by Peter Greene
The crew turned and took in the almost one hundred men making up the crew of carpenters, deckhands, armorers, sail masters, able seamen, and others.
“These are your brothers. We are your officers, here to lead you on safe journeys to exotic locations—and maybe even a little fun mixed in if some French barge gets a little too close!”
This set the men to laughter. The seasoned hands all knew of Thomas Harrison, and that his tutelage under the famous Sir Captain William Walker meant he was experienced in taking enemy ships, at times for great profit, and that was shared, though somewhat disproportionately, down the line from commander to deckhand.
“Our orders are to sail to Gibraltar and deliver packets to the authorities, then await further instructions or return to England in one month’s time. We sail short on crew, so we will need extra work to carry out our duty. Enjoy the cruise, gentlemen! Dismissed.”
Harrison turned to his officers. “Lieutenant Alexander, set men to their stations. Mister Moore, as soon as Jenkins arrives, we cast off. Man the gangway and prepare to order in the lines. We will set tables for the noon meal as soon as we are underway.”
“Yes, sir,” they replied and began to organize the men in their duties. Harrison met with Mister Fawcett, the sailing master. He would man the helm, the great wheel that directed the ship, and together, they would plot a course to Gibraltar.
As Jonathan approached the gangway, a voice came from below. It was Jenkins.
“Hullo, Mister Moore! Permission to come aboard?”
“Granted,” said Jonathan enthusiastically. He was pleased to see his old shipmate, as they had sailed to fame and some fortune on both the Poseidon and the Danielle. Jenkins had been Jonathan’s first friend in His Majesty’s Navy and had trained him on many of the finer points of seamanship. Jonathan felt joy at having him aboard.
“A special delivery I have for Marine Private Flagon.”
Hearing this, Jonathan sent a crewman to retrieve Sean from the stern. Jenkins ascended the plank carrying a package a tad larger than a common hat box. It had several holes in it, and due to his manner of walking, Jonathan was sure Jenkins had no trouble with the load.
Sean arrived almost immediately and stood at attention.
“Flagon, at ease!” said Jonathan.
“I’ve a package for Marine Private Sean Flagon, of His Majesty’s ship Paladin,” said Jenkins with all propriety and pomp, “sent from none other than Mister Jobias Watt, sailing master aboard the illustrious Danielle.” Dropping the formality, Jenkins extended the package to Sean. “He thought ya might need this.”
Sean, as curious as a kitten, took the box and slowly opened the lid to find exactly that—though it was technically not a kitten. He stared into the fuzzy face of his long-time friend Stewie. A meow came from the box.
“Stewie!” cried Sean. “Mon doux petit chaton!”
The great mouser, Stewie, from the Danielle, had made the acquaintance of Sean Flagon, then an aspiring seaman, under stressful circumstances. Though all turned out better than planned, they had been through a great adventure together, even as part of the small shore party set on Isla Sello just before the Battle of Fire.
“They say cats are lucky!” said Jenkins. “Magic in their tails.”
“No more superstitions!” said Jonathan. “It’s all hogwash!”
“It may be, Mister Moore, but to the crew,” said Jenkins, waving his arm to include the men on the entire ship, “they believe it absolutely.”
With the appearance of Jenkins and Stewie, the Paladin was now complete with supplies and crew and cat—and ready to sail.
At the stern, Harrison stood by Fawcett, who manned the wheel. Seeing all was in order, he smiled.
“I thought we would never be off!” said Harrison under his breath. “Mister Alexander, are we done with the exposition?”
“Yes, sir, Commander,” answered the lieutenant, smiling.
“It is about time!” said Harrison, who then cupped his hands about his mouth and yelled “Cast—”
“Ahoy! Ahoy Paladin!” came an urgent call from the pier. “Pressing news for Commander Harrison and his officers! Ahoy!”
“Good heavens!” cried Harrison, now dropping his hands to his sides in defeat. “It is as if some malignant demon is working against me!”
Once at the rail, Harrison, flanked by Jonathan and Alexander, watched a uniformed lieutenant rushing toward the ship and requesting permission to come aboard.
