Dangerous Waters by Jane Jackson Page A

the cask they were carrying and straightened up. Both were clad in rags so filthy Jowan found it impossible to guess their original colour.
    â€œBosun?”
    â€œTake the doctor’s trunk down to his cabin and be smart about it.” He turned back, indicating the bag. “Want ’em to take that as well, sir?”
    â€œNo, I’ll bring it.”
    With a nod the bosun turned away and stomped off down the deck towards two seamen snarling at each other over a barrel. With lightning speed he laid the piece of rope across the shoulders of each and roared at them to get on with their work.
    Jowan had wondered at the rope’s purpose. Now he knew.
    On the forward part of the crowded deck men were rolling casks of fresh water and barrels hauled up from chandlers’ boats to the hatches to be carried below.
    Jowan followed his trunk to the companionway. In front of him the gaff from which the ship’s fore and aft mainsail hung was lashed to the huge boom. This was tightly secured to prevent it swinging and sweeping the busy men from the deck into the sea. To his left stood the binnacle housing the compass, and behind it the huge wheel.
    The ship moved restlessly as if she wished herself free of her anchor cables. Excitement rippled through him. He was joining a world very different from the one he knew. Though Providence would not sail for two days, his duties began right now.
    The door to the captain’s day cabin was wedged open. Light streamed in through stern windows beneath which banquette seating of crimson plush stretched in a shallow semicircle the width of the cabin. It illuminated a thickset man with receding hair tied back in a short pigtail. Leaning over a table covered with books, charts and ledgers, he wore a navy coat and blue breeches that seemed to suggest a uniform but lacked the elaborate gold braid and buttons of a naval officer.
    â€œMr Burley?” Jowan said.
    The man looked up, a frown drawing his thick brows together. “Yes?” It was curt, impatient.
    Jowan offered his hand. “I’m the new surgeon. Crossley, Jowan Crossley.”
    The master’s narrowed gaze raked him from his bare head, serviceable brown frock, double-breasted waistcoat and buckskin breeches to his leather boots. The master’s frown cleared. And as he nodded Jowan sensed his relief. What had he expected?
    â€œGlad to see you.” Burley’s handshake was brief but firm. “You’ve got some job on.” It sounded like a warning.
    â€œIs Captain Deakin unwell?” Jowan enquired.
    â€œSo I understand from Andy.” As Jowan raised a questioning eyebrow Burley explained. “Andy Gilbert: master’s mate. Only a lad – well, twenty-one – but a born seaman, and brave with it.” Burley’s expression changed becoming unreadable. “We had a bad time voyage before last. We was chased twice and lost five men to fever. Captain Deakin got an infection of the lungs. He didn’t sail last trip. Andy’s been to visit him. Says he’s still not recovered.” There was a brief pause. “He was well enough to show Andy the plans though.”
    â€œPlans?” Jowan enquired.
    â€œOf this new house he’s having built. Some big place it is.”
    â€œAh,” Jowan understood. It was common knowledge in the town that while retaining nominal command and all the financial advantages that went with it, an increasing number of captains were staying at home leaving their officers to sail the packet to her destination. No doubt Burley’s seafaring experience equaled that of his absent captain, and he had a mate competent to take the alternate watch. But looking at the deep frown lines and cluttered desk, Jowan guessed Burley was neither comfortable nor familiar with paperwork.
    â€œHave you been told what your duties are?”
    Jowan nodded. “One of Mr Tierney’s clerks gave me a list. I’d best get