Page 2 of Rears & Vices

They’d been great friends, once. More.

D’Arcy came close, clapped him on the arm. “How have you been, Ev?”

“Just fine, D’Arcy.” Everard gave a small, polite nod—D’Arcy and he were not strictly on speaking terms, not anymore—and looked away to eye the line of chairs assembled on the deck. There weren’t many; three of six officers’ chairs were occupied. “Am I fifth, then?” he asked, squinting against the sun.

“Yes, at minimum today,” D’Arcy said. “Hardly anyone left in the Lakes Service, you know.”

Everard grunted. He did know. The war was over. “Who’s presiding?”

“Johnson.”

“Hmm. Best and brightest.” Everard swiped his brow with the lace at his wrist. Maybe he ought not to have worn his favourite hat. The Brigitte’s deck was sweltering; it would make for a positively miserable forenoon of courts martial. Not that it wouldn’t already have been. “Surely by now he’d have lost the posting?”

“You know well why not.” D’Arcy brought up his right hand and rubbed thumb and fingers together.

Everard grimaced. “Yes, well, the way of peacetimes, I suppose. We’ll be here past supper, do you think? Unless he has got a quicker secretary.”

The officers’ chairs were situated on the quarterdeck beneath a sheet turned horizontal, which provided shade from the glaring sun. They made their greetings of the other officers, all fellow Lakes Service captains—and sat gratefully.

“Gad, I hope not.” D’Arcy leaned in close, whispering for Everard’s ears only. “Have a look who I’ll miss out on.” He shifted back to tilt his chin unsubtly at the upright, red-breasted Marines lined up against the rail.

Everard, not in the habit of sexualising his ranked inferiors—not usually—glanced over and frowned.

“Er… which?” he asked.

Not usually, because he had made one—one—notable exception to this rule thus far. The result, of course, being that Preston D’Arcy knew him much better than one probably ought to know his fellow captain.

“They can’t be your own Marines?” he admonished.

D’Arcy snorted, though he grinned wide. “You shock me. No, of course they’re not mine. Could you imagine? I’d never sleep.” He waved. “My lobsters are on shore leave. These are admiralty men, special order out of Halifax.”

“Special order,” Everard said, beneath his breath.

D’Arcy’s single right shoulder epaulette sparkled as he shoved Everard good-naturedly. “And when was the last time we sat courts martial together, Ever?”

As though either of them would forget.

“At least you’re not the one gagged this time,” D’Arcy continued.

“Oh, don’t be an ass.” He and D’Arcy—at the time Everard’s first lieutenant—had in fact sat their own inquiries after losing a ship—the Wanderer—in battle to the Americans, Christmas Eve of ’12. But they’d been acquitted honourably, in spite of the surrender and infamous defeat. D’Arcy had even got promoted after.

And Everard, dear God, had certainly not been gagged.

“They gagged the prisoners?” he asked curiously. It wasn’t usual, even for violent offenders.

“Well, no,” D'Arcy admitted. “Only the one.”

“The pirate.” Everard’s mouth parched suddenly, and he cleared his throat. “I’m surprised the admiralty haven’t already pitched him over, had done with the man. Or left him in the hulks. Fewer witnesses, if he was so much fight that he wanted gagging.”

D'Arcy laughed uneasily. “You haven’t the least idea. As to witnesses…” His voice pitched lower, conspiratorial, and Everard leaned in. God help him, but he did love gossip, and there’d been so little of it on the lakes. “… more charges were brought night ‘’ore last. Barely legal notice.”

Everard’s heart sank. New charges, last minute? That meant one thing: a sodomy charge.

“Ah.” He sighed. “One of those. Any victims?” he asked pointedly. “Statements?”

“None on the docket.”

“Hmm.” Not likely rape, then, thank God. Most sodomy charges that made it to the courts martial were, though not all. Everard had attended only one such trial personally, and nothing about the relations between the accuser and officer-accused had been equal nor yet consensual. An easy conviction. “Multiple offences and piracy aren’t enough for the Lord High?”