The Devil to Pay: A sweeping and epic queer historical adventure (Nightingale & Courtney Book 2) by Katie Daysh

Author:Katie Daysh [Daysh, Katie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Canelo
Published: 2024-04-03T18:30:00+00:00

Chapter Seventeen: Deluge

24 September 1802

The desire to catch up with the Fantôme drove the Lysanders to loosen all sensible canvas. As Courtney paced the quarterdeck, he listened to the sounds of the waves flowing alongside the hull. In this last hour, the seas had increased until he could feel the dip and climb in and out of the watery troughs. Slowly, the masts would roll, tilting to larboard then upright again as the vessel corkscrewed handsomely. Each time, he felt his stomach tense, but each time, the Lysander regained her feet. Captain Bryant pushed her to the edge of her ability in the rising wind.

Palermo awaited. With thirty-six hours between the Fantôme’s departure from Gibraltar and the Lysander’s, Courtney hoped they could meet them before Sicily. The Fantôme was a frigate: heavier than the Lysander, potentially slower. Yet she did not know the Lysander had left. Her eyes would be forward, searching for the Loyal. In that time, she could even have found the missing vessel. Courtney almost wished she had.

The other part of him feared the discovery. This long without word could only imply disaster. He had not said such a thing to Sara, but her mention of the storm stuck with him. They could not expect to find the Loyal if she had gone down in the Mediterranean.

Yet other tragedies also loomed in his mind. The Ulysses had mutinied. The Fénix had been struck by lightning. The Cygne, Bonfils’s own ship, had caught fire. Destruction and danger followed every vessel upon the sea, no matter if war or peace reigned. The ocean recognised no treaties.

The frustration of the unknown churned in him as he looked towards the horizon. Grey clouds gathered there. They had left the worst of the downpours in Gibraltar, but the sandglass could barely turn without a drizzle of rain interrupting the watches. In the last two hours, Courtney had felt the wind increase and he had updated the log to reflect so, noting down a strong breeze. Simultaneously, the barometer had been steadily dropping. All threatened a dark horizon ahead and so, under Bryant’s permission, he had ordered preparations for the encroaching storm. Yet the captain had barely alighted on deck.

By the time the guns and anchors had been secured, preventer braces rigged, and tackles hooked to the rudder, the first watch approached. Courtney’s duty was coming to an end, but he was loath to go below with that blackening sky and leave Lieutenant Godfrey to it. He did not like the look of it, or how quickly it loomed.

Courtney found Bryant in his cabin, seated at his writing desk. He stowed the note away as Courtney entered.

‘Yes, Lieutenant Courtney?’ was his curt response.

‘A dark sky is approaching, sir,’ Courtney said. ‘Permission to send word to make ready the storm canvas?’

Bryant glanced out the gallery windows. ‘I shall be on deck directly, Lieutenant. Give me a moment.’

‘All else is secured, sir.’

‘Yes, Lieutenant. I heard.’

Courtney wanted to wait, to ensure Bryant followed him up, but the man made no move.

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