next week or next month.” He flailed an arm in the air. “Get the bloody hell out or I’ll whip you out.”
There was a horse whip hanging on the wall beside the fireplace. Joyful had no idea what it was doing there, and not much fear of Bastard carrying out his threat. “You’re in no condition to do any such thing, and I’m not leaving quite yet. No, don’t protest. Hear me out. It’s in your best interest.
“What you want is to salvage as much as you can from this disaster. But you don’t know how, so you’re sitting here on what may well have been the worst day of your life drinking yourself into oblivion. And since I warrant tomorrow has worse in store, you’ll likely be doing the same for some days to come. And sooner rather than later the sheriff will come to read you into bankruptcy. Then it will be too late.”
“Too late for what?”
In spite of himself, Bastard was sobering up, Joyful noted. Give a man a genuine life-or-death choice, and even the fog of alcohol could lift. “Too late for me to help you wriggle out of the mess you’re in.”
“And how might you do that? Presuming I act before it’s too late.”
Joyful stretched out his foot and hooked another of the heavy mahogany armchairs closer to Bastard’s. He sat down. “It’s simple. First you give me a ship; a fast sloop such as the Lisbetta will serve very well. Then you make over to me a large part of Devrey Shipping.”
A few seconds of silence, then Bastard made a sound between a snort and a chortle. “Well, no reason this family shouldn’t finally produce a madman to go along with everything else. No, wait! The crazy old Jew Solomon DaSilva, he was your grandfather. A whoremaster turned gunrunner who nearly burned the city. That explains it. Now get out.”
“Solomon set alight my father’s privateer, the Fanciful Maiden, while she was lying in harbor. But the old reprobate had made a huge fortune for himself before the Huron captured him and tortured him into insanity. And yes, he was Morgan Turner’s father and my grandfather. And my grandmother was Squaw DaSilva, who took over her husband’s affairs and increased his wealth fourfold. They were a pair of business people as clever as this city’s ever seen. My forebears are reasons for you to listen to me, Cousin, not send me away.”
Bastard’s glass was empty. He waved it in Joyful’s direction. “Get me another. You’re daft, but I’ll listen as long as it takes me to drink it. Then you leave or be horsewhipped.”
Joyful poured them both generous refills of the Madeira. “The plan is simple, and that’s its greatest virtue. You make over forty-nine percent of Devrey Shipping to me, and keep eleven percent for yourself. That way there’s only a small portion of the company can be taken to repay your debts. Whatever happens, the business is safe.”
“Jesus God Almighty. You’ve balls of brass, I’ll say that for you, Joyful Patrick Turner. Do you think I care more for the company than my own skin? You’ve old DaSilva’s canniness, all right, and none of his brains. Worse, you’ve caused me to come sober.” Bastard tossed back the drink Joyful had brought him, then lumbered out of the chair and headed for the decanter.
Joyful watched his cousin stagger back to his place beside the empty fireplace, clutching the supply of Madeira to his heart. “It’s your skin I’m talking about,” he said when Bastard was again settled. “Your life. Good Portuguese wine, not Spanish piss. A home up on Broadway, and—”
“Already have that. Started building it three years past. Before Madison’s damned war.”
“Yes, but you can’t afford to finish it. I’m offering you the chance to change that and take back your rightful place in society.”
“On eleven percent of a company whose ships are putrefying in harbor, and will remain so as long as the blockade’s in place?”
“On eleven percent, plus a silent partner’s interest in my forty-nine
There was a horse whip hanging on the wall beside the fireplace. Joyful had no idea what it was doing there, and not much fear of Bastard carrying out his threat. “You’re in no condition to do any such thing, and I’m not leaving quite yet. No, don’t protest. Hear me out. It’s in your best interest.
“What you want is to salvage as much as you can from this disaster. But you don’t know how, so you’re sitting here on what may well have been the worst day of your life drinking yourself into oblivion. And since I warrant tomorrow has worse in store, you’ll likely be doing the same for some days to come. And sooner rather than later the sheriff will come to read you into bankruptcy. Then it will be too late.”
“Too late for what?”
In spite of himself, Bastard was sobering up, Joyful noted. Give a man a genuine life-or-death choice, and even the fog of alcohol could lift. “Too late for me to help you wriggle out of the mess you’re in.”
“And how might you do that? Presuming I act before it’s too late.”
Joyful stretched out his foot and hooked another of the heavy mahogany armchairs closer to Bastard’s. He sat down. “It’s simple. First you give me a ship; a fast sloop such as the Lisbetta will serve very well. Then you make over to me a large part of Devrey Shipping.”
A few seconds of silence, then Bastard made a sound between a snort and a chortle. “Well, no reason this family shouldn’t finally produce a madman to go along with everything else. No, wait! The crazy old Jew Solomon DaSilva, he was your grandfather. A whoremaster turned gunrunner who nearly burned the city. That explains it. Now get out.”
“Solomon set alight my father’s privateer, the Fanciful Maiden, while she was lying in harbor. But the old reprobate had made a huge fortune for himself before the Huron captured him and tortured him into insanity. And yes, he was Morgan Turner’s father and my grandfather. And my grandmother was Squaw DaSilva, who took over her husband’s affairs and increased his wealth fourfold. They were a pair of business people as clever as this city’s ever seen. My forebears are reasons for you to listen to me, Cousin, not send me away.”
Bastard’s glass was empty. He waved it in Joyful’s direction. “Get me another. You’re daft, but I’ll listen as long as it takes me to drink it. Then you leave or be horsewhipped.”
Joyful poured them both generous refills of the Madeira. “The plan is simple, and that’s its greatest virtue. You make over forty-nine percent of Devrey Shipping to me, and keep eleven percent for yourself. That way there’s only a small portion of the company can be taken to repay your debts. Whatever happens, the business is safe.”
“Jesus God Almighty. You’ve balls of brass, I’ll say that for you, Joyful Patrick Turner. Do you think I care more for the company than my own skin? You’ve old DaSilva’s canniness, all right, and none of his brains. Worse, you’ve caused me to come sober.” Bastard tossed back the drink Joyful had brought him, then lumbered out of the chair and headed for the decanter.
Joyful watched his cousin stagger back to his place beside the empty fireplace, clutching the supply of Madeira to his heart. “It’s your skin I’m talking about,” he said when Bastard was again settled. “Your life. Good Portuguese wine, not Spanish piss. A home up on Broadway, and—”
“Already have that. Started building it three years past. Before Madison’s damned war.”
“Yes, but you can’t afford to finish it. I’m offering you the chance to change that and take back your rightful place in society.”
“On eleven percent of a company whose ships are putrefying in harbor, and will remain so as long as the blockade’s in place?”
“On eleven percent, plus a silent partner’s interest in my forty-nine
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