Odyssey - 48. Chapter 48

This isn't due to be posted until tomorrow, but I'm going out of town.  For you Calvert haters. 
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May 1, 1798

HMS Santa Clarita

Banda Sea

“Land Ho!” cried the lookout. This was not a surprise to the captain of Santa Clarita. They’d plotted their position yesterday, and he was confident that they would finally arrive at Amboyna this morning. It had taken longer than he hoped to get here, but Calvert had done his best, using every technique he and his officers could think of to get extra speed from their ship. Today they would enter port, begin the laborious task of revictualling, only with the gifts they’d gotten from the Spanish even that would take less time.

Calvert hoped that Granger had been able to resolve the issue as to who would be governor of Amboyna. His expectation was that he’d arrive and find Granger chomping at the bit to go home. He knew Granger wouldn’t be mad at him for his tardiness, because he, as well as anyone, understood the vagaries of the wind. But Granger would be impatient, anxious to get back to England, just as Calvert was. Within two days, they would begin their homeward voyage. That was Calvert’s estimation.

Calvert looked over toward Gatling, but in a casual way so people wouldn’t notice their gaze. They’d spent some time together every day since they’d left Manila, time that had been magical for both of them. Calvert thought of their nights together, and how much he was enjoying his attractive young lieutenant. They had done nothing more than pleasure each other with their mouths or their hands, or their bodies. They hadn’t actually fucked yet.

They’d talked about it, and certainly they both were anxious for it, but Calvert understood Gatling, because they were so much alike when it came to relationships. Calvert tended to fall in love with one person at a time, and so did Gatling. For Calvert to let someone penetrate him, he had to really care about that person. He thought about how after he and Granger started sleeping together on Intrepid, Granger had been frustrated, and Calvert had let Granger fuck him. Granger had done it roughly, almost violently, something some men liked, but not Calvert. He loved Granger enough to be happy that he had done something for him, helping him work off his bad mood, but he had found it to be traumatic nonetheless. For Gatling, it was perhaps even more intense. The young man had shyly told him that he would willingly let him fuck him, but for it to really be special, he had to love that man.

That was when they’d first started spending time together. That was before their feelings started to develop. Calvert could tell that Gatling had moved beyond that, and he was willing to bet that the young man was in love with him. For him, he had no doubts about his own feelings. He had fallen head over heels in love with his young lieutenant.

And that had created a real conflict within Calvert. For the past three years, George Granger had filled that place in his heart, that man at the apex of his pantheon of love. He had been with other men, even had relationships with other men, but none of them came close to extracting the same feelings Calvert had for Granger. On board Intrepid, his marine lieutenant had been fun, and Calvert had cared about him, even thought that he loved him, but it was a mirage. He had really only loved one person: George. Only now that had changed. Now Gatling was here, and Gatling had captured a big piece of his heart. So what would happen when they arrived at Amboyna, and Calvert was alone with Granger again? Would he still be transfixed on Granger, or would he long to be with Gatling? If he was with Granger, would Gatling understand? And if Gatling did not, would Calvert still be intimate with Granger? He pulled himself out of his turbulent thoughts and focused on his ship.

“Mr. Scrope, be ready with your signals,” Calvert ordered.

“Aye aye sir,” the young man said.

“I’ll be aloft,” Calvert said. He climbed up to the foretop, gazing ahead with his glass, waiting for the harbor to come into view. Slowly, as if to replicate their entire voyage, Santa Clarita crawled across the Sea of Banda, with all her sails set, trying to catch as much of the meager breeze as she could. A gust of wind pushed Santa Clarita over, and then the gust became more intense. Calvert felt the whole ship shudder as she adapted to this increased force and surged forward. Calvert gauged the wind strength carefully, and decided that Santa Clarita could handle this increased strain.

“Harbor’s in sight, sir,” the lookout said to him. “Bacchante ain’t there.”

Calvert spun around and refocused his attention ahead. He scanned the harbor, and saw a merchant ship taking on cargo, but other than that, there wasn’t another seagoing vessel in harbor. And Bacchante certainly wasn’t there. “She is not,” Calvert confirmed. He studied the harbor, trying to decide if there was danger there, but everything looked to be in order. Still, what if something had happened to Bacchante? She was not there, and that meant something was wrong.

