Page 38 of Project Duke

“And I told you I want information,” she retorted, her green skirts tangling and highlighting the form of her long, sculpted legs. Legs he could have had wrapped around his waist last might. “Clearly, you’re unable to move fast enough to get what we need. So I’ll follow the ancient wisdom. If you want something to be done well, do it yourself.”

They came together ten feet from the stairs leading up to the Admiralty, glaring at each other. Her auburn locks were playing in the wind. He could see the ovals of her breasts moving up and down as she breathed hard.

“If you think you’ll take one step inside,” he spat, “you’re sorely mistaken.”

He turned and walked towards the building, then climbed the stairs, taking two steps at a time.

“If you think I’ll stay out,” she cried after him as her heels clicked against the stones, “it’s you who are mistaken.”

He walked to one of the two officers standing guard, both of whom stared at Calliope and him with wide eyes.

“Do not let her in, either of you,” he barked. “Under no circumstances is she allowed in.”

“Yes, sir.” Both of them saluted him.

He walked into the darkness of the building and turned, watching with satisfaction how the two men stepped in front of Calliope, who stood shooting daggers at him.

“Nathaniel!” she yelled. “It’s not a game. My brother’s life is at stake!”

“I know that,” he retorted. “He’s missing, and you must stay out of this investigation or…or you may go missing, too. I will take care of everything.”

He then addressed the two officers again: “Do not let her in.”

Leaving her seething, he turned and passed through the wide hallway, his boots clicking against the polished marble floor. He was supposed to stay home today, for two weeks actually, for his honeymoon.

A honeymoon that would not be happening without him finding the information his wife needed.

He climbed the stairs to the first floor, then turned to the hallway leading to the Navy Board. He found the Navy Pay Office.

The room was big enough to fit six massive wooden desks and the clerks who sat hunched over them. Polished oak-paneled walls gleamed beneath the flicker of oil lamps. Rows of heavy leather-bound ledgers were arranged methodically in large bookcases, their worn spines etched with years and ship names in precise gilt letters.

The room smelled of ink, paper, and musty, old wood. The scratching of quills against paper was punctuated by the occasional knocks of abacus beads and muted murmurs as the clerks did their calculations and discussed their entries.

One of them was Bartholomew.

Nathaniel walked up to him. He was a well-built man in his forties with harsh eyes. He looked up from his papers.

“Kelford.” He frowned. “Are you not supposed to be on leave for your honeymoon?”

“I am. There’s an urgent matter.”

“What can I do for you?”

“I wondered if you have the lists of sailors for certain ships that sailed from London last year.”

“Oh.” Bartholomew put down his pen and stood up. “Certainly.”

He walked towards the bookshelf with the ledgers. “Is there some mishap with conscriptions?”

This was going far easier than Nathaniel could ever hope. “Yes, I just need to check on which ship one particular sailor is serving.”

“Of course.” Bartholomew stopped next to the rows of ledgers and laid one hand on the edge of the shelf. “What ships?”

“Five of them—Minotaur, Titan, Concord, Hector, and Aeneas.”

Bartholomew froze and threw a strange, inquisitive look at Nathaniel. “On which date?”

“September 3, 1812,” said Nathaniel carefully, not liking Bartholomew’s reaction at all.