Yours Is The Only Ocean

Chapter Six

Chapter Six

Lunar Bay was a lively, rowdy place, and The Parrots Beak made The Cornerstone look more like a tea-room. Albie, the landlord treated Miles like a returning hero, knowing he was the one who'd provided him with the barrels of delicious rum Jed Harris had successfully delivered that morning. The inn was alive with excitement. Unlike The Cornerstone, where every customer seemed to be a pasty-faced local, The Parrots Beak was full of travellers from all over the world. For once, Dom wasn't the only black face. There were African men as black as coal, swarthy Arabs playing card games, groping at the many tarts who wandered around pouring pints of gin....and when they bent over, their milky tits practically fell out of their stays.

There was an air of anticipation before the prize fights later on. Miles could tell which men had come to challenge this Sheeran fellow. They were the ones with the crazed looks in their eyes. It was a primal hunger to fight and prove themselves. Dom was looking pretty much the same, even ignoring the advances of a particularly pretty wench called Daisy, who kept complimenting him on how handsome he was.

Miles thought he was hallucinating when the door opened and in walked Louis Laverne. He was probably the person Miles disliked the most in all the world. He had last seen him in Lisbon when Louis had somehow got wind of a shipment of flax that was coming to shore, and had stripped the boat of it, when Miles had planned the attack for months. He'd robbed Miles of hundreds of pounds – probably enough to set him and his pals up in the West Indies, and if he'd been at sea, Miles would have killed him; but not here, there were too many witnesses.

Like Miles' trademark look was black leather, Louis' was the blue silk nobleman's coat he wore. It was from his time during the early stages of the Revolution, and he had killed the owner of the coat, and it was still stained in his blood. But what made it comical was that the man must have been tall, and Louis was barely five feet, and it came down to his boots. Not far behind Louis, as usual, was Armande, his right hand man, who was as tall and rangy, as Louis was diminutive. They had obviously come for a fight too, as they were accompanied by a huge hulk of a man, olive-skinned, his face scarred.

"Fucking Louis!" Liam hissed, reaching for his musket. "I'll kill him, I swear to God."

"Leave him," Miles said, putting his hand on his oldest friend's shoulder to settle him down. "We're not at sea, now. Kill him and you'll be swinging from a gibbet."

Miles couldn't help himself, shouting out as Louis and his friends looked for a table.

"Still can't find a coat to fit you, Louis!" he called out.

Louis shot round and looked at Miles. From under his tricorn, strands of his sandy coloured hair fell down. He pouted and marched over to Miles' table. He reminded of Miles of a little mouse. No matter how hard he tried, he would never be scary.

"Miles Kane," he said in his heavy French accent.

"What are you doing here, Louis? Come to get me the money you owe me, I hope?"

He stuck his stubby nose in the air.

"I owe you no money."

"We got that flax fair and square!" Armande pointed at Miles. Like Lana and Dom, he was American, from French Louisiana, and he had that rather crass manner many of them had.

Miles ignored him and looked up at the giant man.

"What's this?" he asked. "Something that got washed overboard?"

"This is Seraphim," Louis said proudly. "He is going to take on Sheeran." He looked at Dom and sneered. "I suppose you're fighting the Negro?"

"This Negro has a name!" Dom said.