Artemis

Kydd's serious expression did not ease. He looked away over the vast waste of tumbling waters and replied, 'An' I'll bring jou to remembrance of what we say at church — 'God save us and keep us — the sea is so big and our ship is so small.''

Renzi kept silent and let Kydd resume work moodily with his needle. He gazed up. The mastheads gyrated against the sky in wide irregular circles, describing never an identical path but always a rough circle. The bowsprit rose and fell each side of the far horizon; the hull thrust and pulled at the body in its continual sinuous forward movement. Everything was in motion, all different, all the same.

'Grog's up soon — I'm going below,' he said, offhandedly. Kydd nodded but did not look up.

The gloom and odour of the berth deck bore on Renzi's spirit. The wearisome constancy of their lives was not congenial to his nature. He had found it necessary to ration his reading, which made the books infinitely the more precious. He had taken up Goethe's Prometheus, Cecilia's parting gift to him, and again found the restless subjectivity not to his liking - but on occasions he had seen her face emerge, ghost-like, from the pages, troubled, concerned. He persevered with the volume.

'Er, yer pardon, Mr Renzi.' It was the petty officer's mess-boy, Will, caught off-guard in his scrubbing of the mess table by Renzi's early return.

'No matter,' said Renzi, rummaging in his sea-chest for the Rousseau. He would spark an interest in his friend for the radical precepts of the philosopher, the supremacy of Nature as the measure of all things, which would lead him to an acceptance of the Noble Savage as the superior form of man. He brightened at the thought of how he would present these jewels of intellect to Kydd one night watch in the comfort of the lee of the weather bulwark. He found the Discours surles sciences et les arts and stuffed it into his ready-use ditty bag for later.

'Get yer arse outa here, skinker.' Haynes's grating voice preceded his wiry figure as he flung aside the canvas screen. Before the noon grog issue was not a good time to be about where Haynes was concerned.

Mullion arrived and sat opposite. His blue-black hair was compressed by the red bandanna he still wore after the hour's gun practice the larbowlines had just finished. He sat sullenly but quiet.

Crow entered and immediately undid the catches of their neat side locker, and passed down glasses. No one spoke until Kydd arrived with the pannikin of rum, which he gave to Crow. The copper measure filled and filled again as the tots were prepared under the gaze of the whole mess — half a pint of best West Indian rum to each petty officer, dark and rich.

The last of the rum did not fill the measure. Crow paused, and looked up. In the silence Haynes's voice held whispered menace. 'Kydd - he's bin bleedin' the monkey!'

It was nonsense, of course. But Kydd knew he would have to confront the challenge, face Haynes or back down. He didn't hesitate. His open face broke into a broad smile.

Almost immediately Mullion took it up and snorted in mock derision. 'Kydd? He's green enough, he'd let 'em gull 'im on the measures. I'll 'ave that.'

Crow's eyes flicked over to Haynes, but he passed the glasses round.

The rum was grateful to the stomach, even if it was suffused by the taste of half an ounce per man of lemon juice, insisted upon by Powlett as the most reliable method of forcing the consumption of the anti-scorbutic. The mood lightened.

'Fair makes me qualmish, seein' that devil-fish trailin' in our wake all day,' Mullion rumbled. The shark had been following them for days, seldom more than thirty yards astern, its great pale bulk shimmering a few feet below the waves.

Renzi spoke for the first time. 'It's interested in our gash only,' he said, referring to the mush of bones and organic refuse that was pitched overside after every meal.

'No, it ain't,' Haynes spat. 'It's waitin' - there's some soul aboard it's waitin' for, it knows who that is, an' it's a-waitin' fer the time that's written fer 'im.'

'So what d'ye want to do about it? Shark's not easy ter kill,' Crow responded mildly.

'We rigs a tackle aft, streams a line an' hook with a lump o' pork, and when it strikes, all the watch on deck tails on an' heaves it aboard, holus bolus.' His eyes gleamed. 'An then we kills it.'

Mullion grunted. 'Seen one caught that way - in Amphion frigate in Antigua. We was at anchor, an' had one o' them big white monsters fair 'n' square b' the throat. Couldn't land it on deck till we had a purchase around its tail, an' a full luff tackle on that — what a mauler!

'Near an hour it took, mates, afore we had it on the fore-deck, an' that's but half the story. Threshin' around right mad it was, near a ton o' weight smashin' an' snappin' with its great mouth open — yer could see right inside, teeth an' all.' He paused in open admiration. 'Then we has ter settle it. At it like demons we was, a-hittin' and a- slicin' -blood and gizzards all over the decks, twenty on us, an' still it weren't finished. OF Davey, he slips in the blood 'n' in a flash them teeth has a slice outa his hide.'

Mullion swayed back in his seat as if backing away from the sight. Taking another pull of his rum he grimaced. 'So help me, Joe, when we cut 'im open, 'is heart still beats right there in me hand - an' his tail still twistin' even tho' it's cut right orf his body!'

'What did yer find in the stomach, Jeb?' Crow wanted to know.

The table perked up in interest. Human skulls and gold watches impervious to stomach acids were not unknown. 'Last night's supper,' was the prompt reply, bringing reluctant grins all round.

In a reflective quiet the mess finished their rum. Haynes raised his head and looked squarely at Kydd, who gazed back forthrightly. 'So where are we at now, mate?' he asked, as if in atonement for his manner before.

Kydd noted with satisfaction the assumption that he was in on the officer-like secret of their position, but in truth he had no idea — latitude and longitude were not yet in his experience, which was mainly in the fair copying of Prewse's working notes.

'We're headed f'r the di'metric meridian,' he said, hoping that he had heard it right, 'an' we're still a few days off.'

'Di'metick who?' said Haynes, in disgust. 'Never heard any who's bin there.'