Mystery and Malice aboard RMS Ballast (Anty Boisjoly Mysteries Book 8) by PJ Fitzsimmons

Author:PJ Fitzsimmons [Fitzsimmons, PJ]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2024-03-02T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWELVE

All the World’s a Wager, and All the Men and Women Merely Punters

The engines slowed to a chugging adagio that soon slipped beneath the shrieking allegro of the storm. I was on the port bow and Ivor was starboard, and we acted as parking guides as Captain Slapton in the wheelhouse inched us between dinosaur tooth stalagmites that defined the jaws of the snug haven where he proposed we wait out the weather.

Despite or, possibly, thanks to my frantic waves and warnings, we managed on several occasions to find something with which to scrape the hull with a prolonged vibrato in the key of fear major. As we bumped home I made note of the fact that, if necessary, one could rock-hop ashore and live out one’s life on this storm-swept shoal.

Great granite pillars rose from the water around us and put some psychological distance and detachment between us and the howling tempest. Minty moored us to some of the columns and laid on a barrier of rubber bumpers, and a sort of serene siege sensation settled on The Ballast. We were still surrounded by swirling fog and a singing wind and waves that played on the boat like a cork on a kettle drum, but we were snug and safe in our little hidy haven.

“I’ll look in on you later, if I might, Mister Boisjoly,” Ivor announced with the early warnings of a hoarse anguish as he passed on the way to the main deck. “I’ll be very much obliged for another jar of seasick medicine.”

“Right oh, Inspector,” I bluffed. “I’ll have Vickers sort you out an economy-sized pot.”

I gave him a head start and then made for my own cabin with the clear and unmoveable priority of conjuring up a new batch of seasick elixir, when…

“What ho, Anty.”

“Oh, what ho, Teddy.” I stopped at Teddy’s cabin door, which was open, such that I could see that she was accompanied by a bottle of brandy and an absence of Winnifreds.

“Fancy a snooter? You look as though you could stand one.” Teddy held up her snifter and gave it a suggestive swirl, and what with her maritime-motif trousers and topping in navy and white, she looked like she was rehearsing something by Noel Coward.

“You read me like a thirsty book, favourite cousin.” I wandered into her cabin and discarded the dripping pea coat, under which I was happily and habitually dressed for cocktails. “Tie one directly on.”

“What’s going on out there?” Teddy handed over a round round one. “Sounds like the dragons are winning.”

“Well, we arrived at Prosperity Skerry,” I reported. “But it appears that the only inhabitant has a fixed prejudice against postmen. And a cannon.”

“I heard that from Mints, but he had little time for details.”

“He was on his way to the engine room to effect a retreat. I don’t know how long it takes to reload an eighteen-pounder, but I think it’s reasonable to say that time was pressing.” I inhaled a savoury snout of artisanal French heritage.

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