"Well, there's that, sir…" Rodgers admitted, glancing down in a sheepish, confounded way. "Might be a fine thing, that."
Lord, Ben! Lewrie all but cried aloud. Peyton Boudreau at Nassau had the right of it, you always were a slender reed. God knows, back then I talked you into enough shit. You always espoused the loudest argument… or the last'un you heard! Do be a man, for once, though. Stand up on yer own hind legs, an'…!
"We could try, sir," Ben Rodgers allowed. "Feel 'em out down south. Contact several bands. It may be they'd have no part of it, or none'd prove usable. Then, if nothing comes of it…" He tailed off with a helpless shrug. And, Lewrie noted, Captain Charlton gave him a glad, rewarding nod of approval.
"Very well, then," Charlton sniffed. "Lewrie, we know what you think of this."
Not 'til I've had a real rant, you don't, Lewrie left unspoken. A real rant, though… say what I really wish to say, and I'd be clapped in irons.
He looked round, to Commander Fillebrowne, who wore a smug look on his face, as if he'd herded Lewrie to the edge of a cliff and would most happily goad him to leap, and bedamned. To Rodgers, who was most pointedly sipping wine and staring off into the nether-regions, unable to meet his gaze. Then to Charlton, who was… waiting. Smirking?
"I don't like pirates much, sir," Lewrie began to respond, slowly and cautiously. "Never have. They don't play by civilised rules, sir, even the 'well-schooled' ones. The Rackhams, Bonnets, Teaches and Morgans… English gentlemen all, sir, yet…" He shrugged.
Charlton's firm expression faltered, whether to Lewrie s jibe or to an innate loathing for his own plan, some deep-down caution.
No, he ain't smirkin', Lewrie decided; at bottom, he knows what a horror we might start, and no way t'end it. Bothers him as much as me. No wonder he didn't just scribble us some orders and have done. He's a decent man, caught on the prongs of a shitten cleft stick. God help him… us!
"Needs must, I s'pose, though, sir," Lewrie grunted, deep from his gut, and tossed off another shrug to express reluctant acceptance. "Do you order it so, then we'll do the best we're able."
"I never considered anything less from you, Commander Lewrie," Charlton softly replied, relenting from his grim glower, and tossing him a bone of approbation. Though there was still a hesitancy to him, as if he'd relish being argued out of his decision. It was rare, but not completely unheard-of, for a quorum of captains to weight their options and come to a mutually agreed decision, when very far from higher authorities. He could have been as dictatorial, as domineering and irrationally unreasonable as the last post-captain who had had command over Lewrie-Howard Braxton of the ill-starred Cockerel frigate. For not being such a toplofty tyrant, Lewrie felt at least a slight bit of gratitude towards Charlton.
"Very well, sirs," Charlton said, after topping up their wine as reward for their agreement. "Here is what we'll do. For the nonce, we will sail more independent of each other.. in three groups as Commander Lewrie posed. Though perhaps not the same pairings, however…" Toss me a bone, aye, Alan begrudged; good doggie! "I will take Lionheart down to the Straits of Otranto again," Charlton schemed aloud. "Should French warships come from Toulon with succour for this Bonaparte by sea or take advantage of his gains, our best-armed and strongest ship should be placed to counter them. Even alone, I believe I could. Now, Commander Fillebrowne…" "Aye, sir?" Fillebrowne perked up.
"Yours will be the roving brief, sir," Charlton outlined. "A cruise nearer to Venice, high up the Adriatic to the west. Especially those harbours of the Papal States which are now in thrall to Bonaparte. Look into them, within your abilities… and the diplomatic niceties… for French ships. And look for warships that might be taken into service by the French Navy… what state of readiness for sea, d'ye see, sir. As far suth'rd a cruise as Rimini, Pescara and Ancona would do admirably well. And this inlet Lewrie mentioned, Lake Comacchio."
"Of course, sir!" Fillebrowne replied, all bright-eyed eager. To sail free and independent of senior officers' eyes was every junior captain's dream of perfect freedom.
"Captain Rodgers, you and Commander Lewrie will repeat your previous voyage… a slow jog down the Balkan coasts. Seeking merchantmen, it goes without saying. But enquiring of local authorities as to the whereabouts of-and most covertly, the suitability of-any pirate bands amenable to working with us."
