Seasons of War 2-Book Bundle (50 page)

Mrs. Kettle clawed at the dress as if it were a substantial spider web, and – once revealed – her fat face flared with anger. “Cap’n Trevelyan don’t fancy ya wearin’ sailors’ trousers,” she growled. “Git yer dress back on. I’m to deliver ya, thee way I took ya.”

Emily snatched a heap of clothes from the shelf at her back and angled her head in challenge. One by one, she flung an assortment of footwear, vests, jackets, and trousers at Mrs. Kettle, who howled in protest as if being bombarded with musket balls. It was an agreeable distraction for Emily until the heel of a shoe struck Mrs. Kettle’s forehead and the woman exploded. “Ya wanton witch!” Hiking up her coarse skirts, she bowed her head and charged at Emily like a steaming, snorting bull in a ring. Fortunately, Emily was far swifter in her movements and leaped out of the way in time, leaving the beast to collide heavily with a portion of shelving, dislodging it completely from the walls. Down it came, striking Mrs. Kettle with a hefty thump upon her hunched back and pinning her to the floor.

Emily laughed, barely able to breathe. “Oh, Mrs. – Mrs. Kettle, if only Trevelyan knew that his deadliest weapon was here in the slop room. If only he could ramrod you into his cannons, imagine the damage you could deliver to the hulls of enemy ships.”

For several moments, Mrs. Kettle lay there stunned. Then her caterwauling began. “Oooo! Now ya done it, now ya
really
done it. Me back. Me head. Me poor babe. All broke fer sure. Oooo!”

Brushing away her mirthful tears, Emily sidestepped the prostrate form and made for the door. “Are you bleeding, Mrs. Kettle?”

“How’s would I know with me face pasted to thee floor?”

“At least we know your tongue is still intact … Tell me where I can find Dr. Braden.”

Above their heads on the upper deck, voices yelled out, “Stand clear! Steady now! Fire! Fire!” The
Serendipity’s
guns boomed and recoiled violently on their carriages, the reverberating shudders passing through Emily, who had to reach out to steady herself against a shelf.

Mrs. Kettle’s shrill voice shot up an octave. “If ya leave me here, squashed like a decayin’ rodent, so help me I’ll kill ya. I’ll rip yer royal head from that white neck o’ yers. Thee minute I’m standin’, I will.”

“Don’t tempt me,” Emily shot back. “You deserve no better than to be left here to fester and rot.”

The penetrating cries that followed were more dreadful than the blaring echoes of cannonfire. Emily repeated her question, this time more firmly. “
Where
is Dr. Braden?”

Mrs. Kettle’s reply rushed out of her mouth like a swift-moving stream. “Ya’ll – ya’ll find ’im nearby. Thee door ain’t locked. But leave thee lantern be! I’ll – I’ll not be left here in thee gloom with hairy creatures crawlin’ ’bout me parts.”

2:00 p.m.

(Afternoon Watch, Four Bells)

Aboard HMS
Amethyst

FLY AUSTEN READIED HIMSELF to climb down the ladder to the waiting launch that bobbed vigorously in the waves alongside the
Amethyst’s
hull. The ship’s two pinnaces and three cutters had already set out towards the rudderless
Serendipity
, full of jubilant men still hoping for a true crack at the enemy. Behind Fly, Captain Prickett and First Lieutenant Bridlington strutted about the quarterdeck, as if
they
had been solely responsible for paralyzing the American ship.

“I cannot believe our good fortune, Mr. Austen,” cried Bridlington. “Not only did we barely fire a shot, barely was a shot returned. The commander of that small brig – whoever he may be – is
truly
remarkable.”

“I’ve never seen such fine seamanship, the way he came up on Trevelyan’s tail like that,” exclaimed Captain Prickett. “Root the man out, will you, Mr. Austen? I’d like to meet the fellow and have Biscuit fix him a celebratory feast with all his favourites – and mine, of course.”

