they offered, he would still be alive.’
‘That bastard!’ spat Lawson. ‘Do you know what he said to my crew? That
London
was an unlucky ship. What sort of blackguard does that on the eve of a war?’
‘But she
was
an unlucky ship,’ Lambe pointed out. ‘Three hundred corpses prove it.’
Lawson opened his mouth to argue, but could apparently think of nothing to say, so he closed it again. Contempt in his every move, Rupert sheathed his sword, collected his cloak and stalked out, slamming the door behind him.
‘No wonder he lost the Battle of Naseby,’ said Lawson sullenly. ‘What soldier would obey orders from a coxcomb like him?’
‘He should learn from you, Admiral,’ said Scott fawningly. His purse was so heavy that it threatened to tear off his belt. ‘I imagine your men would follow you anywhere.’
‘Into hell itself,’ agreed Lawson. ‘Not that
I
shall ever see such a place, of course, being favoured by God. Did I tell you that He likes me to smite His enemies?’
‘Once or twice,’ replied Scott. ‘But I am not averse to boastful remarks where they are justified. I also like to—’
‘I do not boast; I speak the truth.’ Lawson jabbed a thick forefinger at the door, scowling as he did so. ‘Seafaring men will never fight under that foreign peacock, and if
he
is put in charge of a fleet, we may as well start learning Dutch. He is not fit to command a barge.’
‘That will not stop the Privy Council from appointing him, though,’ said Lambe softly. ‘It is as inevitable as Clarendon’s new mansion being renamed Dunkirk House by the masses.’
‘The sale of Dunkirk
was
a wicked affair,’ said one patron sourly. ‘We should have been able to get double the price paid by those thieving French, and it is obvious that some corrupt hand was at work. And Clarendon was in charge of the negotiations…’
The port of Dunkirk had been British ever since Cromwell had bought it during the Commonwealth, but the Restoration government had hawked it in order to raise some quick cash. Unfortunately, Clarendon had agreed on a price that was far too low, giving rise to rumours that the French had bribed him. The sale had been unpopular at the time, but now people were livid – it could have been a haven for British warships, but instead the Dutch were using it as a base.
‘Dunkirk House,’ intoned Lambe. ‘Clarendon’s home will soon be known by no other name. I predict it, and my prophecies are never wrong.’
Chaloner rolled his eyes. People had been using ‘Dunkirk House’ for months, and if it did pass into common usage, it would be because the likes of Lambe kept harping on it. Others were impressed by the sorcerer’s declaration, however.
‘Lord!’ breathed Scott. ‘What else do you know about the future? Can you predict the outcome of the war?’
‘Of course,’ replied Lambe sibilantly. ‘Yet the matter is complex and—’
‘Nonsense,’ spat Lawson. ‘No one can. And anyone who claims otherwise is a liar.’
Lambe’s eyes narrowed to angry slits. ‘My Lord Buckingham says—’
‘Another idle bugger,’ interrupted Lawson scornfully. ‘I do not care to hear his opinions. Now get out of my way. I am going home.’
‘Would you like a ride in my coach?’ asked Scott pleasantly. ‘I know you do not have one of your own. Neither do I actually, despite being Cartographer Royal, so I decided to hire one for a few days in the hope that the King will see my sad predicament and arrange for me to have one at government expense.’
‘God gave me two feet,’ said Lawson, shoving past him. ‘I do not need wheels.’
Scott scurried after him, his persistence in the face of such rank discourtesy giving the impression that he was loath to let the Admiral go while there was still money in his pockets. As Lambe was alone, Chaloner took the opportunity to corner him.
‘Temperance says you are kin to the Dr Lambe who served Buckingham’s father,’ he began, aiming to
‘That bastard!’ spat Lawson. ‘Do you know what he said to my crew? That
London
was an unlucky ship. What sort of blackguard does that on the eve of a war?’
‘But she
was
an unlucky ship,’ Lambe pointed out. ‘Three hundred corpses prove it.’
Lawson opened his mouth to argue, but could apparently think of nothing to say, so he closed it again. Contempt in his every move, Rupert sheathed his sword, collected his cloak and stalked out, slamming the door behind him.
‘No wonder he lost the Battle of Naseby,’ said Lawson sullenly. ‘What soldier would obey orders from a coxcomb like him?’
‘He should learn from you, Admiral,’ said Scott fawningly. His purse was so heavy that it threatened to tear off his belt. ‘I imagine your men would follow you anywhere.’
‘Into hell itself,’ agreed Lawson. ‘Not that
I
shall ever see such a place, of course, being favoured by God. Did I tell you that He likes me to smite His enemies?’
‘Once or twice,’ replied Scott. ‘But I am not averse to boastful remarks where they are justified. I also like to—’
‘I do not boast; I speak the truth.’ Lawson jabbed a thick forefinger at the door, scowling as he did so. ‘Seafaring men will never fight under that foreign peacock, and if
he
is put in charge of a fleet, we may as well start learning Dutch. He is not fit to command a barge.’
‘That will not stop the Privy Council from appointing him, though,’ said Lambe softly. ‘It is as inevitable as Clarendon’s new mansion being renamed Dunkirk House by the masses.’
‘The sale of Dunkirk
was
a wicked affair,’ said one patron sourly. ‘We should have been able to get double the price paid by those thieving French, and it is obvious that some corrupt hand was at work. And Clarendon was in charge of the negotiations…’
The port of Dunkirk had been British ever since Cromwell had bought it during the Commonwealth, but the Restoration government had hawked it in order to raise some quick cash. Unfortunately, Clarendon had agreed on a price that was far too low, giving rise to rumours that the French had bribed him. The sale had been unpopular at the time, but now people were livid – it could have been a haven for British warships, but instead the Dutch were using it as a base.
‘Dunkirk House,’ intoned Lambe. ‘Clarendon’s home will soon be known by no other name. I predict it, and my prophecies are never wrong.’
Chaloner rolled his eyes. People had been using ‘Dunkirk House’ for months, and if it did pass into common usage, it would be because the likes of Lambe kept harping on it. Others were impressed by the sorcerer’s declaration, however.
‘Lord!’ breathed Scott. ‘What else do you know about the future? Can you predict the outcome of the war?’
‘Of course,’ replied Lambe sibilantly. ‘Yet the matter is complex and—’
‘Nonsense,’ spat Lawson. ‘No one can. And anyone who claims otherwise is a liar.’
Lambe’s eyes narrowed to angry slits. ‘My Lord Buckingham says—’
‘Another idle bugger,’ interrupted Lawson scornfully. ‘I do not care to hear his opinions. Now get out of my way. I am going home.’
‘Would you like a ride in my coach?’ asked Scott pleasantly. ‘I know you do not have one of your own. Neither do I actually, despite being Cartographer Royal, so I decided to hire one for a few days in the hope that the King will see my sad predicament and arrange for me to have one at government expense.’
‘God gave me two feet,’ said Lawson, shoving past him. ‘I do not need wheels.’
Scott scurried after him, his persistence in the face of such rank discourtesy giving the impression that he was loath to let the Admiral go while there was still money in his pockets. As Lambe was alone, Chaloner took the opportunity to corner him.
‘Temperance says you are kin to the Dr Lambe who served Buckingham’s father,’ he began, aiming to
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