Master and Commander - 1. Chapter 1

April 1, 1794

Commander George Granger paced the deck of HMS Intrepid, and admired the work they'd done, all that they'd accomplished. What he thought would be a quick process had turned into a virtual reconstruction of the little warship. He allowed himself a small sigh, and then stifled it abruptly. It wasn't consonant with the dignity of the captain of a ship to show outward signs of frustration.

Intrepid had found herself in the dockyard due to negligence by her previous captain, who had run her against some rocks off of Brest and gouged a large hole in her side. What originally seemed a simple exercise, repairing and replacing the timbers, had expanded into a massive reconstruction project. Many of her timbers were found to be rotten, and those had to be replaced in addition to repairing the hole. And the whole process had been a lot of hard work for him and his meager crew. Not only that, they had a French naval architect on hand, Lieutenant Meurice, whom Granger had brought back from the siege of Toulon, with numerous suggestions for strengthening her hull, suggestions which he had been eager to implement, and which the dockyard was interested in implementing as well, as long as Granger paid for it. And even though these modifications should reduce the amount of water the ship let in as her timbers flexed, Granger still shelled out money for top of the line pumps both to pump out the bilge and to wash off the decks. It had taken a big chunk out of Granger's prize money.

They'd started out by ridding the ship of its rats. Rats were an inevitable part of life at sea, so eradicating them was rarely possible. Controlling them was more practical, and most ships found a way to reduce the number of these pests. Intrepid had not and had been overrun by the creatures, so they'd had to seal up all her seams and holes, batten down her hatches, and burn sulfur below. Then, after letting it take effect, they had to go in and shovel out all the rat carcasses.

Of course the little beasts had left more damage behind. All of the spare ropes and canvas stored below were gnawed into shreds, and in some cases, planks had to be replaced where they'd chewed into the wood. So Intrepid had had to replace all her stores of canvas and rope, all under the niggardly eye of the dockyard. The Admiralty was complaining at the cost of refitting the Intrepid, while Granger could only provide accurate accounts to prove they were spending money prudently.

Those costs didn't even begin to include the substantial amount of money he'd put into the process himself. Bribes, bribes and more bribes. Bribes for good seasoned timber, bribes for top quality canvas, bribes for the best hemp rope, and bribes for extra labor from the dockyard carpenters. Then there was the cost of fitting out the ship in reasonable style. Gold leaf for her external grandeur, and a suite of furniture for his cabin, including paint for the walls and a thick carpet for the deck. Then there were the personal expenses; new uniforms with their single epaulette or shoulder board on the left side designating him as a Commander, a stock of wine and cooking supplies, and even some tobacco for those nice evenings on deck. He still had to supply a quantity of fresh food for his own stores that would have to be bought and paid for before he left.

Granger stared aloft at the rigging, set up with the best ropes his money could bribe. A supply of spare spars, vital for any ship, and lumber to fix any problems, was part of the store of any ship, but to get good lumber and good spars, well, that required yet more bribes. But all of those things were done, all of those problems handled. Now the only thing left to worry about were men, and that was a big worry indeed. He needed one hundred seamen, and he had but fifty.

He was lucky in one thing: the fifty he had were able seamen, the cream of the crop. Thirty of them he'd brought with him from the Mediterranean, they'd followed him through his various adventures during the siege of Toulon and he'd managed to retain them. There were twenty French sailors that he had commanded aboard the massive Commerce de Marseilles on their transit back to England, and who had also volunteered to serve with him. Of course, bringing them all up from Portsmouth had cost him yet more money. But he still had to recruit fifty more men, and finding men in this England, an England at war that had press gangs roaming the streets looking for men as it was, was tough duty.

Granger headed down to his cabin. He cast his eyes about, looking for any sign of dirt or uncleanliness. He'd learned that the best captains, captains like Nelson, insisted that the decks and sailors be as clean as possible. Of course, that cost money too: a hefty supply of soap for the men and their uniforms. He walked past the cabins that would belong to his First Lieutenant, if Chatham ever appointed one, and Carslake, the master's mate that was acting master aboard Intrepid. Then he was at his own cabin, the door shut firmly in his face. He opened it and couldn't help smiling at how nicely it had turned out. One half of the space contained his sleeping cabin and his day cabin. His day cabin was where he kept his desk and his papers, and one of its walls held the stern windows, giving it light and air. The weather was beautiful on this spring day, so Winkler had thrown open the windows. The other half of the space was his dining cabin, dominated by a long table that would allow him to entertain his officers, or just enjoy nice dinners on his own. And all of it was done in shades of cream and Bridgemont blue, giving it a classy and refined flavor. He was pleased with how it had turned out.