“Lieutenant Phillip Quinn reporting for duty. Here are my orders, sir.”
Harrison opened the plain gray envelope as Quinn stood at rigid attention, now under the inspecting eyes of the officers. To Jonathan, he appeared young for a lieutenant, yet certainly older than Jonathan himself—possibly seventeen. He was only an inch or so taller than Jonathan, yet still shorter than Harrison and considerably smaller than Alexander. His blond hair reminded Jonathan of Sean, but his full face and stocky form gave him a more grounded look, as if he belonged on a farm, not aboard a naval vessel. His uniform appeared brand-new, and his small bag, instead of a locker, seemed well made. He must have come from a wealthy family, Jonathan thought.
“From the Spartan. Always nice to have another officer aboard,” said Harrison cautiously, as he lowered the orders. “Welcome. I see you have another packet?”
“Aye, sir. From the Admiralty. New orders.”
Harrison frowned at Jonathan and Alexander with a concerned look on his face as he took the second, larger envelope from Quinn.
“Lieutenants? Let us open these in my cabin,” said Harrison. “Jonathan, retain a crew to set tables, and have the men stand down. Berkeley, the new cook, may serve lunch. He’s an improvement over Steward, and not quite up to the standards of Claise, but he does make a fine spotted dog, so I am sure a fast meal of tack and eggs will be within his talents. And take Hicks to the plank to keep an eye on things. This is all very…irregular. Alexander and Quinn, to my cabin immediately.”
“Is your midshipman not to join us?” asked Quinn. “Though not an officer properly, I know we treat them as such, and I hear he is held in high esteem. I assume his input would be valuable?”
This gave Harrison reason to pause. It was considered very poor form and against regulation to, firstly, address the captain of a ship without using the term sir, and secondly, to even question a superior officer’s order, no matter how simple. Quinn had done both in one comment. Jonathan blushed immediately, knowing that Commander Harrison had realized this breech of protocol. He and Alexander shielded their eyes as they observed the young captain drawing in breath, as a dragon would before the belching of immense heat and expulsion of unbearable flame that would literally toast his enemy. But before Harrison exploded, he caught himself, paused, and exhaled a slow, nonlethal breath.
“Lieutenant Quinn? We follow all the proprieties and protocols when we address a senior officer aboard this ship.”
“Oh!” said Quinn in surprise. “Please forgive me, Commander! I-I never, sir, would mean to offend y-you, or any of the other officers. How rude and inconsiderate I have been. If I may apologize?”
Harrison seemed to cool slightly.
“Please, not an issue. However, let us make sure it never happens again,” said Harrison.
“Yes, sir. Then allow me to formally express regret. It was the excitement I experienced upon the sudden realization that I was now aboard the Paladin, sir. The Paladin! She’s a beautiful ship, the most beautiful ship in the world. It is as if I am in a dream, and what lieutenant in service of His Majesty has not dreamed of attending aboard this graceful lady? Is there anything that I can do to regain your good graces?”
Dear! thought Jonathan. That was the most perfect apology he had ever witnessed, and the effect on Commander Harrison was noticeable, as he had used the same words to describe his affection for the Paladin while he was still a lieutenant. Jonathan could see his face break into a wide smile, and he nodded his head in response to the new lieut
enant.
“Let us all perform our duties well, then. Apology accepted, Lieutenant Quinn.”
The lieutenants and Commander Harrison then moved below to the captain’s cabin, leaving Jonathan to oversee the deck. However, as they departed, Quinn turned quickly and gave Jonathan an odd smile and a quick wink. This was noticed by Sean and Sergeant Hudson as they passed by.
“Jonny boy,” Sean asked. “What was that about?”
“I have no idea,” said Jonathan.
“Then I will see you sometime this afternoon—if not, after dinner? I have this watch and will stroll the deck, giving newcomers the evil eye, as Hicks calls it.”
“Just so they learn to respect the marines!” added Hudson. “I’ll wait with Mister Moore, Seany. Carry on.”
