The Wardroom - 15. Chapter 15

September 28, 1793

Winkler and Lefavre returned with a boat full of foodstuffs. Granger decided it would be easier to haul the whole boat aboard, an evolution that took the muscles of the entire crew to achieve.

“Mr. Carslake, have the boat's crew clean up under the wash deck pump,” Granger ordered. They stared at him, puzzled, until Carslake explained what was required. Lefavre was most adamant about not doing it, but he finally understood that orders were orders. Winkler was the biggest surprise. He was really cute underneath those baggy pants and shirts that he wore. A mere child when Granger first met him, he was blooming into a really cute adolescent. Granger looked at his watch. Noon. It was time.

“Mr. Chilton!”

“Sir?”

“Signal Aurore to flag. Permission to proceed.”

“Aye aye sir,” Chilton said. He was a good signal midshipman. Travers must miss his skill. In more ways than one, Granger thought, enjoying his own personal joke.

“Flag acknowledges sir!” Chilton called.

“Mr. Wilson, up anchor. And Mr. Wilson,” Granger called.

“Sir?”

“You can cat it home this time,” Granger said, smiling.

“Aye aye sir,” Wilson said.

“Mr. Carslake, loose the topsails,” Granger ordered. “Steer two points off the wind, helmsman.”

“Aye aye sir,” they both responded.

“Anchor's hove short!” yelled Wilson. Granger watched the topmen struggling with the rings, and then finally freeing them, loosing the sails.

“Anchor's aweigh!” yelled Wilson. Granger felt the Aurore begin to move, slowly at first, as she picked up speed.

“A point to starboard,” Granger ordered. “Mr. Carslake, trim the braces!” Granger was focused, trying to work Aurore through the mass of shipping, through the ten ships of the line in Hood's fleet, and the twenty ships of the line in the Spanish fleet, not to mention the various smaller ships from those countries, as well as Naples and Sardinia. It was a tense two hours, until finally they were clear of the outer harbor. Chilton and his men were exhausted from simply raising and lowering their ensign in salute as they passed other warships.

Granger looked off to the western side of the harbor and saw Vesuvius there, firing at the shore. He aimed his glass at her and saw Travers bending over her mortars. The wind blew the tails of his coat up, giving Granger a great view of his ass in his tight white trousers. He grinned to himself, and then put the glass away.

He'd worked out a watch schedule with Carslake and Wilson yesterday, and had divided the crew in half. “I will be in my cabin Mr. Wilson,” he said. He'd left orders to be called if damn near anything happened.

“Yes sir,” Wilson said. Granger went down to his cabin and found Winkler stowing their purchases in various cubby holes he'd found.

“Did you have fun in Toulon?” Granger teased.

“Yes sir,” Winkler said. “Until I came back and had to strip in front of the whole crew.”

Granger laughed. “So now you're being chased around by every sodomite aboard?”

“Yes sir, all except one,” he said, teasing Granger.

“You've turned into a cheeky little bastard Winkler,” Granger shot back.

“Yes sir,” he said, smiling. Granger took off his coat and Winkler stepped forward to take it from him.

“I think I might actually wear my work uniform,” Granger said. It had gotten no use on the flagship. He stripped off the rest of his dress uniform, handing it to Winkler, and then headed off to his sleeping cabin. Winkler came in and put his work uniform next to the bed, in case he needed it in a hurry. Granger decided to grab some sleep. He'd learned before that when you were the captain, you grabbed sleep like a miser grasps gold.

He was dozing in and out of sleep when there was a soft knock on his door. “Enter,” he called.

Chilton came in, and Granger suddenly felt dangerously exposed. He'd thought it would be Winkler. Granger was lying on his back with his arms folded back behind his head, the blanket pulled down to just above his dick, exposing his entire torso and the top patch of his blond pubic hair. He thought about moving, about covering up, but he didn't want to. Something about being here, lying here supine like this in front of Chilton, of teasing him, was intensely erotic. He looked down and saw the blanket begin to rise as his dick got hard. Chilton just stood there, staring at him.