He sat at his desk and reviewed a proof of the recruiting sheet he'd prepared. It talked of his exploits in the Mediterranean, of the massive amounts of prize money the men under his command had earned, and promised a recruiting bounty of ten pounds in addition to the almost four pounds the government offered. It was bribery in the extreme, but he'd been bribing the dockyard, why not bribe the men? He signed off on the proof and called for Winkler, then sat back to gaze out the stern windows. A surgeon and a purser, in addition to the First Lieutenant, were the only officers he still needed. That and he had yet to select his “young gentlemen,” his midshipmen.

There was a knock on his door. Granger expected it to be Winkler or Carmody, his Second Lieutenant, so he merely mumbled “Enter” and kept his eyes buried in his log book. He looked up to find someone he'd never met before. A lieutenant, from his uniform, and about the same height as Granger, about 5'11". He had a long thin body like Granger; in fact, they could be twins from the neck down. But above the neck they were quite different. And that was the first thing Granger noticed. This officer had a long neck, not long enough to look freakish, but just long enough to look strong. His face was almost a perfect oval, framed by his brown hair with a reddish tint to it: He could be either a redhead or a brunette. He had a nose just the right size for his face, with cute flairs at the end, and perfectly smooth skin, a real bonus in a world where small pox scars or acne were common. Perhaps his most unique facial feature was his mouth. His upper lip arched up in an incredibly sexy way, exposing his two front teeth even when he wasn't smiling, and where his lips met his skin they almost did so at a pointed edge. And then, as if the whole package weren't devastatingly handsome enough, he had sparkling green eyes, a deep dark green. “May I help you?” Granger asked.

“I'm Lieutenant Calvert sir. I've been appointed First Lieutenant. I've got my orders from the Admiralty,” he said, handing them to Granger. Granger took them and scanned them briefly, orders to Lieutenant Francis Calvert to repair on board HMS Intrepid and assume the duties of First Lieutenant.

“Welcome aboard Mr. Calvert,” Granger said, and stood up to shake his hand. There was a little spark that flew between them, static electricity from the carpet, perhaps, but the symbolism was too intense to ignore. “I'm George Granger. Please have a seat.”

“I've heard all about you, sir,” Calvert said with a smile as he sat down.

“Indeed? And from whom did you hear all about me?”

“Captain Nelson's wife Fanny is a friend of my mother's,” he said.

“So you know Captain Nelson?” Granger asked. Calvert nodded. “I'm surprised you haven't been posted to Agamemnon.”

Calvert got really nervous then. “One of his officers has issues with me, sir.”

“I hope you're not one of those officers who has problems getting along with others. We're a small ship and crew, and it's important that we function as a team.” The last thing Granger needed was a troublemaker.

“No sir, not at all sir,” Calvert added nervously. “I don't have any enemies, or other enemies, that I know of.”

“So which officer don't you get along with?” Granger probed. He'd spent a lot of time on Agamemnon while in the Mediterranean, and knew most of her officers quite well. Clearly Calvert didn't want to talk about it, but this was important, if not for him, than for his ship.

“Lieutenant Blackwell sir.”

Granger stared at him then, amazed. Amazed because Blackwell was incredibly easy to get along with, except for one thing. Arthur Teasdale. “And what would you have gotten into a disagreement with Lieutenant Blackwell over?”

“Begging your pardon sir, but it was a personal conflict, having nothing to do with the service.” It had to be Arthur. As dangerous as it was, Blackwell had fallen head over heels in love with another man, and a powerful MP at that. He'd fallen in love with Arthur Teasdale. Blackwell was a loyal, monogamous type, and Arthur was a slut. Granger himself had barely avoided getting involved in their relationship. Did Calvert sleep with Arthur? That was too scary to contemplate; this devastatingly handsome man, his new First Lieutenant, a sodomite like himself? Granger realized he was staring at the poor man.

