Tides of Lust
The ship sailed west on a freshening breeze.
The Kestrel was no man-of-war. She was a merchant ship, but still a taut vessel, trim and well-ordered, if not particularly swift. White sails billowed out from the three tall masts, and the ropes on her decks were neatly coiled. The sailors shimmied up and down the lines, and the officer of the watch paced the deck regally, confident in his skill and the might of the British Navy to keep him safe. Her prow pointed a few degrees south of due west, making good speed through the waters of the north Atlantic. The sky was fair and the waves low and rolling, with only a slight rise and dip in the planks underfoot, something the sailors adjusted to without thought.
If only his own life was as organized, William Suffield thought glumly