Within minutes, a creaking noise alerted Jonathan to look toward the end of the pier. A carriage approached, much like his father’s, but different. It was not quite as nice—and a gray color instead of black. It seemed in a hurry, as many things at the dockyards had a tendency to be, and surprisingly, it pulled to a stop in front of the Paladin. The door opened—and out stepped Captain Spears and another man.
Captain Spears’s official position was one of the many staff assistants of the Admiralty Board, his responsibility being to not decide upon what ships would go where and on what errand, but to track and set up communications for the delivery of the assignments via official orders. Jonathan had a more complicated relationship with him, and more specifically, with his son, Wayne.
“Mister Moore,” called Captain Spears from below. “Just the man we have come to see. Would you join us here on the pier?”
Jonathan’s orders were to stay aboard and watch the gangway and supervise the men if needed; however, Captain Spears did technically outrank Commander Harrison, though not aboard the ship where he was standing.
We are not actually underway, thought Jonathan. I assume he still outranks Harrison. It is best to be sure.
“Sir. Good day, Captain Spears. I have been assigned deck watch by my commander. I am not to leave the ship. May I assist you from here?”
Spears looked slightly agitated.
“Mister Moore, I would discuss this in private. Come down to the bottom of the gangplank. You will technically be on the ship, not the pier.”
Jonathan looked to Hudson, who had been listening to the entire exchange.
“I’ll keep a watch, Mister Moore,” he offered under his breath. “And that other figure is Lord James Wilder. An important man on the Navy Board, if you need to know.”
“Thank you, Hudson,” Jonathan said as he walked down the plank. He felt silly standing upon the wooden bridge addressing these important men; however, he reasoned, orders were orders.
“Captain Spears,” Jonathan said cautiously. “If I may, any news of your son?”
Jonathan was referring to the unexpected disappearance of the captain’s son, Midshipman Wayne Spears, who had sailed with Jonathan aboard his last mission on HMS Danielle. The boys did not get along, to say the least, and after several altercations, the matter of their differences was solved when Wayne technically deserted his post and left the ship during a key battle action.
“No,” said Captain Spears. “And none of your concern, Moore. What is your concern is the change of orders. Have you seen them?”
“Begging your pardon, no, sir,” Jonathan said. “I believe this is Lord Wilder of the Navy Board. We have not been introduced.”
“I am Lord James Wilder,” the man said. “And I have heard of you, Mister Moore. A pleasure to meet you. I know your father, and because of this, we have special orders for you, Mister Moore. Orders that cannot be written down.”
This surprised Jonathan somewhat.
“I see. I believe I do…at least,” said Jonathan.
“It is like this,” said Spears in a hushed tone. “The orders that have been delivered to Captain Harrison are of a very sensitive nature. He may or may not share them with you.”
“That is why we have come to address you directly,” smiled Wilder. “It is my understanding that you are an outstanding officer-to-be. Your reputation precedes you, and after special consideration, I chose to ask you for your assistance.”
Jonathan was wary. He knew Spears was no friend to his family, and he was most assuredly aware of the issues that had arisen between his son, Wayne, and Jonathan. Spears certainly could not be trusted. However, Lord Wilder was an unknown. He had no way to judge him for either good or ill.
“Sirs, exactly how may I assist you?” Jonathan asked.
“Mister Moore,” began Wilder, “the orders are for the Paladin to deliver a very secret treaty to Dugi Otok, off the coast of Dalmatia. The Treaty of Akbar. It was written and prepared by the king himself. He asked that you be made aware of this. I believe you have met His Highness?”
This was common knowledge but still true.
“Yes, sir,” said Jonathan, still suspicious.
“The treaty is between England and another nation, a powerful ally for us should war break out once again,” continued Lord Wilder. “It must be delivered on exactly April the sixteenth. The king personally requests that you do whatever you can to keep the crew and the officers on course, to use a phrase with which we are all accustomed.”
“I see, and I am honored His Majesty entrusts this duty to me,” said Jonathan.
Spears and Wilder both smiled.
“However,” said Jonathan, “why not inform Captain Harrison? He is a gentleman and a fine officer. I am sure he will see the importance of delivering this treaty and give you all assurance that he will perform his—”
“Because, Moore,” said Spears angrily, “he is not to know the particulars of the treaty, and not to open the diplomatic pouch. It would invalidate the seal. That is the secret part of the secret treaty, dolt!”