He returned to the deck and addressed Robey, Fitzwilliam, and Gatling. “Bacchante is not in port,” he said simply.

“Where could she have gone, sir?” Robey asked.

“I don’t know, Mr. Robey. We will hopefully find that out when we enter port,” Calvert said.

“Should we clear for action?” Broom asked. He was the ship’s master, and an old woman who saw danger everywhere. That was a logical question, but to clear for action meant throwing the ship into considerable upheaval, and if they needed to replenish their stores quickly, that would delay them.

“We will see how things look as we get closer,” Calvert said. “I will be aloft. Mr. Gatling, I would like you to join me. You have sharp eyes.”

“Aye aye sir,” Gatling said.

“Mr. Robey, we will send the hands to quarters when we get within range of the fort. In the meantime, you should have the signal ready.”

“Aye aye sir,” Robey chirped competently.

Calvert and Gatling climbed back up to the foretop. They trained their glasses on the fort, the town, the merchant ship, and the small craft in the harbor, looking for something out of place, but could see nothing. “Sir, they’re raising their colors,” Gatling said. Calvert watched as the union flag unfurled in the wind over the fortress.

“Mr. Robey, show our colors! Let’s have a flag at the mainmast too, so there’s no confusion,” Calvert called from the tops.

“Aye aye sir,” Robey said. He was ready for that order, and the flags flew up the flagstaff and the mainmast quite quickly. A puff of smoke from the fort alarmed the seaman in the tops with Calvert and Gatling, but not the two officers. The fort was saluting them.

“Start the salute, Mr. Robey,” Calvert ordered. With almost no delay, Santa Clarita began firing her own guns, responding to the fort.

“Sir! There’s a boat heading toward us, and Doctor Jackson is in it!” Gatling exclaimed.

Calvert trained his eye on the boat that was heading toward them, and saw Jackson, along with a few other seamen from Bacchante. “I think this port is still in friendly hands,” Calvert said. “Let’s return to the deck.”

He and Gatling slid down the backstay with a considerable amount of agility, landing on the deck gently. “A boat is heading for us. Dr. Jackson and some of Bacchante’s hands are aboard.”

They watched as the boat approached, and could make out the men more clearly. Calvert forced himself to stand rigidly at attention on his quarterdeck, just as Granger would have done, waiting for the boat to hook on and the doctor to brief them on the situation. He kept his eyes focused on the entry port until he saw Jackson pull himself aboard. “Captain Calvert, welcome to Amboyna,” Jackson said cheerfully.

“Thank you Doctor. I am glad to finally be here, but I am confused, since you are here, but Bacchante is not,” Calvert said.

“Yes sir. I can explain that, but perhaps it would be better for the governor to do that,” Jackson said.

“And who is the governor?” Calvert asked.

“Captain Somers, sir,” Jackson said, then grinned. “Only now he is known as ‘his excellency’.”

“Indeed,” Calvert said, smiling. So Granger had left Somers here as the governor. Calvert thought about that. He was a good choice. “Mr. Robey, see to conning us to our anchorage. I will be ashore.”

“Aye aye sir,” Robey said.

Calvert was of a mind to take Gatling ashore with him, but he was being careful, trying not to show favoritism. All the time they’d spent alone together had been done under the guise of Gatling teaching Calvert how to speak Spanish. Calvert seemed to be able to grasp the language quickly enough, so that with the limited time they’d actually spent on the language, he’d managed to learn enough that people would just think him a slow learner. He felt that he was doing a much better job of handling his affair with Gatling than he had with anyone else, with the possible exception of Granger. Calvert attributed that to his own increased maturity, and to learning from his prior failures. He also attributed a good part of that to Gatling, who was the exemplar of propriety, and did a good job of helping to regulate their public enthusiasm for each other.

Calvert waited until they were almost to their anchorage, and then turned to Jackson. “Doctor, I would be obliged if you would take me to see His Excellency.”

Jackson smiled. “It would be my pleasure.”

“Mr. Robey, you can put these men to good use, getting ready to reprovision, while I’m ashore meeting with the governor,” Calvert said, gesturing to the seamen who had come aboard with Jackson.

Jackson preceded Calvert into the boat, and as soon as Calvert was seated, the oarsmen began to row toward the shore. “Where is Lord Granger?”

“He was on his way to Calcutta, sir, so I fancy that he’s almost there by now.”