“I will, sir. But we must hurry. In a matter of minutes they will be attempting to board the
Serendipity.
”

Captain Prickett did not seem concerned in the least. “One false move from Trevelyan,” he laughed, “and he’ll receive another blast from us. This time we’ll bring down his mainmast!”

Fly started down the ladder, feeling the pain of his injured back as he gripped each rung. Captain Prickett peered over the rail. “We must claim her a prize, Mr. Austen. Raise the English ensign over hers, and sail her into Bermuda, nay, better still, into Halifax. Well-wishers will be greater in number there.”

Fly was too tired to inform Prickett that the prize was not theirs to take; he had more pressing matters on his mind. Once settled in the launch, he laid his hand lightly on the shoulder of Morgan Evans who, at his request, was manning one of the oars. “Mr. Evans.”

Morgan’s mouth was pressed into a thin, grim line. “Aye, sir?”

“Let us away, for we have friends to find.” As Fly turned his face towards the
Serendipity,
he noticed Biscuit sitting there, his odd eye rolling about in his head. “Captain Prickett will not be pleased when he discovers you’ve abandoned his ship and his galley.”

“I’m comin’ with yas, Mr. Austen,” said Biscuit. “Anyone what tries to harm thee lass will be feelin’ thee point o’ me cutlass between their shoulder blades.”

2:30 p.m.

(Afternoon Watch, Five Bells)

Aboard the
Prosperous and Remarkable

THERE WAS A TEMENDOUS SHUDDERING of oak timber as the
Prosperous and Remarkable’s
larboard fore crashed against the
Serendipity’s
starboard quarter. A very smug Prosper Burgo, his wispy curls plastered to his ruddy face by seaspray, whooped with joy.

“Right now, ya scoundrels, lash thee ships together,” he bellowed. “Toss thee grappling hooks. Boarders! Stand ready, and if ya haven’t already, gather yer pistols, pikes, and tomahawks. Topmen! Ready with yer grenades and stinkpots.”

“What are stinkpots?” asked Magpie, wearing his
Isabelle
hat, his hands quivering on his dirks.

Prosper grinned. “Little combustible jars what emit a nasty, suffocatin’ smoke when they’s pitched at thee enemy.”

“Shouldn’t ya be stayin’ here to command yer own ship, Prosper?” Magpie was still hoping to shirk the boarding party.

“And miss all thee fun? Hell, no. I’ll be leadin’ thee charge.” Prosper swung around to address his men, who had their muskets aimed at the American ship. “Keep a close lookout fer sharpshooters and any foolhardies what try to blow a hole in me
Prosperous and Remarkable
while we’re away
visitin’
.”

Magpie’s eye drifted past the
Serendipity’s
fallen foremast and snarled rigging to the
Amethyst
beyond, lying like a mystic vision in the angry waves less than a mile off. The sea was too rough for her to open her lower gunports, but those on her upper and weather decks were pointed at the
Serendipity,
and her boats, though a piece off, were pulling towards them. Still, Magpie’s heart skipped several beats. A number of Serendipities had already abandoned their quarterdeck guns; Magpie could see them fleeing towards the fore hatchway. A few of them, in their eagerness to escape capture, swept over the bow and into the heaving sea. Trevelyan and his senior officers were nowhere to be seen. Magpie fancied they were lying in wait below, oiling thumbscrews as they plotted an ambush.

Well, this was it.

Inhaling the moist salty air through his nose and exhaling through his mouth, Magpie joined Prosper and his band of ruffian boarders – twenty in all – as they hustled, roaring like ancient warriors, across the
Prosperous and Remarkable’s
gangway and over the bulwark of the
Serendipity
, landing upon her bloody quarterdeck. Overhead, musket balls whistled, and grenades and stinkpots rained down upon the
Serendipity’s
fore and aft decks, their acrid smoke encircling the boarders in a black hell.

“If ya kin keep me alive ’til I find Trevelyan,” Prosper barked over his shoulder, “we’ll go searchin’ fer yer Em’ly. Stay close now.” He cocked his pistols and headed straight for a menacing mob of Americans running at them, brandishing pikes and hollering war cries of their own.

Magpie gulped and followed.

