Pirate Code by Helen Hollick

way. Not Vernon. The only thing to stop him would be to destroy his ship! Why at this precise moment with all the incompetents the British Navy had on its vast payroll, did they have to send their one able commander?
    From what Wickham had last implied, the rebellion was on the verge of reaching its head. In a matter of days del Gardo could be overthrown and everything sorted nicely. Had Wickham not drowned he would have fetched their payment, he and Rogers would have been several thousand pounds the richer and none would have been any the wiser of it.
    “I’ll send Dunwoody with a message then?” Rogers queried.
    Again Jennings nodded. He was thinking; a small idea had sparked in his mind to ensure Vernon stayed in harbour a while. He shook his head, no a stupid plan! Forget it! All he needed was a key, a hook, to get Acorne fully interested. He drummed his fingers on the desk. He would think of something, no doubt. “I’ll row over to see Acorne myself later.”
    He lifted his gaze to meet Rogers’. The Governor’s eyes were a pale grey, set against a face that was beginning to sag with the onset of old age, although he was only in his late fifties. “That flogging yesterday was a bad business. You ought to have stopped it. Acorne might not go along with us now – he might not even be able to, I don’t know the extent of the damage done to his back. Your Beadle laid the cat on pretty heavy, you know.” He did not add the reason: because too many men standing there watching yesterday, the Beadle included, were disappointed at being denied the opportunity to ogle a woman.
    His confidence returning Rogers heaved himself to his feet. “Offer him something in recompense. Gold, an estate or some such.”
    “And how will we pay it? Until the rebels settle their debt, I barely have a shilling. Aside, all Acorne wants are the divorce papers for Mistress van Overstratten.”
    Looking around for his hat and cane, Rogers found them a-top a cabinet. “And as I have already said, I cannot grant them. He will have to resolve the issue with the Dutchman, not with me.”
    “He is our only hope of finding Chesham and getting our money.”
    “Then promise him the moon, and we’ll sort payment for him if – when – we get ours.”
    Jennings half rose in protest, then sank down again as pain shouted at him from his foot. “He’s a friend, I’ll not betray a friend.”
    “Then ye’d better think of another way to find this Chesham fellow and get our payment, had ye not?”

Twelve
    Leaving his office an hour later, Henry Jennings almost collided with van Overstratten in the outer hallway. Removing his hat he offered a courteous, if somewhat clumsy, bow. “Good day to you. I see from your cloak it be damned raining again?”
    Van Overstratten did not respond and noticing his unusual inattentiveness, Jennings took the liberty of guiding him to a chair. “Are you ill? You look most pale. May I summon a physician? Or fetch you wine perhaps?”
    “No, no, I am well, thank you. A momentary set back, I assure you.”
    All the same, Jennings clicked his fingers at a passing maid and bade her run for a brandy. Pulling up a second chair, Jennings seated himself. “This business with Acorne and y’wife, it must be vexing. I know the man; alas, he can be most stubborn.”
    “As am I, Captain Jennings, but on this occasion the problem is not Acorne.”
    The maid returned, Jennings took the glass and handed it to the Dutchman with a conspirator’s wink. “It’s Rogers’ finest; he is most reluctant to share it.”
    Grateful, van Overstratten sipped, appreciating the restorative palette. “This war,” he confided, “it could ruin me.”
    “As it could ruin us all,” Jennings agreed wryly. “I b’lieve many have fingers poked into pies that could become overbaked or remain undercooked. Especially if, God forbid, the Dons manage to win.”
    Blanching, van Overstratten glanced up, horrified. “You do not think they will do