wind and rigging. From this, the highest point in the ship, the sea was directly below him, the glassy blue and rearing crests reflecting the sails, angled far beneath his dangling legs.
He wiped the spray from his face and mouth, tasting the raw salt, his skin tingling. He swallowed hard. A long climb indeed.
He glanced at the masthead lookout, surprised that he was much younger than he had expected. He had a powerful voice which carried easily above and through the busy shipboard noises, like Sullivan in
Unrivalled, but in fact he seemed only in his late twenties, slightly built, with an open face, deeply tanned almost to the colour of the mast.
He had been watching him climbing from the deck far below with interest, and not a little curiosity, as had some seamen on the main top as Adam had climbed past them. They had been rigging a swivel gun on the top's barricade, but had turned to stare, and one of them had called, 'Bit dangerous up 'ere, sir! ' They had all laughed.
Adam took another breath.
'Good morning Jenkins, isn't it?'
'That's me, sir.' He was studying Adam's flapping shirt and the well-worn, tarnished epaulettes on his seagoing coat.
Adam unslung the telescope and peered ahead and across the bow as the mast reeled over again, the mainsail cracking and thudding to the wind.
Then he saw the other ship, like a delicate model, sharp against a horizon which was sloping over and down as if to dislodge her and Lotus together.
'Is it the same barque which you chased into Havana?'
Jenkins frowned, and it made him look younger. 'No, sir, different.' There was no doubt or hesitation. 'Something about her, see?'
Adam caught the Welsh accent. He levelled the glass again, or tried to as Lotus altered course slightly. It made it seem that the barque was the only vessel moving.
He waited for the mast to steady, and concentrated on the other vessel's rig. A large barque, with the usual untidy appearance when seen on this bearing, square-rigged on fore and main, fore-and-aft rigged on the mizzen, which gave her a broken outline, as if some spars were missing. Big and powerful. But how could Jenkins be sure it was not the one Pointer had described?
The lookouts aboard the barque must have seen Lotus by now. Even with the night sky astern of her, she would be laid bare as daylight drove away the shadows and opened up the sea like burnished pewter.
The lookout was wrapping a piece of cloth expertly around his head, and remarked casually, 'Gets a bit like the bakery up here. I wouldn't stay too long, sir.'
Adam smiled, and handed him the telescope. 'Here tell me what you see.'
Jenkins held the telescope as if he had never seen one in his life. As if it was not to be trusted.
But he trained it with great care and said, 'It's her driver, sir. When it takes the wind over the quarter it…' He paused. 'Well, the driver-boom looks higher than it should.' He offered the telescope, as if relieved. 'As if to make space for something.' He ended lamely, 'But then again…' He stared at Adam as he used the glass and said, 'Jenkins, where did you get those eyes?' He hardly knew what he was saying: even the most experienced seamen might not notice it. The flaw in the picture. Nothing much. But a skilled lookout knew every sort of tide and current, and the mood of each spar and sail in the ships they passed.
Jenkins said, 'My da was a shepherd, good one too, see? I used to help him as a boy, got used to searching for sheep, straining my eyes for the stragglers. No life for me, I thought.' He might have shrugged. 'So I volunteered. Not pressed, see.'
Adam leaned out as far as he dared and saw the small figures moving about the pale planking between his feet. The barque's big aftermost sail, the driver, was higher than normal, as if the poop had been raised in some way. A glance at the masthead pendant, taut in the wind and pointing toward the other vessel. He measured the distance and bearing almost without thought. III am wrong… He thought of the figures on the deck below.
If he was right, they would not stand a chance.
He swung himself over the cross trees 'Thank you, Jenkins. I'll see that this goes in the log! ' Something to say, to prevent the conviction from wavering.
He paused, one foot feeling for the first ratline, and looked up, startled, as Jenkins said, 'I was serving in Frobisher, sir. I was there.' He looked away. 'When they told me your name, I was so proud…' He did not go on. Could not.
Adam said, 'When Sir Richard fell. My uncle.'
He began to clamber down the swaying, vibrating shrouds, his mind suddenly clear, free of doubt.
They were all waiting for him as his shoes hit the deck.
He said, 'Your man, Jenkins you were right about him.' He pausing, wanting his breathing to steady. 'The barque is not all she seems, Roger. I believe she carries heavier artillery than is customary for an honest trader.'
They were crowding closer to hear him, maybe to consider their own fate. Excitement, doubt, anxiety, as if something inhuman had dropped amongst them. He found time to notice that Jago was the only one who seemed as usual. Arms folded, his fingers loosely on the hilt of the heavy blade he always carried.
Pointer rubbed his chin, with the habitual frown as he listened to Adam's description. He was Lotus'?' commanding officer. If the other ship proved to be an enemy, no matter in what guise, he would be held responsible if anything went wrong. Adam Bolitho was a vice-admiral's flag captain, part of a legend. But a passenger.
In a matter of a few months Pointer's promotion would be in orders: commander, the first real step toward post rank. One error or reckless action, and he would join the thousands of unemployed, half-pay officers.
He looked along his ship and at the men he had come to know so well during his six months in command. The good and the untrustworthy, the hard men, and the ordinary Jack who had no choice at all but to trust his captain. He faced Bolitho, his searching eyes taking in the faded coat and stained epaulettes. There was fresh tar now on his hands and breeches from the climb to the masthead, but, in any ship, you would know him instantly as the Captain.
He said, 'I'll be guided by you, sir.' He saw his first lieutenant nod, and nudge some one beside him.
Adam touched his arm and for an instant looked at his hand. Steady: no uncertainty. Like a drug or a breed of madness.
'I shall put it in the log, Roger.' He thought of Jago's remark. 'It will be my neck.'
He stared up through the rigging and pictured the keen-eyed Welshman, searching for lost sheep before volunteering. Who was there on that terrible, proud day when Richard Bolitho had fallen on the deck of his own flagship.
It was past. This was now.
'So let's be about it, shall we?'
Ellis, the first lieutenant, lowered his telescope and called, 'Spanish colours, sir! No tricks this time! ' It was impossible to tell if he was disappointed or relieved.
Adam looked up at the topsails, writhing and cracking, with the yards braced round so tightly they would appear to any outsider to be almost fore-and-aft.
He gritted his teeth. The only outsider was the barque, so much bigger now and angled almost across Lotus's bowsprit. Two miles? No more.
He heard one of the helmsmen shout something and the sailing master's response. To Pointer he said, 'She's as close to the wind as she'll come, sir. If the wind backs we'll be in irons! '
Pointer's eyes flickered briefly to Adam. 'Let her fall off a point.'
Adam walked to the nettings and clung to a lashing while the deck tilted over again. It was taking too long. If the Spaniard held his course he would be in safe waters, and any further action would be taken very seriously when it reached Havana, and later Madrid. The 'alliance' between the old enemies was already fragile enough.
He glanced along the deck. The starboard guns loaded and manned, their crews crouched and hidden below the bulwarks. One of the cutters had been swayed from the boat tier, its crew and lowering party hauling on the tackle, supervised by the boatswain, making it obvious that they were preparing a boarding party. He did not need a chart. Soon they would be on a lee shore, with shallows for an added hazard.
He could feel the sailing master's anxiety like something physical. Pointer, he knew, would be equally
