With All Despatch

change tack. The motion seemed easier, but the wind sounded just as strong. Perhaps his mind was still too exhausted to notice the true difference.

He replied, 'Now? We shall lay a course for Flushing. It is our only chance to catch Tanner with the treasure.'

Lieutenant Kempthorne made his excuses and went on deck to take charge of the hands. Bolitho and Queely leaned on the table, the chart spread between them beneath the madly swinging lanterns. Bolitho glanced at the serious-faced lieutenant. Even in his seagoing uniform he managed to make Bolitho feel like a vagrant. His clothing stank of fish and bilge, and his hands were cut and bleeding from handling the icy sheets in the boat which they had abandoned astern.

Queely said, 'If, as you say, Tanner has loaded the treasure into this vessel, La Revanche, would he not make haste to get under way immediately? If so, we can never catch him, despite this soldier's wind.'

Bolitho peered at the chart, his grey eyes thoughtful. 'I doubt that. It would all take time, which is why I believe he was the one to cause our delay at the rendezvous. Any suspicious act might arouse the Dutch authorities, and that is the last thing he would want.'

A voice seemed to cry out in his mind. Suppose Brennier's aide had been mistaken? Or that he had heard them speaking of another vessel altogether?

Queely took his silence for doubt. 'She'll likely be armed, sir. If we had some support-'

Bolitho glanced at him and smiled sadly. 'But we do not have any. Armed? I think that unlikely, except for a minimum protection. Which was why Delaval and his Loyal Chieftain laid offshore whenever he was making a run. The Dutch were searching vessels in the river. Any heavily armed ship would draw them like bees to honey.'

'Very well, sir.' He gave a rueful grin. 'It is little enough, but I too am anxious to see what so much treasure looks like!' He pulled on his heavy coat and turned in the doorway to the companion ladder. 'I thank God we found you, sir. I had all but given up hope.'

Bolitho sat down wearily and massaged his eyes. The cabin was tiny and, as usual, littered with the officers' effects. But after the fishing boat's squalor it seemed like a ship of the line.

Just hours later, Bolitho was roused from his sleep. Allday found him sprawled across the chart, his head resting on one arm.

'What is it?'

Allday stood balancing a steaming basin. 'The cook managed to boil some water.' He gave a broad grin. 'I thought to meself a good shave an' a rub-down'll make the Cap'n feel his old self again.'

Bolitho slipped out of his coat and peeled off his shirt. As Allday shaved him with practised ease, legs braced, one ear attuned to every sound as the cutter rolled and plunged about them, he marvelled that the big man could always adjust, no matter what ship he was in.

Allday was saying, 'Y'see, Cap'n, 'tis always the same with you at times like this. You feel better-that makes it better for the rest of us.'

Bolitho stared up at him, the realisation of Allday's simple philosophy driving away the last cobwebs of sleep.

He said quietly, 'Today, you mean?' He saw him nod: the old instinct he had always trusted. Why had he not known it himself? 'We'll fight?'

'Aye, Cap'n.' He sounded almost buoyant. 'Had to come, as I sees it.'

Bolitho dried his face and was amazed that Allday could shave him so closely with the deck all alive beneath him. He had rarely even nicked him with his formidable razor.

Allday wiped down his shoulders and back with a hot cloth and then handed him a comb. 'That's more like it, Cap'n.'

Bolitho saw the freshly laundered shirt on the bunk. 'How did you-'

'Compliments of Mr Kempthorne, Cap'n. I-mentioned it, like.'

Bolitho dressed unhurriedly. A glance at his watch told him all he had to know for the present. Queely and his company were doing what they could and needed no encouragement or criticism. He wondered what had become of the four Dutchmen, and where they would end up. Probably on the next ship bound for Holland, even at the risk of being greeted by the Customs.

The shirt made him feel clean and refreshed, just as Allday had promised. He thought of all those other times, under the blazing sun, the decks strewn with dead and dying, the brain cringing to the crash and recoil of cannon fire. Like Stockdale before him, Allday had always been there. But with that something extra. He always seemed to understand, to know when the waiting was over, and smooth words were not enough.

Queely came down from the deck and peered in at him.

'Dawn coming up, sir. Wind's holding steady, and the snow's eased to almost nothing.' He noticed the clean shirt and smiled. 'Oh, you honour us, sir!'

As his feet clattered up the ladder again Bolitho said, 'There is still something missing, Allday. Fight we may, but-' He shrugged. 'He might have outfoxed us again.'

Allday stared into the distance. 'When I heard that silky voice of his-' He grinned, but no humour touched his eyes. 'I wanted to cut him down there and then.'

Bolitho half-drew his sword then let it fall smoothly into its scabbard again. 'We make a fine pair. I wanted that too.'

He picked up his boat-cloak. It was filthy also. But it would be like ice on deck. He must not fail, would not let the fever burst in and consume him like the last time.

Some of his old despair lingered on. He said, 'Hear me, old friend. If I should fall today-'

Allday regarded him impassively. 'I'll not see it, Cap'n, 'cause I shall already have dropped!'

The understanding was there. As strong as ever.

Bolitho touched his arm. 'So let's be about it, eh?'

Bolitho felt his body angle to the tilting deck as the wind forced Wakeful on to her lee bulwark. It was colder than he had expected, and he regretted taking shelter in the cabin's comparative warmth.

Queely touched his hat and shouted above the noise, 'Wind's veered still further, sir! Nor'-West by North or the like, by my reckoning!'

Bolitho stared up at the masthead and thought he could see the long pendant streaming towards the larboard bow, curling, then cracking like a huge whip. He even imagined he could hear it above the wild chorus of creaking rigging, the slap and boom of canvas.

Wakeful was steering south-south-west, close-hauled on the starboard tack, her sails very pale against the dull sky. Dawn was here and yet reluctant to show itself.

Bolitho felt his eyes growing accustomed to the poor light and recognised several of the figures who were working close at hand. Even the 'hard men' of Queely's command looked chilled and pinched, but for the most part their feet were bare, although Bolitho could feel the bitter cold through his shoes. Like most sailors, they thought shoes too expensive to waste merely for their own comfort.

Queely said, 'According to the master, we should be well past Walcheren Island and Flushing by now. If the weather clears we will soon sight the coast of France.'

Bolitho nodded but said nothing. France. Once there, Tanner would make his trade. A share of the treasure and probably a sure protection from the French Convention to enable him to continue his smuggling on a grand scale. He tried not to think of the old admiral, Brennier. Tanner's mark of trust, then humiliation before the mob, and the last steps up to the guillotine. Any other leading patriot would think again before he considered lending support to a counter-revolution with Brennier dead.

Bolitho watched the sky giving itself colour. The driving wind had swept the snow away; he could see no clouds, just a hostile grey emptiness, with the faintest hint of misty blue towards the horizon.

Queely was speaking to his first lieutenant. Bolitho saw Kempthorne bobbing his head to his commander's instructions. Despite his uniform and his surroundings he still managed to look out of place.

Queely walked up the slanting deck and said, 'He's going aloft with the big signals glass in a moment, sir.' He saw Bolitho's expression and gave a quick smile. 'I know, sir. He'd be happier as a horse-coper than a sea-officer, but he tries!'