With All Despatch

martial, a few prayers, and then run aloft to some big ship's mainyard to kick your breath to the wind. No, there had to be more involved than that.

He watched the lieutenant, the same one who had called on him to stand and be examined. Allday knew ships, and he knew officers. This lieutenant had not the brains even to be dishonest.

The lieutenant shouted, 'Pay attention. I'll not say it twice!'

Silence settled over the uneasy gathering.

He continued, 'In view of the situation here you must move at dusk to Sheerness. You will go in separate parties, and obey all orders without hesitation. I shall personally see that any disorder is treated as mutiny.' He glared around. 'I need not say more, I think?'

Allday heard someone whisper, 'Sheerness, up the road! Christ, Tom, we'll be signed into some ship afore the week's out!'

A tall figure with white patches on his collar moved from one of the outhouses.

Allday watched, his heart suddenly beating hard. The midshipman looked old for his lowly rank, about the same age as Telemachus's Lieutenant Triscott. A pale, embittered face, the mouth turned down like someone permanently out of humour. Passed-over for lieutenant, or held back because of a senior officer's disfavour? There could be a dozen reasons.

Allday reached out to pick up some cheese and saw the midshipman give him a quick glance, then another at the seaman who had made him the offer.

So this was it. Allday tried to think clearly and calmly so that the chunk of dry cheese almost choked him.

There had to be an officer mixed up in it, even if it was an unimportant, passed-over midshipman.

The gunner's mate said, 'That's Mr Midshipman Fenwick. 'E'll be with your lot.' He glanced at him curiously. 'Between us, 'e's a pig, so watch yer step!'

Allday faced him. 'I'll remember.'

He returned to the cell-like room, his mind already busy on the next tack. If Bolitho discovered what was happening, it would be Mr bloody Fenwick who would need to watch his step.

Allday grinned. And that's no error.

Commodore Ralph Hoblyn climbed up from the schooner's cabin and leaned heavily on an ebony stick while he looked along the upper deck.

Bolitho watched him and tried to read his thoughts. The schooner, originally Dutch, had been renamed the Four Brothers, and, according to her papers, was used for general trading from the port of Newcastle. Her owner and master were one and the same, a man named Darley who had died in the brief but savage fight with Telemachus.

Now she lay at anchor off Sheerness, with the scarlet coats of a full marine guard at bow and stern in case anyone inside or outside the dockyard might be tempted to pilfer her cargo.

Hoblyn regarded the great bloodstain which had defied all attempts of the captured smugglers to remove it. The remains of those cut down by the carronades' devastating bombardment had been thrown unceremoniously overboard, but the stain, and the shattered timbers and planking were evidence enough of the battle.

Hoblyn wiped his mouth with his handkerchief. Bolitho had noticed that he seemed to tire very easily. Was it just that he had become unused to the sea, or did this schooner's deck act as a cruel reminder of his last command?

He said, 'I am extremely gratified, Bolitho. A full cargo, and a well-found vessel to boot.' He glanced up at the rigging, some of which had been spliced by Paice's hands for the passage to Sheerness. 'She'll fetch a good bounty at the next prize court, I shouldn't wonder. The dockyard can patch and paint her beforehand, of course.'

Bolitho asked, 'You'll not take her into the service, sir?'

Hoblyn shrugged and winced. 'I should be delighted to act on Their Lordships' behalf, naturally, Bolitho, but money first-theirs or someone else's.' He turned towards him. 'No favours.'

Hoblyn walked to the vessel's wheel and touched it thoughtfully.

'I shall send word immediately. To the Customs Board too.'

'So there were no arrests at Whitstable, sir?'

Bolitho half-expected Hoblyn to show concern or discomfort. If he felt either he concealed it well.

Only two smugglers had been caught on the shore by a patrol of dragoons who had been forewarned by Hoblyn about the expected run. In the skirmish both had been killed.

'No, more's the pity. But you took the Four Brothers, and that will make these felons think before they try again.' He half-smiled. 'I'm afraid you'll not get many recruits from the prisoners, though.'

Bolitho stared across the water at the anchored cutter. He had never seen such a change in any vessel. The whole company seemed shocked and unable to believe what had happened. The fight had left five of their people dead and three more who were unlikely to recover from their wounds. In their small, tight company the losses had left a gap which new hands would be hard put to fill. Of the dead, the helmsman named Quin had been one of the most popular aboard. Ironically he had originally come from Newcastle, the Four Brothers' home port.

'Had we been able to take her by boarding, sir, then…'

Hoblyn made as if to touch his arm but withdrew it to his side. Another constant reminder.

He replied harshly, 'It was not to be. They fired on a King's ship. There's not a judge in the land who would let them escape the scaffold, and rightly so!' He seemed to overcome the passion in his tone and added, 'Be patient, Bolitho, you will have your men.' He waved his stick towards the shore. 'They're there, somewhere.'

Bolitho turned away as Allday returned to his thoughts. It was not the first time he had acted alone. But now it was different. This enemy flew no flag. It could be anyone.

He watched as Hoblyn limped to another hatch where some men were preparing tackles for hoisting smaller items of cargo on deck. His mind kept returning to the boy Matthew Corker's discovery. The berlin concealed in Hoblyn's stables. Where did it come from? Hoblyn had arrived at the dockyard in an expensive carriage of his own, so had proved once again, if proof was needed, that he was a rich man. There could be no connection between Hoblyn and the schooner. It was far too risky. Any one of her hands might have turned King's evidence to save his neck, and damn anyone who was left secure.

Hoblyn remarked, 'I suggest you do your utmost to get Snapdragon out of Chatham. I think you're going to need her. After your escapade with this schooner Their Lordships will likely feel more inclined to offload some of these patrols from the revenue cutters to your shoulders.' He turned so that the sunlight glittered in his eyes. 'Who knows? I may discover more intelligence for you to act upon.' He shaded his eyes with his disfigured hand and watched as his carriage moved slowly along the waterfront.

Bolitho followed his gaze and saw what he imagined was the white wig of Hoblyn's servant inside the carriage.

A lieutenant of the guard called to the boat alongside as Hoblyn limped carefully to the entry port.

Then he paused and glanced once more along the scarred decks.

'Speak to Paice's people, Bolitho. It would come better from you.' He gave him a searching stare. 'Your man was unhurt, I trust? I know how you value his services.'

So casually said. Or was it?

Bolitho replied, 'He is on an errand for me, sir.'

He felt something like sick relief as Hoblyn lowered himself into the boat.

I wish to God I knew where he was.

The marine lieutenant watched him impassively and said, 'We shall have a guardboat pulling around us until all the cargo is unloaded, sir.'

Bolitho looked at him. A young, untried face. He remembered Paice's words. A man of war. Am I really like that?

'Good. Keep your men away from the spirits too.' He saw the sudden indignation in his expression. 'Even marines have been known to drink, you know.' He saw Telemachus's boat hooking on to the chains. 'I shall leave it to you, Lieutenant.'