Under the Jolly Roger_Being an Account of the Further Nautical Adventures of Jacky Faber by L. A. Meyer

Author:L. A. Meyer [Meyer, L. A.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: adventure, young adult, Fiction
ISBN: 9780152058739
Google: 4LDUXL_IFJ0C
Amazon: B003KGAUPQ
Goodreads: 295651
Publisher: Houghton Mifflin Harcourt
Published: 2005-08-01T00:00:00+00:00

He's right. It is the first time I've ever been kissed by a full-grown man. Kissed that way, anyway.

I should have bitten his tongue ... but I didn't.

The cargo of L'Emeraude, aside from spies, was French perfume—there were boxes and boxes of tissue-wrapped bottles of the stuff. I had it all taken over to the Wolverine and stowed below. 'Course I took some for myself—enough to last several lifetimes, probably.

The dead spy is stripped of his clothes and a chain with a weight attached is wrapped around his neck and he is thrown overboard without ceremony. I take the papers back to my cabin and tell Private Rodgers that I am not to be disturbed by anybody, and then I go through them carefully. I compare them to the coded things I had found in Scroggs's safe, and they look mighty similar. Some of the letters are in code, some not. I am able to cipher out reports of English troop movements, descriptions of shore fortifications, and things of a like nature. Things an invading army would want to know.

It seems our spy had several names. Kopp. Boland. And his code name was Defiant. I think for a bit and then I go get a few selected men and some equipment. I coach these men in their duties, set them up, and then go down in the hold to see my supposed smuggler, Mr. Frederick Luce.

I wear my pistols down for this interview, as well as my sword, and, for good measure, I tie a large kerchief around my head. Luce looks up at me from the bench, and he doesn't look at all happy to see me.

I cross my arms on my chest above my guns and just look at him for a while. Then I say, "We caught a spy on the last ship we have taken and..."

NOOOOOOOOaaaaaaaaaaEEEEEEEEEaaahhhhh!

The ear-piercing shriek comes from someone just beyond the closed door of the hatch, and then a muffled plea, No, no, please, no! and then another shriek. Mr. Luce goes white. There is the sizzling sound of red-hot metal touching bare skin and then the smell of burnt flesh comes under the door. Another scream.

"... and we are interrogating him. I thought I might tell you that so you do not take alarm." With that, I turn and go out the door, leaving him openmouthed with horror.

In the next room Peter Drake is leaning up against a bulkhead placidly smoking a pipe and a grinning seaman named Ozgood is sitting in a chair. I had asked the crew if there were any actors among them and all said that Ozgood was just the thing, him not being good for much else in the way of seamanship, that's for sure. He had been doing Hamlet last year in London when he had stepped outside into an alley during intermission for a little hanky-panky with Ophelia, and he was set upon by a press-gang. The ragged remnants of his costume still cling to him.

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