If there had been such a thing as expressions on the stone face of Mr Rikkard Ambrose, one might almost have said he looked pleased.
‘Yes.’
‘That wasn’t a compliment!’
‘Indeed, Mr Linton?’
‘Indeed, Sir!’
‘Why haven’t you started tying knots yet, Mr Linton?’
Grumbling something I hoped was too low for him to hear, I grabbed the nearest rope.
That was how much of the days passed: during the day, I was on deck, drudging like a peasant under Louis XVI just before the Revolution, while during most of the night I had to work on deciphering the manuscript. The only difference was that, unlike Louis’s poor peasants, I wasn’t going to rebel. After a while, I found that I actually enjoyed working on the ship. I was doing something useful for a change, and learning things in the process. Mr Ambrose was right. London ladies should learn how to tie sailing knots. Not that I’d ever admit as much to his face, of course!
I was busy scrubbing the planks of the poop deck (which, thank God, didn’t really deserve its name) when I heard the shout of the lookout, far, far above me:
‘Ships ahoy!’
Jumping up, I whirled around, scanning the sea. The water was of such a bright blue here that it almost hurt my eyes to look at it. But with a bit of squinting I could just manage to look, and after a few moments, I saw them: three dark spots on the horizon. Slowly, my eyes became used to the light, and the vague shapes solidified into ships. One small boat, one two-master, and one sizeable three-master that moved just a little bit faster than the other two.
They all were heading straight towards us.
I whirled again and spotted Mr Ambrose standing a few dozen feet away, straight as a rod of iron, his hands clasped behind his back, looking out over the ocean. I started towards him, pointing to the ships that were closing in on us.
‘I thought you said there would be no pirates!’
‘Those?’ Mr Ambrose jerked his hand at the vessels dismissively. ‘Those aren’t pirates. Do you not see the flags, Mr Linton? Those are vessels of the Argentine Republic.’
‘Oh, thank God!’ I relaxed against the railing. ‘I thought we were in trouble! Thank God we’re sa-’
The thunderous boom of a cannon shot cut me short. Stumbling back, I was nearly hurled backwards onto the deck. Instead, I slammed into something hard - very hard. Two strong arms wrapped around me.
‘You do not have very good sea legs, Mr Linton, do you?’
‘Why the bloody hell are they firing at us?’
‘They aren’t firing at us.’
‘It damn well sounded like firing to me!’
‘Language, Mr Linton! That was just a warning shot. They want us to stop us, inspect our wares and collect tariffs.’
His arms were still around me, for some reason. I cleared my throat, feeling my ears start to heat. ‘Oh. If that’s all…’
‘They’re not going to start really firing until they figure out we aren’t going to stop.’
‘What?’
‘I do not like to repeat myself, Mr Linton.’
‘I don’t give a flying fig what you do or don’t like!’ Wrenching myself out of his grip, I whirled around, eyes blazing. He didn’t seem particularly impressed. He continued to look out over the ocean, ignoring me, so I planted myself right in his face to get his attention. ‘What the heck do you mean, we’re not going to stop? Do you mean to say you want to sell your goods without paying one penny of taxes?’
He didn’t even raise an eyebrow. ‘Did I forget to mention that detail before?’
‘Bloody hell, yes, you forgot to mention it!’
‘I see. Well, you seem to have deduced it on your own.’