The cursive script flows unsteadily across the page- the writer has clearly been drinking.
Writing from the most lovely bar! Really, the stuff they got here is Quite Fantastick. Met a couple of nice young ladies who have just now excused themselves to the powder room-if you ever decide that this whole marriage thing isn’t your bag, I’m bringing you here on holiday post-haste!
It’s been two weeks since my unexpected departure, and I apologize for not writing sooner; I’m sorry to say it seems that this little excursion is wandering further afield than anticipated. This mission labors under the triple misfortune of poor planning, poor weather, and poor leadership. My own attempts to propose a cohesive strategy were rebuffed by the miles of red tape they have miraculously stowed aboard the two vessels we have been traveling in. It’s a mixed lot to be sure- the Guild suits are running pell-mell about the ship, looking for the closest superior officer so they can lick their boots and get a good report. A group our own boys in uniform are aboard, with the King’s blessing…makes me think that Melvin probably knew about this, no logistical detail no matter how small escapes the microscope that is his attention; perhaps I will have to consult him about this affair at some later date.
Haven’t had a chance to speak to Mr. G as of yet, he seems to be aboard the other ship with most of the soldiers. The Knights are about (couldn’t be less surprised, if there’s business to stick a nose in, they’re first in line for a sniff), though the CO is certainly not one of them. The enigmatic Captain Riley has made few appearances; I’ve scarcely spoken to him twice since coming aboard, though I’ve seen him sneak out to the taverns at night, and leave with pleasant company about his waist.
My orders are profoundly boring- once the higher ups realized that we merely need to monitor the flow of the illegal goods to discern their source, they sent me out to “pound the pavement”, as they referred to it. I put on a serious face, said my “yes, sirs!”, and have had a quite enjoyable four days getting pissed at every pub I can find and examining the local…finery. I used the Usual Method, and it was, as always, successful. I found the ship they want- the “Marvel of Calliope”- yesterday, though if my calculations are correct it should take the Tac.O., a Lt. Pettycoats or somesuch, till later today to figure it out from the port’s records for the last annum. I doubt they’ll agree to pay me if they knew- I’ll have to make up some cock and bull story for them, say that I’ve been spending my time greasing up the local riff raff to see who’s been getting extra coin. Who knows, maybe I’ll even let him think he figured it out himself- poor lad’s been awful tense, the Captain really seems to grate his nerves, he could use a win.
Do hope that holding down the Offyce on your own is not too much of a burden for you, again apologies for delaying your holiday with the girl. If Charles is breaking things, feel free to lock him up under the cupboard for a few days- for a manservant, he causes far more problems than he’s worth.
I think we shall be setting sail again in the morn, do not know when I will be able to write again- Margarete and Elena (Ellen? Esther?) are back from the powder room now. Here’s a glass of brandy to you and your impending nuptials!
As always, in Trust and Confidence,