“Can I help you Mr. Chilton?” Granger asked.

“Uh, yes sir,” he said nervously. His eyes were focused on the bulge in Granger’s blanket. “Mr. Carslake said to tell you that he sent the hands to dinner.” Granger moved his legs, spreading them slightly, pulling the blanket down to expose the base of his hard cock, much like Roberts had done to him in Gibraltar.

“Thank you Mr. Chilton,” Granger said. Chilton's pants were tenting now. “Is there anything else you need?” He kicked the blanket down all the way, letting his dick flop free, watching Chilton's eyes bulge.

Chilton reached his hand down slowly, moving it toward Granger's cock, only stopping before he touched it. “May I sir?” he asked.

“You won't do to me what you did to Mr. Travers, now will you?” Granger asked.

“No sir,” he said, running his fingers lightly over Granger's shaft.

“You don't like me that much?” Granger teased.

“I like you sir. I've learned a lot. I know better now.” Granger ran his hand up Chilton's leg and felt him cringe, not with pain, but with anticipation.

“Take off your clothes Mr. Chilton. I want to fuck you,” Granger said.

“Yes sir,” Chilton said, and pulled off his uniform with amazing speed. Granger looked at his cute body, the body he'd seen under the pump, and felt his dick throb in anticipation. Then he pulled Chilton into his cot and kissed him passionately, forcefully. Chilton wasn't a very good kisser, but maybe he could be trained.

Granger moved his mouth down Chilton’s body, sucking on his nipples, licking his abdomen, and then swallowing his dick, a nice dick if a bit small at five inches. “Ahhh,” he heard Chilton moan. Granger rolled him over and gazed at his cute ass, not as fuckable as Shafte's, but still enjoyable. Shafte had a cute, little ass, while Chilton's was bigger, with fuller cheeks. Granger spread them apart and dove in, enjoying Chilton's smell and his taste, the taste of his body mixed with the salty taste of the sea.

“You like that?” Granger asked.

“Yes. More. Please,” Chilton moaned. Granger dove back into his sweet ass, until he could wait no longer. He got the lanolin and slathered it all over Chilton's ass, probing it with his finger, and then he lubed up his cock, and pushed into him. He felt Chilton stiffen and tighten, but Granger was too keyed up to slow down. He slammed into him over and over again. He heard Chilton led out a little shriek, heard him groan, felt him spasm, and knew he'd just cum, but Granger didn't care. He went on, enjoying the feeling of this cute young man and his soft warm ass until he could stand it no more, then he exploded inside him, filling him up with his pent up load.

Chilton turned over, with cum all over his groin and a huge smile on his face. “Thank you sir,” he said shyly. “That was an amazing experience.”

“I'm glad you enjoyed it,” Granger said. “Stop by again sometime.” Chilton grinned at him and they both got dressed. “Oh and Mr. Chilton, if you're lonely in the wardroom, you can rig a cot in the chartroom.”

“Really sir?” he asked excitedly.

“Really. As long as you don't mind if I sneak in and fuck you every chance I get,” Granger teased with a smile. The chart room was adjacent to his cabin, with a door into it from his quarters.

“My ass is at your disposal sir,” Chilton teased back.

Energized by Chilton's hot ass, Granger put on his work uniform and headed up on deck. He found Wilson on watch. Granger looked up at the sky and saw clouds gathering. One of those freak storms the Mediterranean was known for, Granger feared. Wilson followed his eyes. “The glass is dropping sir.”

“It looks like we're in for a bit of a gale,” Granger observed. “Call the watch Mr. Wilson. Take in the topsails and loose the mains.”

“Aye aye sir,” Wilson said. The main sails were closest to the deck, and would be the easiest for his meager crew to trim or reef. Plus Granger wasn't too sure how sound the topmasts of Aurore were, so it was better not to test them, to strain them too much.

