As he waited out the unusual silence inside his head, he began to hear, faintly at first, the rapid beat of two hearts. With a conviction that made him suck in his breath, he knew it was his father and mother in the act of creating him. He had heard it before, but now he knew who it meant.
“Francisco Jesus Domingo y Guzman, el Conde de Quintanar,” he said with conviction.
Angus gaped at him. “You know?”
It was Able’s turn to feel frosty impatience. This news was something to share with Meridee, not a man whom he was beginning to like a little more, but nothing else. He tamped down his own irritation.
“Last year, Captain Rose took me upstairs to Trinity House’s storage rooms and showed me a small portrait of the Count of Quintanar. That’s who you saw.”
“Well, blow me,” Angus said, making his vulgarity sound almost reverent. “I think he must be your father.”
“I believe you are right,” Able replied. “Awkward, isn’t it?”
Angus recovered himself and shrugged. “I suppose there are stranger things, although at the moment I can’t think of any. How in the world…”
Able shrugged this time. “Who knows? Captain Rose told me that years ago, Spain sent a delegation to England to consult with shipwrights. You know, back when our two countries were not at odds.”
“You’re from Dumfries?”
“Aye.”
“How did the count get to Dumfries?”
“How would I know?”
Angus laughed, cutting through the odd tension. “I thought you knew everything.”
“Apparently not.”
They started walking again. “I shouldn’t think the world needs to know this little tidbit,” Angus said finally.
“I would agree.” Aye, let me mull this around and see how little I like it, Able thought, with some curdling of his usual good temper.
Angus opened his mouth, closed it, and opened it again. “There is one other matter probably of more importance than your somewhat unusual origins.”
So now you think you know what is more important for a bastard who has wondered all his life about his origins? Able asked himself. “Hmmm?” was the best he could do.
Ogilvie took his arm. “I was privy to a conversation at Admiralty only yesterday.” He looked away. “I hardly know how to tell you, because I know it will not be welcome news to Meridee, at the very least.”
“You have my full attention,” Able said quietly. He could feel his odd and spectral mentors gathering close, listening in, breathing on his neck. What a nuisance they were.
“We have reached that time of national emergency,” Angus said, with none of his usual posturing or superiority. “I believe you will be recalled to the fleet in a matter of days.”
Chapter Five
This was not the moment for the government to rip him from Meridee and St. Brendan. “This is the wrong time,” he blurted out, startled, even angry, because usually his cranial visitors had a way of alerting him to bad news. They had failed him.
“When is war ever convenient?” Angus retorted.
“Never,” he said, sick at heart. “And here we are. I educate and send some young men to their deaths. You follow spies into dangerous places.”
“…and my hands are bloody,” was Ogilvie’s equally quiet comment. “I’m weary of that and I fear we have only begun this war.”
“I see at least ten years ahead,” Able said, continuing their slow amble. “Napoleon will move on Spain and we must counter him there on land and sea. I see tedious blockade duty and many ship-to-ship encounters.”
“I doubt our armies can match Napoleon’s,” Angus said.
“Perhaps not yet. We haven’t found the right commander. We will.”
Angus stopped again. “Your brain should be studied, perhaps after you are dead,” he joked, at least Able thought it was a joke. “Do you think the Conde de Quintanar is as wickedly smart as you?”
“Let’s ask him, shall we, Captain Ogilvie?” Stop, Angus, Able thought. This is my life to ponder.
They continued in silence to Bartleby Bakery. Angus turned to Able and held out his hand. “Let me wish you well.” They shook hands. Ogilvie looked toward St. Brendan’s down the street and across from Able’s house. “D’ye think Lady St. Anthony will continue to instruct there?”
“I would be amazed if she didn’t,” Able replied. “She’s a born teacher and she abhors idleness and aimless little boys.”
Ogilvie nodded. “I like a determined woman.”
“So do I.”
With a nod, the shorter man built like a tree stump continued toward St. Brendan the Navigator School. Able watched him, still unable to make him out. Perhaps Meridee had some clues. He glanced into the bakery window.