Snippet #1249126

For the last eight days, James Viteri had kept largely to himself. Much of his time had been spent with the paperwork he had brought with him to occupy himself on the long journey. But even that could only take up so many hours. He used the rest of it to gain a working knowledge of how the ship was run. Anything that worked fascinated him and he was intrigued by the system of command established on the ship, he wanted to know how the rotas were organised, how the sails were rigged and how their course was calculated. He knew well enough not to waste the sailors' valuable time by bombarding them with incessant questions (he would not have taken kindly to a tourist delving into the workings of his own company) and instead observed and struck up conversation only when it was convenient for the other. He spent time on deck, reading his book and occasionally watching the sailors change the aspect of the sail to catch a tailwind. He sat next to the navigator at dinner and his interest was rewarded with a chance to view the navigational charts. With the other passengers, however, James had had little to do.

He'd been on deck when the lookout had called out from the birds-nest on the top of the mast and he'd watched as, one by one, four white specks had appeared on the horizon.

"Not allied ships, I take it," said James, coming to stand beside the captain. "Tordardian?"

He was not afraid of those four dots on the horizon. In truth, he was angry; angry that their plan should be disrupted so soon, angry that he'd been persuaded to accompany the diplomatic cargo and angry that he should be drawn into this idiotic war in the process.