The Charlotte Series: Book 3: The Pretender's Gold

SECTION I-STUART 01

CHAPTER 1

London, England 1870

"That's the last of it then." Stu slapped the man on the shoulder. "Come on. Let me buy you a drink at the Copper Bottom."

It had become something of a tradition for him to buy his first mate a round after a successful run. In the three years since the sinking of The Charlotte, Stu captained more of the duke's ships than in all the prior years combined. No doubt because their mutual friend Bricker sailed less and less.

As Stu followed his first mate to the pub he thought of his friend. Bricker was nearing fifty if he was a day but the man was fit and lean as ever he was. Well, maybe not as spry or strong but he wasn't a doddering old man either. Stu shook his head at the thought and chuckled.

"What is it Cap'n?"

"Nothing. Just a ghost."

"Aye. Been a lot of them round lately. But we pulled through just fine."

"More than just fine I'd say. This was a splendid run. We beat our time and got a better price for our trouble. His grace will be pleased."

Stu wasn't surprised to see some of the other crew. Copper Bottom was a popular watering hole for sailors. Joining them to rowdy huzzahs they made their toasts to the Queen, to the Duke, to their fine ship: The Duchess, to their fine captain...at which point Stu promptly raised his mug and bellowed "TO THE CREW!"

Their merry making lasted for hours. The more they drank the rowdier they grew. At last the proprietor thought to send the "ladies". Stu was grateful. If not for the distraction his men would no doubt have started brawling soon for the pure sport of it. One by one his companions found willing partners and disappeared to pursue a different sort of sport.

As Stu watched their drunken arses stumble up the narrow stairs leaning heavily on their partners he chuckled. Weren't a man among them what could be very sporting passed out and snoring.

"Oi" he called lifting his mug and earning a nod from the bartender.

"It's a curse." He groused into his newly filled mug as he drank deep.

A curse of his great size. He couldn't get drunk like the others. Most days he considered it a blessing as sailing drunk was hell on the stomach. But sometimes he thought it would be nice to just be oblivious...

Stu looked around and sighed. Warmed from all the drink he'd consumed he felt soul-weary. Alone in the pub now, save for the bartender half-heartedly wiping down half-clean mugs, he cupped his hands loosely around the mug as he leaned forward on the table. A smile tugged at his lips as he heard his mother's voice scolding to get his elbows off the table.

He thoughts drifted naturally from his mother to his father. A frown tugged as he inevitably remembered the last day he'd spent with his father. And from there he thought once more of Bricker. He hadn't seen Bricker more than twice in the last three years. Their paths rarely crossed since...

A growl escaped his lips as he sent a thousand of his vilest curses down to the black heart of Mahajan before he drank his glass dry in one long drink.

"May the maggot squirm in hell's hottest corner with nary a drop in sight." He mumbled.

He absently looked at the empty mug. Nary a drop indeed. Once more he raised his hand. The barkeep brought over a pitcher and left it on the table. Stu poured without really seeing and lifted the mug.

"Ah." He grimaced at the taste of slightly muddied water.

Another frown tugged as he looked at the mug and began to swirl the mug absently watching the liquid go around and around. His thoughts turned once more to that night and blurred through the long months after until they were bound once more for England. Bricker...