“Calcutta? Why was Bacchante sent to Calcutta?”

“Bacchante was not sent to Calcutta, sir. Bacchante was sent back to England, and that was almost two months ago.”

Calvert stared at Jackson, completely confused. “I am hoping you can explain all of this. Why are you here?”

“Nine men, including Lord Granger, developed the fever, sir. I stayed here in Amboyna to help them recover.”

“Lord Granger got the fever?” Calvert asked, and so flustered was he, that he let his feelings for Granger become apparent. “He is alright?”

“It was a very near thing, sir. I have never seen a man get so close to death, and then recover,” Jackson said. “Between Winkler, Lord Chartley, and me, it was like a vigil.”

“Lord Chartley was here too, eh?” Calvert asked. He suspected that Chartley and Granger were lovers. He’d taken Chartley back to England at Granger’s request, to help Chartley thwart Granger’s older brother’s scheme to bilk their other brother out of a fortune. The way Chartley had talked about Granger; it was obvious that he loved him. Calvert felt the green demon of jealousy raise its ugly head, and fought that beast down.

“He was, sir. He left with Lord Granger to go to Calcutta, along with His Lordship’s brother, Albert Granger.”

“I am still unclear as to why they went to Calcutta, Doctor,” Calvert noted, but they were at the dock now, where a beautiful carriage waited for them. It was painted in Bridgemont blue, so presumably it had been Bertie’s, and now Somers had acquired it.

“I think the governor can explain things better than I can, sir,” Jackson said. Calvert nodded, and rode the brief distance to the Governor’s house. He sprung out of the carriage and strode calmly but quickly across the stairs and into the house, where a footman led him into the study.

“Captain, I am glad to see you. You had a slow passage,” Somers said. Calvert had been his senior before, but now their roles were reversed.

“It is good to see you as well, Your Excellency, and to see you much more exalted than you were before,” Calvert said, smiling. “We hit adverse winds, enough to madden a saint.”

“Then as you are no saint, you should not have been bothered,” Somers joked. A few servants brought in food, and handed them glasses of wine. “Thank you,” Somers said. “Now leave us.”

“Yes, Your Excellency,” they said, and left Calvert and Somers alone. Somers guided Calvert to a chair and sat in the chair next to him, a gesture they both understood, having done this with Granger; a gesture that meant their meeting was to be casual and relaxed.

“Much has happened since we got here, and not much of it is good,” Somers said. Somers ruminated back to when Bacchante arrived at Amboyna, and explained the argument over who would be governor, Granger’s illness, and Albert Granger’s decision to send Maidstone back immediately in Bacchante.

“Why is His Lordship going to Calcutta? I would have thought that he would have waited for Santa Clarita and sailed home with us.” Calvert tried to keep the sadness out of his voice, the sadness over having missed an opportunity to spend that much time with Granger. Then he remembered Gatling and the inevitable conflict that would start inside his heart.

“After Bacchante sailed, Albert Granger discovered that Sir Tobias had absconded with much of his correspondence, something which could evidently be quite embarrassing to the government, and His Lordship’s family,” Somers said.

“That’s quite an underhanded thing to do,” Calvert noted.

“I think that when one thinks of underhandedness, visions of Sir Tobias inevitably come to mind,” Somers said in his lackadaisical way. “So His Lordship is determined to intercept Bacchante. He is going to Calcutta, and from there he is going to traverse the Levant and travel through the Mediterranean, much as Lord Chartley did.”

“He just recovered from the fever,” Calvert said, horrified. “How can he survive such a trip?”

“He was most frail when he left here, so we can only hope that the sea air, and the time aboard ship, will have restored his health.”

“So what am I supposed to do?” Calvert asked.

Somers handed Calvert the orders Granger had left for him. Calvert scanned them quickly. They were succinct. He was directed to sail immediately for England, doing his best to catch up to Bacchante, in which case he was to seize Sir Tobias and search him and the ship to recover Albert’s letters. There was also a letter from Granger to him, which would be more personal. Calvert opted to read that later. “He asked me to try and explain things to you.”

“What is there to explain?” Calvert asked.

“These letters, if they get in the wrong hands, could cause significant damage,” Somers said.