"Aye aye, sir." Rodgers nodded heavily.
"Major Simpson said that he could supply us with an officer of his squadron," Charlton continued, "should we have decided to espouse such allies as we… erm, discussed. Someone with local knowledge of the coast, conversant in the various dialects, and-hhmmph!-which freebooters have the strength, the suitability, the ah… civility, rather"-Charlton all but winced-"useful to our cause."
"Aye, sir," Rodgers repeated, his moon face a dark-complexioned blank, as if giving Charlton no more than heavy-lidded, rote obedience.
Or he's took by "barrel-fever" by now, Lewrie thought, seeing as how we're on our fourth bottle of wine 'twixt the four of us. And nought but Ben's been sippin' steady.
"Well, that should do it, I think, sirs." Charlton beamed, with a cock of his head towards a calendar hanging in his chart-space beyond. "We'll meet up here at Trieste again in, say, three weeks? First week of August at the latest, depending on what occurs on your various duties and how depleted you are for prize-crews. You run into anything dangerous, and you scoot back here for shelter. Or come south to me, in the straits. Or, should I need saving, sirs"-Charlton posed, hands out in a helpless expression-"should the Frogs come in strength, then you'll see me first. Flying afore 'em, with stuns'ls aloft and alow! Captain Rodgers, you'll have your Austrian liaison aboard soon. Once I've sent word to Major Simpson, ashore. Uhm…"
Charlton had been acting very relieved, almost joyful at times, since they'd acceded to his plans-though, now and then, a touch rueful and hesitant. Now he almost blushed.
"Before you sail, you'd best take aboard a small cargo of arms and such, sirs… the both of you," Charlton added. "Do you succeed in discovering suitable temporary allies, then why not, uhm…?"
"Aye aye, sir," Rodgers agreed once more, even more heavily.
"Off ashore, sir?" Lewrie asked Rodgers, once they were on deck and queuing up for their gigs to arrive, in strict order of seniority. "S'pose you're about due for a tear. Even among what poor amusements Trieste has to offer. Not a patch on Venice, after all…"
"Thought I might," Rodgers allowed. Almost snippish, though.
Truculence? Lewrie wondered. A guilty conscience? Or pissed as a newt? Damn' standoffish, I must say!
"And you, sir?" Rodgers queried.
"Seen it, sir." Lewrie chuckled. "Hellish boresome. Letters to write, that sort of last-minute thing. Cargo to load," he drawled with a sarcastic note. "For our noble 'Christian' friends, don't ye know."
That officer lined up and ready to assist their search, a cargo of arms all but crated and ready to stow below… Lewrie was now wondering just how really debatable the scheme had been before they'd been called aboard Lionheart to discuss it.
And Charlton's parting shot! A last admonition, nothing written, a verbal order tossed off as if it were a matter that had slipped his mind. Make certain you only engage Christian pirates, sirs!" And it had been a wonder to watch him not twitch in embarrassment for uttering such a statement!
Christian pirates, my God! Lewrie groaned; sort of like merging "Army" and "Intelligence"! Find 'em, most-like, by followin' the smell o' incense burnin' in their censers… whilst they're at prayers!
"Quite th' change th' years've made of us, Lewrie," Rodgers said of a sudden, in a very soft, conspiratorial voice. "You, turned into an upright family man. An' me… a coward."
"You, sir? A coward?" Lewrie hooted. "Hardly!" But thinking that he was, in a way, just the same. "Oh, stop yer gob, sir!" Rodgers spat. "You know what I mean." "Well, sir"-Lewrie frowned at the vehemence of Rodgers s bile-"I didn't think he was that dead-set for it, straightaway. Thought did we argue him out of it… two-to-two. Can't count on Fillebrowne…"
"Nothin' we could've said'd change his mind, Lewrie. Nor made a tinker's damn worth o' diff'rence. And you should've seen it," Rodgers accused. " 'Stead o' goin' off half-cocked… like ya always do." "Sir?" Lewrie huffed, cocking his head in perplexity. "There's some, Commander Lewrie, as've piled up enough 'tin' to weather rocky times, an' some as've not," Rodgers grumbled from a side of his mouth, half turned away to watch the approach of his gig. "I don't understand, Ben."
