Free The Patriot's Fate by Alaric Bond

devour the food in front of them. Most had managed two or even three forkfuls before the cry of ‘All Change’ went up again, and the process was repeated. The new lads caught on quickly enough, and soon the evolution was even working quite smoothly, although some confusion, when eight adolescent bodies met under a table while trying to pass in opposite directions, was inevitable.
     
    The stew was finished in no time, and the lads beamed at each other, panting exaggeratedly and wiping nonexistent sweat from their brows. It had been an excellent meal.  
     
    * * *
     
    Fraiser entered the gunroom just after King had fled to his cabin. He also heard the talking, but took far less time in coming to a decision. Instead of taking a seat and calling for his supper, he made straight for the surgeon’s cabin and rapped firmly on the door. There was a sudden silence from within, then Mrs Clarkson’s voice gave out a hesitant “Yes?”
     
    “Sailing master, madam,” Fraiser said, in a firm tone. “You have company in there, I believe.”
     
    “Bugger off, Fraiser. We’re busy.” It was the marine lieutenant’s voice, as he had expected and, despite Marshall’s seniority in rank, the man had no business addressing him so.
     
    “Mr Marshall, kindly present yourself, sir.”
     
    The sound of movement from within was unmistakeable. Fraiser waited, but the door remained closed.
     
    “Mr Marshall, I insist that you exit this lady’s cabin immediately.”
     
    Suddenly Marshall’s face appeared at the partially opened door. “What the devil do you mean by this?” he asked, glaring down and into the older man’s eyes.
     
    “You are in a lady’s cabin, sir,” Fraiser said, his voice barely louder than a whisper. “Kindly remove yourself at once.”
     
    “We are doing nothing untoward, and this is not of your business.”
     
    “Very well, then I shall inform the captain,” Fraiser went to go, but Marshall called after him.
     
    “And tell him what? That Mrs Clarkson and I are playing a game of vingt-et-un ? Hardly a criminal offence, I’d chance.”
     
    “Not a criminal offence, Mr Marshall,” Fraiser said, “but one that will certainly see you off this ship. If you were to play a game with Mrs Clarkson, you would have been better to do so at the gunroom table.”
     
    Marshall considered him for a moment. “Very well,” he said finally. “We shall do so in future.”
     
    “There will not be the opportunity,” Fraiser said firmly. “You shall leave this ship without delay.”
     
    “I shall what?” Marshall stepped out of the cabin. He was dressed in a plain shirt and britches, and his hair was not dressed and hung in a tangle. “You stupid old fool; you are naught but a sailing master; how dare you presume to order me about?” The marine’s complexion had grown dangerously red, and he all but spat his words. “I am your superior and could buy and sell any warrant officer a hundred times over. You have absolutely no authority in this matter, and certainly none over what I do in my free time. And in addition you have made an outrageous suggestion that has upset Mrs Clarkson deeply; I insist you apologise.” Marshall’s face was barely inches away from Fraiser’s, although the older man met his glare with quiet composure.  
     
    “There will be no apologies, unless you see sense and choose to offer one,” Fraiser said, his words clipped and firm. “I have found you carrying on in a commissioned ship of war. Worse than that, a fellow officer’s wife is involved. The matter shall be taken to the captain, or you will leave this very evening; it is your choice, and you must make it straight away.”
     
    Marshall considered Fraiser for a second, then a quizzical look played upon his face. “You’re serious, aren’t you? I cannot just walk off a ship to which I am appointed.”
     
    “Mr Marshall, you can do exactly that; hand in your papers if need be, but go, and go now. There will be