"And our people are already leery of the Fleet Delegates, and their radical insolence to authority, sir!" Midshipman Adair excitedly chimed in. "Why, they already take half what they say with a handful of salt! North Sea ships, and ours, deceived…!"
"That's the spirit!" Lewrie nodded with pleasure. He had put a bit of iron back in their spines and had cobbled together new reasons for his ship's hands to despair once more. "Thank you, gentlemen. I think we should begin spreading our 'moonshine.' And about time for us to conduct sail-making drill, hmm? I'll be on the deck later to see how it goes. Both the sail-drill… and our rumour-mongering."
Once they had departed though, he flung himself into his desk chair with a fretful sigh and rang a tiny bell for his steward.
"Any coffee left on the candle warmer, Aspinall?"
" 'Nough for a cup, at least, sir. Comin' right up." Aspinall delivered the cup, atop a new sennet place mat, as intricate as Holland lace.
"Nice work, that… complex," Lewrie idly congratulated him.
"Aye, sir. Some o' the Irish lads're teachin' me their Gaelic knots," Aspinall proudly admitted. Under Andrews's and others' tutelage, Aspinall had become quite good at decorative rope-work, fashioning some brooches, bracelets, even rings, as well as place mats and such. "Some of 'em still know their old ways… what they call Celtic. I'll pare a bit more sugar for ya, sir. Won't be a tick."
Lewrie studied his mug, the coin-silver, engraved present from his former Jesters, while Aspinall scraped at the bee-hive-shaped lump of sugar in the small pantry. Hmmm…
He stared at the engraving, setting it down to rotate it, with a thoughtful expression; admiring the profile of Jester rushing along with all plain sail set, a bone in her teeth, led onward by that mysterious forearm and sword, with the dolphins and seals dancing…
"Aspinall…" he mused aloud.
"Sir?"
"You associate much with our new-come Irish, do you?"
"Some, sir."
"Are many of them in on the mutiny, d'ye think?" Lewrie asked.
"Not that many, sir," Aspinall discounted. "Most of 'em are as poor as church-mice… just wantin' decent wages and a chance to get by, sir. Not much work in Ireland, troubles and risin's, and most of 'em wishin' a wide berth o' those, like Desmond and Furfy. Count them with any education on the fingers o' one hand, sir. A chearly lot, I must say, though, for all that… singin' and hornpipin' at the drop o' your hat, sir? Full o' grand stories too, sir… why, Irishmen could talk the birds from the sky and not repeat themselves for three days runnin', sir!"
"You ever tell them stories, Aspinall? They pump you for information?" Lewrie pressed.
A captain's steward could be an unwitting font of intelligence for the disgruntled; some stewards traded on their access.
"Lord, sir… get a word in edgewise! Aye, some. 'Bout how we had a lucky ship, sir… and you, a lucky captain."
"Ever tell them all about Jester?" Lewrie pressed, getting inspired at this welcome news, "and the strange… fey things we saw?" He swiveled the mug about and pointed at the dolphins and seals and the sea-god's arm, tapping his finger by them. "And how much do they know about Proteus? They came aboard after Chatham. They may not know all her short history… her launching, the change of her name, the Irish sawyer and his boy who convinced her to take water?"
"Dribs an' drabs, here an' there, I s'pose, sir," Aspinall said with a shrug.
"That Proteus was an ancient sea-god, Aspinall." Lewrie smiled. "A very old, shape-changing sea-god. This ship murdered a Protestant, Anglo-Irish vicar. Drove an Anglo-Irish captain ashore, mad as a hatter. But so far…" he added, rapping his knuckles for luck, "she has nothing against me. For I've seen an old sea-god. Jester and me, we were a lucky ship, together. A blessed ship, Aspinall. But, by whom?"
"By 'at ole Lir, sir?" Aspinall replied.
"And Lir's an Irish sea-god, Aspinall." Lewrie nodded happily. "Lir… Proteus… same old gentleman. Cleared her hawse, Proteus did, so I'd come aboard her as captain."
God, I am such an egotistical bastard! he silently grimaced to himself; and a damned liar too!
"Oh, I think I get yer meanin', sir!" Aspinall grinned slyly.
"A proud, willful ship, a living ship she is," Lewrie said. "Too proud to let herself be shamed by serving an Anglo-Irish captain. Too proud and haughty to be involved in something shameful either! And… too savage in her anger 'gainst anyone who'd let her be shamed… in his name! Vengeful, arrogant, blood-thirsty… a ship to serve chearly… in his name."
"Lord, sir!" Aspinall gulped. "Talk like 'at fair gives me th' shivers!"
"Your Irish mates forrud… they tell their old tales like they half-believed 'em, Aspinall?" Lewrie smirked.
"Oh, aye, they do, sir. Even Desmond… best-educated o' their lot, sir. All his songs an' stories…"
"You tell 'em our songs and stories, Aspinall," Lewrie schemed. "Jester and the burial, the seals… the seals off Italy the morning we caught that French bastard Choundas. In the Adriatic, at that pirate isle… Proteus wants out of here, Aspinall, before she's smeared in shame for all time, and no good… what do they call it? No good cess'll be in her if she doesn't… for any man-jack who doesn't aid her. Or… him, whose name she secretly bears. Can you whisper that to 'em, lad?"
"Oh, aye, sir, I can," Aspinall agreed.
"You and the Bosun, he already knows her nature. Hunt up Bosun pendarves, Mister Towpenny… they're West Country men almost good as Irish. You tell 'em for me, Aspinall. I can't. 'Twould sound like crowing."
And get me tossed in gaol as a heretic-or Bedlam as a loonie!
"I'll get started then, sir. Iff n ya don't need nothin' else?" "No, nothing else, Aspinall. You go visit your Irish friends."
God helps those who help themselves, he told himself after his steward had departed; now… which god, well…'Either one, ya know I'm desperate. And a gallopin' lie in a good cause is forgivable.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Another day, another harangue, Lewrie thought with a scowl as he pared his nails with a small pocket knife. The boat-parade of delegates had come with a band, flags, their "green cockade" speakers, and another rant, that just might take up half the Forenoon Watch if past performances were anything to go by.
Must be gettin' dotty, he told himself; but I'm almost lookin'forward to the "entertainment/" He sat, most un-captainly slouched, in his personal wood-and-canvas folding deckchair of his own devising… feet up on the compass binnacle cabinet, conveniently near the speaker so he could hear all that transpired… yet far enough away to disclaim any real curiosity- enjoying the wan sunlight and fresh air, should anyone enquire. Lazily, as was his secret wont.
"Now, hark ye, t'what those cringin', cowardly tyrant ministers from London have sent us, thinkin' we'd cringe an' knuckle under," the idiot McCann raved from the forward edge of the quarterdeck, brandishing a sheet of paper over his head. "Ahem!" he announced, lowering it so he could read it. "George Rex… 'Whereas!' " he bellowed, "… 'upon th' rep… rep-resent…' damme."