Dewey Lambdin - The King

• Название: The King
• Автор: Dewey Lambdin
• Жанр: Морские приключения

Fresh from war in the Americas, young navy veteran Alan Lewrie finds London pure pleasure. Then, at Plymouth he boards the trading ship Telesto, to find out why merchantmen are disappearing in the East Indies. Between the pungent shores of Calcutta and teaming Canton, Lewrie--reunited with his scoundrel father--discovers a young French captain, backed by an armada of Mindanaon pirates, on a plundering rampage. While treaties tie the navy's hands, a King's privateer is free to plunge into the fire and blood of a dirty little war on the high South China Sea.Ladies' man, officer, and rogue, Alan Lewrie is the ultimate man of adventure. In the worthy tradition of Hornblower, Aubrey, and Maturin, his exploits echo with the sounds of crowded ports and the crash of naval warfare.

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"But…" Alan started to say, then shut his trap. He'd never thought of his father as anything but inhuman. Never allowed that he could be hurt, or feel pain (especially since he'd been so good at handing pain out to others so liberally). This brutal bastard should be incapable of sorrow, shouldn't he, he asked himself?

"Elisabeth was carrying you by then, making the whole thing worse. And Tommy swore he'd always loved her more than life, couldn't stand to see her in my brutal, callous clutches. All the Sturm und Drang so popular in women's novels these days, all that Gothick fright and flummery! Well, don't ye know, she spooned it up like cream. The brainless little baggage!" Sir Hugo related, sinking down onto his pile of pillows and stretching out on his side. "Probably told her he'd do right by her and the child. Maybe he really meant to; I'll never know. But he came back from Holland without her, after a few more months. After she began to show, and he couldn't trot her out to anything elegant."

"Hold on, though," Alan objected. "You still ended up stealing her jewels and abandoning her, didn't you?"

"Yes, I did," Sir Hugo nodded with not a twinge of shame. " 'Twas the only way I knew how to get back at her after I caught them. Well, I didn't exactly catch them bareback riding."

"Like I was with Belinda when you arranged to 'catch' me."

"Hmm, no, nothing that flagrant," Sir Hugo snickered. "She was in her bedgown. Untied, mind, and nary a sight of stockings, stays or corset to be found. Tommy'd dressed so fast he'd buttoned his waist-coat to his breeches flap! Oh, 'twas a devil of a row we had. After I'd horse-whipped him down the stairs, she lit into me. Mind you also, this was the first I knew that we really weren't married! So all I could do was rant and swear Tommy was lying, but she wasn't having a bit of it. And d'you know, lad? But termagant as she was at that moment, I had a sudden premonition of just how ghastly life was going to be with her from that moment on. No trusting her with other men 'thout a leash on. Tears, sulks and screaming fits for the rest of our natural lives. Ah, but suddenly it struck me! If we're not married… if Tommy diddled the both of us, then I was free as larks! All I could think of was 'Thank bloody Christ this is over with,' and hit the road that night. Singing with relief, as I remember."

"But you took her last money!"

"She had Tommy's money," Sir Hugo sneered, then rose up on his elbow to look Alan square in the face. "God knows I loved her more than anything or anyone else since, Alan. But I really did need the money devilish bad! And with Tommy lusting after her, he'd replace what I'd taken, and be damned to both of them-they deserved each other when you come right down to it."

"Jesus, you really don't have any shame!" Alan snapped, getting righteous again.

"Too damn poor to have any shame. You want to see shameless, you should have been in my shoes with Agnes Cockspur."

"Belinda and Gerald's mother," Alan supplied.

"Fetching enough in the beginning, 'fore she turned into this drab pudding." Sir Hugo sighed. "Chicken-chested, thick as a farrier sergeant. Rather wrestled a publican than put the leg over her. Like climbing into bliss on the belly of a bear. And her two children were rotten from the start. Still, she was absolutely stiff with 'chink,' and there I was in Bath, trying to parley what little I had left into something to live on. Had to resign my commission, don't ye know! An officer in the King's Own, Knight of the Garter or not, can't abscond with young heiresses. Not unless one's successful, mind, then they make you colonel of the regiment and dine you in once a year. I made three thousand pounds selling up my commission, but it was going fast. No, I may be a bit harsh on poor Agnes. Drab she may have been, dull as ditch-water and graceful as a three legged dray-horse, but she was a kindly stick. Meant well. And then she died having our child, and the child died, too. And Elisabeth had died having you. And I got to brooding on what had happened to you."

"That was after you and your solicitor, Mister Pilchard, had forged that letter of permanent coverture over Agnes Cock-spur's estate," Alan accused.

"Aye, soon after that. Talented bugger, that Pilchard. What else was I to do? With Agnes in her grave, her even more ghastly sisters'd have gotten the estate and the money, and I'd be out on my bare arse again, stuck with two brats I'd never have wanted if they came with the crown of Prussia attached."

"So you heard I was still alive," Alan pressed. "And you were, as you put it… brooding on me."