“You mean that a bunch of ministers will have their less-than-savory business dealings exposed?” Calvert asked. Somers thought he was exhibiting that same moral indignation so many members of the gentry liked to shroud themselves in. He found that annoying, and hypocritical, since Calvert certainly wasn’t immune from breaking the rules.

“It was suggested this could impact even His Royal Highness the Prince of Wales,” Somers said coolly. “And it would most definitely harm His Lordship’s family. People will overlook the random actions of an errant family member, but a scandal that causes great upheaval is more difficult to explain. Society and the government will look at the entire Granger family to answer for this.”

That adjusted Calvert’s outlook considerably. Granger and his family had done much for Calvert, even though they’d also contrived to separate them at one time. He owed them a debt of gratitude, and he would repay them. “So I must revictual and leave this place at once,” he concluded.

“You must,” Somers confirmed. “When you return to your ship, you will find that barges are already there, completing your stores.”

“Thank you,” Calvert said sincerely. That was incredibly kind of Somers. “I am not sure what chance we have to catch up to Bacchante, since she has a significant head start on us, and she is a faster sailer.”

Somers grinned, his sly grin, the same one he used when he was trying to fuck someone. “I had a conversation with Mr. Humphreys before he left.”

“Indeed?” Calvert asked.

“Lord Granger was incapacitated, and I felt it important to give him some guidance,” Somers noted.

“And what guidance did you give him?”

“Bacchante was dispatched with undue haste, merely, in my opinion, so Albert Granger could remove Maidstone from this place. There was no good reason for Sir Tobias to reach England quickly, and every reason for him to encounter delays.”

“You told Humphreys to sail slowly?” Calvert asked, trying not to chuckle.

“I did,” Somers said. “I did not tell Lord Granger, because he was not all that well when he left, and my verbal instructions to Humphreys were counter to the instructions given to Humphreys by His Lordship’s brother.”

“So you think that if I should get some luck and get a decent wind, something that has eluded me for the past two months, there is a reasonable chance for me to catch up to Bacchante?”

“I am suggesting that it is a possibility,” Somers said. “The other reason that I did not tell His Lordship is that Mr. Humphreys did not seem too enamored of the idea, and he was most anxious to get back to England. So I don’t know how much my words would temper his zeal to return. In addition, he will have to tolerate Sir Tobias’ company that much longer, and that will surely coax him to speed along his trip.”

In other words, Somers’ instructions to Humphreys were merely suggestions, ones that Humphreys may very well not be inclined to follow. “We will just have to hope that he was convinced.”

“I took the liberty of having a discussion about this with my cousin, Lieutenant Eastwyck. I am hoping he can provide some on the spot encouragement for Mr. Humphreys.”

“One can only hope. In the meantime, I should return to the ship and make sure provisioning is well in hand. That will not be as big a chore as one might think.”

“Indeed?” Somers asked curiously.

“We have had our own adventures,” Calvert said.

“There was concern that the Vulture would try to intercept the convoy.”

“Those concerns were justified,” Calvert said, and described their encounter with the Vulture and Dyaks.

“If she returns, I will impound her,” Somers said, referring to the Vulture.

“I think that is unlikely. After we had left Vulture all but a wreck, the pirates turned on her. I can’t think many of the crew survived, and I’m not sure what the pirates did with the ship,” Calvert noted.

“If they are able to refit her, she will be a considerable menace in these waters,” Somers noted, with the irritation in his voice obvious. By not destroying the Vulture, Calvert had left Somers with a big potential problem.

“I did not think that it was incumbent on me to interfere on Vulture’s behalf,” Calvert said, showing his own irritation. “And as she appeared to be sinking, it did not seem important to re-engage her. Somers nodded. There was nothing to be gained by arguing with Calvert about this, and in any event, those arguments would change nothing. “In any event, the Dons were most grateful, and gave us ample provisions as a token of their love.”

“It would give me great pleasure if you and your officers would join me for supper, Captain,” Somers said formally, pushing aside their brief period of relaxed communication. “I plan to host that meal at 6:00.”

“It will be our pleasure to attend, Your Excellency,” Calvert said, and then had himself taken back to his ship. He spent the rest of the day explaining to his officers what had happened, and what their mission was, instilling in them a sense of urgency.

May 4, 1798

Amboyna

“You have resupplied in record time, Captain,” Somers said, as he stood on the deck of His Britannic Majesty’s frigate Santa Clarita. The sun was just beginning to lighten the harbor as dawn broke.

