The Prince of Carentan (The Carentan Series Book 1) by Laval FG

Author:Laval, FG
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2024-03-22T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-Five

He awoke with a start. Had he missed the bells? For a moment, he lay still, wondering what day it was, where he was, and what he had to do that day. But the cabin smelt of night: sleeping bodies, dark skies, and nocturnal creatures. As his brain registered that he was lying in his bunk aboard the Skyelady, it also noted that something or someone had woken him from a deep sleep.

Someone else was in the cabin. He pricked his ears and slowly lifted his head. As his eyes became accustomed to the dark, he could make out a figure standing beside his bunk. It took a few moments to recognise Morley, and seconds to realise that he was standing with his hands up in surrender. The Sarlatian then put his finger to his mouth with a sibilant shush.

Not really knowing why, but indulging a curious instinct, Gereinte followed Morley out of the cabin, shuffling his feet as his body woke up. The night watch was convening to exchange shifts, and as Morley and Gereinte moved in the shadows, they could hear the Vermondien, Rastiffe, talking to the other crew members.

‘You know, lads, you can always rely on a Vermondien to support you when all is done at sea. Let us shift now. I’ll take a turn at the wheel.’

‘Ah, so Vermondie is the race of favour now, is it?’ Morley said, stepping into the centre of the gathering. Gereinte stayed back in the shadows to listen and watch.

Rastiffe took the jovial challenge and responded. ‘Ah, my good friend. I think we understand one another. What are you doing on deck at this time?’

The coustillers watched, knowing that there were always fireworks where these two crew members were concerned. Enjoying a jolly good wrangle, they expected nothing less than a late-night showdown.

‘You should thank me for being here tonight. My reputation precedes me. I stand to take blame for attempted murder, and I wasn’t even near the lad at the time,’ Morley said.

‘As honourable as a Sarlat,’ Rastiffe said. ‘You would take the blame for something you didn’t do to enhance your reputation as the ship’s bad boy.’ Rastiffe clapped his hands with a slow, purposeful rhythm. The coustillers, still thinking they were playing some elaborate foreign game, mimicked the Vermondien and took up the rhythmic beat of hand-clapping.

‘Of course,’ Morley said, ‘I have your reputation to live up to.’

Rastiffe smiled a wicked grin and stopped clapping. The coustillers stopped, and the noise faded, leaving a silence between them that stretched out to the furthest gull on the darkest shores.

‘You have no reputation, Morley. Who was it who got rid of that last slave idiot who served aboard this good ship? Yes, me. With no help from you, I might add.’ At this, the coustillers began to disperse and pretend they weren’t hearing what was being said, but still keeping all ears open for any further developments. ‘And who was it this time who nearly got rid of

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