Artemis

Renzi looked at him speculatively. The mess fell silent, for Renzi as an aggrieved party was still an unknown.

'Nicholas . . .' Kydd began.

'No, fair question.' Renzi looked down at the table, and when his face looked up again, it was with a smile touched with a degree of serious introspection, a look Kydd recognised immediately. 'I do confess to a liking - no, a respect and honour for their metaphysick. They approach matters of logic in a curious and obscure way, and I am determined to learn of it at origin. And I am not too proud to say that it may reveal truths that might in fact reflect ill on our own polity.' He drained his pot and left.

The final approach of the two vessels as they stood towards the coast saw a strengthening of the wind and a steepening of the waves, which obliged them to shorten sail. On deck foul-weather gear made its appearance in the thickening spray, and the few sightseers disappeared below.

Next to the Master was the stumpy figure of the just-boarded China Seas pilot, who looked more confident than the near proximity of a rocky coast would have seemed to justify. In sight there were only islands dark green with bamboo clumps interspersed with grey rocky outcrops, against which the seas surged in soundless white explosions.

The brisk gale whipped the wave-tops to an angry white, leaving tiger claws in their wake, and the vessels lurched awkwardly. Even the doughty fishing junks were retiring towards the land, and the two foreign ships found themselves converging with them on an obscure passage opening up to leeward.

Helm over, Artemis bore away downwind, and slipped down the narrow channel between the steep sides of a large island on one side and the mainland on the other. A cluster of hovels, a small jetty and bobbing sampans of a tiny fishing village and they were through. The seas moderated, and the ship settled for the run into a fine harbour of at least five miles of roadstead sheltered on three sides.

Apart from one or two more of the stilted fisher-villages there was nothing to break the barren appearance of the steep rocky island, but ahead there was a flat peninsula pointing directly at the centre of the island.

'Pray what is this place?' said the envoy.

The pilot started, then gave a jerky half-bow. 'They calls it Heung Kong, m'lord, means 'Place of the fragrant waters' on account o' the good waterin' to be had after a long sea v'yage.'

There were masts and yards visible beyond the peninsula, and Lord Elmhurst gestured at them. 'It would seem that we are not the only mariners to appreciate its qualities,' he said.

'Well, now, m'lord, that's 'cos we have here a port o' refuge that's good enough even f'r a tai fung — what they calls a regular goin' hurricane hereabouts.' The pilot noticed the envoy's eyebrows rise and hastened to add, 'Not as we're likely to get one this late in th' season.'

They passed the tip of the peninsula and its scattering of huts. The harbour opened up spectacularly, steep islands and sea passages in a maze on all sides. Sampans and fishing junks passed them by with not even a curious look at the trim and deadly frigate.

'Haaaands to moor ship!' With best bower anchor cleared away, Artemis took in sail and glided to a standstill, her anchor tumbling down into the jade-green waters and leaving the man-o'-war to her longed-for rest.

'Mr Merrydew.'

'Sir?' The boatswain touched his hat unwillingly. There was much to do in a ship that had travelled so far.

'Lord Elmhurst will proceed upriver to see the Chinese Viceroy in Canton. As you know, the navigation is hazardous for great ships - sandbars and shoals - so he will instead take passage in a John Company cutter. We will provide the crew. Find five men you know are reliable and tell them to muster in the waist at six bells in their best rig.' Powlett's head thrust forward and his eyes narrowed. 'And should they be taken by barrel fever and bring dishonour to this ship, I will personally see their liver at the gangway. Do I make myself clear?'

The East India Company cutter Leila leant to the keen wind, slashing through the waves like a knife. It was Kydd's first experience of true fore-and-aft rig — the tiny square topsail did not really count — and it was a revelation. There was no way the craft could take to the open ocean, but inshore its speed and ability to lie close to the wind made it ideal.

Now on their way up the Pearl river, Kydd saw ahead: where the two sides of the bay rapidly swept together into twin high bluffs, the river constricted to less than a mile. High above, frowning down from the eminence of the craggy rock face, were two facing forts exceptionally well placed to command the approaches.

'Chuen Pi,' the pilot said to Lord Elmhurst, who sat in an ornate canvas chair on the after deck. 'Or, as the Portuguese have it, Boca Tigris — the tiger's mouth.'

Kydd, tending the main sheets with Adam, was able to take in every word. He would try to remember the details, for Renzi had not been selected for this duty. 'Like a pusser's shirt on a marline spike,' was the boatswain's unkind comment; the tropics had indeed left Renzi thin and rangy. With a twinge Kydd remembered the forlorn devastation on Renzi's face as he had left to go on to witness the marvels of the Orient at first hand without him.

A puff of smoke jetted from one fort, followed a little later by a hollow boom. The sound reverberated between the high sides of the passage and Kydd thought he could detect the almost tuneful resonance of bronze cannon.

Minutes later, the gaudy ribbed sails of a war-junk appeared from behind a prominence. The three lateen-rigged sails worked against each other to achieve remarkable manoeuvrability.

'Back yer topsail an' brail up!' growled Quinlan, the Master's mate at the tiller. The cutter slowed to a stop as the sails were dowsed, and she wallowed uncomfortably.

'Shouldn't have any trouble,' the pilot said. 'We does the run every week, an' there's no squeeze unless y'r carryin' cargo.'

The war-junk dipped and plunged towards them, pennants and streamers in the wind, a big painted eye on each bow. It passed down one side; Kydd saw weed and sea-growth hanging long and unkempt, the sailors in their curious conical hats lounging, bored.