The Scent of Corruption (The Fighting Sail Series Book 7) Read Online Free PDF Page A

watch,” Jameson, who was one of the younger members of the mess, muttered to no one in particular.
    “Aye, but there's plenty more for you after that,” the boatswain's mate commented loudly. “We're about as ready for the sea as my wife's mother – though I might be wrong in that, as they do say witches float.”
    There was a ripple of appreciative laughter from the mess, and they formed up all the more readily for work. Ross had already noticed Simmonds. He might be a petty officer, but the man remained very much one of the hands and understood them as well as he did their humour. In his former life Ross had known such men existed: indeed he had fully appreciated their importance to the efficiency and well being of a crew. But this was the first time he had seen one in action, and from the lower deck's perspective. Even from such a brief example he could tell that the boatswain's mate was solid, and maintained good discipline. And it would be delivered with the tact and understanding that no commissioned officer could hope to emulate from their exalted position.
    This was just one of several similar revelations: in the last few hours Ross had learned far more about the average seaman than he had in nearly fifteen years at sea. Such insight would have been precious until only a few months ago but now, with no chance of his ever walking a quarterdeck again, it was of dubious value. And, considering the amount he had to learn about his new life, pretty much a waste of time.
    In fact, the faster he stopped thinking and acting like an officer the better. One thing he had always known about the lower deck was their ability to detect forgeries. The majority of everyday scoundrels would be tolerated, but thieves, cheats and liars drew very short shrift. Should it be discovered that he was once a lieutenant, in itself a heinous crime, and had attempted to cover the fact up, banishment to the ignominy of a pariah mess was the very least he might expect. Consequently the sooner he could get his new status accepted by the other men, the better.
    “I'd thought you a topman,” he said to Jameson, in an effort to strike up conversation. “Why then the caulking detail?”
    “Just lucky, I'd chance,” the young man replied with an ironic smirk. “The barky needs more work below than aloft, so I don't gets the option.”
    Ross felt a little easier for the exchange, even if Jameson's answer was slightly worrying. Prometheus must be far shorter of hands than he had first thought. That, combined with the number of small jobs and adjustments needed; tasks that should not have been necessary after the ship had been in dockyard hands, must be causing her lieutenants countless worries. He consoled himself with the thought that this was the first time since his court martial when he was actually glad not to be a lieutenant, and that such problems were now someone else’s to solve.
    “Aye, we've more than enough to do, and no time to do it in,” Flint agreed laconically.
    “Just what degree of re-fit has she seen?” Ross asked mildly.
    He was changing his trousers; the white ducks bought from a Brixham pawnbroker and worn the previous night were of no great quality but remained his best. They were still slightly damp from that morning's holystoning, but would be completely ruined were he to wear them whilst working with hot pitch.
    “How do you mean?” Jameson asked sharply, and Ross brought his mind back to the real world.
    “Well, aren't there various forms?” He began hesitantly, conscious that the rest of the mess had quietened to hear his reply. “A minor repair would only see the ship docked a few months, whereas a full refit can be several years' work.”
    One of the others that Ross had barely met was treating him to a quizzical look. “And you want to know what the dockyard has done to her?”
    “Aye,” another agreed, fixing Ross with his stare. “Why would you be asking that, I wonder?”
    A cold thrill ran down