Page 11 of The Duke of Ruin
"Winds should pick up past Cornwall, your Grace."
The Captain came to stand beside him, mimicking his stance by leaning forward, his elbows balanced on the rails, his gaze focused on the horizon.
"Do you think we'll out run the storm?"
Ruan asked this casually, for he had no fear of a small storm off the English coast, having suffered far worse on his trips to the Americas. The calm seas of Europe were positively polite to sailors in comparison to the rough Atlantic.
"Aye, we should," Black shrugged, his face unreadable. "And if we don't, no worry. She's a strong ship, your Grace, best I've ever captained."
The Elizabethwas the latest acquisition to Ruan's ever expanding fleet. A sturdy vessel that could carry nearly two-hundred tonnes of cargo – she would serve him well. The seas of Europe had opened once more to trade now Napoleon was defeated, and Ruan intended to capitalise on the new investment opportunities. At the time the war had taken a slight toll on his income, but it had also gifted him with talented men like Captain Black, who had become unemployed once war had ended.
"I did not know you were seeking a wife," his young Captain said, after a short silence, watching him from the corner of his eye.
"I'm sorry I didn't tell you Black, but you're not my type anyway. You were never in the running, so don't feel too hard done by." Ruan replied dryly. The younger man was a mystery to him, he spoke with the clipped, bored tones of the aristocracy – yet claimed no connection. He had captained one of the navy's largest ships during the Napoleonic wars, a feat which would normally have required the purchase of a large commission, but Captain Black, from Plymouth seemed to have worked his way up to the top of the food-chain through sheer grit and determination. A feat Ruan admired.
"If I am honest, Captain," he said thoughtfully, his eyes still on the horizon. "The sudden urge to secure my line, overcame me."
Captain Black snorted, and even Ruan gave a rueful smile, for he had worded that badly.
"I think someone is trying to kill me," he said bluntly, watching for his employee's reaction. "And as such, I thought it prudent that I find a wife to give me a son, so the line doesn't die out with me."
"How romantic," Black quipped, then seemed to remember he was speaking with a superior, and quickly apologised. "What makes you think someone is trying to kill you, your Grace?"
"The bolts on the wheel of my carriage were loosened a few weeks ago" Ruan said gravely, beginning to list the many mishaps that had occurred of late. "I was stabbed by a footpad, in Covent Garden. I fed one of my dogs a side of beef, that was intended for me, and the poor thing died in agony."
Captain Black winced and Ruan allowed himself a grimace; that had been a truly awful night, watching his beloved Wolfhound suffer.
"Do you have any idea, your Grace, who it might be?"
"The list of men who wish me dead, is very long, I assure you." Ruan said with a dark laugh. "T'would be easier to make a list of men whodon'twish me to the devil."
"You don't think it's me though," Black stated, awarding him with a grin.
"Why do you say that?" Ruan asked, though he was right. There was something inherently honest and good about Captain Black; one could tell that he lived by a strong code of ethics that he strictly imposed on himself, and that he would rather die than act dishonourably.
"Well, you wouldn't be telling me all this," Black smiled, "If you thought that I was the perpetrator."
"True."
In truth, Ruan hadn't told anyone about his suspicions. He had thought, at the beginning, that he was going mad, but the grim look on Black's face told him that he was right; someone was trying to murder him.
"Shall we toast to your new marriage?" Black suggested; they were rounding Land's End, the green hills of Cornwall still visible in the distance. Soon they would push into the English Channel, and they would reach France by dawn.
"At this moment in time, I couldn't think of anything better than a drink," Ruan agreed, thinking that he had best stay above deck because he would be too tempted to bed Olive below. Both men had turned from the rails, to make their way to the slop, when a loud explosion rocked the vessel, sending them sprawling to the floor.
"What was that?" Ruan roared, scrambling to his feet to assess the damage.
"Felt like a bloody cannon ball, your Grace," Black shouted in response, already running to the lower deck to see what had happened.
"Some of the cargo has exploded in the main hold, Cap'n," a petrified crew member said, as both men reached the lower deck. "It's ripped through the hull, and she's takin' on water fast. We'll nae manage to save her."
"What are we carrying?" Ruan asked his captain, urgently.
"Skeins of exploding cotton, apparently," the younger man replied, his mouth a grim line. "It looks like whoever's trying to kill you doesn't care who gets in the way. Go and fetch her Grace, and meet back here by the small boats. I'll have to go downstairs to see if we can save her, before I give the orders to evacuate."
Olive.
Ruan cursed savagely, and ran to the stairs which led below deck. As he moved through the dark hallway, the acrid stench of smoke assaulted his nose, causing him to cough and splutter. The cargo of cotton would act like kindling to a fire, and it would not be long until the whole ship was aflame.