"Captain Rodgers, sir!" Rodgers snapped so harshly that Lewrie felt like flinching back from him. "Excuse me, sir, but-"
"Estate, prize-money… farm income," Rodgers pushed on. "An' Navy career bedamned, should things go cross-patch. Think we're all so fortunate, sir, t'risk our careers so easy? Think we've all yer tidy shore livin' t'fall back on?"
"I never thought… I don't see…!"
"Course ya don't, Lewrie!" Rodgers muttered. "You never do. Never see anything but your way… an' how t'get it. An' thinking I'm t'shout 'amen' whenever ya leave off prosin'. Course it's a hellish idea, t'get mixed up with local pirates… d'ye think I like it a whit more'n you? I do not! But we said our piece, then he gave us orders. Whether we care for 'em or no. But ya never know when t'leave be an' when t'quit wheedlin'. Just too bloody clever by half. But not clever enough t see th' end result o bein' so sly-boots. Not for yerself, or any ya drag down with ya."
Rodgers lifted his hat briefly to air his scalp, to resettle it further down over his eyes, still gazing towards the clutch of boats.
"You asked me did I recall Charleston," Rodgers began again, as he turned back to face Lewrie. "An' did I still resent all th' shit I was dumped into, 'cause o' yer actions. Well, I did and I do, Lewrie. You always talked me into folly… Charleston, and both times at Walker's Cay, when we were after 'Calico Jack' Finney. Resent things now, too. Resent ya peerin' at me, all promptin' an' shiny-eyed t'support ya an' damnin' me do I not."
"Sir, I never…!"
Well, aye… maybe I did. Alan winced with chagrin. And took a half step back from Rodgers s hissing fury. "Ben?" He pled once more.
"That's 'sir,' t'ya, Lewrie," Rodgers warned. "Caution ya, now. I'm half-seas-over. Cherry-merry. But not'z cherry-merry'z I intend t'be by midnight. It'll be 'sir' t'day… an' most-like 'sir' t'me tomorrow, too, 'cause I plan t'have a devlish thick head. An' do ya know why that'll be, Lewrie?"
"No, sir," Alan replied warily, feeling betrayed after all the times they'd served together, after how close he'd thought they'd been.
" 'Cause I'm scared o' puttin' mine arse on th' choppin'-block as easy as you. Scared o' rowin' Captain Charlton with objections that'd make a poor report on me when Pylades pays off an' it's time to get a new commission, 'cause I'm not blessed with yer shore livin' t'count on should I get beached on half-pay. Scared t say what I really did mean t'say 'bout this half-arsed scheme o' his. An' maybe I'll be 'in th' barrel' 'cause I don't much care for m'self for not sayin' it, at th' moment, either! But then… I never have to, do I? You'll always leap up an' say it first, won't ya? Tie me to yer words, link me with yer objections, expect me t'back ya… an' there I am, tarred with that same old brush. Now an' again, Lewrie… it gets old, d'ye see?"
"I…"• Lewrie opened his stunned mouth to respond.
"I get tired o' bein' led into folly… get tired o' followin' yer lead, Lewrie," Rodgers said with a weary, embittered sigh. "Even if ya are right most o' th' time, God help us. Tired o' bein' used, whenever ya think yer th' onliest one that knows best. Knew we were t serve t'gether again, I'd hopes you'd've mellowed, learned some caution, but…" He shook his round head in long-pent despair. "An' do ya know how hard it is t'deal with a man such'z yerself, Lewrie? How hard it is t'play gun-dog to ya, an' do yer biddin' when ya whistle or snap yer fingers?"
"I never knew you felt this way, sir," Alan grunted. "I thought we worked well together, that-"
"Aye, we do, Lewrie, that's th' rub," Rodgers whispered, hands up to scrub his face into some bit of sobriety. He swelled up, bloated on too much sweet wine, perhaps too much bitterness. And let out a hearty belch at last.
At least he turned his head for that, Lewrie thought inanely.
"So…?" he enquired.
"Ah, devil take it," Rodgers sighed, looking as if there was one more ripe eructation where that one had come from, still to be freed. "You tread wary round me a day'r two… it'll be Alan and Ben by dawn o' th' second, I'd expect. A takin' o' th' moment, and nothin' permanent. No real lastin' spite, d'ye see, but… by God, sir! Sometimes ya make me so…!"
