Eye of the Storm (5 page)

Captain Marshall took advantage of the time to bring the crew up to scratch. The guns were never discharged; it would have been abysmally stupid to attract the attention of the French navy that way. But he did hold dumb-show drills, running their little guns out and going through all the motions short of firing. It improved their time and gave those who had not worked together before the chance to work in teams. Target practice would have been even better, but these men, all shipmates from
Calypso
and
Valiant,
could be trusted to know how to handle a real battle.

But there was no time for him to be alone with Will. The occasional kiss, an embrace at bedtime if one happened to be in the cabin when the other was going to bed… It was like being back in the Navy again, only worse. How could one arrange a surreptitious tryst with one’s lover without the Captain’s knowledge when one’s lover
was
the Captain, and stricter on himself than he would be toward any of the crew?

Archer finally decided to behave and think as he had when he and Will had first served together, when he was hopelessly in love with a man who had never even looked at him except in friendship.

Had it been easier then? Yes, in some ways it had. It was simpler and less painful to long for what one could never have than to miss what one had once cherished. And he did miss it. A terrible thing, to miss someone who was standing not two feet away.

“We need to investigate,” Will said on the tenth of December, as he and Archer were finishing dinner in their cabin. “Unless Dr. Colbert has been taken by the French, he should have arrived by now.”

“How do you propose to do that?” Archer asked. “This village—and it barely qualifies as that—is far too small for me to pretend to be looking for a jeweler’s shop.”

“Of course it is.” Will used the last of his soft-tack to scoop his bowl clean of the thick beef soup Clement had concocted in the
Mermaid’s
tiny galley. “I had two notions in mind,” he said when he’d finished the morsel. “The first was that, since we have no doctor aboard, I might go ashore and ask if there is any medical help at hand—an apothecary, or even a horse doctor.”

“And the other?”

Will shrugged. “The truth—the story we have that fits the facts of the matter. I think that would be the simplest and best plan, and you would not be faced with swallowing some nasty concoction for your innards.”

“I would not be faced with it? Will, you’re the Captain of this vessel. Since Dr. Colbert is my uncle—by marriage, but my relative nonetheless—I should be the one to go looking for him.”

The look Will gave him was so fierce he instinctively leaned back. “No,” Will said. “Absolutely not.”

Archer could only stare. He knew that his supposed authority over Will was fictitious, but up until now they had arrived at decisions by mutual consent. He could argue or wait for reason, so he waited.

Eventually Will said, more rationally, “Davy, I’m in command—it’s my responsibility. And would it not make sense for the ship’s owner to stay aboard and send his hireling ashore?”

They were heading for another quarrel; Archer could feel it. He counted to ten, and then said, “Are you aware that you have just put forth two opposing lines of reason in support of a single argument?

Will glared at him for a moment, then his face relaxed into a smile. “Well, no. But would you not say that means that no matter what argument you choose, I am correct?”

“On the contrary. Whether you are in command—and should
stay
in command, aboard this ship…or
I
  am in command, and should decide whether to go searching for my own relative, I would say that no matter what argument I choose, you’ll refuse to admit you are mistaken.”

Will sighed. “Davy, the doctor should have been here days ago, even if he did leave Paris later than we first thought. We have no idea where he is, or what has delayed him. There might be some simple reason that he cannot signal—he could be sick, or injured, and unable to get to that window. Or Beauchene might not be there any longer. If I go ashore openly, in broad daylight, ask a few simple questions…”

“And what if there are no answers? What if Beauchene is there, but has not seen the doctor? What then?”

“Then we would at least know something.”

“Nothing of any use.” He took Will’s hand across the tabletop, as though some physical connection would keep them from drifting further apart over this disagreement. “Will, I hate waiting, too. We can’t continue to run in and out of the harbor indefinitely. I keep expecting a French corvette to appear and take us prisoner, and I don’t fancy being executed as a spy.”

“We’d have the codebooks over the side in an instant,” Will said. “There’d be no proof of any ill-doing.”

