Artemis

topsails.

'Tom, what's this, mate?' Doud, from his position astride the cathead, pointed aft. A sampan with two passengers in it was overhauling them from their quarter. There was no mistaking the occupants - Sarah and Ah Lee.

Kydd didn't know whether to cry or urge them on. Every so often one of the figures stood, swaying dangerously in the little craft and waving furiously. They were coming up fast, but the topsails on the ship tumbled down from their yards and were sheeted home with a will. The frigate bowed slightly under the bellying sails and immediately the ripple of a bow wave started.

For a time, the sampan kept with them, but as the trim frigate caught the wind, the ripple in the bows turned to a chuckle and the little boat fell frantically astern. The ship now set courses: the big driving sails flapped and banged as they dropped, but when they were set Artemis showed her true breeding. She lay to the winds and foamed ahead.

Kydd took one last look at the tiny figure in the sampan and sank into dumb misery. The lump in his throat was choking him, and he could hardly see.

Artemis gathered speed for the open sea.

Chapter 9

‘I allow that it was my decision, but it was th' right one, - and I'm man enough I can stand the consequences,' Kydd said firmly. His eyes were dark-rimmed but there was an air of tenacious resolve about him.

With the coast of China a diminishing grey blur astern, Renzi noted that Kydd had his eyes set ahead, to seaward. He deeply admired his friend's strength of mind, but he knew there would remain a sorrow that would take a long time to pass.

'But I beg you will not talk any more of it,' Kydd added. Renzi nodded, and looked out ahead also. 'It seems that we are on our way home, shipmate,' he said regretfully. 'Yes.'

'Back to the war.' 'Yes,' Kydd said again.

'Some would say that this means prize money once more, and liberty ashore in England to spend it.'

Kydd turned to Renzi, who saw with relief a very small smile. 'Aye, Nicholas, and you will not see y'r Peking.'

Renzi laughed. 'True enough. I had my heart set on meeting at least one si fu at the Ching court.' But he had learnt there was no chance at all of that. Barbarians would always be held at arm's length by the narrow, suspicious Chinese.

'We're to touch at Manila on our way back, I believe.'

'It would appear to be a motion to take advantage of our presence in these waters, to show the Spanish that we have the means to defend our interests if need be.'

'But we're not at war with them?'

'Not so far as I know — and the opportunity is too good to miss, sending a first-class fighting ship to remind them . . .' His words were cut off by the urgent rattling of a drum at the main hatch aft.

'Quarters!' Renzi exclaimed. However, it could only be an exercise. It was typical of Powlett to put the ship back in martial order before they had even sunk the land astern.

Stirk looked up as Kydd clattered down the fore hatchway and hastened to his gun. 'You, Kydd,' he growled. 'Cap'n wants th' gun captain to choose another second ter be trained up at each gun. I choose you.'

Kydd's stare relaxed to a surprised smile. Stirk did no one favours where his gun was concerned; he obviously thought Kydd the best man for the job. Kydd fell back to the rear of the gun, next to Stirk but to one side.

'No, mate, yer captain fer now,' Stirk said, unslinging his gunner's pouch and giving it to Kydd. He stepped aside.

Kydd took position, immediately behind the fat breech of the gun. It felt very different to know that the whole elaborate ballet of the gun crew would now take its time from him. The gun crew returned his gaze with differing expressions - boredom, seriousness, interest — but never contempt or distrust. Renzi regarded him gravely, with the tiniest ghost of a smile. Kydd's nervousness settled. He glanced sideways at Stirk.

'Go on, cully, take charge then,' Stirk snapped.

'Cast loose!' Kydd ordered. After Stirk's tough growl, his own voice seemed weak and thin, but the muzzle was obediently cut free and the crew took up their positions. Kydd looked again at Stirk, but the man stood impassive, his arms folded. Kydd turned back to the gun. Ah, yes, test the gunlock. He inspected the big lock on the top of the breech; the gunflint did not move in its clamp and the hammer eased back to full cock on its greased steel with a heavy firmness.

He yanked at the lanyard secured to the gunlock. It gave positively and, with a lethal-sounding steely click, a suitably fat spark jumped across. His confidence increased as his orders had the gun crew sweating at their tasks, rammer and sponge flailing as they hauled the heavy iron beast in and out in simulated battle.

At stand easy, his crew sat wearily on deck, their backs to the carriage, gossiping, just as he had done not so very long ago.

'That'll do, Tom,' Stirk said, a glimmer of approval just discernible. 'Now listen ter me . . .' There followed a stream of advice, given in gruff monosyllables, ranging from using a thumb on the vent-hole to tell from the air when the cartridge was fully rammed, to firing just as the deck began dipping on the downward part of a roll to ensure that the ball would smash home directly into the enemy hull.

Kydd wiped his hands on his trousers. Now they would try three rounds at a mark - his own gun, pointed and served by him.

'Load with cartridge!' It was his first live order.

The powder monkey already had his box containing the cartridge and Renzi helped himself to the grey flannel cylinder. He placed it carefully in the muzzle and the double-ended rammer was twirled to send it down the bore.

There was a definite jet of air up the cold iron of the vent-hole, which Kydd felt with his thumb as the cartridge approached the breech end. When this stopped he held up an arm. Renzi and the others bent to their wad and shot,