the two of you would find
a satisfactory solution to any problems that ensued,” Langham
finished resolutely and rose to leave. “If you gentlemen require
me, I’ll be on the quarter deck.” He nodded perfunctorily before
departing.
When Langham had shut the door behind him,
Roman exploded, his ire only fueled by Morgan’s jocular expression.
“Bloody hell, Morgan! Wilhelm told us there were only bondservants
on this ship.” He paced a short path across the floor. “I’ve never
known him to quarter a bondservant in a cabin. These games of
uncle’s are getting tiresome. He treats us as if we were…”
Roman stopped his pacing as he momentarily
remembered how he had treated the wench on the docks. A spark of
regret showed in his eyes. A waif, a doxy, he didn’t know which. He
hadn’t been able to make out her features through all the grime but
her eyes had burned brightly and looked at him with a hopeful gaze
that had stirred a strange awakening within him. He had been about
to take her reverently in his arms and comfort her when he had
caught his wits and turned his unwarranted wrath on her
instead.
“Well, I’m to the deck,” said Morgan, giving
Roman a sound thump on the shoulder as he pushed past. “If I’m to
spend this voyage enduring your close company, I’d best take the
air when I can.”
Roman ignored the gibe but followed Morgan
aloft. The air was sharp and cold. Through the growing breaks in
the fog he could see that the sea was calming. Ahead the sun rose
high and would soon mark an endless expanse of blue. Roman took a
turn about the deck to clear his head, giving a nod here and there
to the crewmen who were checking lines and securing crates and
barrels.
The night at the Red Feather had not brought
him a complete hour of sleep, nor for that matter had the entire
week before. Since his ship had docked for repairs after months at
sea, and he had met Morgan in London, theirs had been a life of
constant revelry. He sighed wearily. Not in a fit of madness would
he admit to Morqan that he longed for a night of rest. No matter if
bone tired, if a challenge arose he must best his brother in
drinking the most ale or bedding the prettiest wench.
He found Morgan leaning against a starboard
rail, looking out to sea. “I have it, Morgan” Roman gave his
brother’s shoulder a stronger than needed shake.
“If you mean the worst temper in this port,
that I know,” Morgan retorted, turning about and scowling at Roman
as he set right his tricorn which had been knocked askew by Roman’s
impudence.
Roman smiled. “I mean a solution to our
problem of the cabins.”
“How’s that?”
Roman pulled a handful of coins from his
pocket and let them clink about in his palm before he gave his
brother a more than playful shove back the way they had come a
short while before. “Don’t know why I didn’t think of it from the
first.”
“Thinking is never what you do first,”
Morgan said more jovially.
Roman ignored the barb. “We’ll pay the bloke
off,” he said. “Offer him enough coin that he will gladly string a
hammock in the hold.”
Morgan smiled. “And I will be shed of you
and your foul moods.” He put a sharp elbow to Roman’s ribs.
“Sometimes, brother, you do have a good thought.”
***
The gentle roll of the ship counteracted the
exhaustion that had gripped Silvia as she curled beneath the light
blanket in the narrow bunk. Her eyelids were shut fast before she
had taken more than a single breath.
Within moments she slept so heavily that she
was wholly lost in the musing deepness of dreams of that took her
to green lands with warm breezes and genteel people who treated one
another with kindness and concern. She allowed herself to drift
into the pleasantness and peace and bright hopefulness of the place
until somewhere around the edges of her dream a darkness slithered
inside. With it, a noise too rude for that perfect place intruded
on the quiet of her mind. She pushed
a satisfactory solution to any problems that ensued,” Langham
finished resolutely and rose to leave. “If you gentlemen require
me, I’ll be on the quarter deck.” He nodded perfunctorily before
departing.
When Langham had shut the door behind him,
Roman exploded, his ire only fueled by Morgan’s jocular expression.
“Bloody hell, Morgan! Wilhelm told us there were only bondservants
on this ship.” He paced a short path across the floor. “I’ve never
known him to quarter a bondservant in a cabin. These games of
uncle’s are getting tiresome. He treats us as if we were…”
Roman stopped his pacing as he momentarily
remembered how he had treated the wench on the docks. A spark of
regret showed in his eyes. A waif, a doxy, he didn’t know which. He
hadn’t been able to make out her features through all the grime but
her eyes had burned brightly and looked at him with a hopeful gaze
that had stirred a strange awakening within him. He had been about
to take her reverently in his arms and comfort her when he had
caught his wits and turned his unwarranted wrath on her
instead.
“Well, I’m to the deck,” said Morgan, giving
Roman a sound thump on the shoulder as he pushed past. “If I’m to
spend this voyage enduring your close company, I’d best take the
air when I can.”
Roman ignored the gibe but followed Morgan
aloft. The air was sharp and cold. Through the growing breaks in
the fog he could see that the sea was calming. Ahead the sun rose
high and would soon mark an endless expanse of blue. Roman took a
turn about the deck to clear his head, giving a nod here and there
to the crewmen who were checking lines and securing crates and
barrels.
The night at the Red Feather had not brought
him a complete hour of sleep, nor for that matter had the entire
week before. Since his ship had docked for repairs after months at
sea, and he had met Morgan in London, theirs had been a life of
constant revelry. He sighed wearily. Not in a fit of madness would
he admit to Morqan that he longed for a night of rest. No matter if
bone tired, if a challenge arose he must best his brother in
drinking the most ale or bedding the prettiest wench.
He found Morgan leaning against a starboard
rail, looking out to sea. “I have it, Morgan” Roman gave his
brother’s shoulder a stronger than needed shake.
“If you mean the worst temper in this port,
that I know,” Morgan retorted, turning about and scowling at Roman
as he set right his tricorn which had been knocked askew by Roman’s
impudence.
Roman smiled. “I mean a solution to our
problem of the cabins.”
“How’s that?”
Roman pulled a handful of coins from his
pocket and let them clink about in his palm before he gave his
brother a more than playful shove back the way they had come a
short while before. “Don’t know why I didn’t think of it from the
first.”
“Thinking is never what you do first,”
Morgan said more jovially.
Roman ignored the barb. “We’ll pay the bloke
off,” he said. “Offer him enough coin that he will gladly string a
hammock in the hold.”
Morgan smiled. “And I will be shed of you
and your foul moods.” He put a sharp elbow to Roman’s ribs.
“Sometimes, brother, you do have a good thought.”
***
The gentle roll of the ship counteracted the
exhaustion that had gripped Silvia as she curled beneath the light
blanket in the narrow bunk. Her eyelids were shut fast before she
had taken more than a single breath.
Within moments she slept so heavily that she
was wholly lost in the musing deepness of dreams of that took her
to green lands with warm breezes and genteel people who treated one
another with kindness and concern. She allowed herself to drift
into the pleasantness and peace and bright hopefulness of the place
until somewhere around the edges of her dream a darkness slithered
inside. With it, a noise too rude for that perfect place intruded
on the quiet of her mind. She pushed
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