“Perhaps not. But they could hold us long enough to make the rendezvous impossible, and where would the mission be then? It’s not that I am unconcerned about Dr. Colbert,” he added. “I am afraid he has come to grief already, and I wish he had never gone on this damned errand.”

“Do you have any alternative to going ashore?”

“Wait another day,” Archer said, holding tightly. “And hope we see the signal tonight.”

Will rubbed a thumb across Archer’s knuckles. “Very well. But, Davy, if we see no sign, we must do something soon. Sir Percy never said we should not go ashore.”

“He never said we
should
, either. And he certainly did not advise it.” But Archer could see no point in pursuing the question any further. A day’s reprieve was less than he’d hoped for, but at least Will wasn’t going ashore this evening.

If Archer had anything to say about it, Will wouldn’t go ashore at all. It wasn’t that he had a death-wish, but between the two of them, from a purely military point of view, William Marshall was of more value to His Majesty’s Navy. And Archer suspected that if he went and did not return, Will would adjust to being alone far better than he would, himself.

Will had managed well enough in Portsmouth all those months, hadn’t he?

Chapter Five

Marshall woke early on the second morning after he’d promised Davy one more day. He had let the matter ride the day before, hoping that by some miracle they’d see the signal on the second night. But the hours had crept by with no sign, no light, and, at the end, no hope.

He had said nothing more about going ashore. Neither had Davy. It was as though each was reluctant to open the discussion, and the longer it went unsaid, the more difficult it became to say anything. Perhaps Davy thought he’d abandoned the idea, though he should have known better. Marshall had taken evasive action by going off-watch as soon as they were well away from shore; his lover had taken the middle watch and was now sleeping soundly, with nothing visible above the edge of the hammock but a gleam of tousled gold.

It was harder than he’d expected to summon his resolve and follow the plan he’d made the previous night. Sliding out of his hammock with the utmost care, he dressed quietly and carried his boots outside the cabin door before putting them on. Barrow saluted as he came up on deck. “It’s a fair mornin’ sir. No sign of Frenchmen—except on shore, o’course.”

“Very good.” He gazed off toward the horizon, where the village would appear after they’d sailed a mile or two closer. “I’m going ashore this morning, Barrow. Prepare to lower the boat as soon as we’re close in.”

“Aye, sir, I’ll ask for volunteers.” He hesitated. “Will we go armed, sir?”

“The men can take pistols, but they should not need them. They can return with the boat. I will be landing alone. I’ll signal when I mean to return.”

The man was too good a sailor to question orders, but he’d known Marshall since he was barely old enough to shave, and seemed unable to resist a word of protest. “Sir?”

It was one word too many. “You heard me, Barrow.” Marshall knew that the ire he unleashed on the man was totally undeserved, and he felt like a complete bastard. “I am going ashore to inquire about Mr. Archer’s uncle, who made an unwise decision about his itinerary. That’s a job for one man, not an armed expedition. I don’t propose to be the fool who breaks the Peace, and I don’t intend to debate the matter with you or anyone else!”

“Aye, Cap’n.” As Barrow turned and walked over to speak to another crew member, Marshall regretted his behavior. He’d never had much respect for captains who discharged their ill tempers on crewmen who couldn’t answer back, and now here he was doing it himself. So much for his ability to lead and inspire his men.

He wanted to be away immediately, but there was no way to accomplish that. Instead, he called down the man standing lookout and went up the
Mermaid’s
mainmast himself, as high as he could, to have some space to breathe and to scout the horizon.

The
Mermaid
wheeled as the crew below made the adjustments to bring her about, and Marshall found himself tilting out over the water. That had made him dizzy when he first went to sea, but in the years since he had come to enjoy it. This was as close to flight as any earth-bound human was likely to come, and it was his ship—his own ship, the culmination of the dream he’d had as far back as he could remember.