"The only real child I ever had, Alan. I found you and took you in because I swore I'd never marry again," Sir Hugo told him. "Of course, I was just disreputable enough that the idea of me marrying into a really good family couldn't be mentioned in polite Society. Pretty much the same thing, really."

"But you didn't act like I was your only son."

"Like I said, I had to pretend to be caring for Agnes' brood. For Society. To keep the sisters shut up. After all, if I didn't have them to care for, a court would find it easier to take them away and award them to the sisters, and the money'd go with 'em. What did you want beyond what any other lad of your station got? My parents saw me at tea, perhaps at supper, once in the evening just before the governess tucked me in, and after that, it was a good public school somewhere far enough away so they wouldn't be bothered, except when term ended."

"Why did you arrange for me to get caught in bed with Belinda? Why did you exile me into the Navy?" Alan demanded, though in a soft voice as he sat down cross-legged on his pillows once more.

"The Lewrie money," Sir Hugo muttered, barely inaudible.

"And you were almost broke again, weren't you. And you needed the money, so devilish bad!"

After much hemming and hawwing, Sir Hugo could only nod his assent.

"Goddamn you." Alan slumped.

"Alan… I am truly sorry," Sir Hugo whispered. "Your father is a miserable bastard. I thought I was doing right by you, not letting you end up dead in that parish orphanage. Feeding you, clothing you, getting you a good education. You don't know how many times I was proud of you. Of how many times you reminded me of me, even when you were up to your ears in pranks that backfired to my cost."

"Fine way of showing it," Alan muttered back, staring down in his brandy and watching the candle flames dance in amber to the trembling of his fingers. "I thought you hated me."

"Alan, no! Never hated you!" Sir Hugo insisted, reaching out to put a hand on his shoulder. "Maybe I didn't show you. Or tell you. But I took you in out of guilt about Elisabeth. And about Agnes. I loved you, Alan. I love you still."

"Ah, right," Alan tossed off.

"If I seem too selfish, then that's my curse. If I treated you standoff-ish, then that's my loss," Sir Hugo insisted. "And I'm still proud of you. You've made lieutenant in half the time most people could expect. Commanded a ship of your own for a while. Made a name for yourself by being brave and clever. I read every issue of the Marine Chronicle and the London papers, looking for news of you. 'Came into The Downs this Sunday last, the Shrike brig, Lieutenant Alan Lewrie, commanding, to pay off at Deptford Hard, with a sum in excess of thirty thousand pounds prize money owing officers and men, from service with the Leeward Islands Squadron, most recently off Cape Francois under Admiral Sir Samuel Hood and Commodore Affleck.' I memorized it. I cut it out and saved it. I can show you."

"Maybe you could; it don't signify," Alan replied bitterly. "Your idea of affection is hellish like indifference to me. Your idea of love I could trade for two dozen lashes and stand the better, sir."

"For better or worse, I am your father, Alan. I don't expect you to ever love me. Or respect me, either. I'd admire if you could at least not despise me. Take what's past like the fine young man you are and put it behind you. Behind us," Sir Hugo implored. "I imagine that you're the best of Elisabeth Lewrie, and the best of me, with all the rotten parts cut out, like an apple only half gone-over. Lot of pith left, even so. I'll not ever expect us to be reconciled."

"That would take a power of doing. And longer than either of us have on this earth, I expect," Alan answered.

"Well, that's the way of it, then," Sir Hugo harrumphed, and wiped a tear from the corner of one eye. "Just do one thing for me."

"What?"

"Don't end up like me, will you, lad?"

"I don't know; I have a fair start on it." Alan grimaced and found himself amused in spite of himself.

"You take after me when it comes to the ladies, hey?" Sir Hugo teased.

"In frequency, perhaps. Not… well, I haven't cheated anyone. Not yet, anyway," Alan allowed.

"That Captain Bevan dropped me a line now and then about you. I know about the ladies in Jamaica," Sir Hugo chuckled.

"That's not the half of it."

"1 thought I'd offer you a treat," Sir Hugo said, getting to his feet rather awkwardly. Part age and stiffness, Alan thought, and part being half-seas-over with drink. Sir Hugo clapped his hands and the narrow door in the purdah screen opened. Three girls entered the room, one dressed in a translucent saree, the other two in the bright gauzy skirts and tight satin jackets that left so little to the imagination, like the nautch-giils he'd seen in the bazaar earlier.

"My word!" he breathed. They were unutterably lovely, every one of 'em! Kohl outlined eyes, shy smiles and bright teeth, complexions clear and smooth, and as brown as pecan shells or as golden as wheat.

"This is Padmini," Sir Hugo said, indicating the one in the saree, who stood no higher than Alan's chin.

"Namaste, sahib," the girl whispered, though grinning with an impish expression.

"A Bengali, she is, Alan. Once you've had a Bengali woman, you're spoiled for anything else." Sir Hugo chuckled. "Draupadi. She's Rajput. And Apsara. Aptly named, too, for the playthings of Hindoo gods. Though I doubt she's Hindoo. From up north in the Oudh, I think. Maybe from the foothills. A little tigress. All can do a dance that'll set your blood to boiling. Like to see?"