"Furious?" Lewrie asked. "Aye. Never bored, though, are you?" he added with a hopeful grin.
"Aye, furious," Rodgers echoed, all but swaying as Lieutenant Nicholson came over to tell him that his gig was at last thumping against the hull, just below the starboard entry-port. "Exasperatin', that's what ya are, Commander Lewrie. Exasperatin' as the very Devil. But never borin'. Damn yer eyes."
"May I take that as a vote of confidence, then, sir?" Lewrie asked with a wider smile as he walked with Rodgers to the entry-port.
"Not really!" Ben drawled rather archly. "You let me take th' lead, and try t'stifle yerself, when ya feel a fit o' cleverness comin' on. I'm not certain my career could take too many more o' yer brighter moments."
"I stand admonished, sir," Lewrie soberly told him. "Really!"
"Ya bloody do not!" Rodgers scoffed. "An' ya never will."
But he offered his hand and they shook, before stepping back to doff hats to each other; friends first-formally courteous naval officers second.
"Thankee, sir," Lewrie said, just as he turned to go.
"For what… a hidin'?" Rodgers peered close at him.
"For still being a friend, exasperated or no, sir," Lewrie said.
"What do ya think friends are for?" Rodgers sighed, then gave him a wink as he turned to doff his hat to the side-party's salute, and make his way, arse-out, down the battens and man-ropes to his gig.
CHAPTER 7
The Austrian liaison officer assigned to them was a low-ranking Leutnant zur See Conrad Kolodzcy, a minor figure from one of the minor navies. His rank, however, was the only thing humble about him for he had a very high opinion of himself, which was apparent right from his arrival aboard Pylades with no less than two body-servants, two large sea-chests and a clutch of luggage that held-so he haughtily told them-the bare necessities of life, without which no true gentleman would dare to travel.
Lewrie wasn't so sure Kolodzcy wasn't an out-of-work instructor of dancing, masquerading-some rude jape the Austrians had foisted on them-and was more than happy that Rodgers was the one forced to deal with him on a daily basis and share his august company.
Leutnant Kolodzcy was a touch leaner than courtier-slim, as thin as a high-strung whippet or greyhound. He displayed such elegant, languid mannerisms that he could have taught refinement to the Venetians, making them look like lumbering dockyard drunks by comparison. He stood three inches shorter than Lewrie's five-foot-nine-and that with the help of a pair of glossy black Hessian boots with heels so tall they were suited to cavalry stirrups. And they were adorned with more gaudy gilt cord and tassels than post-captains were allowed on an entire coat!
His hair was dark, almost raven-black, and cut in that newfangled Frog fashion… brushed forward over the ears and forehead, and lacking that long, plaited queue particular to real sailormen. He sported soft brown puppy eyes set in a rather pale face of such startling regularity that he was almost effeminately pretty, with cheekbones any fashionable lady might kill for, a pert little drawer-knob of a chin, and lips quite bee-stung, or as cherubically bowed as Cupids. When he didn't have 'em set in a disbelieving pout or moue, that is, over how real navies lived!
And Leutnant zur See Conrad Kolodzcy wore scent… rather a lot of scent. Lewrie suspected his family was in the trade and kept him stocked with a constant supply of the family product, as a fashion adjunct or as a walking advertisement. That Hungary Water or Cologne wasn't used in the manner most folks used it-to cover the reek of unwashed flesh and clothing-for Leutnant Kolodzcy had fetched along a portable, collapsible canvas bathtub as part of his "absolutely essential" kit, and had been appalled to learn that his daily allotment of water for shaving and bathing would be the same as a British officer's-a bare pint a day!-barring what they could sluice into water-butts when it rained. He had been most vocal in expressing his horror over that; that, and the lack of proper chefs, proper bedsteads, clean bed-linen daily, decent wine to drink, or the dreadful hours he'd be expected to rise or retire, or the fact that tea, coffee or chocolate couldn't be whistled up from the galley on a whim.
Fortunately for their mission, he could express his horrors in English, French, German, Italian, Hungarian, Albanian or Serbo-Croat, or a smattering of both Turkish or Demotic Greek, unfortunately for nerves or patience, he did this in a thin, high, irritatingly lazy whine!