“Please, Captain Spears. No need to be impatient or rude,” said Lord Wilder as he turned his kind eyes to Jonathan. “Jonathan, the king wants this to remain as secret as can be, with as few people knowing the particulars of the treaty as possible. There are many who do not want this to be delivered, and they would do anything to stop its success. That is why His Majesty asked that you do whatever is necessary to keep the crew true to the mission. Do you understand?”
“Well,” said Jonathan, confused, “not exactly.”
“Oh!” blurted Spears. “Of all the—”
Lord Wilder held up a hand to silence Spears.
“I am sorry, Jonathan,” continued Wilder. “What is it that you do not understand?”
“Sir, what type of situation might arise that would make it necessary to even address Captain Harrison about the execution of the mission? It seems abundantly clear to me that we are to sail to Dugi Otok and deliver the treaty to someone. That’s not very complicated.”
“Ah, yes, yes,” said Wilder. “However, what if there were another ship, for example? One sailing under no colors—and it crossed your path? Wouldn’t it be to Harrison’s advantage to give chase? Possibly capture the ship? Or, what if it were a ploy of our enemies, and the treaty were taken during the battle? Or maybe another ship or two appeared at an inopportune time?”
Jonathan thought of this. Yes, that would make sense.
“Or possibly,” continued Wilder, “Captain Harrison might desire to spend an extra day or two in a port along the way. Such a delay could prove disastrous for this mission.”
“Sir, isn’t this explained in the orders?” asked Jonathan.
“Yes,” said Spears. “The orders are explicit. His Majesty requires some reassurance, and you are that reassurance. Also—and quite frankly, many believe, and I share this—that Thomas Harrison is cursed at best and not actually up to snuff.”
Jonathan slowly frowned, and narrowed his eyes in anger.
“He has already been aboard two ships that have been lost,” continued Spears, “and I wouldn’t be surprised if he lost the Paladin as well.”
”Commander Harrison
is a well-seasoned—”
“The king gave him this assignment as a favor to Captain Walker. Everyone knows that,” said Spears meanly.
“The king is relying on you, Jonathan,” said Wilder.
Jonathan now understood the issue at hand, as ill-founded as it was. It was simply that these men did not know Commander Thomas Harrison, and they were taken with rumors and jealous innuendo. Jonathan knew that Thomas Harrison was worthy of this command, had fought hand-to-hand in many battles, and had trained some of the finest crews in His Majesty’s Service. He would execute the orders faithfully, with or without any encouragement from Jonathan. In that case, he thought, no harm in agreeing to do what he could to keep everything by the book.
“Sirs,” said Jonathan flatly, “you are incorrect about Thomas Harrison, I can assure you. However, I will do whatever I can to assure the success of the mission, and I will advise Commander Harrison, whenever necessary, to follow the orders with the utmost accuracy and dispatch.”
This caused both men to smile once again.
“Good! Good!” said Wilder, who reached to shake Jonathan’s hand. “Now, just one more thing. The orders contain precise instructions of how and where to anchor the Paladin in order for the designated recipient to obtain the treaty. These must be followed to the letter. The anchoring procedures are the signal for the contact to approach the Paladin.”
“I am sure, again, that Harrison will follow these orders to the letter,” said Jonathan.
“Should he deviate,” warned Wilder, “the mission will fail. We need you to make sure it doesn’t. Make sure he anchors exactly as prescribed, Jonathan.”
Jonathan agreed.
Wilder and Spears left the pier unceremoniously, and Jonathan returned to the ship. It was all highly irregular, he thought, but that seemed to define life in London. At least at sea, there was a rhythm of predictability, and surprises were few. He couldn’t wait to be underway.
Of course, the thought of London made him look back to the city, and up its northern stretch that he actually couldn’t see; yet, he imagined the winding road that led to Van Patten Wood, and to the Bracknell Manor, and to Delain Dowdeswell. He would miss her, he thought, and he already did.