Granger looked off to the west and could see the squall approaching. He could feel the wind blowing harder now. “Mr. Wilson, another man on the helm,” Granger called. He tried to gauge the strength of the wind, of the storm that was coming. It was impossible to know until it hit them. And then hit them it did.

The squall hit Aurore squarely on the starboard bow, pushing the frigate over. The helmsmen struggled to keep her steady; Granger was glad he'd added another man. He smiled to himself, enjoying the crisp strong wind and the lively motion as the waves increased with the wind. He'd learned about fighting storms from his first captain, from Sir Evelyn Fellowes, one of the best seamen in the fleet.

Aurore thrashed along close hauled, fighting the squall. Only it wasn't a squall, it was a full blown gale. The joy of the squall passed quickly enough. “Sir!” Wilson screamed into his ear. “There's a foot of water in the well!” Granger nodded. Aurore would leak naturally in these seas as her seams expanded and contracted, but there were also the shot holes that they hadn't had time to repair as perfectly as he would have liked. Fighting the wind like this, she was working herself hard.

“We'll heave to,” Granger said. “Call the watch!” Granger watched the men as they manhandled the braces nicely while the helmsmen brought her into the wind. The motion eased considerably, a violent but manageable motion as the Aurore yielded to the waves. There was no danger now of her working herself apart, or of a spar carrying away. But every minute they spent hove to meant a minute of leeway, and put them that much farther away from Port Mahon.

October 1, 1793

Granger headed back up on deck again, a place he'd rarely left. The storm had thrashed them for three days, so violent they'd been unable to do anything except lie there, hove to, riding it out. Granger spotted the bosun's mate on the ladder, coming down after trimming the braces again.

“Those French seamen might have been more helpful than we thought,” Granger said, joking.

He smiled back. “We're doing just fine on our own sir, begging your pardon sir.”

Granger strolled onto the quarterdeck and felt the difference immediately, felt the wind easing.

“I was just about to send for you sir,” Carslake said, rushing toward him. “The lookout sighted a sail off the starboard bow.” A sail. That could mean anything. A pirate, a neutral, an enemy, but it was most likely a friend. With Spain, Naples, and Sardinia on Britain's side, most of the shipping here would be allied.

“Mr. Carslake, lay her over on the starboard tack. We'll get the topsails on too, one reef.”

“Aye aye sir,” he said, and began issuing orders.

“Mr. Chilton, you've got sharp eyes. Take a glass aloft and tell me what you make of our friend,” Granger ordered.

“Aye aye sir,” Chilton said. Granger smiled to himself. It was easy to get used to this unbridled power, the power of the Captain. If he said go, they went. If he said stay, they stayed. Much easier than being a lieutenant, where a Captain was always there to interrupt you, or even an admiral, where you had to command a bunch of Captains. Herding cats was easier than that.

“Masthead there! She's a brig, French by the looks of her,” Chilton screamed.

“Very well. Come on down Mr. Chilton. Mr. Carslake, send your best lookout up there.” Carslake rushed off to do his bidding. Granger often wondered how captains could abuse their power like Wilcox had, but this heady feeling was intoxicating, this feeling of command. He could understand it, even if the logic of it made no sense at all.

Chilton scrambled up to the quarterdeck to report. “Sir, she's a brig, looks like she lost her mizzen top mast in the storm.” That wouldn't unduly impair her speed. French brigs were notoriously fast.

“Warship or merchant?” Granger asked.

“I couldn't tell sir,” he said.

“Break out our French flag and run it up,” Granger ordered. “Have our real one ready to run up when I give the signal.”

“Aye aye sir!” Chilton said, but looked at him strangely. Granger ignored him. It was a legitimate ruse de guerre, to show one flag then switch, provided you showed your real colors before action began.

“Mr. Fleming! Clear away the bowchasers!” Granger ordered. “Load, but don't run out.”