“Thank you, Your Excellency,” Calvert replied.

“Here are dispatches for London,” Somers said, handing Calvert a large packet. “I wish you gentlemen luck.”

“I wish you luck as well, Your Excellency,” Calvert said with a smile. “And if you will pardon me for saying so, you seem to be in your element here.”

“Thank you, Captain,” Somers said. “I hope I can perform adequately, both for John Company and for His Majesty.”

“I cannot imagine an alternative,” Calvert said. “Thank you for everything. It was your preparation for our arrival that allowed us to leave so quickly.”

“I will bid you farewell,” Somers said, ending their mutual admiration exchange. He lowered himself into his barge, noting that even as the boat moved away, Santa Clarita was setting sail. Her anchor had already been hove short, and it was no time at all until they freed it from the bottom of the harbor, and the frigate was alive again.

Somers alit from his boat and paused on the dock to watch her sail in the early light of dawn. As she exited the harbor, the pilot was lowered into his boat and cast off, and then Santa Clarita began piling on sail, taking advantage of these favorable winds. He smiled to himself, chiding himself for being such a schemer, but he knew that it was vital that they get to Bacchante before she reached London. He’d taken steps, done everything in his power, to make that happen.

He’d had a premonition that Bacchante would need to be slowed, although he wasn’t sure why that happened. He’d slowed her down in a way she was probably only now discovering. Apparently there were some rotten stores accumulated for use aboard ship, and while most merchant captains were astute enough to avoid them, Somers had persuaded Andrews to take them aboard Bacchante. It had required draconian threats and arguments, along with financial guarantees for Andrews, but he had done it. Somers was being altruistic, in trying to slow Bacchante down, but also selfish. She would have to stop and replenish, probably in Cape Town, and that would delay her. But she would also have to declare those stores to be rotten. If they were charged back, they would be charged back to the prior governor, not to Somers. He had no desire to pay for the sins of his predecessor.

He had told Granger and Calvert none of this, and he’d only told Calvert of his pleas to Humphreys to make the trip back a slow one. He reasoned that Calvert would feel there was hope, hope that he may actually catch up with Bacchante. And he figured that Granger would maintain his sense of urgency, and instill that into other government officials he encountered. With all of this drama over, Somers headed back to his house, and back to his bed, where he would have another informal meeting with the Dutch Resident, one in which he jammed his cock deep into van Deventer’s ass. Calvert had been right. This was a wonderful assignment, one Somers was excelling in, and thoroughly enjoying.

In the Banda Sea, Calvert drove Santa Clarita forward, relishing the winds on their quarter, and the current that seemed to be working with them. He was determined to catch up to Bacchante. Perhaps he’d even beat Granger, even though Granger was going through the Mediterranean. Calvert was a competitive man, and loved nothing more than a race.

Much of his command style he copied from Granger, and one of those aspects was hosting a dinner for his officers on the night they sailed, to explain their orders. “Mr. Fitzwilliam, carve into that beef roast, won’t you?” Calvert asked.

“This food looks spectacular, sir,” Robey said, his mouth almost watering.

“Fortunately for us, His Lordship had to leave his chef, Lefavre, behind. His loss is our gain, as I have drafted him to cook for us.”

“To Lefavre!” Robey said, raising his glass. Everyone drank to Granger’s fabulous chef.

“Likewise, we are happy to have you with us, Doctor Jackson,” Calvert said.

“It is my pleasure, sir,” Jackson said. “I must say I enjoyed my time on Amboyna, but I am looking forward to returning to England.”

“I do not think I have ever heard you express a desire to return there,” Gatling said, more of a question.

“I did not have a royal pardon before,” Jackson said, making them all laugh. “It is much easier to look forward to an event like that if you know you are unlikely to be arrested.”

“I suspect that is true,” Calvert said. “As I mentioned, we are on an urgent mission to catch up with Bacchante. We must do everything we can to maximize our speed, and as we get closer to Africa, we must keep an eye out to make sure we spot her. I would hate to end up sailing right past her in the night.”

They nodded. That was a real fear. “What if we miss her, sir?” Scrope asked.

“If we miss Bacchante, we will seek out the Mediterranean Fleet and ask them to remain alert for her. Assuming it meets with Lord St. Vincent’s approval, we will then press on to Portsmouth, and alert the authorities there, and then the Admiralty.”