"I don't know…" Alan sighed, feeling anything but lusty for once. All passion had been shouted or cried out of him. "Maybe some other time, sir."

Good Christ, is it me saying that?

"Too late to be wandering the streets, even in the English cantonments, Alan. If nothing else, accept my offer of bed and breakfast."

Draupadi was stirring slowly to the beat of the madals from the courtyard, smiling with heavy-lidded eyes full of promise, her extremely long, straight dark hair swishing maddeningly as far down as her fingertips, and Alan watched it sway. He transferred his gaze to Apsara, she of the dark, frizzy-curly hair and the golden wheat skin, who gazed at him with such a welcoming, open-mouthed smile.

"Er… hmmm," he pondered.

"Come, Alan," Sir Hugo demanded. "I know you of old, my dear son. What's worse, you know me. I'd never cut my nose off to spite my face. Nor would I turn down such exquisite quim just because I bore a grudge against my host. And I doubt if you would, either."

"Ah…" Alan tried to reply.

"I have a lot to make up to you for, Alan," his father said, coming close to his side to speak privately. "Maybe I never can, like you suspect. I'd buy you that bloody trap and pony, if I thought you still wanted it. But right now, this is the best I have to offer. And it may be your last chance before you sail off out of my life again. Safer than some bazaari-randi* too, and won't cost you tuppence."

*market-whores

"Hmmm," Alan speculated at last, "don't suppose your band knows 'When First I Gazed in Chloe's Eyes,' would they?"

"Hardly!" Sir Hugo barked out a short laugh.

"Ah, well," Alan finally allowed, sinking back to the carpet and reclining against one of those impossibly thick and round barrel-shaped pillows.

With a crook of his finger, Sir Hugo summoned Padmini to join him. Alan crooked his own finger at Apsara, who beamed even wider, and seemed to slink to his side with the lithe grace of a panther, her patchouli and sandalwood scent enveloping him like her gauze chudder as she drew the headcloth about their faces to share a brief nuzzle before pouring him another full bumper of wine.

"Apsara?" he said. "Alan."

"Ahk-lahn," she breathed, taking a sip of his wine.

"My God in Heaven." He laughed with an anticipatory shudder of raw lust. "Mind you, Father," he said over Apsara's smooth young shoulder, "you have one bloody Hell of a lot to make up for, y'know."

"The evening's young," Sir Hugo replied softly. "My son." And Draupadi began her dance, her ankle bangles jangling.

III

"Divitis Indiae usque ad ultimum sinum."

"To the farthest gulf of the rich East."

– TOWN MOTTO OF SALEM, MASSACHUSETTS

Chapter 1

Another watch with Percival, the second officer, Alan sighed as he mopped his brow. Another broiling forenoon on a deck holystoned to pristine whiteness that reflected back the heat of the sun, wondering if Percival ever felt the heat, ever grew faint and weak. Plenty of people drop dead of apoplexy back home, Alan thought; why not this bluff ginger bastard?

Bad as their relationship had been compared to the easy acceptance he'd gained with the others in the wardroom, it had gotten a lot worse after the durbar at Sir Hugo's house, to which even Choate the first officer had not been invited, and Alan had. Lewrie suspected Percival despised him in the beginning for rising so quickly in the Navy, and now most heartily despised him for being in the know, for being privy to secrets. For seeming so well-connected with the people who matter, here in the Far East, and back home with the Admiralty.

Yesterday's noon sights placed them exactly on the Equator, almost even with the Johore Straits, the normal passage, and by this noon, they would have made fifty leagues to the north farther on, even with fitful winds staggered almost to nothing by the heat at the Equator.

With such a late start from Calcutta, they'd be lucky to make Canton or Macao by the start of the trading season. If they arrived too late, there might not be a member of the Co Hong who would agree to be their compradore in their legal trading. Mr. Wythy had worried there would be so many other ships anchored off Whampoa full of cotton and spices that the value of their goods, arriving so late, would not fetch a price good enough to defray expenses.

All of which made Lewrie wonder once more if this whole thing hadn't been dreamed up, this tale of piracy, to bilk the Foreign Office and the Admiralty out of a free ship and cheap goods to make Twigg and Wythy rich. If they cut up a pirate fleet or two in the process, it would make a grand report back home, but who couldn 't find some pirates to bash out here, he wondered? It's not as if one had to go looking for them very hard. The whole ocean teemed with them like lice in a rented bed back home. Mr. Brainard the sailing master was an old China hand, along with Twigg and Wythy, in the "country trade" for years. Even Captain Ayscough had sailed in Asian waters in the last war. On the surface, it would make sense to hire their services on, but they all might be in combination to make a pile of money. Of course, Alan Lewrie had always been a suspicious and somewhat cynical observer of his fellow man. If the whole thing was so much twaddle, he hoped there would be some profit for others out of the venture. Such as himself.