Free Tide of War by Seth Hunter Page B

finished your business aloft I should be glad of your company upon the deck.”
    A brief—a very brief—interlude and Place came sliding down the mainmast backstay as if it had been designed for the express purpose of delivering small boys from one sphere to another in the minimum possible time short of pitching headlong to their doom.
    â€œMy compliments to Mr. Imlay,” Nathan instructed him in quieter tones, “and if he is feeling a little better I would be glad to have a word with him, either in my cabin or upon the deck, whichever he prefers.”
    â€œSir.” Place turned smartly about but then checked and turned back,a troubled frown contorting his youthful features. “Beg pardon, sir, but if he is not?” Nathan raised a brow. “Not feeling better, sir.”
    It was in Nathan’s mind to suggest that Mr. Place might then seek the assistance of two stout marines in dragging him up on deck by the scruff of his neck but of course he merely inclined his head and suggested that it might be appropriate to consider that problem if and when the need should arise.
    Place was back within the space of a minute. Mr. Imlay returned the captain’s compliments and was feeling somewhat recovered, thank you, if still not strong, and would contrive to attend upon the captain as soon as he had finished his dinner.
    â€œHis
dinner?”
    â€œYes, sir, Mrs. Small having prepared him a little dish of rice and coddled eggs which she is feeding him in his cabin, sir, owing to the delicacy of his stomach.”
    Nathan caught Tully’s eye and knew what he was thinking.
    Mrs. Small was the cook’s wife, a Frenchwoman that he had met and married in Le Havre—and a far better cook than he would ever be if he lived to be a thousand. But she was not handsome—in Nathan’s view she rather resembled an amiable troll—and he was inclined to think she was safe from Imlay’s attentions, especially in his weakened state.
    â€œ I trust she has not coddled the eggs in too much butter,” Nathan remarked, “or we will not see him for the remainder of the voyage.”
    But within a few minutes of this exchange the invalid appeared on deck looking appreciably paler and thinner than when he had come aboard and a little unsteady on his feet but sufficiently the master of his inner self as to contemplate the sea if not with equanimity then at least without bringing up his dinner.
    Nathan had a chair lashed to the 6-pounder at the stern where Imlay might repose in a degree of comfort and where they might converse with as fair a chance of privacy as anywhere on the vessel. They were partly shaded by the sails at mainmast and mizzen but the sun found the gaps between canvas and yard and the play oflight and shadow made it particularly difficult to read an expression that was enigmatic at the best of times.
    Nathan had known Imlay over a period of fifteen months in France without ever forming more than the haziest impression of his true character. He wondered sometimes if Imlay knew himself any better. He appeared to change his nature as others changed their coats to suit the current fashion, or the climate, or the company.
    I am a man of many parts,
he had told Nathan once, on a journey from Paris to Le Havre. Nathan had seen several of them: the urbane man of letters, the romantic frontiersman forever seeking new challenges and new horizons, the war profiteer and the resolute, if not quite reliable, man of action … But above all he was a gambler with an eye to the main chance, an improviser who would make use of any situation, or individual, to his own advantage.
    Nathan began by making some general observations about the
Speedwell
’s progress and her present position on the charts.
    â€œThat is indeed gratifying,” Imlay acknowledged, though dully. Possibly it was not a subject on which he could engage with any degree of complacency.
    â€œI suppose there have