“In other words, you don't know me well enough to talk about it,” Granger said playfully. “Well Mr. Calvert, I will let you off the hook for now.”

“Thank you sir,” he said, smiling. Wow. As cute as his lips were when they were just arched over his mouth, when he smiled, it was so bright it was like a bolt of lightning.

“Go get yourself settled in, and then perhaps you can join me for supper?”

“Yes sir,” he said.

“Excellent. We'll be dining at Bridgemont House. You can meet my family.”

“The Earl will be there?” he asked nervously.

“It is his house,” Granger said, smiling. “He doesn't bite too hard.”

“Yes sir,” Calvert said, and smiled back, really smiled. Damn that smile was amazing. Granger got beyond the brightness and looked at his mouth. His teeth were perfect, just like the rest of him. This was a very bad idea, Granger thought to himself. He'd pledged to avoid entanglements with his crew, with his officers, and he'd been fastidious in avoiding them since he'd gotten back to England. Calvert was going to be tough to resist.

April 2, 1794

“You look so handsome dear,” Caroline said as they entered Carlton House.

“I only wish I were worthy of you,” he said to his wife diplomatically.

“It has been so long since we've been here as a couple,” she said. “It feels great to be out.”

“I'm glad you're enjoying yourself,” Granger said. They approached the Prince of Wales to pay their respects. He bowed low to his future sovereign, while Caroline curtsied perfectly, as befitted a belle of the aristocracy.

“Granger, you brought your better half with you tonight,” the Prince said before turning to Caroline. “It's a pleasure to see you out again, and looking so beautiful.”

“Your Royal Highness is too kind,” Caroline said coquettishly as she curtsied again.

“Now that is one thing I am not,” he joked, and everyone around them laughed. Everyone always laughed when the Prince said, or tried to say something funny. They stayed with the Prince and played Hazard. Granger lost 2000 pounds, yet another expense, another cost to staying politically connected.

Caroline wandered off to chat with some of the ladies, leaving Granger free to circulate in the crowd. He was looking for one man, and one man only, but it took him a good half hour to find Arthur Teasdale. He was deep in conversation with a tall Dragoon. A potential conquest, or a friend, Granger had no idea, but he interrupted anyway.

“Arthur, how are you doing this evening,” Granger said cheerfully. “I hope you'll forgive the intrusion,” he said, addressing the tall, hunky Dragoon. His skin, unlike Calvert's, was brutally scarred, but his body was very masculine.

“Not at all. Major Jardines,” he said, introducing himself.

“Commander Granger,” he said, using his rank like the other man. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Major.”

“The pleasure is mine,” the major said, with a look of lust.

“Would you give me a minute with Commander Granger?” Arthur asked politely. “Then perhaps we can abandon this party and go for a drive.”

“Of course Arthur,” Jardines said, grinning wickedly. “It was nice to meet you Commander.” Granger bowed slightly to acknowledge his courtesy.

Arthur waited until he was out of earshot. “I was about two minutes away from having his dick in my ass,” he joked. “If you botch it up, you’ll have to fill in.”

“Filling you in is always a pleasure,” Granger teased back. “Speaking of your sluttiness, I need to ask you about someone.”

“I don't think we were talking about my sluttiness at all,” Arthur said, “but ask away.”

“Francis Calvert. Tell me about him,” Granger said. He saw Arthur's expression change markedly, to one that was both sad and nervous at the same time.

“So he's reported aboard eh?” Arthur asked.

“You had him posted on my ship?” Granger demanded.

“I hinted at it,” he said. “He's a good boy Georgie. He paid attention to me, made me feel handsome and special, but that pissed off Charlie.” Charlie was Lieutenant Charles Blackwell.

“So Blackwell had him banned from the Agamemnon?” Granger asked. Arthur nodded. “Did he fuck you?”

“Charlie? Constantly when he's home,” Arthur joked.

“You know what I mean. Did Calvert fuck you?”

“George, do you think it's fair for me to say whether he did or didn't? What if someone asked me that about you? What if Jardines asks me that? Should I tell him?”

“Good argument. No wonder you're in Parliament. But that's not the issue. You and I are friends, good friends.” Granger knew that was the trump card, pointing out to Arthur that he was a true friend, had been for a long time, and not someone seeking mere political advantage.

