Cutthroats of the Coast

Chapter 14 - Gold!

Nathanial Broadbank must have been an efficient Secretary to the Governor, for he was as punctual as he promised to be.  He and his promised troop of horse clattered into the open space at the foot of the unfinished mole, accompanied by a lantern bedecked cart.

 We had already had a difficult evening.  An unwashed sea officer in a disgraceful coat had turned up unannounced and had related that we had permission to tie up at the only part of the mole ready for ships to use.  If he had arrived any sooner, he would have been puzzled to have seen the Master Mariner of a King’s ship striking a senior officer.  Jones had been simmering ever since our return to the ship and had merely been waiting for an excuse to beat Ramsbottom back into his place.  That excuse had been provided by Ramsbottom continuing with the folly that he was the stronger man than Jones once he took up his post on the quarterdeck.

 In two quick strides, Jones had crossed the deck to Ramsbottom and beat him about the head and shoulders with his stick.  He would have struck him more but for a seaman’s voice calling from the chains.

 “Boat ahoy!”

 Jones had paused in his chastisement of our “Captain”.  It would have taken considerable explanation, even to the human shipwreck that swayed across our deck with his message from the Harbour Master.  It was probable that another officer of Tangier would have had to disappear.  As it was, his luck remained with him so that he could sink yet more flasks of sack in Tangier’s taverns.

 Ramsbottom had received the message from Broadbank stiffly in his guise as The Resolve’s captain then bid the wretch over the side back to his boat.  He had turned to face the crew when Jones cut him dead, flexing his cane in his hands.

 “Your task is almost done, Mr Ramsbottom.  When it is, look to your back, for I’ll be there.”  Jones drew his stiletto from his boot and licked the blade.  “How will your blood taste, I wonder?”

 Later that evening, I dwelt on this as I “supervised” the unloading of the pay-chests.  Nathaniel, a Mr Luke – one of Nathaniel’s creatures - Jones, Ramsbottom, Jack Frith and the officer leading the troop of horse, gathered with me in the sultry heat of The Resolve’s filthy hold.  Casks were piled high around us and we were pressed together in the cramped, dripping surroundings.   We stood in a loose circle about the bound iron chests whose metalwork gleamed faintly in the inadequate yellow light of the lanterns.  The lanterns were made all the more faint by Jones, who smoked an unusually large wrap of tobacco leaves that I believe is called a cigar.  This unpleasant object filled the hold with scented smoke that did nothing for me other than make me feel nauseous.  I could never see the attraction to smoking tobacco.

 The lids of the chest had been thrown back, ostensibly so that Nathanial, his clerk and Garbett could check the contents.  Sadly for the avaricious among us, we were saved the glint of gold by it being packed in soft leather bags within the chests.

 Nathaniel made the introductions, “And this is Captain Garbett, who has sadly had to stand in for another officer this evening.”

 Unable to help myself, I commented in a disinterested voice, “A stand in?  It is nice to know that this gold is of such import to the garrison that you have entrusted its conveyance to your second choice.”

 Garbett hissed and his face stiffened. He seemed a man who stood on his honour and was touchy when slighted.  At least, I hoped so.  “Second choice, sir?  I am the missing gentleman’s commanding officer!”

“Oh, I do beg your indulgence, sir.  I intended no offense,” I drawled, bowing with the minimum courtesy. “Is it usual to lose a gentleman in so heavily guarded a town?  Is it not considered careless to mislay an officer of the King?”