Palliser watched the master-at-arms returning with the boatswain. “Really, I am surprised your confidences did not extend that far.”
Bolitho hid a smile as Palliser strode away. He did not know either. After three years together that was something.
Bolitho stood beside Rhodes at the taffrail and watched the colourful activity of Funchal Harbour and its busy waterfront. Destiny lay at her anchor, with only the quarter-boat and the captain’s gig in the water alongside. It did not look as if anyone would be allowed ashore, Bolitho thought.
Local boats with quaint curling stems and stern-posts milled around the frigate, their occupants holding up fruit and bright shawls, big jars of wine and many other items to tempt the sailors who thronged the gangways or waved from the shrouds and tops.
Destiny had anchored in mid-afternoon, and all hands had stayed on deck to watch the final approach, drinking in the beauty of what Dumaresq had rightly described as an attractive island. The hills beyond the white buildings were filled with beautiful flowers and shrubs, a sight indeed after the wild passage through the Bay. That, and the two floggings which had been carried out even as the ship had changed tack for their final approach, were forgotten.
Rhodes smiled and pointed at one boat. It contained three dark-haired girls who lay back on their cushions and stared boldly up at the young officers. It was obvious what they hoped to sell.
Captain Dumaresq had gone ashore almost as soon as the smoke of the gun salute to the Portuguese governor had dispersed. He had told Palliser he was going to meet the governor and pay his respects, but Rhodes said later, “He’s too excited for a mere social visit, Dick. I smell intrigue in the air.”
The gig had returned with instructions that Lockyer, the captain’s clerk, was to go ashore with some papers from the cabin strong-box. He was down there now fussing about with his bag of documents while the side-party arranged for a boatswain’s chair to sway him out and down into the gig.
Palliser joined them and said disdainfully, “Look at the old fool. Never goes ashore, but when he does they have to rig a chair in case he falls and drowns!”
Rhodes grinned as the clerk was finally lowered into the boat. “Must be the oldest man aboard.”
Bolitho thought about it. That was something else he had discovered. It was a young company, with very few senior hands like those he had known in the big seventy-four. The sailing master of a man-of-war was usually getting on in years by the time he was appointed, but Gulliver was under thirty.
Most of the hands lounging at the nettings or employed about the decks looked in good health. It was mostly due to the surgeon, Rhodes had said. That was the value of a medical man who cared, and who had the knowledge to fight the dreaded scurvy and other diseases which could cripple a whole ship.
Bulkley was one of the few privileged ones. He had gone ashore with orders from the captain to purchase all the fresh fruit and juices he thought necessary, while Codd, the purser, had similar instructions on the matter of vegetables.
Bolitho removed his hat and let the sun warm his face. It would be good to explore that town. Sit in a shady tavern like those Bulkley and some of the others had described.
The gig had reached the jetty now and some of Destiny’s marines were making a passage through a watching crowd for old Lockyer to get through.
Palliser said, “I see that your shadow is nearby.”
Bolitho turned his head and saw Stockdale kneeling beside a twelve-pounder on the gun-deck. He was listening to Vallance, the ship’s gunner, and then making gestures with his hand beneath the carriage. Bolitho saw Vallance nod and then clap Stockdale on the shoulder.
That was unusual. He already knew that Vallance was not the easiest warrant officer to get along with. He was jealous about everything in his domain, from magazine to gun crews, from maintenance to the wear and tear of tackle.
He came aft and touched his hat to Palliser.
“That new man Stockdale, sir. He’s solved a problem with a gun I’ve been bothered with for months. It was a replacement, y’see. I’ve not been happy about it.” He gave a rare smile. “Stockdale thinks we could get the carriage reset by…”
Palliser spread his hands. “You amaze me, Mr Vallance. But do what you must.” He glanced at Bolitho. “Your man may not say much, but he is certainly finding his place.”
Bolitho saw Stockdale looking up at him from the gun-deck. He nodded and saw the man smile, his battered face screwed up in the sunlight.
Jury, who was the midshipman of the watch, called, “Gig’s shoved off, sir!”
“That was quick!” Rhodes snatched a telescope. “If it’s the captain coming back already, I’d better…” He gasped and added quickly, “Sir, they’re bringing Lockyer with them!”
Palliser took a second glass and levelled it on the green-painted gig. Then he said quietly, “The clerk’s dead. Sergeant Barmouth is holding him.”
Bolitho took the telescope from Rhodes. For the moment he could see nothing unusual. The smart gig was pulling strongly towards the ship, the white oars rising and falling in perfect unison, the crew in their red checkered shirts and tarred hats a credit to their coxswain.
Then as the gig swung silently to avoid a drifting log, Bolitho saw the marine sergeant, Barmouth, holding the wispy-haired clerk so that he would not fall into the sternsheets.
There was a terrible wound across his throat, which in the sunlight was the same colour as the marine’s tunic.
Rhodes murmured, “And the surgeon’s ashore with most of his assistants. God, there’ll be hell to pay for this!”
Palliser snapped his fingers. “That man you brought aboard with the other new hands, the apothecary’s assistant? Where is he, Mr Bolitho?”
Rhodes said quickly, “I’ll fetch him, sir. He was doing some jobs in the sick-bay, just to test him out, the surgeon said.”
Palliser looked at Jury. “Tell the boatswain’s mate to rig another tackle.” He rubbed his chin. “This was no accident.”
The local boats parted to allow the gig to glide to the main chains.
There was something like a great sigh as the small, untidy boat was hauled up the side and swung carefully above the gangway. Some blood ran down on to the deck, and Bolitho saw the man who had joined his recruiting party hurrying with Rhodes to take charge of the corpse.
The apothecary’s assistant’s name was Spillane. A neat, self-contained man, not the sort who would leave security to seek adventure or even experience, Bolitho would have thought. But he seemed competent, and as he watched him telling the seamen what to do, Bolitho was glad he was aboard.
Sergeant Barmouth was saying, “Yessir, I’d just made sure that the clerk was safely through the crowd, an’ was about to take my stand on the jetty again, when I ’eard a cry, then everyone started yellin’ an’ carryin’ on, you know, sir, like they does in these parts.”
Palliser nodded abruptly. “Quite so, Sergeant. What then?”
“I found ’im in an alley, sir. ’Is throat was slit.”
He paled as he saw his own officer striding angrily across the quarterdeck. He would have to repeat everything for Colpoys’ sake. The marine lieutenant, like most of his corps, disliked interference by the sea officers, no matter how pressing the reason.
Palliser said distantly, “And his bag was missing.”
“Yessir.”
Palliser made up his mind. “Mr Bolitho, take the quarter-boat, a midshipman and six extra hands. I’ll give you an address where you will find the captain. Tell him what has happened. No dramatics, just the facts as you know them.”
Bolitho touched his hat, excited, even though he was still shocked by the suddenness of Lockyer’s brutal death. So Palliser did know more of what the captain was doing than he proclaimed. When he looked at the scrap of paper which Palliser thrust into his hand he knew it was not the governor’s residence, or any other official place for that matter.
“Take Mr Jury, and select six men yourself. I want them smartly turned out.”
