Hornblower Fic: Cannon in D, Part 2
Title: Cannon in D
Characters: Bush, Hornblower, OCs
Warning: None
Note: If only they were mine, but the boys belong to the Hornblower Estate.
Edit: Italics added--oops.
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Swearing and sweating, the men hauled the guns up the cobblestone streets of Trieste. They had no proper field carriages but had to use the small-wheeled naval carriages from the ship. It was hot work despite the sea wind at their backs. When they stopped to rest by a fountain, Bush looked down at the Nonsuch at anchor in the harbor. He thought she was uncommonly handsome. Though a third-rate ship of the line with seventy-four heavy guns, she had the graceful lines of a frigate, and her black and yellow hull gleamed in the fading sunlight. He did not like going ashore and leaving her in this foreign port, though he reminded himself that he had left her in the hands of an able and sensible first lieutenant.
They continued up the street, every step a struggle against gravity and the gun carriages. The neighborhood housewives, wary after years of warfare, shuttered the windows as they passed. Bush could hardly blame them. Napoleon’s troops had occupied this city three times in the past fifteen years. The houses were painted in pastel hues, pale blue and rose and salmon, reflecting the hues of the sunset over the bay. Strangely, this place reminded him of the cities of the Baltic, Riga and Copenhagen. Except for the flowering vines that trailed over the walls.
Young Gerard pushed a sweaty curl back from his face. He bore a striking resemblance to his uncle, but Bush tried not to hold that against him. “Pardon me for asking, sir, but what does this Count Razumovsky want the Nonsuch's guns for?” It was not an unreasonable question; it was the sort of question that Hornblower had always asked when he was a junior officer. The war had moved on from this city several weeks ago.
“We will find out from the Count, Mr. Gerard. Get those men moving,” Bush replied shortly.
Put your guns and crew at the disposal of Count Razumovsky, their orders had said. The Count requests that you send an artillerist with highly developed musical sensibility who can sight-read musical notation. Bush and Hornblower were equally puzzled by this statement. Bush’s guess was that this nobleman was insane. This wouldn’t be the first madman that the Admiralty had allied them with. He thought with disgust of the late Don Julian Alvarado. High-ranking diplomats and officials will be at the Count’s palace, the orders continued. Avoid any unnecessary show of force, and exercise due caution. Bush could deal with cutthroats, with pirates or mutineers, but the thought of facing diplomats made his blood run cold. He was grateful that Hornblower would be waiting for them when they arrived. That morning, the Count had sent a coach with matching black horses to take Commodore Hornblower to the palace. Bush wished that this Count had sent some horses to help with the guns, but civilians rarely understood the problems involved in transporting artillery.
At the top of the hill, they stopped before a massive structure with a marble façade. Torches burned on each column, and sentries stood at attention by the towering doors. Several coaches waited in a line. Bush saw no sign of Hornblower and had just decided to hail one of the sentries when a balding man in a flowered waistcoat staggered up to them and gave a hasty bow.
“Captain Bush, I presume. I am honored to meet you, sir.”
Characters: Bush, Hornblower, OCs
Warning: None
Note: If only they were mine, but the boys belong to the Hornblower Estate.
Edit: Italics added--oops.
*********************************
Swearing and sweating, the men hauled the guns up the cobblestone streets of Trieste. They had no proper field carriages but had to use the small-wheeled naval carriages from the ship. It was hot work despite the sea wind at their backs. When they stopped to rest by a fountain, Bush looked down at the Nonsuch at anchor in the harbor. He thought she was uncommonly handsome. Though a third-rate ship of the line with seventy-four heavy guns, she had the graceful lines of a frigate, and her black and yellow hull gleamed in the fading sunlight. He did not like going ashore and leaving her in this foreign port, though he reminded himself that he had left her in the hands of an able and sensible first lieutenant.
They continued up the street, every step a struggle against gravity and the gun carriages. The neighborhood housewives, wary after years of warfare, shuttered the windows as they passed. Bush could hardly blame them. Napoleon’s troops had occupied this city three times in the past fifteen years. The houses were painted in pastel hues, pale blue and rose and salmon, reflecting the hues of the sunset over the bay. Strangely, this place reminded him of the cities of the Baltic, Riga and Copenhagen. Except for the flowering vines that trailed over the walls.
Young Gerard pushed a sweaty curl back from his face. He bore a striking resemblance to his uncle, but Bush tried not to hold that against him. “Pardon me for asking, sir, but what does this Count Razumovsky want the Nonsuch's guns for?” It was not an unreasonable question; it was the sort of question that Hornblower had always asked when he was a junior officer. The war had moved on from this city several weeks ago.
“We will find out from the Count, Mr. Gerard. Get those men moving,” Bush replied shortly.
Put your guns and crew at the disposal of Count Razumovsky, their orders had said. The Count requests that you send an artillerist with highly developed musical sensibility who can sight-read musical notation. Bush and Hornblower were equally puzzled by this statement. Bush’s guess was that this nobleman was insane. This wouldn’t be the first madman that the Admiralty had allied them with. He thought with disgust of the late Don Julian Alvarado. High-ranking diplomats and officials will be at the Count’s palace, the orders continued. Avoid any unnecessary show of force, and exercise due caution. Bush could deal with cutthroats, with pirates or mutineers, but the thought of facing diplomats made his blood run cold. He was grateful that Hornblower would be waiting for them when they arrived. That morning, the Count had sent a coach with matching black horses to take Commodore Hornblower to the palace. Bush wished that this Count had sent some horses to help with the guns, but civilians rarely understood the problems involved in transporting artillery.
At the top of the hill, they stopped before a massive structure with a marble façade. Torches burned on each column, and sentries stood at attention by the towering doors. Several coaches waited in a line. Bush saw no sign of Hornblower and had just decided to hail one of the sentries when a balding man in a flowered waistcoat staggered up to them and gave a hasty bow.
“Captain Bush, I presume. I am honored to meet you, sir.”