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immaterial, they looked authentic. The task had fallen to Jesamiah because Taylor had been here before, several times. On the last occasion, only by a stroke of good fortune had he avoided an intimate friendship with those gallows.
    Garrison quarters, blacksmith, sailmaker, cooper’s bothies. Kitchens, bakery, armoury – the usual cramped bustle of a full-strength fortress. Jesamiah found the harbourmaster’s office tucked two doors along, with Erik Vorst seated behind a desk awash with a glut of papers and documents. A sullen, fat-bellied man with bad breath, and from the way he continuously belched, a martyr to chronic indigestion.
    “Where is your captain then?” Vorst asked testily as he squinted at the illegible writing on the two documents Jesamiah handed him. “It is usual for the captain to present these, not his subordinate.”
    “As it is usual for the Mary Anne ’s captain to be drunk in his cot. He will not emerge for another four and twenty hours yet,” Jesamiah answered smoothly, his deep, husky voice losing the clipped pirate accent he used when aboard with the men. Jesamiah was educated, able to read, write, tally numbers and knew the intricacies of navigation. It came in useful to be able to change his speech patterns as necessity demanded.
    Vorst belched again and scratched beneath his armpit, releasing a pungent smell of body odour. Drunk? Ja , he had heard the same before. “Where are you bound?”
    “Bombay, Calcutta. Might cruise on down to Sumatra or Java.” Jesamiah lied as he perched one buttock on the corner of the desk, ignoring the ensuing frown of disapproval. “What I would prefer to do is go on to New Holland – Australia some are calling it now, are they not? Have a go at circumnavigation. Round the world, eh? What an adventure!” He narrowed his eyes and peered into an imaginary distance, enjoying the false embellishment of conversation.
    He could think of nothing more dreadful than sailing all the way around the globe. Pitting ship and soul against those monstrous seas off Cape Horn? No thank you! Bravado might suit some, but he had all the excitement he needed in the existence he already had. He sighed, slapped his hands against his thighs and rubbed them along the worn canvas of his breeches. “The Mary Anne is not suitably equipped for such a journey, and our captain is not,” he paused smoothed his moustache, his embarrassment apparently genuine. “I was going to say competent, but that sounds disloyal. Intrepid, perhaps?”
    Failing to see the lie, shrugging, the harbourmaster rolled the ship’s papers and handed them back to Jesamiah along with the document giving permission to be anchored. “ Dank u . Hand this in at the gate as you leave, it’ll ensure the guns are stood down. In my opinion for such a venture you either have to be barking mad or an utter bore. We have both lack-lustre qualities residing here in Cape Town at the moment. Captain Woodes Rogers put in two months ago.” He vaguely gestured over his shoulder. “His ships are in harbour, you must have noticed them? Duke and Duchess . I wish to God he’d stay his mouth, return aboard and clear off back to England. If I hear one more account of how he captured the Acapulco Galleon or Nuestra Señora, I’ll cut my throat.” Vorst muttered quietly under his breath, “Or his.”
    Jesamiah frowned. He had noticed the ships, had taken a careful look at what was anchored as they sailed into harbour to ensure the Christina Giselle was not among them. It would not do to be recognised. “Rogers? Never heard of him.”
    “Nor do you want to. He seems to have made a profitable job of his privateering commission against Spain and is determined to ensure everyone knows about it. His holds are stuff-packed with Spanish bullion, so he claims. Don’t believe a word of it myself.”
    Carefully, Jesamiah schooled his face to remain neutral, although it was difficult to keep the gleam of lust from his eyes. Two rich