" Kenyon spluttered, but Alan was delighted to note that the man had blanched a fresh, book-paper white under his deep tropical tan, and his eyes almost bulged out of his head.

"I was in 'The Grapes' when you and Sir Richard came up in his coach, sir," Alan went on. "I saw the crest on the door, recognized the man, and the naval lieutenant in the coach with him, sir."

"I never suspected until now just how filthy you are, Lewrie," Kenyon muttered, still floundering after that broadside to his hull. "All the more reason to break you and toss you back into the sinks and stews you came from!"

"But do I malign you, sir?" Alan asked, fighting a grin of triumph. "Or is your manhood just another sham?"

"You'll pay for this," Kenyon said, once he had regained control over himself. He smiled wickedly, which smile made Lewrie wonder if he was half the sly-boots he had thought himself just a second before. But he knew what he had seen, didn't he?

"A beslimed little get like you'll not hope to threaten me with a blackguard's tale, Lewrie," Kenyon swore. "I promised I'd break you, and I shall. And I tell you this. For trying to blackmail me into leniency, I swear I'll see you at the gratings, getting striped by the cat. You'll leave the Navy wearing the 'checkered shirt' that I'll put on you. I'll see you flayed raw and half-killed, and you know I can find a way to do it, don't you. Don't you? Answer me, you Goddamned rogue!"

"Aye, sir," Alan was forced to admit, for the sin of not answering could be construed as a charge of dumb insolence, enough to get him disrated from master's mate, if Railsford was of mind.

"I assure you you'll pay," Kenyon promised, with almost a lover's sweetness. "You'll not enjoy a moment's peace from this day on. And I also assure you, you'll not enjoy what's coming to you. Now get out of my sight!"

"Aye aye, sir," Alan said, saluting and turning away. As he made his way blindly forward, he suffered a cold, shivering fit at what a cock-up he had made of things with his defiant remarks. There was a sheen of sweat on his body and he was like to faint from the encounter.

Damme, how could I have been so abysmally bloody stupid! he thought. If it was just Claghorne and Parrot, I could have found some way to prove my worth to the dirty bastard. Why did I have to say that? In for the penny, in for the pound, indeed! Why, why do I have to think I'm so bloody clever, when I just dig my grave deeper every time I do so?

He fetched up somewhere on the fo'c'sle and pretended to study the angle of the anchor cable and the chafe-gear on the hawse, as he found his breath and tried to still the rising panic in his heart. Where was salvation? Should he go to Railsford immediately and tell him what he had seen? There was a good chance Railsford would not believe him, or Kenyon would have a good excuse for his actions in that coach. He and Sir Richard had been childhood friends, and what was more natural than a goodbye kiss between old friends? It could be painted a lot more innocent than what Alan had seen. And he was sure of that, wasn't he?

Should he parley his new fame into a transfer? He would have to state reasons, and would be back to the same contretemps. Should he simply cash out and escape? Damned if he would!

You and your mouth, Lewrie! he castigated himself. You and your bloody, stupid temper! I've tossed the dice this time, damme if I haven't!

Chapter 4

Desperate spent another week swinging at her anchorage in the inner harbor, as Hood's presence forced the dockyard officials to pay attention to her final repairs, and Alan Lewrie spent that week staying as far forward or aft of the first lieutenant as one could in so restricted a world as a 6th Rate frigate. When forced by duty into immediate vicinity he sweated buckets trying to shrink into his coat and hat to be as anonymous as possible. Oddly, once Kenyon had gone through the ship with a fine-tooth-comb with the warrants and department heads, he had ducked aft into the wardroom as officers did in harbor and stood no watches. And when forced to converse with him, Kenyon showed absolutely no malice or any signs that they had ever had a cross word with each other, which possibly made Lewrie even more nervous than anything else Kenyon could have done.

He'll wait till we're at sea where he can really bugger me, Alan concluded to himself, almost writhing in dread anticipation of how many ways he could be caught out at his duties by an alert and vengeful first officer. With grudge enough, the bloody wooden figurehead could be found derelict and flogged, he realized.

"Passin' the word fer Mister Sedge an' Mister Lewrie!" Alan was torn from his frightful imaginings and summoned aft to Railsford's quarters, which brought even more dread to his already tortured soul. He could not remember one good thing ever happening in the great cabins, even if Treghues was no longer there as their occupant.

Railsford had seemed to expand since his promotion to command. He lolled in a leather-padded dining chair behind a new desk in the day cabin. The furnishings were not as fine as Treghues' had been, much of the dining table and chairs bought used from a shore chandlery, or put together by the carpenter's crew out of such limited selection of lumber as could be found in English Harbor or across the island at St. John's.

Railsford seemed merry enough as they removed their hats and tucked them under their arms. He had one leg flung across a chair arm, his shirt open and his stock removed to savor the balmy breeze that blew in through the transom windows and the open skylight and ventilator chute.

"Admiral Hood informs us he's to seat an examining board day after tomorrow," Railsford began, stuffing tobacco into a clay church-warden, while Freeling puttered about striking flint and tinder to get a light for him. "I thought you two might be interested in it. Mister Sedge, what say you?"

"Beggin' yer pardon, sir, but I'd not be interested."

"The devil you say!" Railsford gawked. "You'd pass easy."

"Aye, sir, I might," Sedge agreed with a small smile. "I've been at sea since I was nine on family ships, sir. But I intend a career in merchant service 'stead of the Navy."

"But still-" Railsford shrugged, his pipe now lit.

"The Navy don't pay, sir, and my family needs money to get back on their feet after what the Rebels looted from us," Sedge concluded in a sigh. "The Navy's only been temp'rary. Sailin' master's high enough for me, and more suited to my future employment, sir."

"Hmm, if you are sure, I don't suppose anything I say could convince you," Railsford acquiesced. "I wish you joy of your career. But after the war, there'll be a glut of qualified officers once the Fleet's been reduced. Passing may give you the leg up."

"Aye, sir, but my uncle and my dad still have two ships, and I'd be at least a mate come hell'r high water," Sedge told him smugly.

"Thank you, Mister Sedge, that'll be all, then. Well, Mister Lewrie, what about you?" Railsford asked as Sedge left.

"Yes, sir!" Alan answered with alacrity, sensing escape from his problems. "But only… I don't have six years on ship's books, sir."

"Oh, the devil with that, there's a war on, and no one gives a tinker's damn about piddling details, not on a foreign station."

"Really, sir?" Alan brightened, wondering if he could stand on firmer ground as a passed midshipman, if he wasn't immediately made a lieutenant. Please, dear God, I promise I'll keep my mouth shut! Please!

"If your records are in order, and you may answer their questions sensibly, they'd have no reason to refuse you, Mister Lewrie," Railsford told him, now puffing a wreath of smoke around his head.

"Then I would like to try, sir," Alan agreed quickly.

"You're fortunate that I can give you a good report, as well as Captain Treghues over in Capricieuse, all in harbor at the same time. And the former second officer and your old commander in your first two ships as well, just in case you didn't keep your professional bona fides in order," Railsford maundered on lazily.

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