Free Peril on the Sea by Michael Cadnum Page A

“if we can’t capture a pig.”
    The sergeant gave a twitch of embarrassment and Sherwin took a step sideways, trying to distance himself from the sullen seaman. There was, at least, the hope that the young woman had not been able to hear the remark.
    The young woman introduced herself, sweeping back the hood of her mantle with one gloved hand, and asked, “Which of you is Captain Fletcher?”

17
    K ATHARINE WESTING had light brown hair and brown eyes, and was not afraid to look at each man directly, including Tryce, who made a great show of finally realizing that a lady was present and removing his cap. Bartholomew made a courteous and graceful bow.
    â€œNone of us, my lady,” said Sergeant Evenage, “is equal to the honor of that name.”
    â€œMy father would meet with the captain over wine and nourishing fare,” said Katharine. “He has a proposition that may put money into the captain’s purse.” She added, “That man is bleeding.”
    Tryce shook his head in denial. “I never,” he said.
    â€œOh, don’t mind our Tryce, my lady,” said Sergeant Evenage. “He bleeds or he doesn’t, as the wind blows.”
    â€œIf your people, my lady,” said Sherwin, “could offer some dressing for our companion’s wound, we would be grateful.”
    This was the first remark he had made in Katharine’s presence, and she smiled to hear the words, as thoughreassured that she was encountering human beings of normal fellow-feeling.
    Sherwin introduced himself, giving his Christian name and his surname, and his place of birth. As he spoke, he felt the need to be far from Tryce and even the well-spoken sergeant. Instead, he wanted to be strolling in a sun-drenched garden where he could weave verses for this young lady. He had never felt this way so strongly, and the feeling struck Sherwin with all the fierceness of a too-long-suppressed insight. What he did not want, at that moment, was a further voyage, and the company of bungling rogues like Tryce.
    â€œOh, this is our new young gentleman and historian, my lady,” interjected Sergeant Evenage, as though eager to provide additional introduction. “As was nearly killed by the sea this recent night.”
    Sherwin was pleased at this description of his character and recent adventures, and he was sure that he must have blushed before he could speak. He sensed Bartholomew standing tall beside him, proud of his new master.
    This good feeling was offset as Lady Katharine asked, “Tell me, Sherwin Morris—are you a brigand, too?”
    Sherwin was about to express himself handsomely when a goose, whose trumpeted complaints had carried from an unseen confinement until now, made its appearance.
    The large white bird careened around the corner of the wall and lunged at everything in sight, including the larger of the dogs, the sergeant’s boot tops, and as much as it could pinch in its yellow beak of Bartholomew’s breeches.
    The goose’s great mistake, however, was in attacking Tryce.
    The seaman did not tolerate being assaulted for an instant.
    He drew his sword from its scabbard, took a single cut through the air, and the goose was headless, even as its unfurled wings and churning legs continued to hurry the remains out across the road.
    The decapitated white fowl was blushing into a rosy hue as its blood cascaded down over its plumage, and still the bird ran, continuing in an uneven circuit. Sherwin felt called upon to end an episode of grotesque cruelty, and to assert something like his own stamp on events.
    He drew the pistol from his belt, sparing a glance toward Bartholomew, who gave the hint of miming a two-handed grip.
    Sherwin cocked, aimed, and fired.
    Â 
    THE REPORT was deafening. The smoke was a bright blue in the sunlight, and smelled strongly of sulfur.
    Even with a horizon obscured by smoke, Sherwin could see that his shot went wide of the headless bird,