Pirates of the Caribbean:The Spanish Prisoner (Book 2 King's Messenger Series)

A Simple Task

I walked about my uncle's front room, where a folded campaign bed I did not know he owned was leaning against one wall. On the other side of the room, a long settle bore impressions from boot heels at one end; I pictured him taking a volume from the five crowded bookshelves above it before stretching out to read.

Naturally, there was no shortage of weapons: I discovered two pistols under the writing table, a small Turkish vein cutter in the curio cabinet, and a cutlass lying upon the mantel of the small fireplace.

The second chamber looked spare and impersonal - a trundle-bed, two small side tables, and an empty chest of drawers. The buffet de corps, on the other hand, was so characteristic of my uncle that it made me smile. It was stuffed with papers, maps, munitions, keys, and boxes. A sheaf of papers was even pinned to one wall with a small, sharp dagger. I sat on the settle and contemplated the rooms.

I hoped that shutting out the world would allow me the comforting pretense that my uncle was still alive and nearby. I stared at the front door, imagining his familiar step outside, and the way he would enter a room with a smile and a story to tell. And so I waited, like everything in these rooms, for a man who would never return.

Squeezing my eyes shut, I recalled his murder. If only I could go back in time to warn him before he set out on that fatal journey home. Don't ride out on Bodmin Moor where death awaits you. Don't make me miss you for the rest of my life. Don't. But he was gone forever. I opened my eyes and resumed my aimless wandering through the deserted rooms. Only the sound of my footsteps broke the silence.

Despite the fact that he was my uncle, in some sense I would always regard Harry Bitter as the wise and loving father who brought me up. Yet, here amongst the books he had read, the clothes he had worn and the mementos he had kept, I could also see him as his colleagues and superiors undoubtedly did. All the objects in these rooms were the possessions of a skilled and bold adventurer; a military man who could handle weapons, horses, and daring exploits equally well.

The idea that I could follow this dangerous profession was suddenly preposterous, but I had brought it all on myself.

King George had offered to help me defeat a deadly enemy, on condition that I join the King's Messenger service. Without thinking, I had agreed. Now, as Hector would say, I must lie in my bed the way I made it.

My eyes came to rest upon a large, empty duffel bag in a corner, and I made an effort to focus on practical matters, packing the items from my small rucksack into the sturdier, roomier bag. It swallowed up my pistols, scimitar, books, and badge. Lastly, I added the only proofs of my marriage – the poesy ring inscribed Guard well my heart and Teague's logbook.

I made a list of necessities such as candles, ink and other sundries, and extracted a small, twisted paper from my pocket. Inside were two of the little diamonds given me by the Countess of Yarmouth, to keep me from abject poverty, as she had said. But I already needed to sell them. Once they were gone and the proceeds spent, what would I do?

The night brought me but a few hours' sleep, and the next morning, I was roused by Mrs Hutson rapping at my door. "A post carriage brought this," she said, handing me a note.

When I opened it, it proved to be a scribbled order from the King: I was to present myself at once. I quickly washed, dressed, and then ran up the street to Goodman's Yard, where I found the post-chaise waiting to take me to Kensington Palace as though I were a proper Messenger.

Upon arriving, I was escorted through a maze of passages and up the backstairs – the entrance used for private meetings with His Majesty. As I reached the top, I could hear the King swearing in German accompanied by a sporadic series of thumping noises. The Page smiled to himself, and went in to announce me.