“So the only risk, sir, is if we don’t catch her, or get ahead of her,” Robey summarized.

“That is not the only risk, but it is a risk, nonetheless,” Calvert said with a smile. It was a daunting task, finding another ship in an area that encompassed thousands of miles and two oceans, but they didn’t let that spoil their evening. Instead, they enjoyed their meal, the nice weather, and the good progress they were making on this first day. It was Fitzwilliam who broke up their party when he left to take his watch, and the others took the hint to leave as well.

“Mr. Gatling,” Calvert called, as he was making to leave his cabin.

“Sir?”

“If you are not too tired, perhaps you can help me work on my Spanish?” Calvert asked in that language.

“Of course, sir,” Gatling responded in Spanish. As soon as the other officers left, they reverted to English. “Do you think we’ll catch Bacchante?”

“I think we have a good chance,” Calvert said.

“Did you want to work on your Spanish, sir?” Gatling asked more quietly, giving Calvert a cheeky look.

“No, I want to work on you,” Calvert said, leading Gatling into his sleeping cabin.

Calvert ushered him in, then shut and bolted the door behind him. He turned to find the handsome young man waiting for him with a shy smile. They took their clothes off rapidly, stripping all the way down. Calvert had developed a system where he bolted his door, so even his chief servant had to knock. And he’d emptied a space underneath his cot, so a handsome young lieutenant could hide there if someone else entered. And perhaps most important, he’d discovered a removable panel that led to the gundeck, one that was presumably put there by the prior Spanish captain. Calvert chuckled to himself as he thought that the prior captain of Santa Clarita may have had a favorite lieutenant of his own.

They lay down together in the cot, their bodies molding against each other, the sheer friction, and rubbing, exciting them as much as the connection between their mouths. “I want you to make love to me,” Gatling said. “I want to feel you inside me.”

“Are you sure?” Calvert asked, pulling himself out of his lust-induced frenzy. “I know that for you, that is a major commitment.”

“I’m sure,” Gatling said. Calvert smiled, and began to work Gatling in a way he’d never done before. He rimmed his ass with a purpose, and then lubed him well, probing him to get him ready for Calvert’s big dick. Only Gatling was lucky, in that while Calvert’s dick was long, it was thin. Gatling let Calvert work him open, savoring the feeling until he could stand no more. “I’m ready,” he said.

Calvert made him lie on his back, wanting to watch him as he entered him, to see his magnificent young body respond to the welcome invasion of his dick. He lined his cock up and gently pushed in, watching Gatling for signs of pain, but there were none. He slid in smoothly, almost too smoothly, and saw in Gatling’s face an expression of serene joy, of one who felt whole.

Calvert began to make love to him then, altering his pace, and his positions, savoring the sight of Gatling’s response, of how much he was enjoying himself. He regulated himself, wanting this to last forever, but that wasn’t possible, not with a handsome man like Gatling. “I’m gonna cum,” Calvert warned, growling the words into Gatling’s ear.

Gatling grabbed his dick and stroked it furiously, as if trying to catch up to Calvert. In fact, he did; he started blowing just before Calvert. Calvert watched him ejaculate, and that pushed him over the edge. His body quivered and shook as he shot his load into Gatling’s bowels. He thought he would never stop ejaculating, so completely was he satisfied, but eventually he did. He smiled down at Gatling, and then lowered his mouth, lapping up the young man’s cum that had splattered all over him.

“That was truly amazing,” Calvert said.

“It was for me as well,” Gatling said.

“I did not expect you to be so ready for me. It did not seem to cause you any pain at all,” Calvert said.

“I don’t feel pain if I do that with someone I love,” Gatling said, but he hadn’t meant to say that. It had slipped out. He looked away from Calvert, and then in almost a panic, tried to escape from the cot.

“You love me?” Calvert asked gently, even as he held Gatling down. He forced the young man to make eye contact with him, but he couldn’t answer, he could only nod. “I love you too.”

Gatling’s expression changed from one of agony to one of joy, as he leaned up to kiss Calvert passionately. “You do?”

“I do,” Calvert vowed. And for the first time in three years, another man had captured a piece of his heart. The question was whether or not he had captured the whole thing.

This isn't due to be posted until tomorrow, but I'm going out of town.  For you Calvert haters.