Sea of Ruin - Pam Godwin Page 0,111

whisperings about the sort of discipline Sir Dycker meted out. One sergeant claimed that the admiral carried a rattan cane so that he could whack slow-moving crewmen across the head. Another said Dycker was known to make his lowest-ranked man run the gauntlet, forcing him to walk naked between parallel lines of soldiers while everyone flogged his back with knotted cat-o’-nine tails.

Ashley would have a better idea than most as to how his admiral governed men, but his expression gave nothing away. He stood off to my right at the end of the line with a row of lieutenants separating us. I’d been shuffled toward the back as if my presence put a moral stain on the proceedings.

I watched Ashley in my periphery, only glancing in his direction when I was certain no one noticed. But he never met my eyes or acknowledged my existence in any way. I reminded myself he was the commodore of this ship, and this was his mask. The veneer he wore among his men.

Deep down, however, I didn’t believe that was all this was. Something had changed between us the instant that knock had sounded on his door.

That something had to do with HMS Ludwig.

The admiral’s flagship made an impressive sight where she was braced onto the opposite tack. Beneath a cloud-stuffed sky, her stately masts towered protectively over the sea, her gunports open to breathe in the lazy breeze.

The admiral himself didn’t tower over anything. He was a head shorter than the shortest man on board. Yet he wore the tallest, highest high-parted periwig I’d ever seen. Perhaps an attempt to make up for his lack of height.

The stiff-lipped little man was around forty years old and did, in fact, carry a cane, which he swung from a loop on his stubby middle finger.

Maybe he was a loving husband, generous commander, and all-around decent fellow, but I disliked him instantly. I didn’t know why. Just a feeling in my gut.

Ashley greeted him with all the required formality, and they launched into a discussion about Dycker’s purpose here. I caught bits and pieces of the conversation over the roar of waves. Evidently, Dycker had been sent from England to Nassau at the earnest request of the colony’s governor to hold a conference on some private matter. That was now concluded, and HMS Ludwig was on course to return home.

When it was Ashley’s turn to explain his whereabouts, he spoke of the forty pirates he’d captured and currently held below. Then he mentioned the Feral Priest he was soon to collect in New Providence before sailing back to England.

The admiral’s gaze wandered toward the sea as if he’d lost interest in Ashley’s plans. As his attention circled back, he went still. His head turned, and his eyes landed directly on me.

Pulling himself away from Ashley without a word, he strode down the line of soldiers and paused before the men who stood in front of me. “What is this?”

The throng of seamen parted, putting me into full view of admiral’s inspection.

“A prisoner, my lord.” Ashley didn’t move from his position or look my way.

“This charmingly small little confection is a prisoner?” The glittering beads of Dycker’s brown eyes danced over me, making my skin prickle with unease. Then he drifted closer, reaching out to touch my hair.

“Mind your fingers, my lord,” Ashley said. “She bites.”

I gritted my teeth. So his lordship was watching. I couldn’t tell, given the way he stared straight ahead as if he couldn’t stand the sight of me.

“She’s Edric Sharp’s daughter.” Ashley’s accent thickened with something akin to pride. “Bennett Sharp.”

“Well done, Lord Cutler. A fine prize, indeed.” Dycker gave me another skin-crawling appraisal. “But why, pray tell, is she not confined in the hold with the others?”

“I wish to deliver her to England alive and in one piece. My hold is crammed with savages. She lasted less than a minute in there before they were upon her.”

“I see. So she’s sleeping where?”

“In my quarters, my lord.” Ashley’s tone hardened, leaden with challenge.

“Good heavens, that is highly irregular.”

“So is the capture of a female pirate.”

“It’s unbeseeming. Intolerable.” Dycker tapped his cane hard against the planks. “The Royal Navy is not running a brothel aboard its ships. If the First Lord of the Admiralty heard of this—”

“He would understand my quandary and appreciate my willingness to be flexible.”

The air stretched with nervous strain. Anxiety rippled from the rank and file of soldiers and quickened my own breaths.

“Just so.” Dycker sniffed. “There is