Arthur sighed. “Sadly, he did not. We were in my coach and it lurched suddenly, conveniently knocking me on his lap.” Granger laughed at that. “Our faces moved toward each other, his arms went around me, we were about an inch away from kissing, when the coach lurched forward and smashed his mouth against my forehead. That pretty much killed the mood.”

Granger had a hard time not laughing too loud at that. “Does he like other men?”

“I think so, but I don't know,” Arthur said. “I told you I didn't close the deal.”

“Yes, but what was your conversation like before then?” Granger asked.

“Like my conversation with Jardines,” Arthur said. “And now I must go.”

“One minute. How did Blackwell find out and get pissed off?”

Arthur laughed. “After the coach lurched forward it stopped again and Charlie jumped in. He found me on poor Calvert's lap, with Calvert holding his mouth.” Granger just shook his head. “See you later, George.” Then he was gone.

Granger shrugged and wandered back to Caroline. “Are you ready to leave dear?” she asked. “I fear all this excitement has worn me out.”

“Of course dear,” he said, and led her out to their coach.

“I saw you talking to Arthur Teasdale,” she said. “If you really wanted to get ahead, you'd sleep with him.”

“And who says I haven't?” he teased, making her laugh. If only she knew. They went home to Bridgemont House and he helped her up to their room, and then made love to her. He'd learned her body, how to work it, how to get her really excited, and she'd figured the same things out about him. It was good, it was great, but Granger found he couldn't get the image of his new First Lieutenant out of his mind.

April 10, 1794

HMS Intrepid was anchored at Sheerness, waiting her turn to take on victuals. Tomorrow afternoon, Granger had an appointment at the Admiralty, no doubt to receive orders and instructions. Chatham would ask him whether Intrepid was ready for sea, and he would have to answer honestly that she was not. She was still short at least 30 seamen to meet the minimum crew required, while she needed 50 to fill out her complement completely. The flyers had only attracted ten volunteers, and even those men were of questionable quality. Still, a body was a body, so they'd have to do.

He only had two options. The last resort was to talk to the officer in charge of Impressment and bribe him to give him the men. If he did that, he'd get the dregs of the press, and it would cost him dearly, but if he had to do it, he'd do it. But right now, he was stemming all of his hopes, possibly his whole career, on a wild plan hatched by Calvert.

Calvert had been amazing. Granger was trying to decide what more he could ask of a First Lieutenant, and found there was nothing. Calvert had handled everyone, from Carmody to Carslake, in a confident and assertive manner, giving no ground on his prerogatives as First Lieutenant, while managing to not be too overbearing. So when he'd hatched this plan, Granger felt he owed it to him to trust him, to give him a chance to show his own mettle. Two days ago Calvert had taken half the crew and their entire squad of ten marines off to a point near Ramsgate.

The Royal Navy pressed crews from merchantmen arriving at port, and the merchant seamen knew it. The navy would intercept a ship somewhere off Sheerness and strip them of all but the bare minimum number of seamen required to handle the ship up the Thames. The merchant seamen knew this, and Calvert hypothesized that they'd land their crews in Ramsgate so they could avoid the press. Then they could rejoin an outgoing merchantman. Calvert's job was to intercept and press some of these unsuspecting merchant seamen.

There had been rumors of a convoy off the coast some two days ago so they decided that the time was right. Granger began to slowly pace the deck, enjoying the pleasant evening breeze in what would otherwise be a glorious evening, and tried to think of something else to take his mind off the wait. Unfortunately, that change of topic brought him back to Calvert, but in an entirely different direction.

Calvert had occupied his thoughts constantly. His cute little ass in his breeches when he was on deck, his dazzling smile at dinner, or his sparkling eyes when it was just the two of them chatting about the ship. Granger put those thoughts aside, but then his thoughts turned back to the mission. He began to worry again about his boats' crews. What if something happened and they were lost? He'd have to report to Chatham that not only was he not ready for sea, he was short a lieutenant, a master's mate, ten marines, and 70 men. That would not be a pleasant conversation. He was about to go below and torture himself in his cabin when his thoughts were interrupted yet again.

“Boat ahoy!” the lookout cried. Granger rushed to the side and saw two boats looming out of the darkness. It was unlikely that it was an enemy here in the midst of one of the Royal Navy's key bases, but you could never be too careful.