“Brig's seen us!” came a call from the masthead. “She's patching on sail!” Handy as the Aurore was, that brig was faster and more agile, heading into the wind like this. If the waves had been as high as they were yesterday, Aurore's bigger bulk would have made the brig a sitting duck. But the Mediterranean, with all the flukiness that was that sea, had calmed down amazingly fast now that the storm was past.

“Raise those French colors Mr. Chilton!” Granger ordered. The tricolor rose to the flagstaff then, and the result was immediate.

“Brig's hove to again sir!” the masthead called. Of course she would, Granger thought. Aurore was a French frigate, the cut of her sails and her lines were distinctively French. The tricolor was expected.

They gained on her rapidly, and from the deck Granger could see that she was a merchant ship, not a warship. So much the better. Merchants would have a minimal crew, and he did not need prisoners. They got closer and closer to the unsuspecting brig.

Granger waited until they were only two cable's lengths apart. Close enough to thrash the brig, but not so close as to make their lack of crewmembers obvious. “Mr. Chilton, run down those colors and run up ours!”

“Aye aye sir,” Chilton said, and the tricolor came down with alacrity, and up went the British ensign. Granger could feel the anguish and consternation aboard the French ship. He saw the captain through his glass, looking around in a panic, trying to figure a way out.

“A shot across her bow Mr. Fleming!” Granger called. It took less than a minute for the shot to ring out, and for the ball to fly across the Frenchman's bow. Close enough to scare the shit out of them. Granger watched as her flag came fluttering down in surrender.

“Mr. Carslake, take a prize crew of five men and secure the brig. You will sail in company with us to Port Mahon. I want a full report on her cargo and condition. Send half her crew over to us. We can use them on the pumps,” Granger ordered.

“Aye aye sir!” Carslake said, grinning. He'd get to experience the joys of command now too. Granger watched as the boat rowed toward the brig and as Carslake boarded her. Chilton was there too. Granger had sent him to command the ship's boat. It seemed to take forever, but finally he saw six men descend into the boat. Granger paced the deck, pretending to be uninterested in the boat and its passengers, hiding the excitement he really felt.

Chilton came scrambling up with the six Frenchmen. Five were obviously sailors, but the sixth was dressed much too nicely to be even the captain. “Sir, that's the brig Turquoise. She's loaded with military stores. Mostly powder, along with a few siege guns. She was headed for Toulon.”

“Excellent Mr. Chilton. And whom do we have here?” Granger turned to the well-dressed man and bowed slightly.

“Antoine Ladon,” the man said brusquely. He was young, in his mid-20s at most, but his bearing, his manners, were those of this new regime of Robespierre's, not the genteel ancien regime.

“Captain George Granger, of His Britannic Majesty's ship Aurore,” Granger said. He used the title of captain not to burnish his ego, but to avoid any confusion. Granger turned away from Ladon briefly. “Mr. Wilson, put those Frenchmen to work on the pumps and square away for Port Mahon.”

“Aye aye sir!”

“Mr. Chilton, signal Mr. Carslake to keep station on us.”

“Aye aye sir!” Chilton said.

“Monsieur, I fear I must relieve you of your sword and of any other weapons you are carrying,” Granger said. He nodded and the coxswain and another burly seaman came up and stood on either side of him. “I will return them to you when we are safely in port.”

Ladon grudgingly took off his sword and let it fall to the deck. “Then if you will follow me?” Granger said, leading Ladon back to his cabin. He motioned for the Coxswain and his helper to follow. There was something about Ladon, something about his manner that told Granger he was dangerous.

“This cabin still feels French,” Ladon said with a sneer as they entered the large stern cabin, the sun gleaming through the stern windows, the storm now past and the sky returned to its beautiful blue color.

“Then you should feel comfortable and at home,” Granger said. “I will need you to remove your clothing.” He switched to English and addressed Winkler. “Winkler, find something suitable for Monsieur Ladon to wear.”

