that nobody cares in the Admiralty.” He laughed, and Adam saw the young officer again.

Bethune said, “We shall take wine in a moment. I would ask you to stay for a meal, but I have matters which require prompt action.” The easy smile again. “But you’ve heard all that before, eh? We all have!”

Adam realised for the first time that Bethune was adrift here in Malta. Perhaps high command was even lonelier than the life of a captain.

“No matter, sir. I have to return to my ship. But thank you.”

Bethune walked to the window, one hand tapping against the flaking shutter.

“Captain Bouverie of Matchless was here.”

“I saw him briefly, sir.”

“Not a happy man, I fear. His ship badly requires an overhaul. She has been the longest out here, as far as I am aware.”

Adam thought of something he had heard Jago say. Like a man who’s found a penny but lost a guinea. It fitted Bouverie well.

And Adam did not need to be told. If Matchless was sent to a dockyard in England she might be paid off, laid up, her company disbanded.

It could happen to me. To us.

He saw Bethune step back from the shutter, and knew he had been watching the balcony. Watching her. The revelation surprised him, and he began to see him in quite a different light, recalling that Catherine had spoken of him favourably in her letters. Rank had its privileges, and its drawbacks too, apparently.

Bethune said, “We have received information from what is judged to be a reliable source.” He waited for Adam to join him at the other table where Onslow had arranged a chart, weighed down with carved ivory figurines. “These islands to the south-west of Malta. Owned by nobody, claimed by many.” He tapped the chart. “Almost midway ’twixt here and the coast of Tunis. They are useless for trade or habitation except for a few fishermen, and not many of those, with the corsairs so active in these waters.”

He stood aside as Adam bent over the chart.

“I know them, sir, but at a distance. Dangerous shoals, not even safe for an anchorage. But small craft,” he looked up and saw Bethune nod, “they would find the islands useful.” There was a sudden silence, broken only by the scratching of the clerk’s pen.

Even the sounds of the street did not penetrate to this room.

“Some of the islands have high points of ground.” He touched the chart as if to confirm it. “When this one was last corrected, it stated that two of them could be three hundred feet or more above sea level.”

Bethune rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “I believe the corsairs are sheltering their chebecs among these islands. The high ground rules out any kind of normal approach. A blind lookout would see our t’gallants before we got within five leagues of the place!”

“And the information is good, sir?”

Bethune glanced towards the window again, but seemed to change his mind.

“Two traders have been attacked in the past week, another is missing. A Sicilian vessel saw the chebecs-her master has given us some useful information over the years. Us and the French, of course!”

Adam said quietly, “My uncle always had the greatest respect for the chebecs, sir. His flagship Frobisher was attacked by some of them. Lieutenant Avery told me about it.”

They both looked at the empty chair, and Bethune said, “He saw what many of us missed.”

Adam walked a few paces. “A landing party. At night. Volunteers.”

“Royal Marines?”

“I think not, sir. They are fine fighters, but they are foot soldiers at heart. This would require stealth, men used to working aloft in all weathers, sure-footed, eager.”

A door opened and he heard the clink of glasses. No wonder Bouverie had looked so depressed and so angry. His ship was too slow. By the time Matchless was restored to her proper trim it might be too late. For him.

Bethune said, “I can offer Halcyon in support. I cannot spare my flagship, and the rest of the squadron is deployed elsewhere.”

He banged the table with his fist. “God, I could find work for ten more frigates!”

Adam knew the other frigate, half Unrivalled’s size, twenty-eight guns, with a youthful and zealous captain named Christie. The family again… Christie had been a midshipman under James Tyacke at the Nile. They had both been scarred, in different ways, on that terrible day.

Adam could feel Bethune watching him, perhaps seeing himself already there, confronted by an operation which at the best of times could spell disaster. But if the corsairs were using the islands they could not have chosen a more effective lair. A thorn in the side; no. Far deeper than any thorn.

Hazardous or not, Captain Bouverie would perceive it as an act of favouritism. As I would. He felt the piece of silver inside his shirt, and wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it.

He recalled a captain who had once said to him after a bitter hand-to-hand engagement, “You might have been killed, you young idiot! Did you ever pause to consider that?”

He straightened his back and took a goblet from the hovering servant.

“I think it can be done, sir.”

“I hoped you might say that.” Bethune could scarcely conceal his relief. “But no unnecessary risks.”

Adam smiled tightly. Bethune had never lost his ship, witnessed her agony, and that of her people who had trusted in him.

Perhaps it made it easier for him.

Onslow ventured, “The reception, Sir Graham?”

Bethune frowned at him. “It would be better if you weighed at first light. I will have your orders prepared immediately, Christie’s too.” He looked at the pile of documents awaiting his signature, and said abruptly, “Sir Lewis and Lady Bazeley, were they any trouble?”

“We had a fast enough passage, sir.”

Bethune looked at him and smiled. It was not what he had asked.

“There is a reception for them this evening. Short notice, but they are used to that in Malta. I am not.”

He walked with him to the door, while Onslow made a display of folding the charts, probably in readiness for the next visitor.

Bethune said, “Captain Forbes will give you all the help he can. He has served in these waters for many years.” Then, at a complete tangent, “I am truly sorry that you cannot join us this evening. Everything must appear normal.” He paused, as if he had gone too far. “A king once said, if you tell your best friend a secret, it is no longer a secret!”

The mood did not last, and he said almost brusquely, “I will see you when you sign for your orders. No matter what I am doing, I want to be told.”

Adam descended the marble stairs, his mind already on the details of his mission. Total responsibility. He had heard it from his uncle several times. If you succeed, others will get the reward; if you fail, yours is the total responsibility.

He saw the flag captain’s stocky figure by the entrance. Ready to play his role.

Unrivalled had arrived that morning; tomorrow she would weigh and proceed to sea once more. And suddenly he knew he was not sorry to leave.

Leigh Galbraith stood by the hammock nettings and studied the boats alongside. One of them was Halcyon’s gig, her crew very smart in checkered shirts and tarred hats. He smiled. A ship shall be judged by her boats.

The other frigate’s captain had been down in the great cabin for more than an hour. Each seeing his own ship’s part in what lay ahead, the selection of men, and who would lead them.

A landing party. A raid, to flush out the corsairs so that the frigates could get amongst them before they could make good their escape.

He heard Lieutenant Massie, who had the watch, speaking sharply to a boatswain’s mate, a man not known for his quick response to anything beyond routine. Massie had little patience with anyone who could not keep up. He was a good gunnery officer, one of the best Galbraith had known, but he was not a man for whom it was possible to feel any affection.

Massie joined him now, breathing hard. “A bloody block of wood, that man!” Galbraith glanced at the open skylight. Soon now. He heard Bolitho laugh. A small thing, but reassuring.

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