Her Master and Commander by Karen Hawkins Page B

around, planted her heels, and pulled with all her might. Bit by bit, head bowed as she resisted every tug, Mrs. Fieldings the sheep walked through the door. The second she stepped over the threshold, some new panic hit her, for she looked around with wide eyes, bleated loudly, then turned, scrambling to get back outside.
    Prudence held on with both hands.
    Stevens yelped. “Gor!”
    There was a loud clatter and two men came running around the corner. One was tall, with a gold ring through his ear, his head bald except for twin tufts of white hair over each ear. He was dressed in a dirty-looking coat over a long white night rail, boots on his feet. The other was short, round, and red-faced, his nose pierced with a gold hoop. He wore an improbably long black shirt over orange breeches.
    The men saw the sheep attempting to escape and they immediately ran toward it. Footsteps sounded and three more men came running from another hallway, all of them as improbably pierced and dressed.
    That was too much for Mrs. Fieldings. She bolted with renewed strength, yanking the muffler from Prudence’s hands and galloping madly away, the red muffler flying behind her.
    “After her, men!” shouted Stephens.
    The men all looked at Prudence.
    She took a hasty step backward. “Not me! The sheep!”
    “Aye!” Stevens snapped. “The sheep! The one wearin’ the muffler!”
    Off they went, a jumble of clothing and effort, elbowing each other at the door and cursing loudly.
    Prudence gasped when she saw one of them held a pistol, an evil-looking man with a scarred face and a worn blue coat.
    Stevens must have seen it, too, for he yelled after the marauding herd, “Don’t ye be hurting the poor thing, either! ’Tis the cap’n’s, ye know, and he might be want-in’ to save her for Michaelmas dinner!” He shut the door. “That was a lucky thing, bringin’ that sheep! Thank you very much!”
    Prudence paused. “What do you mean, ‘thank you?’”
    “Aye! ’Twill keep the men busy fer hours. They’re always mopin’ and complainin’ how there’s naught to do. Now they can chase that sheep ’til their noses fall off their faces.”
    Wonderful. She’d brought that blasted sheep all the way from her house and Stevens was happy about it. Blast it all. She could only hope the captain was not so sanguine. “Do you think the men will catch the sheep?”
    “Those nabbers? Lord love ye, missus! O’course they won’t catch it! They couldn’t find a reef on a pure sunny day with a stick, those men. Not that they’re not a good sort, fer they are. They just need a bit of direction, is all. And without me or the cap’n there to guide them, well…I daresay we won’t see some of ’em fer hours. Maybe longer.”
    “I hope they do not hurt the poor thing, though she’s stronger than you might think.”
    “’Tis a wonder ye got her here at all.” He turned and began walking down a narrow corridor. “Come along this way, missus. I’ll take ye to the cap’n.”
    Prudence paused. Should she go? If she did, what would she say? Without the sheep, her purpose was rather…lost. Had she any sense, she’d leave.
    She blinked after Stevens, noting with mounting interest the inside of the cottage. Larger than the one she and Mother had rented, it had far fewer windows and was rather dark. There were two doors into the small hallway, both of which were tightly closed. From beneath one, a thin slice of light appeared. She took a step forward, her gaze glued to the light.
    Stevens planted himself before her. “Ye don’t want to go in there, madam.”
    “Oh. No. Of course not.” She looked at the light. “What’s in there?”
    “That’s where old Riley Neilson be laid up. He busted up his left hip, he did, during the last skirmish with the French. We’ve been tending him.”
    “In the front room?”
    “He can’t make it up the steps, he can’t. We use both front rooms as berths. Riley is in the portside with Taggart, Lewis, and