“This is an outrage!” sputtered Ladon.

“Perhaps,” said Granger in French. “But in two minutes you will either be naked or dead. The choice is yours, monsieur.”

He saw Ladon look around him, now thoroughly panicked. The coxswain and his mate sensed this and tensed up. Ladon sighed and removed his coat, handing it to Winkler. It clinked a little bit. Then he took off his shoes, and stopped.

“Continue, monsieur,” Granger ordered. Ladon took off his tie, then his stockings, and Granger almost giggled when he thought that it looked like he was doing a strip-tease. The four Englishmen stared at him purposefully, and with a sigh he took off his shirt. Granger tried not to gasp at his physique. The black hair on his head was repeated on his torso, a small patch between his well-defined pectoral muscles, and a thin strip descended from that patch all the way down, past his belly button, to disappear into his pants. His torso was perfect in a classical Greek way. Granger forced himself not to leer at the man. The coxswain was less successful, Granger noted. Granger noted that his torso, his upper body, seemed completely out of proportion to his ass and thighs, which looked massive.

“There,” Ladon said, as if that was enough.

“Your pants,” Granger ordered. His eyes met Ladon's, and he knew that this was the moment Ladon had been dreading. Ladon sighed and undid his trousers, letting them fall to the floor. There Ladon stood, naked; with his dick so shriveled it looked as if it was trying to sink into his pubic bush. But that wasn't the main event; attached to his legs and his ass were canvas pouches, pouches that clinked like his coat did. Granger nodded to the coxswain who reached down and ripped one of the pouches off Ladon’s ass, causing Ladon to scream in pain. The coxswain handed Winkler the bag, then ran his hand across Ladon's ass gently and mumbled an apology. Granger noticed that the coxswain's pants were tenting now. His fingers must have grazed Ladon's crack, because Ladon had an obvious, involuntary reaction as his dick seemed to come alive and jump out from its hiding place in his thick forest of black hair.

“Jeffers, remove those packets,” Granger said to the coxswain.

“Aye aye sir,” he said with a leer. Granger opened up the canvas bag he'd removed and allowed it to spill out on this desk. Gold coins. Ladon was carrying a small fortune in gold coins strapped to his body.

“There will be more in his coat,” Granger said. Winkler began to undo the lining, pulling out the gold pieces until there were no more. Granger stacked them on his desk, carefully counting them out, while Jeffers pulled the packets off Ladon, more gently now. Granger dismissed the other crewman. Ladon was clearly subdued now that his secret was out. What's more, he had a raging hard-on, making Winkler giggle.

Granger counted out the coins, 987 gold pieces, a fabulous prize. “Winkler, lay out the spare clothes in my sleeping cabin.”

“Aye aye sir,” Winkler said, giggling, and left. Granger stared at the two men in front of him. Ladon, beautiful now that he was completely naked, his legs and ass in proportion to his perfect torso, with a cute five-inch cock throbbing out in front of him. Jeffers, standing next to him, but slightly behind him, with his pants tenting out, unable to hide his massive erection.

“Mr. Jeffers, we need to see if Monsieur Ladon has hidden any other coins. We will need to search his cavities.”

“Aye aye sir,” Jeffers said with a smile and pushed Ladon onto the floor, onto all fours. He took his fingers and probed in, pulling out coin after coin, thirteen more, to bring the total to a credible 1000. Ladon had given up now, and was enjoying the ride. Jeffers was probing him with his fingers, probing with the skill of someone who had been inside a man's ass before, and Ladon's moans, along with his throbbing cock, showed him as a man who'd been probed before as well. “My fingers aren't long enough to go in any more sir,” Jeffers said with a smile, and a plea in his eyes.

“Do you have anything longer Mr. Jeffers?” Granger said, hearing the lust in Jeffers’ voice.