“Calvert!” came the call back. It was Calvert, he was back. Whether he had any men or not, at least he was back. Granger stood there, implacable as a Captain should be, not even deigning to look over the side at the boats. Calvert came up the side spryly and saluted the quarterdeck. He was grinning way too broadly to have failed.

“We recruited 45 hands sir,” Calvert said. “We ended up offering them the bounty in the press sheets. I hope that was OK.”

“That's just fine Mr. Calvert. You did quite well. Very well.” Granger was trying not to smile, but he couldn't. Carmody was there with him, grinning as well. “Mr. Carmody, swear in the new hands and issue them new clothes from the slop chest. Make sure they're deloused as well.” They'd worked too hard to eliminate pests to risk bringing them aboard. “Mr. Calvert, come below and report.”

He led Calvert to his cabin and Winkler was instinctively there, offering them a glass of wine. Granger just stared at Calvert, taking in his face, but willing him to talk.

“We proceeded to Ramsgate just like you ordered sir,” Calvert said, deftly implying that since Granger had ordered him to go there, it was his plan. “We watched the ships from the shore, but nothing was happening. We commandeered a small house on the coast, sir. The residents weren't very happy until I left them with a few guineas for their kindness. It wasn't until tonight that we saw boats putting ashore from the merchantmen. We waited near the beach and captured 50 men, while the others fled. While we herded them up, five more managed to escape, but I figured it didn't matter since we had enough.”

“You did very well Mr. Calvert. Very well indeed. Thanks to you we have a full complement. Our new purser, Mr. Andrews, is due to report tomorrow. I'll ask Lord Chatham about a surgeon when I see him tomorrow.”

“Thank you sir,” Calvert said. “It will be nice to have a purser. It will make victualing a lot easier.”

“It will, assuming he's an honest purser,” Granger said in jest, although pursers were known for their corruption.

“If he isn't, he won't be happy on this ship,” Calvert joked back. Granger looked into his eyes, and he looked back. His green eyes were like magnets, drawing him in. No wonder Arthur had lured him into his coach, no wonder they'd almost kissed. Granger shook himself free of his trance.

“Well Mr. Calvert, you’d better go up and make sure our new hands are settled in. And these are pressed men, so you'll need to post marines along the side to watch out for deserters,” Granger ordered.

“Aye aye sir,” Calvert said as he stood and saluted. Granger watched his cute little butt as he walked out of his cabin, then retired to his sleeping cabin to take care of his hormonal problems.

April 11, 1794

“Are you ready for sea?” Lord Chatham asked.

“Yes my lord,” Granger replied. “We have a full crew, we're fully victualed, and we finished taking on water two days ago. Our purser is due to arrive today, so the only thing we're lacking is a surgeon.”

“Well you could have Dr. Carker,” Chatham said, teasing. Carker was the surgeon on Granger's first ship, the Barracuda, and he was worse than inept, he was simply bad.

“I'd rather sail without a surgeon, in that case, my lord,” Granger said honestly.

“Not to worry Granger. Your man will report to you by tomorrow. And that's a good thing, because I'm sending you to sea directly.” Chatham stared at Granger, a pregnant pause, before going on. “You've been so much trouble I've decided to send you off for a bit. You're going to India.”

“Aye aye, my lord,” Granger said, digesting that news. A long voyage, with disease and inevitable shortages, only to arrive at a strange, Oriental destination. But perhaps he'd get to see Bertie. His letters from Madras were infrequent, but from all that Granger could ascertain, Bertie was in good spirits.

“There have been depredations on our convoys by small privateers and French national ships. I've been plagued by complaints from John Company, so you're to be the small and handy saber to fight them off.”

John Company, the nickname for the all-powerful East India Company, that had a monopoly on trade with India and China, and was virtually ruling all of British India. Most East India Company ships were heavily armed, a match for anything but a frigate or ship of the line, but in certain seas, small vessels could make their lives difficult. Having Intrepid there to chase off or capture the small vessels made a lot of sense. “I'll do my best to protect them, my lord.”

“See that you do. I've got quite enough to worry about without nursemaiding a bunch of rich merchants. The convoy ends in Madras, so you should get to see your brother. He'll be glad to see you.”

“I suspect he will, my lord. We haven't seen each other for three years now, but we parted on good terms.”

