He shook slightly, but the laughter remained silent.
Adam waited, trying to read Murray's face: strong features dominated by a hooked nose, and piercing, pale eyes. Hair flecked with feathers of white, as if he had dodged through a flurry of snow. Murray looked directly at the pantry door and said loudly, 'Would you fetch my bag from the sick bay?'
As Morgan departed, he added, 'Not for me to give orders to your servant, sir!'
Adam said, 'Tell me.'
Murray turned on his chair and looked over at Vincent.
'You reported a man missing, just before we weighed.'
'Ned Harris. It's in the log. Have you heard something about him?'
'More to the point, Mark, I have found him, or two of my people did. Came straight to me. 'He moved a hand dismissively.
'Be all over the ship before a dog can bark. I did what I could.'
Adam said, 'Where? 'And the inner voice. You knew.
Murray turned back, his nose training around like one of those guns.
'Sail room, sir. I wanted some spare canvas. Harris was out of sight… and down on the orlop, there are many other smells.'
Vincent exclaimed, 'How did it happen, for God's sake?'
'He was stabbed. 'The pale eyes remained very steady. 'Five times, to be precise.'
Vincent returned to the stern windows and rested his hand on the salt-patterned glass.
'He was a good man, what I knew of him. Popular, too.'
Maddock said, 'So the killer is still among us.'
Adam stood up, fatigue gone, a new, grim energy coursing through him. Whatever the cause, greed, debt, a moment's uncontrollable fury, a man was dead. Unknown to some, a messmate to others.
'Clear lower deck, Mark. I'll speak to all hands.'
It was little enough, but it was right that they should know.
And the one man among them who would stand alone.
Morgan had returned.
'They said you had your bag with you, sir. 'But he was looking at Adam.
Vincent said, 'Had he been robbed?'
'Searched, I believe, but nothing taken. 'And to Adam, 'No sign of struggle.'
Adam looked toward the screen door as if it were invisible, seeing the ship in his mind. Afternoon watchkeepers at their stations on and above the deck, the men they had relieved hastening to their messes, eager for a hot meal, gossiping about the day's events, and most of all the prospect of landfall. No longer a rumour or a pencilled cross on the sailing master's chart, but the conclusion of their first passage as one company.
Vincent asked, 'Shall I pass the word, sir?'
Adam listened to the murmur of sea and wind, the occasional thump of the tiller-head.
'Let them eat first. 'He looked at the others. 'Thank you, all of you, for your help.'
He walked aft again and watched the broken crests following in silent procession. Then he said, 'Can't you tell? They know already.'
But he was alone.
He stood by the quarterdeck rail in the last moments of Onward's final approach, tasting the smoke on his lips. The silence of the anchorage after her salute and the measured response from the battery ashore was profound, almost unnerving. The gulls settled again on the water.
He looked at the anchored men-of-war, their paintwork and checkered gunports reflected with the gulls; some had already spread awnings against the hard sun. Fewer than on those other visits, but impressive enough. The pale buildings ashore were partly hidden in mist or gunsmoke; impossible to compare this to the wind and chilling rain of England's winter.
He had seen the gunner pacing slowly inboard of each port as the salute had shattered the morning stillness, mouth barely moving in the chant he used to time every explosion, hand ready to signal instantly to the next crew if there was a misfire.
There was not. Maddock might well be smiling now, he thought. Between the bangs he had thought he heard what sounded like church bells.
He shaded his eyes, and saw the anchor party standing together, the new hands staring at the towering Rock, others doubtless trying to identify the ships.
The wheel moved slightly; even that seemed loud. Onward was barely making headway, with all her sails clewed up except topsails and jib.
'Guardboat, sir!'
'Very well. 'The flash of a glass, somebody watching their approach. Like so many others for whom Onward would represent news from England, from families, from a lover.
Births, deaths, promotion, hope, disillusionment. The guard boat had slowed above its own image, oars tossed.
'Stand by forrard! 'He heard the order being passed, the voice cracking, bringing a grin from the second helmsman. It was Midshipman Walker, the one who had been seasick since they had weighed at Plymouth. There was hope for him yet.
He saw Lieutenant Squire by the cathead, gesturing sharply, no time left for errors. David Napier would be with him, the whole panorama of ships and craggy landscape laid at his feet.
It felt like that for me.
He turned and gazed up at the masthead pendant, moving listlessly now, and his eyes passed over the Royal Marines paraded by the quarterdeck carronades, their officer, Lieutenant Gascoigne, standing rigidly, staring straight ahead.
A splash of colour aboard Onward for the telescopes…
'Lee braces there! Hands wear ship!'
More shouts, and somebody laughed or coughed.
'Tops'l clew lines!'
Adam heard the slap of canvas, and a few curt words from the boatswain. He saw the cook, in his apron and without the fiddle, stooping to duck out of sight.
'Helm a-lee. 'And she was turning, very slowly, the long, tapering jib-boom like a pointer, the masts and yards of the nearest ship passing across it.
Another voice, not loud but terse, and the obedient response from the boat-tier. Luke Jago would not be distracted. The gig would be out and alongside as ordered. No matter what.
Adam faced forward again, felt the air like warm breath on his face as Onward turned into the wind.
'Let go!'
He thought he saw Squire's hand slice down, then the burst of spray as the anchor hit the water, men running while the cable quivered in pursuit.
The compressor was already checking it, slowing and taking the strain.
The yards were secured, all canvas brailed or furled, seamen scurrying down the ratlines, the less cautious sliding straight down backstays.
Vincent was with him now.
'All fast forrard, sir! 'He was grinning, as if all strain had dropped away with the anchor.
Another voice: Deacon, the senior midshipman, grim-faced, and very conscious of the moment.
'Signal, sir! 'He had to clear his throat. 'From Flag!'
Adam heard July an the master remark, 'He's in a bit of a bloody hurry. 'He looked away as Adam walked past him.
'What is it, Mr. Deacon? 'Some one had handed him a telescope.
Deacon said steadily, 'From Flag, sir. Captain repair on board.'
Adam trained the glass, taking extra seconds to refocus it.
The flagship swayed across the lens and steadied, her name, Tenacious, clearly visible across her counter.
He said quietly, 'Thank you, Mr. Deacon. That was perceptive of you. 'He heard Jago shouting orders, the
