“Night mooring, Captain?” he asked.
Huston resumed his seat. “Indeed, yes, Mr. Cawdor. Once across that sandbar, I was happy to entrust her to my trained officers.”
After the dessert the De Vere ladies withdrew, followed by the taciturn Baron Hooren and his wife, leaving nine guests in all to relish the decanters of fine port and brandy that were circulated with the tiny porcelain cups of real coffee.
The Mills twins were interested in the mines they hoped to visit, and pressed Captain Huston for information. “I believe that you have two important guests who are deeply involved in the business. So we have heard,” Randall said, toying with a slender silver fruit knife.
The captain didn’t answer for several seconds, gazing into his full glass of ruby port. Finally he said, “I fear that the personal details of my passengers must remain private and confidential, if that is what they have chosen.”
“So, we cannot meet with them?” Troy pressed. “That is a shame.”
The captain sipped at his drink, his gaze flicking to Ryan, then away again. “You may approach them yourself, though I think it will prove a waste of time. They have made their wishes very clear in this matter.”
“Can’t we even know their names?” J.B. asked, pouring himself another glass of brandy.
Huston shook his head slowly. “Set aside any rumors, Mr. Dix. Speculation can only be harmful. Perhaps even dangerous to those who attempt to pry where they are not wanted.” He looked around.
“Now, if you will forgive me, I have essential business connected with the mooring. Please stay and drink as long at my table as you like. There is a good cheese board on offer and some fresh-baked biscuits.”
He rose quickly, bowed and walked away through the mostly empty dining room.
Colonel De Vere belched suddenly, putting his hand over his mouth and flushing an even deeper shade of crimson. “My apologies,” he mumbled. “Dined well but not too wisely. Pray excuse me. Must join me gals.”
Making a staggering exit, he walked with the exaggerated delicacy of the very drunk.
Ryan watched him go, aware that he himself was well stuffed with food and that another glass of port or brandy would be one glass too many. The Trader used to say that a man who remained too long at the saloon would likely be staying the night in the graveyard. “Turn around the deck, and then back to the cabin,” he said. “Gone ten o’clock.”
Krysty patted him on the arm. “Had no idea that so much time had gone, lover. That was a great meal.”
One by one the friends rose to their feet, except for Jak, who stayed in his place. The Mills brothers also stayed where they were.
“Said something about some cheese,” the albino teenager muttered.
Randall nodded. “And some more coffee. Help to become sober as a sudge.”
“Take care, Jak,” Ryan warned. “Night wears on, there’s likely to be some cold-hearts getting busy around the decks, looking for easy jack.”
“Sure thing. Be along soon.”
Doc was steadying himself with the swordstick. “I would be most obliged if you came in as quiet as a mouse fart and didn’t disturb a slumbering old man. My pate is somewhat addled, and my intestines full to overloaded. What I need most is a good night’s rest, and I shall be a new man in the morning.”
Mildred touched him lightly on the shoulder. “Hope the new man’s an improvement on the old one, Doc. Or is that too much to hope for?”
He snorted and stared at her, watery eyed, mouth opening and closing like a gaffed marlin. “I confess that I I am a tad lost for words, madam.”
“Makes a real pleasant change, Doc.” She offered her arm to him. “Care to promenade me around the deck? And watch out for the skeeters.”
The dining room was almost deserted as they left. Ryan glanced back, seeing Jak’s white hair, glowing like a magnesium beacon in the general darkness, under the spilled pool of light from the crystal chandelier over the captain’s table. He was tucking into a large sliver of golden cheese, watched in silence by the Mills brothers.