“Yes sir,” Jeffers said, and dropped his trousers. There was that massive, gorgeous cock of his, hard as a rock. Ladon looked back and his eyes got wide, then he smiled.

“Monsieur,” Granger said to him. “We are trying to make sure all the gold has been removed from your ass.” Jeffers ran his cock up and down Ladon's crack as Granger said this, causing Ladon to moan. “His fingers are too short. We would like to try a different tool, if that is alright with you?”

Ladon moaned again and pushed back into Jeffers, begging to be fucked. “Oui,” he said.

Granger knelt next to Jeffers and ran his hand across Jeffers ass. “Nice and slow Jeffers.”

“Aye aye sir,” Jeffers said, grinning, and pushed his massive cock inside Ladon. Granger kept his hand on Jeffers ass, regulating his thrusts, feeling his huge muscles squeeze as he pushed into Ladon.

“Do you feel anything?” he asked Jeffers.

“No sir,” Jeffers said, panting.

Granger slapped his big ass. “Try harder.”

“Aye aye sir,” Jeffers said, smiling. Then he began to really fuck Ladon, slamming into him. Granger could see Jeffers getting close so he stopped him.

“On your back monsieur,” Granger told Ladon as he pulled Jeffers back, and out of him. The huge man obeyed him. Ladon was on his back now and pulled his legs back, begging Jeffers for more. “I think he missed you Jeffers,” Granger said huskily into his ear.

“I think you're right sir,” Jeffers said, and re-entered Ladon. Granger knelt down to Ladon's cock now, and licked the tip slightly. He teased Ladon, teased him mercilessly while Jeffers fucked him, and then finally swallowed him whole. Granger looked up to see Jeffers staring down at him, his eyes crazed with lust, as Ladon shot his load into Granger's mouth.

Now that he'd cum, Ladon lay there spent, while Jeffers pounded on. Granger moved up in front of him and Jeffers grabbed him, pulling Granger to his lips, and kissing him firmly but lovingly. Damn he was a good kisser. Then he pulled Granger off of him and let out a low roar, then blew his load into Ladon's ass.

Granger locked the coins in his safe then went into his sleeping cabin to get Ladon's clothes. He tossed them to him. “Clothes to wear until we reach Port Mahon,” Granger said in French. Then to Jeffers in English: “Lock him up below, and then report back to me in one hour.”

“Aye aye sir,” Jeffers said grinning. He hauled Ladon away then, and Granger sat there at his desk, horny as hell, but put that aside and began adding to his report. One thousand golden coins and those coins were at least twice as big as a guinea. That meant they'd fallen into a veritable windfall of about 4000 pounds. As captain, a fourth of that was his. One thousand pounds. Plus the prize money from the sale of the Turqoise and its cargo. These crewmen of his would be rich beyond their dreams.

He looked up to find Jeffers standing at attention in front of his desk. “The prisoner is secure sir.”

“Very well Jeffers,” Granger said, standing up and walking over to him. “Have you told anyone of the gold?”

“No sir,” he said formally.

“Please keep that to yourself. I'd like to keep it quiet that we have that much money aboard. I don't want to encourage theft.”

“Yes sir,” Jeffers said. Granger looked down and smiled. Jeffers was tenting his pants again.

“You're a horny bastard, aren't you Jeffers?”

“Yes sir,” he said. Granger reached down and stroked Jeffers’ cock through his trousers, making him moan.

“Well I just asked you for a favor, seems I owe you one.” Granger led him willingly back to his sleeping cabin and pulled down Jeffers' trousers.

“I don't know who was luckier earlier sir, me or Ladon.” Granger grinned and dropped to his knees. Jeffers had obviously taken pains to clean himself up after Ladon, as the only odors he smelt were those from Jeffers own body. Granger took his long cock into his mouth as deeply as he could, licking the head as he pulled his head back, then making sure Jeffers could feel his throat around his head as Granger lodged it into his throat. Granger stopped, having gotten him worked up, and stood up. Jeffers had that crazed look, and pulled him into a kiss again. They just stood there making out while Granger gently stroked Jeffers' hard cock.