The vast blue emptiness above and below calmed him as it always did, and the absence of enemy ships was reassuring. Yes, Davy was right in saying that they might wind up knowing little more after the visit than they knew right now—but if nothing else, he should be able to learn whether or not Dr. Colbert’s friend Beauchene was still in residence at the chateau. If so, they would wait a little longer. If he was not—well, that would mean a fast run back to England for new orders, and the hope that there was some other agent of British Intelligence already on French soil who might be assigned to find Davy’s missing uncle.

Oh, Lord. Davy.

He must be told. Marshall couldn’t very well sneak ashore while his lover slept. He was the Captain. That would be a low, cowardly, and dishonorable trick to play on the man who would be left in command of this vessel. He simply could not do that.

That didn’t keep him from wishing he could.

He did wait, though, as long as possible. When the houses along the shore began to grow from tiny outlines to visible dwellings, he reluctantly climbed back down to the deck and went below.

He found Davy awake and dressed, standing with both arms against the frame of the stern window, his back to the door. “Good morning, Captain,” he said without turning.

“Davy—”

“I heard the davits creaking,” he said flatly. “They’re getting the boat ready, aren’t they? Were you planning to wake me, or would you have just left a note on the pillow?”

“Of course I was going to wake you. Why else do you think I’m here?”

“I could not begin to guess.”

“Davy—” Marshall set his teeth. “Mr. Archer, would you do me the courtesy of showing your countenance?”

“Certainly, Captain.” Davy turned, his eyes blazing. With exaggerated courtesy he executed a perfect salute, holding it until Marshall was forced to return it, then his arm snapped back to his side. “I am, as always, at your service.”

Will took a deep breath. “I apologize for taking you by surprise this way, but I feel sure you must have known I would go. Two days ago, you asked me to wait one more day, and I—”

“You are in command, sir. You need not apologize to anyone for your—”

“Davy!
For the love of God—”

“—actions.”

Even furious, Davy was in control of himself enough to keep his voice down. Marshall was having trouble doing that. “For God’s sake, you know perfectly well that we cannot continue to lurk along the shore indefinitely. We’re bound to attract attention. We need information, and there’s no way to get that standing twenty miles out to sea.”

“Let me go instead. My French is better. Or let us go together.”

“No. I’ll not risk anyone but myself.”

“You are treating me as though I’m the merest grass-comber,” Davy said. “No, worse than that. You’re treating me like a damned mistress. Is that all I am to you now?”

“What?”

“Do you think I am weak? Helpless? Some fragile thing that wants protection?” Hurt and anger radiated from him; Marshall had never seen him in such distress—not over something he had done. “For God’s sake, Will, I was shot, not gelded!”

Marshall was startled into silence. Finally he said, “On my honor, Davy, I mean you no insult.”

Some of the tension went out of Davy’s posture, and he sighed heavily. “Yes, I know you didn’t mean it so. But, Will, you have been watchful as a hen with one chick. You are treating me like a child—a beloved child, but not a man. And making me stay aboard while you go ashore—do you find me that much of a hindrance?”

“No, of course not.” He wished that he had his lover’s knack for levity, but the best he could manage was, “Christ, Davy, do you think there is anyone else in the world I would trust with my ship?”

“You could leave Barrow in command. He’s forgotten more than I’ll ever know.”

“You’re right. I know he could sail her as well as we do, and likely better. But have you forgotten? You and I are the only ones who know our true purpose. I could trust Barrow with the ship—but I could not burden him with that responsibility.”

“You have an answer to every argument, Captain.” Davy dropped to the bench beneath the stern window. “I concede,” he said, and added ironically, “not that I had anything to say about it in the first place. What are your orders?”

Marshall sat beside him. He wanted very much to hold Davy before he went ashore, but with his lover in this prickly state it would be like embracing a hedgehog. “I don’t expect to be gone for more than a few hours. I’ll be sending the boat back purely as a precaution—a waste of time, I’m sure—but I want you to be ready to run if necessary. If you see any sign of the French navy, get as far away as you can, as fast as you can.”

“And what of you?”

