The Lost Gentleman. Margaret McPhee

the huge sealed butt in the corner. The sudden compassion on Reverend Dr Gunner’s face and his abrupt suggestion that they progress to the upper deck confirmed the butt’s macabre contents: Tobias. She was relieved to follow the priest up the ladder out into the fresh air and bright sunshine. But the relief was short lived.

      North was already out on deck, taking the morning navigational reading, chronometer, sextant and compass clearly visible; a man absorbed in his task. The blue-sheened raven sat hunched on his shoulder, as if it were party to the readings.

      His shirt was white this morning, not black, and he was clean shaven and hatless, so that she could see where the sun had lifted something of the darkness from his hair to a burnished mahogany. It rippled like short-cut grass in the wind. In the clarity of the early morning light his golden tanned features had a harsh handsomeness that was hard to deny. But even a rattlesnake could look handsome; it did not mean that she liked it any the more.

      North saw her then, cutting those too-perceptive eyes to her in a way that brought a flutter of nerves to her stomach and prickle of clamminess to her palms.

      He gave her a small nod of acknowledgement, but he did not smile. Indeed, his expression was serious, stern almost. Nor, to her relief, did he make any movement towards her. Instead he turned his attention back to his measurements and calculations.

      ‘Do not mind North,’ said Gunner with good humour. ‘It is his manner with everyone. He is a man who takes life too seriously and works too hard.’

      As she followed the priest over to the stern of the ship, her eyes scanned the ocean behind them and saw the distant familiar shapes of islands across the water, but nothing else.

      She leaned against the rail, feel the cooling kiss of the sea breeze, noticing both its strength and direction as she watched the frothy white wake Raven left behind her. Just looking at the ocean, just being on it, never failed to comfort her. Her gaze dropped to the tall lettering that named North’s ship, tall and clear and stark white against the rich black paint of the stern. Raven.

      ‘There was no name upon this ship when the pirates approached.’ She looked at the priest with a question in her eyes. ‘I am sure of it, sir.’ But was she? Had such a basic mistake brought her to this situation? ‘At least, I thought I saw nothing and I sure was looking to see who you were.’

      ‘Do not doubt yourself, madam. There was no name for the pirates to see. Look more closely.’

      She walked toward the stern and leaned over it to examine the painted name, and saw exactly the device North had used. ‘There is a long black plank, like a frame fixed above the lettering.’

      ‘Largely invisible from elsewhere. It can be flipped down to cover the name.’

      ‘How clever.’ So clever that it frightened her.

      ‘It is, is it not? North is clever.’

      ‘How clever?’ she asked, needing to know the full measure of the man who was her enemy.

      ‘Do you know anything of ships Mrs Medhurst?’

      ‘I do,’ she admitted with a nod. ‘Both my father and grandfather were shipwrights and sailors. There have been sailors in my family for as far back as can be remembered.’

      He smiled. ‘Then look up at Raven’s sails and rigging.’

      She did as he bid and what she saw stole the words from her tongue. Gone was the tatty patched ordinary canvas found on many merchant schooners, and in their place was a large spread of pristine-looking sails. She felt the prickle of cold sweat at the sight.

      ‘And our hull is longer and sleeker than most ships of this size. North’s own design. The combination of the hull design and the sail spread allow us uncommon speed and manoeuvrability, making us faster than most pirate ships.’

      ‘I did not see any gun ports either for the guns below.’

      ‘Optical illusion.’ Reverend Dr Gunner smiled again. ‘We are carrying eighteen big guns, as well as several small swivel guns.’

       Compared to Coyote’s arsenal of eight guns.

      ‘Our men are drilled to fire one-minute rounds. And—’ he could barely contain his excitement ‘—we have a special powder mix that extends the range of our shot.’

      ‘Oh, my!’ she said softly.

      ‘Not to mention our personal weaponry.’ He pulled part of the enormous cutlass from the scabbard that hung from his left hip, to expose a small section of the silver shining blade. ‘It is a special high-tensile steel from Madagascar. There is nothing to match its combined hardness and flexibility. And we carry an armament that would kit out an army. We are the very best, or, depending on whose point of view one takes, the very worst of what sails upon these seas. We can best any pirate.’ He smiled again.

      Kate thought of Coyote out there somewhere behind, following Raven. ‘I see.’ She forced the curve to her lips, but inside her stomach was clenched with worry and there was a cold realisation spreading through her blood.

      ‘Wonderful, is it not?’

      Wonderful was not the word Kate was thinking to describe it. The priest was awaiting her reply, but she was saved from having to make one by the arrival of a call that rang out from the crewman in the rigging.

      ‘Ship ahoy!’

      It was the words that until only a few minutes ago Kate had been praying to hear. Now, in view of what Reverend Dr Gunner had just told her, they left her with mixed emotions.

      * * *

      ‘South-south-west.’

      Kit scanned the horizon in that direction and saw the tiny spot. Raising his spyglass to his eyes, he trained it hard upon the ship and focused.

      He heard the familiar tread of Gunner’s boots strolling over towards him. He heard nothing of the woman, but knew she was there from the reassurances Gunner was speaking to her.

      They stood there quietly by his side, the woman between him and his shipmate. Gunner, not wanting to interrupt Kit’s concentration, stood content and quiet in his own meditations.

      The silence stretched.

      It was the woman who broke it.

      ‘What do you see, sir?’ she asked.

      ‘A schooner.’

      ‘Is it the pirates? The same pirates...?’

      He snapped the spyglass shut and turned to look at her. ‘It is difficult to say at this distance.’

      He felt that same slight prickle of tension and hostility that emanated from her.

      ‘Mrs Medhurst is understandably a little nervous,’ Gunner said. ‘I have tried to convince her of our superior strength, but...’ He smiled and gave a shrug of his shoulders.

      ‘Rest assured, ma’am, if Coyote is fool enough to come after us with vengeance in mind, then, as I am sure Reverend Dr Gunner has already pointed out, we will have disabled her before she is within range to fire her own guns. She has only eight small ones, mainly four and six pounders, nine if you include the swivel gun on the rail, to our eighteen larger.’

      ‘How can you know that?’ She looked pale in the bright morning sun.

      ‘I have a very good spyglass.’ He smiled. ‘And I counted.’

      She swallowed and did not look reassured.

      ‘Calm your nerves, ma’am, if La Voile’s crew threaten violence they will go the same way as their captain.’

      He saw the flicker of something in those eyes trained on the distant ship before she masked it, something that looked a lot like fear, there then gone.

      ‘Have I convinced you, Mrs Medhurst?’

      ‘Yes, Captain