"Look, Lewrie, erm…" Rodgers said, once he'd directed Kolodzcy below to settle in, "since you'll be so close inshore, first to make a contact with pirate bands-"
"But would his dignity not be mortally offended, sir?" Lewrie said most quickly in rebuttal, as soon as he saw which way the wind was blowing. "Fobbed off on a junior officer? On a minor vessel with less room? My word, sir! Just what would the Austrian court make o' that? The diplomatic tussle that'd cause… tsk-tsk. Why, I shudder to think." "I could make it an order, Lewrie," Rodgers said with a gloomy look. "And of course you could, sir," Lewrie agreed, struggling to keep his countenance whey-faced innocent of guile, yet tinged with honest concern. "Though our orders from Admiral Jervis were to make every effort to honour and accommodate our Austrian allies and give no offence which might undo the Coalition. Who knows what ear at Court in Vienna this fellow whispers into, though? Then, as senior officer of our adhoc squadron, sir… after all, can't let the side down, sir. All for old England… an' all that?"
"Yer bein' exasperatin' again, Lewrie." Rodgers all but wept.
"Just pointing out the consequences, sir." Lewrie shrugged, daring to let a "sympathetic" grin tweak his mouth, elevate his brow.
"Damn yer eyes, Lewrie. Just damn yer eyes," Rodgers sighed.
"Very good, sir!"
"Vahl, ahz you heff learn-ed," Leutnant Kolodzcy drawled, seated in one of Rodgers's armchairs, legs primly crossed at the knees, idly holding a slim Spanish cigarillo in one hand and a tall flute of Capt. Rodgers's best champagne in the other, "dere are many pirade bants on de Balgan goast, chentlemen."
He just say "Balgan ghost"? Lewrie asked himself, head over in perplexity as he tried to decypher Kolodzcy's extremely tortured English. Oh! Balkan coast! Pirate-bloody-bants.. bands! Gawd…!
"Aye, we've encountered some," Rodgers allowed.
"Ja!" Kolodzcy exclaimed, somewhat like the "Yipp!" an excited lap-dog might make. He paused to take a dainty sip of champagne, then. curl his left wrist inward for a puff of cigar smoke. He threw back his head to shoot smoke at the overhead, and then shot his cuff to return the cigarillo to "Run-in, Load" position. It was most elegantly, though foppishly done.
"Though mine family ist frohm de easz… Transylwania… 'Ungar-ian, do you see?" Kolodzcy languidly explained, "I am many yahrs upon de Balgan goast, and am knowink it guite intimadely, sirs. Unt I dell you now, chentlemen, dat dhere are only vahry few pirade bants awailable to you."
"Beg pardon?" Rodgers said, having to ask for a repeat before he grasped all that Kolodzcy had lisped out. "And why is that, sir?"
"Herr Kapitan Rodgers," Kolodzcy simpered, as one might to the dimmest student in the class, "for de vahry gute reason dat dere are few who heff need of you, in de firsd blace. Gonzidder…"
Don't know I care to 'gonzidder'! Lewrie thought, trying to not cackle out loud. This Leutnant Kolodzcy was better than an entre-acte at a Drury Lane theatre! Surely he was a poseur, a clown!
"De Uscocchi, de Croatians, sir," Kolodzcy droned on, puffing on his cigarillo with all the panache of a lady hard at it with her fan. "Allied vit de 'Ungarians, already. You abbroach Croatian pirades in 'Ungarian ser-wice, you inwolve 'Ungary. A formal, overt alliance, vich I do nod think your Kapitan Charlton vishes? Anyway, Uscocchi are all promised to Vienna… not awailable, nicht wahr? Gonzidder alzo Corsairs ohf Dul-cigno. Vahry strong, vit no need ohf your arms or assistance. To use them, inwolves gountry vich is neutral. Nod much of a gountry, bud a gountry even zo. Ach… mine glass ist empty." Leutnant Kolodzcy pouted of a sudden.
Rodgers flicked his eyes at his cabin-servant, who sprang to pour Kolodzcy another bumper into the glass which the fellow held out side-wise, without looking. He busied himself with his tobacco, shooting another "broadside" towards the sky-lights of the coach-top.
"Zo alzo, sirs, ist Ragusa de neutral gountry, nicht wahr?" Lt. Kolodzcy smirked, as though it was he who was senior aboard, not them. "Ewen a temporary alliance musd be formal, public? Unt you vish…?"