“I’ll be out on that spit of land at the end of the cove, after it’s full dark. Or, if Beauchene is there and all is well, I’ll use the same signal we’ve been waiting for.”

Davy nodded. “Very well. And what if you do not?” He looked up, and Marshall saw the fear in his lover’s eyes, and thought his heart would break. “What if I never see you again?”

“I should only be ashore for a few hours,” he said, knowing how inadequate the words were.

“Of course,” Davy responded woodenly.

They both stood.

“Oh, by the way,” Davy said. “When I collected your things, I saw—truly, I did not mean to spy—but I noticed that the letters I sent from Jamaica had never been opened.”

Marshall was mortified, but oddly relieved. At last he had some idea why there had been such an undercurrent of unhappiness in Davy’s manner. “I’m sorry, truly I am. I could not bring myself—”

Davy waved his hand, a dismissive motion. “I understand, we’ve been through this. My letters might have persuaded you to come back. And there’s no need now, is there? Here you are. What I meant to say is, there is nothing so stupid or melodramatic as a letter sealed and posted and left to molder. May I have the damned things back, so I may dispose of them?”

“No!” Marshall was surprised at his own vehemence. He was not about to tell his lover how many nights he had gone to sleep with his cheek resting on that small but precious bundle. “No, you may not.”

He had been about to leave the cabin, but he took the time to lift the lid of his sea-chest, rummage in the keepsake box, and stow the letters safely in an inner pocket. “I’ll take these with me,” he said. “And I shall read them the first chance I get, and if you touch them I’ll clap you in irons.”

The ghost of a smile lifted one corner of Davy’s mouth. “There are no irons on this ship.”

“I’ll have Barrow buy a set next time we’re in port.”

“You’ve the makings of a tyrant, Captain.”

“Not so long as I have you for a gadfly.”

“Will—” Suddenly Davy was in his arms, their bodies melded together, lips meeting as though it might really be the last time. He held Davy close enough to let the touch of his body impress itself all along his own. Why,
why
had he not made time, barred the door, taken the chance? What if this was the biggest mistake of his career—and the final mistake?

But there was no time to worry about that now.

Reluctantly, he disengaged himself from Davy’s embrace. “I’ll be fine,” he said. “I shall be back before you have time to enjoy having the cabin all to yourself.”

“You had better be,” Davy said. “You’re not the only one who can worry, you know. I tell you, Will—those weeks where you were sailing the Caribbean, wondering whether I’d succumbed to some tropical fever, I was whiling away the hours wondering if each day would be the one a load of chain-shot cut you in two. I’ve never felt such fear as I did when you were too far away for me to reach. It isn’t conscience that makes cowards of us all. It’s love.”

“I will be back,” Marshall promised, and left before he could change his mind.

Archer was vaguely aware of the boat’s return, the clunk and splash as it was hoisted above. He heard the men hauling it into place and tying it down. He didn’t need to watch; Barrow would handle it. His attention was all focused on the shore, where his lover was trudging up the short, sandy beach that led to the village.

The boat was loaded in and secured by the time Will turned, raised a hand in farewell, then vanished into the evergreens along the path that led to the chateau.

Almost immediately, a shout from the masthead took Archer’s attention away from his worry.

“What is it?” he called.

“Something coming our way, sir. I’m guessing she’s French…three even masts. Can’t see any more yet.”

I knew there was something wrong. I knew it, I knew it…
God damn the French and all their ships to hell. But the
Mermaid
was a sleek, low vessel—low enough that the approaching ship wouldn’t catch sight of her topmast over the curve of the horizon—at least, not immediately. And he could hope that, this close to home, they were looking out toward England and not in toward their own shore.

“All sails,” Archer said to Barrow. “With luck, we’ll be around this spit of land before they see us.” After that, they could steer out toward open water, and circle back around eventually.

“What about Captain Marshall, sir?”

The breath caught in his throat as though Barrow had struck him with an axe. “Those—those are the Captain’s orders. We run, and come back for him when we can.”

“Aye, sir.”

And
if
we can.