“I wasn't referring to your personal relationship,” Chatham snapped. “You get to carry news of his promotion to Lieutenant Governor. He's done quite well out there.”

Granger smiled. “Thank you my lord. That is quite an honor, and certainly more tangible than a visit with one's little brother.”

Chatham smiled slightly, and then resumed his stern composure. “Quite so. In any event, the convoy's already sailed, so you've some catching up to do. Try to catch up with them at St. Helena, or at the latest by the time you reach Capetown. A good voyage to you.”

“Aye aye my lord,” Granger said. Chatham nodded to dismiss him, and Granger saluted crisply then headed out where a clerk was waiting with his orders. Then he had one last, unpleasant stop to make. He headed to Bridgemont House to see Caroline.

“George!” she cried when she saw him, and rushed to give him a kiss on the cheek. “You're home!”

“I am my dear, but I fear it is only to say goodbye,” he said sadly.

“Oh dear,” she said, but then her aristocratic background asserted itself and she tackled her emotions, controlling them firmly. “We knew this was coming. You must do your duty. We will be here when you return.”

“It will be good to come home to you,” he said sincerely, “but I fear it will be some time from now. I'm destined to go to India.”

Granger watched his pretty young wife control her emotions, and grapple with the concept that this husband of hers wouldn't be home for at least a year, if at all. Duty in Indian waters was fraught with danger. There were the usual risks of war, of being wounded and killed in battle, but they were small compared to the horrible diseases one faced. Yellow Fever, Malaria, the Typhus, any one of those or one more exotic could easily carry away a European unaccustomed to such plagues.

She looked around furtively, seeing if they were being watched, and then dragged him from the drawing room, up the stairs, and into their room for one last coupling. It was quick and passionate, but it was less about physical satisfaction than about expressing love and saying goodbye. Granger decided he had never experienced such a poignant sexual interlude. They dressed again and headed downstairs where Granger headed to his father's library to take his leave of the Earl.

“I'm heading to sea, Father,” Granger said. “Intrepid is escorting the East India convoy.”

The Earl stared at him, digesting the news that his youngest son was leaving for at least a year, and heading into danger. “We will endeavor to hold down the fort while you are gone. Perhaps you will get to see Bertie.”

Granger could see the pain on the old Earl's face when he mentioned Bertie. He'd disowned his middle son, and Bertie had fled to India to make his fortune. There was much regret in the Earl's eyes. “I'm taking him news of his promotion to Lieutenant Governor of Madras. That should ensure that I get to see him, and that I get a good reception,” Granger teased.

“That would do it. No time to write a note,” the Earl said, then got up and walked over to his cabinet and unlocked it. He took out an object and held it in his hands. “Give him this for me, won't you. Tell him that I'm proud of him.”

Granger took the object. It was his grandfather's signet ring, one of the most precious family heirlooms they possessed. Designed so that when pressed into wax, it would leave Granger's grandfather's personal seal, it was decorated around its edges with diamonds and sapphires. It was beautiful and valuable. Freddie would be livid; he'd considered it part of his birthright. “Of course Father.”

Then the Earl pulled Granger into a hug, something that, for the first time, wasn't uncomfortable for either of them. “I'm proud of him, and I'm proud of you, George. We'll watch out for Caroline, Michel, and Will while you are gone.”

“Thank you Father. I always know I can count on you,” Granger said, then turned to leave, bracing himself for the final and hardest goodbye. The only good news was that his mother was at Bridgemont, so he'd avoid that emotional departure.

He entered the massive foyer for a final goodbye. The nurse brought his son William, just two months old now, as well as Michel, the young orphan boy he'd adopted in Toulon.

“I want to go with you,” Michel said.

“You must go to school,” Granger said. “You must get an education. After you do that, if you want to go to sea, I will take you.” Michel gave Granger a big hug, and then let him go to cling to Caroline. God, this was so hard, Granger thought.

“I am ready to go as well,” came a gruff voice. Granger turned to see Lefavre, the cook he'd found in a captured French frigate. Lefavre had told him he planned to stay on land, to be with Michel, but he had evidently changed his mind. “Michel and I decided that you need more looking after than he does.”

“That is most likely true,” Granger said with a smile. Lefavre was a fabulous cook. “Come along then. We'll be back as soon as we can.” And then, with a final kiss for Caroline, they were gone.

