Chapter 12I quickly learned the rudiments of cooking. After all, it was not much different from preparing potions. By the time the Wanderer was ready to shove off, I could produce an edible meal. And by the time she started the return leg of her journey, the crew was declaring me “the best damn cook the old tub’s ever had,’ although I did not know how much of their approbation was due to not having to do the cooking themselves.
The Wanderer had just sailed into Port-of-Spain, our last port before we began the journey home. She would take on a cargo of coffee, sugar and cocoa, as well as the coal that would fuel us back to Hoboken.
I looked up from the dishes I was washing in the scullery. Lunch was finished, and I would not need to make dinner this evening. “Good afternoon, Frank Johanse
