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"You want me to do what?!" James demanded in cold disbelief as he turned to face his father.
"It seemed perfectly clear what I was asking, " the old man said in total disregard to his son's anger.
"Does he know anything about the sea?"
"No."
James took a step closer to the old man. "Does he know anything about ships?"
"No."
"Has he ever even been on a ship?"
"No."
"Does he know anything about going to sea for three months?"
"No." His father removed a small, square, white piece of fabric and a white enameled box from his vest, took a pinch of snuff from the container, and delicately inhaled it. He viewed his son's reaction with calm assuredness. He sneezed into his white handkerchief, wiped his nose and replaced both the piece of white lawn and lace, and the box, into his pocket.
"Let me get this straight. I'm to take a novice on board the WHITE RAVEN, train him, keep him safe from my men...who will enjoy taunting and teasing him to no end since he is so green... sail my ship to Italy, and keep an eye out for pirates."
"Surely it isn't more than you can handle, " the old man said with a faint smile."You often regale me on your exploits and tell me repeatedly that you're capable of handling anything. Are you now telling me everything you've ever shared with me was fabrication?"
"My ability to handle a crisis has nothing to do with this! I've enough trouble on voyages, Father; you don't know... I won't do it." He turned back to the window, trying to release the animosity that still bubbled inside him. That emotion had risen to the surface too many times in the last eight months. It was time to let go of it...but it always seemed to linger so close to the top of his reactions to everything...too ready, too willing, too strong. He wasn't sure he could erase it now.
"The ship belongs to me. Have you forgotten that?" He waited until William James pivoted slowly to stare in icy warning at the man who had helped given him birth. That look had chilled many a man, had sent them quaking to their knees, but it didn't faze the man who sat majestically in his brocade chair. "It does not need you to be it's captain. I do not need you to be it's captain. Need I go further?"

"Damn you, " James muttered beneath his breath. Aloud, he demanded, "Why?"
"Someone is trying to kill him."
"I fail to see how that affects me."
"His father saved me trice during the war."
"So?"
"So? So!?" His father fought to calm himself. "There are times I cannot stand you, William James. And to think, your mother named you after three kings! Kings! If she could see you now. "If you weren't so much like your mother..." He stopped, changed his words. "When the young man was six, his father went to visit his estates in Wales. When he returned, he found the mother and son had been brutalized, had been kept locked up in the attic. Both of them had been..." The old man found he could not say the words. "Horace was gone two months. That whole time..." Again the old man couldn't finish the sentence. "The mother killed herself, soon after being rescued. The boy stopped talking, and has not spoken since."
"So he is mute as well as off-balance?"
"He is mute but he is not off-balance. His mind is as clear and as sharp as yours." His son nodded once. "William, there have been four attempts on his life, one inside their own home. His father tried hiding him in Wales, but someone got to the servants and... Horace has begged me to help him and his son. I could not turn them away. Surely you can understand this! If it had been you..." His father shook his head to deny that very possibility.
"Does your friend know who is behind these attacks?"
"He has no proof but he thinks it is the younger son."
"Good God!" James pinched the bridge to his nose. "Still..."
"If you will not do it out of Christian Charity, then do it because you love me."
"Do I love you?" James asked, his face straight.
"You do. We're due to visit them this afternoon."
"Rather sure of yourself, weren't you?"
"I was sure of you." Still, indecision altered his express-ion, the tone of his voice: "Will you do it?"
"There are no free rides on my ship, and it is my ship! I saved her more than once while you sit safe here before your fire with your hot porridge tucked inside you!."
"Granted she is more yours than mine."
"I'll not have him lollygagging around, sitting on his arse, waiting for someone to spit and polish his shoes."
"He is not that kind, William."
"I will do it, but you owe me one."
"That too I will grant you."
"What is the name of this tongueless victim?"
"Young, Raymond Young."

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