“I thought you were going to stay here with the boy?” Granger asked as soon as they were seated comfortably in the coach.

“He has learned all he needs from me. He needs to move on, to be with people like him. And I miss the sea,” Lefavre said philosophically. He meant that Michel needed to be with gentlemen, and not with a cook, a servant.

“I think you will always be important to Michel, but I am glad you are coming along. I would probably go hungry otherwise,” Granger teased.

“Probably,” said Lefavre, with all of his arrogance.

They caught a boat from the Embankment, an easy pull for the boatmen as they had merely to let the tide and current whisk them along to Sheerness. The trip back, however, would be an entirely different matter. That was not his problem.

Granger watched Intrepid as she grew nearer, admiring her clean lines, the rake of her masts. “Row around her,” he ordered the boatmen, irritating them. He didn't care. He noticed her trim, that she seemed to be lower in the bows than was normal. That would make her most unhandy in stays, something that could mean life or death in a battle. Just one more thing to worry about, he thought.

They piped him on board, Calvert waiting there to greet him with a big smile. Thousands of miles, over a year at sea, would tempt Granger’s restraint to the utmost. This was one handsome and sexy man. “Welcome back sir,” Calvert said. “The surgeon has arrived on board, along with three midshipmen.”

“Three midshipmen? I thought we were only getting two?”

“The third one, the senior, arrived without orders sir. Says he knows you, and requested a posting,” Calvert said. “It will be easy enough to put him ashore if needed.”

“I'm sure he'll be useful,” Granger said, wondering who this mysterious midshipman was. “We're down in the bows; we need to adjust the trim. Have the gunner move some shot aft. We can move it back after we consume some of our stores. Send the surgeon and midshipmen aft to me. After we've corrected her trim, we'll make sail.”

“Aye aye sir,” Calvert said, and began rapping out orders as Granger made his way back into his cabin. He was thoroughly shocked and surprised by what greeted him: a barking dog.

“Well hello,” Granger said as the large dog approached him with its tail wagging, pausing only briefly to sniff his hand before letting Granger pet him. “And who are you?”

“Sir, the beast was sent aboard for you with a note,” Winkler said, glaring at the dog. Evidently they didn't get along all that well. Winkler handed him the note.

Dear Commander Granger,

I send you this note and this dog from the docks as we fit Amelie out for her first cruise. I cannot begin to thank you for the opportunity you have given us; without your support and advocacy my officers and I would be mere beggars on the streets. But you have given us a chance, to be privateers, and we will repay you with more profits than you dreamed.

But dreams are but a vague promise, so we send to you a more tangible sign of our thanks. This dog, named Ranger, is renowned for his ability to sniff out and kill rats. Remembering the state of affairs when you first took command of Intrepid, he seemed a fitting gift. I hope that his company will remind you pleasantly of us.

Your most obedient servant,

Poulin

Granger smiled. It was a nice gift, a thoughtful gift. “This is Ranger,” he said to Winkler. The dog looked at him and wagged its tail. “Try calling him by his name, and feeding him, and I think he may learn to like you. Anything is possible.”

Winkler rolled his eyes. “So you say, sir.” There was a knock at the cabin door, followed by a short, young man who seemed nervous. He looked so slight, Granger fancied he could pick him up and toss him out the window.

“I'm Jackson sir. I've been assigned to you as your surgeon.”

“Welcome aboard Doctor,” Granger said, shaking his hand. “What ship were you in prior to the Intrepid?”

“This will by my first ship, sir,” he said nervously. Granger just looked at him and raised an eyebrow, inviting him to explain. “I've been practicing here in London, but certain affairs have induced me to leave and seek a posting in your ship.”

“Debts or women?” Granger teased.

“Both sir,” Jackson said, smiling at him.

“Well Doctor, you'll be away for a while. Perhaps by the time we return to England they will have forgotten any transgressions.”

“Possibly, sir,” he said, still smiling.

“Very well,” Granger said, dismissing him. Jackson made to leave but stopped as he opened the door, making room for the next person to see him. The three midshipmen filed in, two young men and another more senior. It was the senior of the three that had come aboard to request a posting. He was the man that Granger knew, and his presence here was indeed a big surprise.