“Ladon was luckier,” he said with a grin.

“I agree,” Granger said, dropping his own pants and pulling them off, then leaning back on his cot, his ass in the air. He handed Jeffers some lanolin which Jeffers expertly used to lube him up, and then Jeffers moved forward and slid into him. Granger tossed his head back then, savoring the feel of Jeffers' big long cock as it moved in and out, as it rubbed against his prostate. He looked up at Jeffers, at his face that was absorbed in lust, only to break into a pleasant smile when he made eye contact with Granger. Then it was back to work as Jeffers thrust on, bringing himself off first. He left his still-hard cock in Granger's ass while Granger stroked himself to a massive orgasm.

“Thank you sir,” Jeffers said, after Granger stopped panting. He pulled out carefully.

“Thank you Jeffers.” Granger pulled up his pants and headed back up on deck, focused on his duty. At least for a little while.

October 7, 1793

The Aurore and Turquoise glided gently into Port Mahon, the Aurore proudly flying the British ensign, the Turquoise with British colors over French, proclaiming to all that she was a prize. Granger distributed five of the gold coins to each of the men, pending the adjudication of the prize, figuring that he could make up any deficit out of his own pocket if the ruling went against them.

Ladon joined him on the quarterdeck, watching the life of captivity approaching. He smiled at Granger. “I did not think that being a prisoner could be so enjoyable.” Granger grinned back at him. Jeffers had fucked him constantly; the Frenchman was insatiable.

Granger handed him 13 gold coins, the ones they'd pulled from his ass. “You may have need of some luxuries, monsieur.”

Ladon looked at him, wide-eyed. “I must thank you Mr. Granger. That is a most generous gesture.” Granger bowed slightly. The boat swung out and he followed Chilton and Ladon down into it for the short row ashore. They hired a carriage to take them the short way to the Port Admiral, a crusty old naval officer named Zephraim Glide. His appearance was as strange as his name, short and stout, with scruffy hair tied back in the fashion popular in the last war. His cocked hat, when on his head, was too small, as was most of his uniform, giving an observer the impression of a man who had swelled up almost overnight.

“Report,” Glide said simply.

Granger explained his orders from Hood, and then his encounter with the Turquoise. He explained about the gold found on Ladon's person, and then summarized their easy voyage after that.

“You need to have the gold transferred ashore before you turn Aurore over to the shipyard,” Glide said.

“Yes sir,” Granger said. “Where should the gold be delivered sir?”

“You can deliver it here, Mr. Granger,” he said.

“Excellent sir. I will need orders to that effect, and a receipt for delivery,” Granger said calmly.

“I have just given you the orders, Mr. Granger,” Glide said.

“Yes sir. I'm requesting them in writing sir,” Granger said adamantly, not about to let thousands of pounds fall into the admiral's pocket.

“You will obey my orders as given!” Glide yelled.

“Begging your pardon sir,” Chilton said, intervening. “According to the Admiralty Courts sir, and implicitly part of the Articles of War, his majesty's officers are within their rights to request written orders when they consider the order to be unusual enough to require written verification.” Chilton spouted this off like a sea lawyer, and he saw Glide's eyes bulge. Granger was fairly sure that Chilton was full of shit.

“Thank you Mr. Chilton,” Granger said, absorbing the argument and any rage from Glide. “I will await your orders sir.”

“Bah,” Glide yelled, and waved them out. A flag lieutenant approached them, grinning, and made to lead Ladon off.

“Please treat him well,” Granger asked the lieutenant. “He was a most honorable prisoner.”

“Yes sir,” he said. Another clerk came back with Glide's written orders. Granger smiled to Chilton, and they headed back to disgorge the gold. Armed with orders and a written receipt, Granger left the funds in the dubious hands of Glide and the Admiralty Courts.