Free The Patriot's Fate by Alaric Bond Page A

time to appoint a new man in your place.”  
     
    “You jumped up, Jesus bothering nonentity…” the marine stopped, mouth open, desperately searching for words.
     
    “I have right, and the law on my side,” Fraiser continued smoothly. “And the Lord as well, since you choose to include Him.”
     
    Marshall continued to stare at the man, then suddenly pushed past, out of the surgeon’s cabin, and across the gunroom to his own. He went inside, slamming the frail door behind him.
     
    “Steward, do we have some food?” Fraiser asked suddenly, turning away from the half opened cabin door and ignoring the sound of a woman’s sobs from within. The gunroom servant appeared, rather too readily he thought, and placed a bowl of steaming stew on the table.
     
    “And I’ll take a cup of tea, if you please,” Fraiser said, seating himself, and pulling the bowl towards him. He began to eat and continued, even when Marshall bellowed for his servant. He was just finishing his meal as the two of them bustled out of the cabin, out of the gunroom and, in Marshall’s case, off the ship.
     

 
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    Chapter Four  
     
     
     
     
     
    “We are for the Irish station,” Banks said; and, strangely, the statement brought no immediate reaction. All of the officers present had been expecting a posting to the Channel Fleet, and it took several seconds for them to properly register the news. “Admiral Kingsmill is at Cork, and we shall be based there, though we are bound for Dublin first with despatches and to be briefed,” he continued, taking advantage of their surprise. “ Scylla will be travelling alone, but I believe it likely that further reinforcements are to be sent to join us shortly.”
     
    Banks looked down from the head of the table. Of the four men before him, three he knew well; only Chilton stood out as the newcomer and, as he had only just returned from his recruiting drive, still remained something of an enigma. The captain unfolded the orders he had received that morning; they carried far more background information than was usual, but then Evan Nepean, the secretary to the Board of Admiralty, was known to have an interest in Irish matters.  
     
    “I think at this point it may be worth a brief résumé for those who are not fully aware of the current state of affairs,” Banks said. “You may well have heard of the rather ragged uprising a few months back.” He raised his eyes and looked at each in turn. Caulfield, he knew, had Irish connections; Fraiser was a Scot; and it was not inconceivable that Chilton or even King held sympathies. Should he notice any sign of support in these, or any of his officers for that matter, he would have them exchanged without delay. The Irish situation was difficult enough; it was vital that he trusted everyone: there was no room for subversive tendencies or misplaced ideals.  
     
    “The attempt was ill organised and inconclusive,” he continued, studying them still. “This was partially due to our agents infiltrating the illegal organisation known as the United Irishmen, and partially to the firm hand taken by the military. A series of arrests were made which raised the tension and precipitated a spontaneous revolt that was relatively easy to put down; although not without bloodshed, of course.” The men were meeting his gaze with nothing other than total attention, and Banks continued, quietly relieved.
     
    “We think that the rebels had been planning something a little more elaborate, very likely involving French forces. Similar expeditions have been staged in the past; I know that most of you will be aware of the attempt in ‘ninety-six, when enemy ships came as far as anchoring in Irish waters. That attempt failed, and I am proud to say that our last ship had no small hand in the matter, which incidentally may well have influenced my Lords of the Admiralty when selecting Scylla for this task.” He paused; there was no harm in