With All Despatch

Paice cupped his hands. 'Load the larboard smasher as well, Mr Davy.'

Bolitho balled his hands into fists to discipline his shivering limbs. Paice was thinking for himself. If the brig was prepared to fight, even if she tried merely to cripple Telemachus's rigging and sails, it was sensible to have the deadly carronade loaded and ready to rake her poop.

'Fire!'

Bolitho had been too long away from the sea, longer still from the harsh roar of a frigate's broadside; the crack of a six-pounder was sharp enough to bring pain to his ears.

Allday muttered, 'Bloody little popgun!'

Bolitho saw the boy Matthew Corker kneeling near the aftermost gun, his hands gripping a bucket of sand as he stared at the scene on deck where the six-pounder's crew were already tamping home another ball, each man very aware of the post-captain beside Paice.

Bolitho snapped, 'Keep down, boy!'

The youth peered up at him. No trace of fear. But it was because he knew nothing. Nor would he, Bolitho decided grimly.

There was far too much spray to see the fall of shot, but the angle of the Loyal Chieftain's masts and topsails was unchanged, and she was moving fast with the soldier's wind right under her coattails.

Paice looked at Bolitho. 'Into her this time, if you please.'

The six-pounder hurled itself inboard on its tackles and as Bolitho lifted his glass he was in time to see the brig's main topsail jerk, then split from head to foot. The wind greedily explored the ball's puncture and reduced the whole sail to wildly flapping ribbons.

Someone gave a derisive cheer then Hawkins shouted, 'She's puttin' about, sir!'

Paice retorted, 'Even if she is heaving-to, Mr Triscott, I want her under our lee, do you understand?' Urgency had set an edge to his voice.

Bolitho stood aside as Paice strode this way and that, his tall frame moving with remarkable ease amongst his men and the litter of cordage and tackles.

'Load the larboard battery, Mr Triscott, but do not run out!' He pivoted round. 'Shorten sail, Mr Hawkins! Take in the fores'l!' His eyes moved across Bolitho and he exclaimed, 'If that suits, sir?'

The brig had taken in her forecourse, and under topsail and jib only was floundering round into the wind. She was much closer now, less than a cable away, her masts and rigging glowing warmly in the copper light.

There were not many hands on her yards, or indeed working about the deck. But she was under control, and as Telemachus's gun-captains faced aft and held up their fists, Bolitho knew that the brig could be swept with grape and canister before she could hit back.

Paice loosened the hanger at his side and said, 'Lower the jolly-boat. Your best oarsmen, Mr Hawkins. It'll be a hard pull in this sea!'

Bolitho said, 'I would like to come with you.' Their eyes met and held. 'You are going yourself, I take it?'

Paice nodded. 'The first lieutenant can manage, sir.'

'It is not what I asked.'

Paice shrugged. 'It is my right, sir.'

'Very well.' He could feel the lieutenant's strength like something physical, barely controlled. He added, 'It were better I am present. For both our sakes, eh?'

The calmness of his tone seemed to stay Paice's emotion, although Bolitho felt anything but calm. He knew that if this man Delaval was caught on board the brig with contraband Paice would likely kill him. Equally, as senior officer, he would be seen as having condoned a murder by a subordinate.

Bolitho watched the boat being swayed up and over the side. The brig's people might attack the boarders as soon as they climbed aboard and still make off in escape.

Bolitho said, 'Mr Triscott, if they attempt to make sail, fire into them.' His voice hardened. 'No matter what you may see.'

Triscott stared from him to his commander. He looked suddenly very young and vulnerable.

He stammered, 'Aye, aye, sir, if you so order.'

Paice said sharply, 'He does, and I am in agreement!'

The jolly-boat was manhandled alongside and once again Bolitho was impressed by the quality of the seamanship, the scarcity of spoken orders, let alone the use of a rope's end. He found himself wondering if all cutters were like this one. He glanced quickly at Paice as he scrambled down beside him in the sternsheets. Or was it just because of this impassive, haunted lieutenant?

'Out oars! Give way all!'

The sound of Allday's resonant voice brought a few stares from the boat's crew. But Allday had no intention of being left behind as a helpless onlooker. He was doing what he knew best. Nor would Bolitho deny him after all he had gone through.

The boat lifted and plunged wildly until Allday had steered her clear of the choppy water around the cutter's quarter. Bolitho saw the White Ensign streaming out from the gaff above his head and thought suddenly of Hugh, his dead brother. What a waste, and for no purpose. He turned to watch the brig's tapering topgallant masts spiralling against the sky and found that he was gripping the old sword closely against his thigh. Hugh had lost his chance to wear it, and now, perhaps within minutes, there would be no one left to carry it with pride. There were faces along the bulwark now, strangely silent, with no sign of defiance or fear.

Paice lifted a speaking trumpet. 'We are boarding! Do not resist!'

Allday said beneath his breath, 'It'll be now or never. They could make a bloody gruel of us with one whiff of canister, an' that's no error!' He pushed it from his thoughts and shouted, 'Bowman! Lively there! Stand by!' He eased the tiller bar and saw the bowman's grapnel soar into the brig's main chains, clatter down and hook on.

'Boat your oars!' Allday supported Bolitho's arm as he crouched ready to leave the pitching boat. He hissed, 'Right with you, Cap'n!' He gave a throaty chuckle. 'Old times!'

Then they were taking their turn to leap from the boat and scramble their way through the small entry port.

Bolitho glanced quickly around. He saw the vessel's master, a short, neat figure in a fine blue coat standing almost indifferently by the wheel. He knew it was Delaval even before Paice opened his mouth.

Paice had his hanger drawn and strode aft, his voice carrying easily above the slap of canvas and the sea's protests beyond the bulwarks. 'Stand where you are!'

Delaval retorted, 'So it's you. By what right-'

Paice gestured to a seaman by the wheel and the cutlass he had seen in his belt clattered to the deck.

'In the King's name, so hold your noise.' He nodded his head to the petty officer who had accompanied the boat and the man hurried away, calling names, ignoring the brig's sailors as if they were not there.

Paice said, 'I intend to search this vessel. After that-'

'You are wasting your time. More important, you are wasting mine.' His dark eyes moved suddenly to Bolitho, taking in the plain blue coat, the outdated sword which was still sheathed at Bolitho's side. Delaval said, 'I will make the strongest protest. I was going about my lawful business.'

Bolitho asked, 'What cargo?'

Delaval's eyes flashed. There could have been triumph there. 'None. I am in ballast, as your worthy boarding party will soon discover.' He did not attempt to hide the sneer in his voice. 'I intended to sail for Amsterdam. You will see from the log that I have regular transactions with agents there.'

Bolitho could sense Paice's anger and impatience. He asked quietly, 'And you changed your mind?'

'The weather, news of more trouble in France, several things.'

The petty officer returned but stood so that Delaval could not see his face. He swallowed hard. 'Nuthin', sir. In full ballast.' He seemed almost afraid of his discovery.

Delaval said, 'I told you.' He lifted his chin and stared it Paice. 'You will pay for this.' His arm shot out and he pointed to an inert shape covered by a piece of canvas. He continued, his voice almost caressing, 'You fired on my ship-'

Paice snapped, 'You tried to run, you refused to heave-to! Don't pretend with me, damn you!'

A seaman pulled the canvas aside and Bolitho saw it was a man in sailor's clothing. Beside him lay a heavy