Norton, Andre - Novel 08 (8 page)

 
          
 
"An excellent bit of diversion, Mr.
Lyon," Crofts said. "One might think you had fought sharks
before."

 
          
 
Fitz swallowed and answered. "I never
even saw one before, sir."

 
          
 
"Well, thanks to you and Rainshaw
here," the Captain nodded at the carpenter who was squatting on the deck
with several friends investigating the gleaming teeth of the dead, "we
still not only possess a ship but have gained a dinner. And this will be a
lesson—not to tackle the unknown with too much confidence.
Rainshaw
"

 
          
 
The carpenter rose from the fascinating dental
display.

 
          
 
"To my mind your efforts are worth an
extra quarter share out of the next prize. You got us out of a nasty mess with
that axe of yours."

 
          
 
"Thankee, sir," Rainshaw's face was
one broad smile. "Do you want we should cut up
th
'
critter now, sir?"

 
          
 
Crofts prodded the dead shark with his toe.
The skin of the fish was like a coarse file.
Watts
bent to feel it and withdrew his hand
hastily.

 
          
 
"Yes. Tell the cook to break out the last
of the butter. I've heard that shark steak was best served up in that fashion.
Mr. Ninnes, have the spokes in the wheel and the cabin windows repaired as soon
as possible."

 
          
 
"Aye, aye, sir."

 
          
 
But before he turned away, the young
lieutenant shot a hot, dark look at Fitz. The smoldering ill will in it jarred
the Marylander. Then Fitz thought he understood—Ninnes must have believed that
the collision was intentional, that he, Fitz, had seized the chance to belittle
him. And if that were true

 
          
 
But what could he do about it? There was no
chance to explain. And then Fitz was startled by his own thought. Why in the
world did he think it necessary to explain anything to that self-assured lout?

 
          
 
"Fishing,"
mused
Watts
as the shark was dragged away, "even
fishing, you perceive, can become a menace to life and limb."

 
          
 
Fitz shivered. "I'm beginning to believe
that everything aboard this pestilent ship spells danger. Look here," he
pointed to the deep lines scored in the planks by the teeth of the dying shark.

 
          
 
"Better there than in your ankle,"
was
Watts
' cheerful answer. "And all this
exercise should give you a good appetite. I've never tasted shark steak, but
there is a first time for every
pleasure "

 
          
 
Fitz shook his head. "I don't know about
pleasure," he returned. But that was before he sniffed the odors from the
galley.

 
          
 
If shark fishing was their introduction to
southern waters, another type of fishing proved to be more profitable, as they
discovered during the next few days. For the storm which had driven the
Retaliation off course had plainly been sent, as
Watts
pointed out daily, by providence to aid and
abet the American cause at sea, since it had also shattered an
Indies
convoy and left it, wallowing and pumping,
to be picked up by the first lucky privateer to sight its remains. Within a
space of hours the Retaliation, almost without having to use her new guns at
all, snapped up five fat prizes and pushed her prisoners aboard two more,
having first lightened them of the cream of their cargoes. It was the sort of
luck every privateersman dreams of but seldom meets.

 
          
 
And, having fared so richly,
there was more than a little grumbling when Crofts ordered them north again,
heading once more for European waters and the protected
port
of
St. Malo
.

 
          
 
"It isn't that we don't trust the
Frenchies," Biggs mused one day when the sun seemed to hang right over
their heads, and for the sake of coolness he and his junior officer had just
paid a visit to the pump to be sluiced down, "they're fightin' on our
side.
Only "

 
          
 
"Only?" prompted Fitz lazily. He was
wearing only cotton drawers and the soft wind was like a warm cloak about him.
He thought he could hear a sort of contented hum rising out of the ship's
planks, as if she were some giant cat who had filled her belly and was now
licking her paws in peace.

 
          
 
"Only I can remember the French Wars. My
uncle marched with Braddock and lost his
hair "

 
          
 
"My father fell at
Quebec
." Fitz stretched. "Not that I
ever knew him. Well, I've heard it said that war makes strange bedfellows. And
from all accounts this Saint Malo is a snug berth for a privateer."

 
          
 
"Aye," Biggs assented. "The
Frenchies have been runnin' out o' there t' smack th' British for a goodish
time. She lies handy t'
Plymouth
."

 
          
 
"Not too handy, I trust."
Watts
came up, his bare feet thrust into hide
sandals from the
Indies
, his shirt open to his belt. Across his arm
he carried a bundle wrapped in oiled silk. "At
Plymouth
they have a cage for flighty gentlemen like
us. Haven't you heard of Mill Prison?"

