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Updated: May 28, 2025
"If Peth was willing to put you on board, I don't see that he'd interfere with you if you went ashore," said Trask. "As I see it, you can pull over, get Dinshaw, and come back. You don't need to go near that gang on the beach." "Can't ye let me have the gun?" "No."
"I reckon somethin's powerful wrong, Mr. Trask," he whispered. "You get out of here and go to bed," said Trask. "And don't show a light for any reason until you have orders to." "I got to be up early to make flapjack batter fo' yo' all," was Doc's reply. "I reckon I'll have to have a light in the galley and the fire goin' right smart long befo' the chickens is crowin' fo' day."
"Well, Prince Trask and I have been invited as house-guests at Prince Edvard's, I mean Baron Cragdale's, hunting lodge," Bentrik said. "We'll be going there directly from here." "Ah." Admiral Shefter smiled slightly. Beside not having three horns and a spiked tail, this Space Viking was definitely persona grata with the Royal Family. "Well, we'll keep in contact, Prince Trask."
The bulk-goods that went into the cargo holds was practically taking a free ride, so anything on hand, stuff that nobody would ordinarily think of shipping in interstellar trade, went aboard. A two thousand foot freighter had a great deal of cargo space. Baron Trask of Traskon hadn't even begun to realise what Tanith base was going to cost Gram.
Everybody's being beggared except this rabble of new lords he has around him, and that slut of a wife and her greedy kinfolk...." Trask stiffened. "You're not speaking of Queen Flavia, are you?" he asked softly. Rathmore's mouth opened slightly. "Great Satan, don't you know? No, of course not; the news would have come on the same ship I did. Why, Angus divorced Flavia.
"Mighty hard to open," said Doc, down on his knees, struggling with the straps. It was hot in the room, and rather dark, as the deadlight to the poop-deck was fogged by sea water. "You're new to the schooner, aren't you?" asked Trask. "Yassir. I jus' shipped fo' the roun' trip." "How long have you known Mr. Peth?" Trask kept his voice low, and bent down to Doc. "Yassir. I know Mr. Peth.
"I don't care who hears me," went on Trask, determined to carry out his bluff. "I've been out on deck for quite a while, and to be frank, I didn't like the idea of a boat going off this way. If it's your plan to kedge, and you think it is necessary, all right. I'm not a sailor. But I do know you haven't got Mr. Peth or the crew very well in hand, so if " "Hush up, Mr.
Jarrow clumped down off the forecastle head and lowered the lantern, clapped his sou'wester over it, and snuffed the flame out between his fingers. Trask observed the grimness of his face as the light played on it during the brief instant the lantern was coming down and the determined set of his jaw as his teeth gripped the cigar.
Doc stuck his head out of the galley. "Coffee, Mr. Trask?" he called, cautiously. Trask went back and stood in the door while he scanned the shore of the island. The sun had come out of the sea, red and bleary, and from the jungle came the calls of birds and the shrill cry of a parrot evidently in distress about something in the brush. There was not a sign of the dinghy.
Doc Bird, who was serving the coffee, started visibly, and looked at Dinshaw in amazement. "What's that?" asked Locke, and Trask and Marjorie turned to the old captain. "Jarrow and Peth want to steal my island and have all the gold," insisted Dinshaw, his face tragic. "Steward, give my compliments to Captain Jarrow and tell him I'd speak to him," said Locke. "I wouldn't do that," cautioned Trask.
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