Artemis

There! Kydd exulted. Her face was still turned towards Renzi, but her eyes had flicked sideways.

T am in full accord with you, Miss Bullivant,' Renzi said elegantly. To Kydd's savage delight his slight pause was not rewarded by a bidding to continue. 'Yet there are some who point out that we English regularly consume opium without ill effects — laudanum, your Godfrey's cordial. Could it possibly be that the Chinese character is weaker, less in control?'

As the food arrived, Nunez grunted. 'It is well known, saving your presence, that the English have long sought a species of trade that can balance the books for all the tea they must have - and they care not for its origin.'

There was an uncomfortable silence, the clatter of crockery sounding overly loud. Nunez handled the chopsticks like a native; Sarah was capable but without elegance, and Renzi fumbled. Kydd surveyed the cluster of little dishes and resolutely abstracted the flat-bottomed spoon from a dark sauce dish, which he then proceeded to wield on everything.

'Ah, yes, my friend!' Nunez turned to Renzi. 'The Casa Camoes.' He laid down his chopsticks on their little rest. 'It lies within the grounds of a residencia which is let to Mr Drummond, of your East India Company.' He smiled. 'I do believe that were a young lady to desire entrance then you would more readily gain admittance. Sarah, would you . . .'

Sarah's face tightened. 'Sir, it is not my practice to be observed in public with sailors.'

Kydd flushed. But there was no avoiding it — a woman with Jack Tar ashore had only one purpose.

Nunez's face creased in amusement. 'In that case, let me be of assistance. I have . . . what do you say? The walking-out clothes. They are perhaps unfashionable in these days, and are in the older style, but they would fit you, sir,' he said, looking at Renzi.

They did indeed. Renzi, in double-breasted waistcoat and many-buttoned buff-coloured coat together with cream breeches, elegantly flexed his rather skinny legs. This set off peals of laughter from Sarah. Kydd sat morose and overlooked in the corner.

'M'lady,' Renzi said, sweeping the tall royal blue tricorne hat down in an elegant bow. It was too small, but that only seemed to amuse Sarah the more. He offered his arm, which Sarah took with a gracious nod. Kydd got to his feet. Sarah looked at Renzi uncertainly.

'Miss Bullivant,' said Renzi softly, 'it would oblige me greatly if Mr Kydd were to accompany us.'

She glanced back at Kydd. Her eyes dropped to his lower body, and Kydd's pulse quickened. 'Very well,' she said coolly, looking directiy at him. 'Providing he follows on behind at a distance.'

Kydd boiled over. 'Be damn'd to you!' He thrust towards the door. Outside, he took several deep breaths and set off for the waterfront.

The gloomy berth-deck of Artemis was almost deserted, its clear sweep fore-and-aft interrupted only by a few hammocks. Kydd sat under one of the few lanthorns hung this late in the evening.

He had gone to the Solmar, which was packed with Artemis sailors, but they were all far gone in drink and no proper solace for wounded pride and unslaked lust. Briefly he had toyed with the idea of finding a woman to spend the night with among the throng, but something in his Methodist upbringing and a personal aversion to giving his body to a harlot stopped him.

Thus, in the way of sailors, he had returned to the bosom of his ship. For some reason he had pulled out the sea-chest he and Renzi shared. Here it was, mellowing with age and sea-use and carved with a mermaid cartouche that Renzi had contrived in the long days in the Indian Ocean before Calcutta.

With an unformed wish for repudiation of their friendship Kydd rummaged through its contents, each piece evoking lengthening memories. Neatly stacked along a good quarter of the chest were Renzi's books.

At random he picked one up. These were the real source of Renzi's success, his readiness with words, his effortless authority on all things. Kydd felt a stab of fury at the ease with which he had charmed Sarah. It was now past evening and well into the night — what was he doing to her now? Rage made him choke but with a force of will he crushed the thoughts. If Renzi had succeeded with Sarah, then that was his good luck. He would have done the same. The matter at hand was to get himself to the same level if it were possible — and he would damned well make it so.

Here in his hands was the key. He opened the book. The type was tiny and difficult to read in the guttering lanthorn light; the tide page was flowery and embellished with intertwined pictures of animals. 'D. Diderot - On the Interpretation of Nature it read, together with a flurry of cursive French. Kydd leafed slowly through it: it seemed to deal in unbelievable wordiness with reason and observation, but if this was what gave Renzi the ability to speak, he would ingest it too.

He settled down at the beginning, and read haltingly, disturbed neither by the noisy arrival back on board of drunken and querulous seamen nor the raucous teasing of his shipmates. His eyes grew heavy, the words more difficult, and when Renzi finally returned on board all he could do was remove the book gently from Kydd's slumped figure and shake his head wonderingly.

Almost alone at their breakfast burgoo, Kydd and Renzi ate silently, avoiding each other's eyes. When they finished, neither rose from the mess table.

'Wish y' joy of—'

'I'm to tell you—'

Breaking off in embarrassment, their eyes met. A tentative smile spread over Kydd's features, which was quickly returned by Renzi. 'The Portugee priest wishes to see me again,' said Renzi, with a sigh. 'A disputatious wretch, yet I will indulge him a little further, I believe.' 'And does Miss Bullivant . . .'

'The young lady unaccountably wishes to be remembered to you,' Renzi replied neutrally.

Kydd's voice thickened. 'Last night—'

'Last night I had the felicity of debating the nature of the Chinee, the solemn imperatives of their beliefs and the impervious nature of their society with as erudite a colleague as ever I could wish.'

'But . . .'