He waits until they're away from Saint Kitts to say anything. Were they to be in attendance for any longer than what was required by taking on water it might be different, but the fact is that they are there and gone in less than two days and well clear of Dieppe Bay long before the Ranger shows any sign of abandoning her own anchorage. And to the devil with it besides. They've all enough work to do, a lead on a dutch trader that risks slipping away if they linger too long, and what he told Mr Barlow is as true now as it had been before their introduction: it's been some time since the Walrus lost anyone for no good reason, and starting something with Charles Vane over some unlikely name may be the very definition of useless.
Or it's true until exactly six hours after they set sail at which point the ship's monkey, intoxicated out of its wits, falls with a splat from the mainmast. Not technically crew, but the death is felt. The extensive interrogation to discover the animal's vintner and subsequent trial certainly takes all fucking afternoon. So yeah, somewhere between overseeing the lads beat Irving insensible and now it's possible he's forgotten to mention anything about the man he'd met over the books. But what's the worst that could come from it?
--Flint's face turning chalk white when he does, evidently.
"Send for Mr De Groot," Flint eventually says, clipped and sharp and bloodless. The logbook is snapped shut with the ink still wet, a chart shaken out over the desk in its place.
"Now hold on. We are not going back to Saint Kitts just to fight Vane over his bookkeeper--"
They aren't. They don't. Instead they alter course, abandoning their rich dutch trader in favor of a string of more reliable hunting in the passage between here and home. The men don't know the difference - a full hold is a full hold -, but Gates does. He's been looking at the books and his figures aren't that bad. But the route back to Nassau is nearly direct. And it means they have plenty to sign away to Eleanor Guthrie when they get there. And it means Flint has cause to attend to her with the door closed ("I'll see you back at the ship,") after the rates have been settled. And, and, fucking and - your guess is as good as Hal Gates'.
Whatever it is will be settled and forgotten before the Ranger shows up in the bay, he reassures himself. The weather is good and there's cruising worth doing South. It's the season to snatch rum and cane off Trinidad and the Ranger may not do slaves, but it certainly trades in its yield. For that matter, they have every reason to be quickly off again themselves and if Flint won't say much about their purpose here outside of the ordinary, then his best bet is go about business as per usual. See to the patching of sails and the replacement of cordage and re-tarring and finding a new pig and a debating the merits of securing a replacement monkey: "Why not a cat instead? Those at least land upright."
For good measure though, he hires a man with a horse and a spyglass to camp along the island's east coast. Just in case. He's too old not to know the value in avoiding surprises.
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Or it's true until exactly six hours after they set sail at which point the ship's monkey, intoxicated out of its wits, falls with a splat from the mainmast. Not technically crew, but the death is felt. The extensive interrogation to discover the animal's vintner and subsequent trial certainly takes all fucking afternoon. So yeah, somewhere between overseeing the lads beat Irving insensible and now it's possible he's forgotten to mention anything about the man he'd met over the books. But what's the worst that could come from it?
--Flint's face turning chalk white when he does, evidently.
"Send for Mr De Groot," Flint eventually says, clipped and sharp and bloodless. The logbook is snapped shut with the ink still wet, a chart shaken out over the desk in its place.
"Now hold on. We are not going back to Saint Kitts just to fight Vane over his bookkeeper--"
They aren't. They don't. Instead they alter course, abandoning their rich dutch trader in favor of a string of more reliable hunting in the passage between here and home. The men don't know the difference - a full hold is a full hold -, but Gates does. He's been looking at the books and his figures aren't that bad. But the route back to Nassau is nearly direct. And it means they have plenty to sign away to Eleanor Guthrie when they get there. And it means Flint has cause to attend to her with the door closed ("I'll see you back at the ship,") after the rates have been settled. And, and, fucking and - your guess is as good as Hal Gates'.
Whatever it is will be settled and forgotten before the Ranger shows up in the bay, he reassures himself. The weather is good and there's cruising worth doing South. It's the season to snatch rum and cane off Trinidad and the Ranger may not do slaves, but it certainly trades in its yield. For that matter, they have every reason to be quickly off again themselves and if Flint won't say much about their purpose here outside of the ordinary, then his best bet is go about business as per usual. See to the patching of sails and the replacement of cordage and re-tarring and finding a new pig and a debating the merits of securing a replacement monkey: "Why not a cat instead? Those at least land upright."
For good measure though, he hires a man with a horse and a spyglass to camp along the island's east coast. Just in case. He's too old not to know the value in avoiding surprises.