By Dewey Lambdin
Alan Lewrie is now commander of HMS Jester, an 18-gun sloop. Lewrie sails into Corsica in simple terms to obtain remarkable orders: he needs to entice his archenemy, French commander Guillaume Choundas, into conflict and individually strike the malevolent spymaster dead. With Horatio Nelson as his squadron commander on one hand and a luscious courtesan who spies for the French at the different, Lewrie needs to pull out the entire stops if he will stay as much as his personal recognition and convey glory to the British Royal military.
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Extra info for A King's Commander: The Alan Lewrie Naval Adventures #7 (Bk. 7)
Knolles began in a soft voice, minus his confident japery, and a tad shy of making a suggestion at all. ” Alan rejoined with a smile. ” Knolles coughed into his fist nervously as he dared advise a senior officer. . ” “Surely, our brief spell together, since Gibraltar, sir,” Alan chuckled to put him at his ease, “and you’re still afraid I’ll bite? ” Knolles grinned shyly. “Spin the chase out. ” “An excellent idea, Mister Knolles. Very well, ease her. Wear us a point free, off the wind, so Jester’ll sail even flatter on her quickwork.
It took four hands at the helm: Quartermaster Spenser, his Mate Tucker, and two able seamen trainees. ” Grunts of dissatisfaction when she faltered an iota from fast, if they misjudged the infinitesimal variations in wind direction, the press of a curling roller against the windward bow, the slightest swing of the lighted compass needle in the binnacle cabinet. And sighs of ecstasy, the “’At’s th’ way, lads! ” when Jester rode up and over a roller met with a well-timed spoke to windward, luff maintained, the near-invisible commissioning pendant streaming and crackling at its tip, the lee edges of the main course and main tops’l still barrel-curved, without even a flickering roll of a single cupful of that invigorating wind lost.
And he’d been a most excruciatingly clumsy kitten to begin with, too! Andrews, his coxswain, and his cabin steward, Aspinall, stuck their heads out for a second from the dining coach and small pantry. On the quarterdeck, the watch and the after-guard turned toward the open skylights over the great-cabins and marveled. What sort of a captain we got? they wondered. That wasn’t a sound most associated with a sea officer! “Come out of there, Toulon,” Lewrie coaxed, after he’d calmed, and had a sip or two more of his wine.