Chance the Winds of Fortune Read Online Free PDF Page A

certainty—a flash of lightning sliced through the black belly of a thundercloud looming to starboard—they knew it was just a matter of time before they would be swarming over the rigging and up the masts to furl the royals and top-gallant sails, reef the topsails, and batten down the hatches before the deluge.
    The blackness of night had fallen with a vengeance, cloaking the Sea Dragon in its shroud. Below decks, Dante, anticipating the lee lurch of the Sea Dragon as she rode the heavy seas, grasped his goblet of wine before it could tumble from the table. The worst of the storm had passed, but the sea was still rough as the snug brig slammed into a wall of water. A pale, flickering light gleamed against the rich mahogany paneling of the captain’s cabin, the lantern’s glow creating an island of warmth against the stormy darkness surrounding the Sea Dragon , whose bow was now pitching into the trough of a wave.
    â€œCaptain, ye’ve hardly touched that nice breast of chicken I sautéed especially for ye,” Houston Kirby berated him as he began clearing the dishes from the captain’s table. “Now look at Mister Marlowe’s here, he cleaned his plate nearly through to the tabletop, that he did. Nicely brought up young gentleman he is. Always thought he was, ever since I laid me eyes on him. And despite what he’s learned at your side, beggin’ your pardon, m’lord, he still is a well-mannered gentleman,” Kirby continued, barely pausing for breath. “Still thanks me proper for my trouble, even now as he was hurryin’ topside. Don’t suppose he’s seasick, d’ye? Still suffers from that, he does.” The steward sniffed as he scraped the contents of the captain’s plate into a chipped china saucer. “Reckon ye purposely saved your share for him,” he grumbled with a derisive snort as he glanced over at the orange and white tabby, who was lazily stretching on the captain’s berth.
    After giving his whiskers an efficient wash, the cat sniffed appreciatively, hopped silently off the berth, and unhurriedly made his way to the captain’s table. There, he settled himself beside the captain’s chair and watched unblinkingly, with celery-colored green eyes, the little steward’s every move.
    â€œDo hope ’tis cooked to your highness’s taste,” Houston Kirby said with sarcastic sweetness, his sandy brows hiked up to within a quarter of an inch of his hairline. “Looks like he’s always ready for a meal. Never missed one yet, he hasn’t,” muttered Kirby beneath his breath, continuing the feud that had become an everyday ritual between himself and the big tomcat. Kirby placed the saucer before the cat, whose white, furred chest looked as if a large, linen napkin had been tied around his neck in preparation for his meal.
    Dante leaned back in his chair, holding the silver goblet of wine carelessly while he watched the two antagonists sparring with each other. “Well, what do you think?” he demanded suddenly.
    His steward glanced up, the wet rag he’d been using to wash the table now dripping water onto his rolled-up sleeve. “Reckon he likes it well enough. Licked it clean, he did,” he replied, eyeing the cat’s empty plate.
    Dante grinned and rubbed the soft fur of the cat, who was now curled up on his lap. “I was not speaking about Jamaica, or how much he enjoyed his dinner. You know what I’m asking,” he continued relentlessly, despite the steward’s obvious reluctance to answer his query, “Do you think we shall find treasure this time?”
    Kirby gave a final swish with the damp rag, then straightened up. “Maybe. Maybe not,” he allowed finally, a frown of concentration on his face while he busied himself with stacking the tray.
    â€œYou don’t sound overly enthusiastic about the prospect. You do realize what it might mean?” Dante