Havoc`s Sword

CHAPTER FOUR

Of course, Kit Cashman couldn't resist the celebration. Breakfast had been laid on at Baltazar's, the discrete and elegant Kingston eatery, at tables on the raised section overlooking brick-enclosed fountains, trellises, and herb gardens. Kit's friends, former officers of the 15th who inclined to his cause, and well-wishers made it a jolly affair, with many toasts made and drunk, and champagne cups had sloshed about like so many watering cans might flood those herb gardens and small lawn. There was food; Lewrie was pretty-well sure of that… but no matter how comestible, and welcome by that hour of the morning, the victuals were definite also-rans. Fried eggs, tatty hash, fletches of bacon and small chops, heaps of thick-sliced toast, and the requisite butter and jams, had first been heartily swallowed, but had later become more akin to party favours, or missiles to be flung or trampled.

The nigh-White waitress, a local who always seemed to serve Cash-man whenever he and Lewrie had dined there, was in attendance, more as a guest than a servitor, half of her time spent lolling in Kit's lap, shrieking and guzzling, bussing and petting the hero of the hour, with her ornate hair unwinding rather fetchingly.

More girls of the town, most "no better than they should be," began to turn up as the morning drew on towards 9:00 a.m., and it looked fair to becoming one of those all-day celebrations, with Baltazar's reserved and shut to public custom 'til next noon. Fine for Kit, but he had duties.

After two last fortifying cups of black coffee, drunk standing by the common room bar, he reclaimed his sword and hat and departed, sure that he wouldn't be missed 'til tea-time… if then.

On the short (but a bit unsteady, thankee!) stroll to the dock, Lewrie and Andrews felt the eyes of the town bore into them, heard the faint hum-um of whispered conversation. Some sounded scandalised, but more than half seemed secretly pleased, yet too daunted by Beauman wealth and influence to cheer them openly. However the news had come, by fast rider or forest drums, the outcome of the duel seemed known as soon as they'd clattered into Kingston!

All this public notice made Lewrie check to see if his breeches flap was buttoned more than once as they threaded the last gawping clot of fellow officers, merchant captains and crewmen, stevedores and servants on the stone quay just in front of The Grapes; some glaring at him so severely he expected to be called out as he waited for his gig to arrive.

"Done for two of 'em, 'e did!" Lewrie heard one of his oarsmen off his own boat whisper, beamingly jubilant. And how the devil news of the cock-up had reached the ship before he did, he had no way of knowing!

"Welcome back aboard, sir," Lieutenant Adair crisply said, his smallsword drawn and held before his face in salute as Lewrie climbed aboard HMS Proteus and took the on-deck crew's salute amid a trill of bosun's calls.

"Mister Adair," Lewrie said, with a brief nod to his Third Officer, now confirmed and possessed of his commission, no longer an acting lieutenant; putting his mute "Captain's Face" back on. "Thankee, sir. Dismiss the side party, and return the hands to their duties."

"Message from the flag's come aboard for you, sir," Adair said, coughing into his fist.

"Oh, damn," Lewrie said, wincing at that news. He was nowhere near sober enough for official doings. Did Admiral Parker abhor duelling? Or did he loathe affairs of honour turning into Cheapside shootouts? Either way, the summons boded ill.

" 'Twas a lieutenant fetched it, sir," Adair informed him.

Worse and worse, Lewrie thought; not a Middy's errand, but…

"Drew straws, did you?" Lewrie snorted, hands in the small of his back. "Diced t'see who'd have to tell me?"

"Uhm, seniority, sir," Lt. Adair mumbled, blushing as Lewrie twigged to the fact that Langlie, Catterall, and Adair had all felt the summons was Trouble, capital T, and had all turned queasy. For all of their proven courage as Commission Sea Officers, it now appeared there were some things that'd make 'em blanch!

"And you couldn't find little Larkin or Burns," Lewrie assumed aloud, almost chuckling. His newest, junior-most midshipmen, one a Bog-Irish squire's by-blow, uniformed so poorly it looked as if he'd robbed a scarecrow, and t'other a blinkless, drooling lack-wit.

"Couldn't find 'em, sir," Adair admitted. "Most-like, they're still hiding in the cable-tiers or furled themselves aloft in the main course."

"Goes t'prove, then, that one, or both, just may be smarter than we give 'em credit for," Lewrie replied. "Well, give it me, then."

Andrews slunk below with his shore-going bag while Lewrie broke the wax seal and unfolded the single-page note. He glanced over toward the Palisades, the long, natural seawall, where stood Giddy House, and the shore residence where Admiral Parker entertained.

"Pass word for my Cox'n, Mister Adair. 'Vast there, you men. Back into the boat," Lewrie snapped. "We're bound away." He stuck the letter into a side pocket of his coat, and wishing that he had shaved before the duel, that he didn 't subtly reek of the wine-table at such a pagan hour… or that there seemed to be some sticky, reddish jam patches, some greasy flung-chop smuts, and some scrambled egg stains on breeches, waist-coat, and shirt cuffs at the moment.

The letter stressed his reporting "Instanter," underlined twice with some force, so there went a change of clothing, or a sponge-down.

Should've stuck with just throwin' bread rolls, Lewrie sighed to himself as the gig's crew reassembled, as Andrews reappeared to muster them. And damme, but don't he look natty! Took time t'scrub… the bastard!

"Uhm," Andrews muttered, showing his captain the damp towel and tall pewter mug of sudsy water that he'd fetched along. "Mebbe on de way ovah, sah, we could, aahh, touch ya up a tad?"

"I take back everything I just thought about you," Lewrie said with a grateful smile as the bosun's calls phweeped again to salute his departure, leaving Andrews in befuddlement as he doffed his hat and scampered back down the man-ropes and battens to the waiting gig.