 
          
 
"Hearin' o' it is as close as I want to
get!" Biggs tapped the rail.

 
          
 
Watts
laughed. "Touch wood if you will, friend. But let us hope that our luck
does hold. We've six ships to
go "

 
          
 
"Six ships?"

 
          
 
"Yes. The Retaliation carries fourteen
guns. We've captured eight ships since we left
Baltimore
.
A capture to every gun
is lucky—go
over that and you're courting disaster. With every capture
we lose men to a prize crew. Cut down our complement too far and we'll be easy
pickings ourselves. It is a matter of simple mathematics. Now, I have a mind to
some exercise, and here you are all stripped for it.
So—let's
to work!"

 
          
 
Deftly he unrolled the silken bundle and
displayed, with no small pride, a pair of foils. Almost without thought Fitz
accepted one, finding its perfect balance a delightful surprise.

 
          
 
"I see you are a knowledgeable man,"
commented
Watts
.

 
          
 
"Oh, I've had some instruction. And
you?"

 
          
 
Watts
lowered his eyes in mock modesty. "I know the hilt from the button after a
fashion. Shall we engage?"

 
          
 
Grateful for such a break in the routine, the
men gathered to provide a circle of audience and when the slender blades met
there was a ring about them.

 
          
 
Fitz found himself standing up against no tyro
but a fencer who was something of an expert. He was glad of the hours he had
spent with Master D'Aulony who had come to Fairleigh once a month to sigh over
the crudities of his American students. To the Marylander's disgust, after
three minutes of
Watts
' attack, he found himself puffing. The
surgeon shook his head commis-eratingly.

 
          
 
"Too much high living," he
diagnosed. "I would advise a little less shark steak and not so many late
nights "

 
          
 
Fitz's mouth tightened. A wrist which had once
been steadily drilled in the proper twists and turns began to recover its old
suppleness. And now
Watts
had to give way. Fitz knew real triumph as
his button touched the other's upper arm.

 
          
 
But a second later he was answered with a thud
under the small ribs which brought a surprised grunt out of him.

 
          
 
"Too much confidence," Dr. Watts
breathed as easily as a master in the salle des armes, "is almost as bad
as none at all. Yes, you pinked me then. But on return I might have given you
your death."

 
          
 
Fitz stepped lightly now, almost as if he were
treading the measures of a dance. He was almost ready. His sword arm appeared
to
waver,
the blade dropped a fraction of an inch.
Watts
lunged but there followed the sharp
"ping" of mistreated steel. The doctor stood rubbing his hand
ruefully as his foil rolled across the deck.

 
          
 
The Marylander swung his weapon into formal
salute. "Too much confidence," he quoted mockingly, "is almost
as bad as none at all."

 
          
 
Watts
stopped soothing his tingling hand.
"All right, you
young devil.
That was no happenstance—what's the trick of it?"

 
          
 
Fitz raised eyebrows in imitation of the
doctor's own expression.

 
          
 
"It's a trade secret you're asking me to
disclose, Doctor. And wouldn't I be a bumble wit to throw such a pearl before
swine "

 
          
 
"I find myself misliking that last
term "
Watts
began
when he was interrupted.

 
          
 
"A fine exhibition,
gentlemen."
Captain Crofts had picked up the surgeon's foil.
"Are you tired, Mr. Lyon?"

 
          
 
"No, sir."

 
          
 
"Then perhaps you will favor me with a
few minutes of exercise."

 
          
 
Before Fitz could answer, Crofts had shed his
coat and was kicking off his shoes. When he faced the marine it was with the
ease of a practiced swordsman.

 
          
 
And, Fitz speedily discovered, if
Watts
had been good, the Captain of the
Retaliation was a master of the art. The Marylander felt the prod of the button
tw T ice within as many minutes and guessed that he would have some bruises to
mark this engagement. He could only circle on the defensive, parrying as best
he could, waiting for the chance to try the same trick which had defeated the
surgeon.

 
          
 
Once he thought he saw just the right opening
and slipped his blade in, only to have it jar along the length of the other's
foil. A faint frown of concentration creased Crofts' forehead—as if he were
trying to remember something. Fitz went back to straight defense. He was cool
and careful now, and there had been no button on him for sometime. He must play
a waiting game.

 
          
 
Then, for the second time, he tried that
thrust up which should have broken through his opponent's guard. Only again he
struck on a waiting steel barrier. Then Crofts laughed.