Just prior to 2:30 p.m.

Aboard the USS
Serendipity

AS THE SERENDIPITY PITCHED AND ROLLED, and the world two decks up screamed with cannonfire and commotion, Emily nervously watched Leander. Huddled unsteadily over his table, his shoes slipping in the streams of blood running across the floor and filling the cracks between the timber planks, he was operating on a poor sailor who had begged him to try and save his leg, which had been split open by a hail of jagged splinters. At Leander’s side was his assistant, Joe Norlan, holding the railing sailor down as the scalpel cut into his flesh. Without looking up, Leander suddenly called out, “Emily, please, I need more sand.”

It was a relief for Emily to escape Mrs. Kettle, who was sitting upright in her hammock, moaning and cussing, apparently having forgotten that she’d been diagnosed with a badly sprained neck and ordered to rest. If it weren’t for Leander, Emily would have happily
wrung
her neck to silence her. Prying the laundress’s sweaty, grasping hands from her arm, she hurried to fetch a tin of sand from the large barrel lodged in the lower section of the medicine cupboard, and sprinkled the contents around Leander’s feet. Stirred by his closeness, she lingered as long as she could. There was a troublesome tightness in her chest and her stomach boiled with fear, but, for his own part, Leander spoke and moved about so calmly one would think he was working in a garden and not in an overcrowded surgeon’s cockpit where the reeking air was rife with doleful lamentations.

“You don’t have to stay in here if you don’t want to.” Leander’s words were like a tonic to Emily. Biting back tears, she met his gaze. “There is no place on earth I would rather be, Doctor.” A faint smile crossed his lips in reply as he returned his attention to his patient.

Averting her eyes from the sailor’s gory leg, Emily picked up the water bucket and carried it over to the waiting group of wounded men on the floor, leaning against one another in various states of consciousness. Crouching down beside them, she helped each one bring the water ladle to his lips. Only one man among them seemed alert. He watched her closely, his normally bright, probing eyes dulled by his preoccupation with his injury. Emily was acquainted with few men on the
Serendipity,
but she recognized this young man with the dark skin. It was Beans, who, alongside Charlie Clive, had served Trevelyan dinner the first night she had been summoned to the great cabin.

“Obliged, Miss – Mrs. Trevelyan,” he said, clutching a burned arm to his chest.

“It’s
Emily,
just Emily,” she gently replied.

Beans stared back at her blankly.

“Could you tell me what is happening up there?” she asked, once his thirst had been quenched.

“It’s a hellish place. Fer a bit we was bein’ harassed by a puny brig. It managed to come up on our tail, shoot our rudder away, and sail off before the cap’n could even fire a broadside. We did what we could, but the
Serendipity
don’t steer too good with a busted rudder. And that big ship – the one followin’ us – caught up, close enough to take down our foremast.”

There was flutter in Emily’s heart. She had heard the others speak of “that big ship” as the
Amethyst.
“If all is lost, why are our guns still firing?”

“’Cause,” said Beans, “the cap’n says ain’t no one gonna take him alive.”

Having overheard their conversation, Mrs. Kettle squealed from her bed, “I told yas! I told all o’ yas! We’re all gonna die.”

Leander’s admonishment was in earnest. “Restrain yourself, Mrs. Kettle; otherwise, I’ll be forced to dispose of you in the slop room.”

“Don’t matter, Doctor,” she bawled. “We’re all goin’ down, just like thee
Isabelle.
”

“Mr. Norlan,” said Leander, frowning, “in the cupboard you will find a tangle of unclaimed stockings. If necessary, stuff one down her throat.”

“Right, sir,” said Joe, fighting to maintain his hold on the wounded sailor who spewed blasphemy as Leander rubbed salt into his leg gashes to guard against infection.

The
Serendipity
twisted and moaned, as it had not before. The oil lanterns jumped on their hooks. A cry rose up amongst those who were still conscious. They lifted their eyes to the low ceiling, and their bodies tensed. At first, Emily worried that the winds had thrown them upon a barrier of shore rocks.