"Sub rosa, completely, Lieutenant Kolodzcy," Rodgers said with a conspiratorial air. "We wish a most informal, ermmm…"
"Unt I am given to unterstand dhat your Kapitan Charlton vishes to strike de bargain only vit a… Christian bant, sirs? No Muslims?" Kolodzcy enquired, rolling his eyes as Lewrie and Rodgers wished they could have, the first time they heard it said. Leutnant Kolodzcy turned the tiniest cock of a brow, the least lift of a corner of his mouth into a gargantuan sneer, and let loose a restrained, gentlemanly howl of laughter, "Unglaiiblich! Dat ist to be sayink.. incredible!"
"Quite adamant about it," Lewrie assured him with a droll roll of his own eyes. "No bloodthirsty pagans or heathens."
"A grade piddy, Herr Lewrie," Kolodzcy sighed. "De Muslims are grade fighters, though they heff liddle knowledge ohf de sea. Zose few on de goast vit boats? Nein, to use dhem vould brink notice unt vould mean grade trouble vit de Oddoman Durks."
Christ, "Oddoman Durks"? Lewrie silently whimpered, thinking he would have to put a fist in his mouth to stifle himself!
"A local pasha who vish to make de quick profit might, berhaps," Kolodzcy schemed, furrowing his serenely unruffled brow for the first time. "Rud, vhen Sultan in Constantinople learn ohf dis, dhen dhere ist slaughter. He sends army to punish any pasha or province vich is armed by you, thinkmk of rebelling, later? Ja, a grade piddy, sirs… you use Muslim pirades for a few veeks or months only, dhen inform Sultan, who sends army to crush dhem. Problem of alliance is solved. Problem of deniability, alzo. No blut on British hands for de vorld to see.. simply renegade locals. Never allied vit Royal Navy, you see?"
Kolodzcy smiled at them, nigh angelically.
"So Muslims might be best, after all, in spite of what Captain Charlton wished?" Rodgers frowned. "Perhaps one of those provinces already broken away… Albanians, Montenegrans? Greeks?"
"Greeks, no," Leutnant Kolodzcy dismissed airily, pointing his ciga-rillo at Rodgers like a tutors ferrule. "Too terrorised by de Sultan's troops, on goast especially. Inland, Durks nod as strong, bud no use to you, dhose inland Greeks, who are still Orthodox Christian. Greeks on goast heff few boats. You arm dhem, train dhem, dhey organise into fighters who could rebel, once you are done vit dhem. Dhen de Sultan or one ohf his pashas hess to crush dhem. Make de blut bad."
"Sorry… didn't get that last bit," Rodgers enqired, shaking his head as if to clear stuffy ears. "You said…?"
"De blut bad" Kolodzcy repeated. "Blut bad. Blut bad!" he insisted, all but stamping a dainty foot, sure he was making sense.
"A blood bath I think he means, sir," Lewrie offered.
"Ja!" Kolodzcy yipped. "Egzagdly… blut bad."
"Ah," Rodgers sighed, a lot less hopefully. "Quite."
"Whole prowince, nod chust one willage," Kolodzcy expounded. "Unt long before you are done vit dhem. Gomplete massacre."
"So," Lewrie posed after a painfully long silence, broken only by the sigh of more cigar smoke being jetted aloft, "just who does it leave us, then, Lieutenant Kolodzcy?"
Kolodzcy swung his right hand out, idly shook his empty glass, looking at Lewrie in silence. Griggs stepped up to refill him.
"You do nod vish de already strong," Kolodzcy lectured, after a refreshing sip. "Dhey are allied already, or heff no use for vhat you offer. You gannot employ existink gountries, for your Kapitan Charlton ist vishing anonymity unt deniability goncernink ties to pirades. Nor can you use Muslims or Durkish subjects. Dhey might be slaughdered before you could train dhem. No… de only people who come to mind… de only warlike Christians, who heff exberience ohf de sea, are Serbs. De Serbians. Ja, genauische!"
