Page 96 of Immortal Rose

There’d be trouble if word of this spread to the police or to any Stone Sloggers lurking about, but that was a problem for the future Viola Lockwood, after she’d gotten what she’d come here for.

“I beg your finest pardon,” Reddy said, his eyes gleaming with something like panic. “The what of the what?”

“Do you forfeit then, Captain?” I asked. “I must say, I wouldn’t hire any man who retreats from a direct challenge.”

Carrington turned his astonished gaze on Reddy now.

“I haven’t the slightest notion what we are talking about,” Reddy informed him. “If someone could be bothered to explain it, I would be indebted to them.”

“My father was a sailor in His Majesty’s navy,” I told Carrington primly. “I know the ancient code of the sea. Here are my proposed terms: If I win, you will give me the name of the customer who has asked you to import fairy plants in the past. If you prevail, I will advance you the payment for the first shipment. Do you accept the challenge, or do you forfeit?”

Reddy made a high, pained noise at my side. He looked on the verge of heart palpitations.

Carrington’s laugh began in a low rumble, like distant thunder. By the time he’d thrust his knitting at a passing sailor, it was a deep, belly-shaking laugh. The dock shuddered with it.

“Ye’ve nerve for a lass, I’ll grant ye that,” Carrington said, his black eyes pitying. “I accept, and may God help you.”

He turned to bark orders at several of the men lingering on the deck. Others gathered, intrigued by the commotion.

“Finish at pace!” a bald, sun-scorched man—the first mate?—bellowed to the crew and laborers. “We’re for the Bitter End!”

The cheers echoed down to us from the deck.

Marvelous. Smugglers with standards. The Bitter End was one of the few pubs in Riverside where one was only half as likely to be robbed and murdered.

Reddy gave me a long-suffering look, steering me toward the coach. “Fox is going to kill me, isn’t he? If this lot doesn’t do the job first.”

Chapter Twenty

It was a credit to Captain Carrington’s size and hardiness that he lasted as long as he did.

I saw the end of the contest at the bottom of my twelfth glass of rum, watching the distorted image of the man sway as he tried, desperately, to locate his lips with the rim of his glass to finish the two fingers he’d been poured for the round. A funerary pall had spread over his crew at the thirteenth, their jovial encouragement and backslapping giving way to looks of disbelief and horror. Many themselves had overindulged, trying to match our rounds.

By the fourteenth drink, I had that wonderful, warm, boneless feeling of giddiness that alcohol brought on and a rather full bladder. Carrington looked near to tears when I asked to relieve myself.

When I slid back into my seat, picking up my glass to begin again, he tipped forward . . . forward . . . forward . . . until his forehead met the table with a hard thunk that made the men around him jump.

I met Reddy’s gaze over his head. He ran a hand over his face, somehow looking both mortified and amused by the proceedings. How? he mouthed to me.

“My God . . .” Carrington moaned to the battered wood tabletop. “What . . . are . . . ye . . . ?”

“Rather disappointed, I must say,” I murmured into my drink as I finished the last of it.

The rum had burned my throat the first two rounds, but now gave a pleasant, glowy sort of feeling in my stomach. The first mate hovered nearby, looking as though he’d been cracked over the head. I merely held out my palm.

He slapped the foolscap with the name into it with a noise of disgust. I’d forced Carrington to write it before we’d begun, knowing what the end would be.

“What sort of lady are ye?” the first mate demanded.

“One who’d suggest removing your captain before he embarrasses himself in front of all of Riverside,” I said with a sweet smile. “Ta, now.”

I waited until he and two other men had bodily lifted their captain out of his chair before I attempted to blow the sagging frilly edges of the mobcap up from where it had drooped into my face. I had asked Reddy to procure one for me so I could remove my hood, knowing damn well that my hair was too memorable to risk anyone taking notice of it. Judging by the faint scent of roast and herbs, he’d bought it off the proprietress of the pub.

Reddy’s essence drew close behind me. “You’re looking quite pleased with yourself, my lady.”

“I suppose I’ve given myself away by coming here,” I murmured. A lady would, of course, never darken the doorstep of any sort of establishment like this one. “Has it been an hour?”

“That and change,” he confirmed ruefully.