Free Winds of Folly by Seth Hunter Page A

had noted the brief look of disgust on her lovely features. He concluded that she was not as ignorant of the English language as she would have it supposed – and that she had a natural aversion to rats.
    The recollection of this gave him the germ of an idea. When dinner was concluded he took Mr Lamb aside for a quiet word.
    â€˜These rats of yours,’ he began. ‘What would you take for them?’
    The midshipman gazed at him in some surprise. ‘Take for them, sir?’ he repeated foolishly.
    â€˜Yes, take for them, sir. Clear enough, ain’t it?’ He thought of one possible reason for misunderstanding. ‘In coin.’
    The midshipman still appeared bemused. ‘You want to buy them from me, sir?’
    â€˜Yes, Mr Lamb, I want to buy them from you.’ The boy was an idiot. ‘Would six shillings suffice?’
    A small pause. ‘Each, sir?’
    Clearly not that much of an idiot.
    â€˜For all six,’ replied Nathan severely.
    â€˜I think ten would be a fairer price, sir. With the cages.’
    â€˜I don’t want the cages, sir, I just want the rats.’ But this was becoming undignified. Nathan sighed. ‘Very well, Mr Lamb, ten it is. With the cages.’ He counted the coin into the midshipman’s grasping hands and in a short while he reappeared upon the quarterdeck and held the cages up for his Captain’s inspection. Six gibbering rats glared furiously out upon him.
    â€˜You want me to kill ’em for you, sir?’ enquired Lamb obligingly. ‘Or would you like to do it yourself?’
    â€˜I’ll tell you what I want you to do, Mr Lamb.’ Nathan lowered his voice significantly. ‘When I give the word, I want you to lower yourself over the lee rail and distribute them through the gunport of my cabin. Taking care that you are not observed in the process, do you understand me?’
    â€˜Oh yes, sir,’ replied Mr Lamb, his features creasing into a delighted grin.
    Nathan summoned the Marine sergeant and informed him that the moment the young ladies emerged, he was to post two sentries at the door of the Captain’s cabin, with fixed bayonets. Then he gave the signal to the waiting midshipman.
    Mr Lamb vanished over the rail. Nathan paced the quarter-deck. He was aware that a significant number of the ship’s company had been alerted to the stratagem and were awaiting the outcome with a covert but lively interest. Mr Lamb reappeared with the two empty cages. Together they awaited the crescendo of screams that would herald the stampede of seven scantily clad females to the upper deck.
    There were screams, certainly. Then a series of loud crashes and bangs and a strange squealing noise. But not the expected stampede. Nathan met the midshipman’s puzzled eye.
    â€˜Thank you, Mr Lamb, that will be all,’ said Nathan.
    Time passed. The Marines were stood down. The convoy proceeded at its leisurely pace towards Cap Corse. The corsairs kept at a safe distance to windward. Nathan brooded on the quarterdeck.
    At the end of the second dog-watch, he was approached by the Angel Gabriel.
    â€˜Signora Correglia’s compliments,’ he stated formally, ‘and she requests the pleasure of the Captain’s company at his earliest convenience.’
    Stemming an angry retort, Nathan descended to his cabin. He was resolved to take a firm approach. The ship’s discipline might well depend upon it.
    He found the Signora presiding over her court. He bowed warily. She had been brought up in the slums of Genoa, he had once been told, and for all the elegance she had since acquired, she retained the robust and expressive nature of her class.
    â€˜Ah,
Capitano
,’ she greeted him, ‘we prepare the little dish for you – to thank for you that you give to us your little room.’
    She stepped aside and Nathan saw the object simmering in the small silver chafing dish in which Gabriel normally prepared his