Powder-Yeoman Rahl says that! Lewrie exulted; damme, I can get that bit of German! He said exactlyl
"Serbians, chentlemen," Kolodzcy echoed, sounding enthused for once, all but smiting his forehead for being remiss in not considering them earlier. "De Balgan goast ist hodgepodge. Ja, hodgepodge? Gute. Croatian, Muslim, callink dhemselves Bosnian or Herzegovinan. Inland are Serbians, bud dhey are alzo scaddered among de odders unt along de goast. Eine Slavic people, Eastern Orthodox Christian people, gradely outnumbered. Dhey heff resisted conwersion by de Durks for centuries! Grade warriors alzo, who fight forever to win dheir independence from de Durks. Bud, nod heffink numbers or weapons. Fisherman… sailors unt zometimes pirades. Small boats only, bud dhey could sail larger, vit your help, unt vit your arms unt gaptured ships. Dhey gontrol some ohf de smaller offshore islands, alzo!"
"And they don't fear Turkish reprisals?" Rodgers puzzled.
"Ha, sir! De Serbians scoff at de Durks! Dhey vould radder die vit Durkish blut on dheir hands dhan liff as slaves, I dell you," the little officer boasted. "Serbians vould radder massacre a Durkish wilage, a Muslim willage, dhan eat! Dhat ist how dhey liff, raidink along de goast. Bud, boor bickinks, mosd ohf de time."
"Sorry, again. Boor…?" Rodgers flinched in perplexity.
"Poor pickings, he said, sir," Lewrie translated for him.
"Ja, boor!" Kolodzcy sulkily agreed. "Bud remember, it ist de hungry wolf vich hunts de hardest. Unt de Serbian wolves are hungriest of all. Any ships vich escape you inshore, de Serbians vill eat up in de plink ohf de eye! Ships, gargoes unt grews, all gone… phffft!" Leutnant Kolodzcy said with a twinkle and a happy conjuring motion.
"Cargoes and crews," Lewrie supplied without being asked.
"Who ist to say vhat happen to ships vich de Serbs take, sirs?" Kolodzcy simpered. "Unt your gomplicity vit dhem you may deny. Dhey are nod zo many, zurrounded by zo many Muslims. Dhey heff grade need ohf you. Unt, vhen you are done vit dhem, veil… Ragusa, Dul-cigno, odder goastal powers vill not tolerate a strong Serbian pirade fleet for long. Competition, nicht wahr? Rebellion, nicht wahr? If vord gets out ohf your arrangement, dhen you can t'row dhem to de wolves!"
"Uhm, that bit about cargoes and crews disappearing," Rodgers quibbled, making a similar conjuring "poof of his own. "Surely, sir, there will be Europeans aboard the ships the Serbs take, should they ally with us. There will be officers and passengers who should properly be detained, sent here to Trieste for internment or exchange…"
"Dhen your secret ist oud, sir," Kolodzcy objected lazily, with another dismissive conjurement. "Frenchmen, Batavians or Danes speak ohf pirades unt Royal Navy vorkink togedder, dhen…? Bedder dat dey disappear. Sold in slave-markets ashore."
"Or their throats cut, sir?" Lewrie objected.
"Vat is old pirade sayink, Herr Kommandeur Lewrie?" Lieutnant Kolodzcy chuckled. "Dat 'dead men dell no dales'?"
"No, that's out," Rodgers snapped. "Right out. Prisoners must be taken, given proper treatment. Held on one of those offshore islands, perhaps. Or your officials here in Trieste could hold 'em incommunicado 'till-"
"Anything else would be unthinkable, sir," Lewrie chimed in, his dander up. "The Royal Navy, nor England, would never countenance murder or enslavement."
"Bud, you vill goundenance piracy, nicht wahr?" Kolodzcy mocked.
"Well, erm…!" Lewrie fumed.
"Dhey gome here to Trieste, dhen Austria musd take note, sirs," Kolodzcy cautioned. "Vord gets oud, eventually."
"Let's say the Serbians pick a small, rocky island, where they'd be easy to guard, then," Rodgers countered. "Use timber and canvas off a prize for materials to build huts. Food and water come off the prizes, too, so it won't cost tuppence t'feed 'em, either. Your Serbians keep the ships they take, those that suit 'em. They can burn the rest for their metal and fittings, if they like, and have what valuables there are aboard as strikes their fancies, too. But… your Serbians should keep the prisoners alive, sir! No slave-market, no other harm to come to 'em. Save the ships' papers, manifests and such, and turn 'em over to us, with a list of all prisoners from each capture."