And he saw the Nautilus, apparently have to, sails loose and aback, poised above her own shadow.
He recalled hearing the third lieutenant, Monteith, remark, 'This is where we part company, and good riddance!'
He took a deep breath and pulled himself on to the next stretch of ratlines. Don't look down. Don't count every step. It helped expunge the sound of the lash from his memory. The gasps of agony. He had witnessed floggings before, had sensed the hostility of those around him. Us and them. And it was still there: he had just passed a seaman coiling some halliards. The man had deliberately looked away.
He felt his ankle twist, his foot jerk sharply from the ratline.
He had almost forgotten the pain, the numbing shock that seemed to burn into his leg like fire, or the surgeon's knife.
His shirt was plastered to his back. Sweat, fear. Some one called out, but he could not speak or breathe.
'You all right down there? 'Then again, more sharply, 'Don't move! Don't even blink! I'm coming!'
He lost track of time; maybe he had fainted. He was lying on his back with some one kneeling beside him. Naked to the waist, skin tanned like leather: one of the topmen. He could see the heavy scabbard at his belt, the sort favoured by professional seamen for knife and marline spike. He felt him gripping his breeches, the cloth tearing like paper.
'Jesus! What did this to you?'
He had turned slightly, and Napier saw his face, young and open, in his twenties; he had been in the navy since he was twelve. Napier struggled to sit up, to clear his throat.
'Tucker. I thought for a minute.
'That's me. 'He had his arm around his shoulders. 'I'll fetch help.'
Napier shook his head. 'Not yet, David. I have to look at something. 'It was like a fog lifting from his mind. They had first met when Tucker had asked him if he would read a letter he had received, as he could neither read nor write, and they had discovered they shared the same Christian name. Little enough, but it had been a bridge between the us and them.
Napier had written two or three letters for him after that, and in exchange Tucker had taught him the finer points of ropework and splicing. But most of all, they had talked. Tucker was an orphan, and had been signed into the navy by a relative of some kind. The easy escape. Something else they shared.
He was on his feet, gripping Tucker's arm, swaying with him like two drunks after a run ashore.
He said, 'I must use the glass. Now, before it happens again!'
Tucker watched him doubtfully. 'If you say so. Sir.'
He glanced down to the foretop again: the other seaman had gone. He looked back at Tucker, who was unfastening the telescope. Would it have made a difference? Tucker said, 'Fine piece of work, 'and rolled it expertly in strong fingers. 'What's this writing say? 'and when Napier told him, 'God Almighty, the same name as the Captain!'
'It belonged to his uncle. Did you know him?'
Tucker smiled, but there was sadness in it.
'Who didn't?'
Napier steadied himself against the barricade. 'The Frenchman fired a signal, have to for a rendezvous. We're standing by in case of any local disputes. 'He sucked in his breath; the pain was coming again. 'That was how it was explained to us.'
'Never thought I'd be asked to worry about them! A broadside's always done the talking before! 'He crooked his elbow to train and steady the telescope like a musket: a true seaman. 'There's Nautilus. No extra canvas set. 'He shifted the glass. 'And there's another sail, fine off the headland. 'He did not take his eyes from it. 'Is that what you saw, before you fell?'
Napier nodded, mind still grappling with it, as if it were a badly finished painting.
Tucker murmured, 'Got you, my beauty! 'Then, 'She's a schooner. French colours. Some sort of signal hoisted.'
Napier took the weight on his leg once more. No pain now, but he knew it was weeping, like the first time he had walked without a crutch. He could hear the surgeon's warning: he'll always have a limp. He had beaten that, too…
'You can report to the quarterdeck… sir. It'll be hours before they get close enough to talk. The schooner's not under full sail, and the boat she's towing will slow her down even more. 'He closed the telescope with a snap. 'SailorsЦ I've…' He did not finish. 'They need more sail. Soon as the wind dropped, they should have done it. 'He stared across the water, the telescope held loosely at his side. 'I've spouted more than enough!'
Napier sensed his uncertainty, felt it, like a barrier.
'What is it? It might be important.'
Tucker looked down at the torn breeches, flapping open in the warm breeze.
'Here, let me fix that before you present yourself to the gold lace, eh?'
But he was gripping the telescope again, his fingers running over the engraving.
'It was a while back, four, maybe five years. I was with the prize crew in a schoonerЦ she was a Frog, too. Lively little craft after a two-decker of eighty guns. But she needed all hands when the call came to make or shorten sail. 'He unslung the glass and offered it abruptly, perhaps before he could change his mind. 'This schooner don't seem to be carrying enough men to do the job.'
Napier moved to the barricade and peered down at the deck, and the forecastle where he had listened and learned from Lieutenant Squire and felt the rough camaraderie of the men around him.
He heard Tucker call after him, 'Watch that leg o 'yours!'
And then, 'They might not believe you!'
Napier turned stiffly and peered up at him. There was still no pain.
7believe you, David! 'He lowered himself on to the ratlines, which seemed to be vibrating, shivering in his hands. Like the sudden mutter of canvas. A note of urgency.
He swung himself through the shrouds and felt the deck beneath his feet. He could not believe he had moved so fast.
'Have you been relieved? I did not hear any such order!'
It was Monteith, still wearing the sword and coat he had donned to witness punishment.
'I have to see the captain, sir.'
'Do you, indeed? By whose authority? 'He was looking at the torn breeches, even smiling, as he rocked back on his heels.
'And you hope to become a King's officer!'
A shadow had loomed between them. Murray, the surgeon.
'I'm going aft, Mr. Napier. 'But he was looking at the lieutenant. 'We shall see the captain together. 'He watched as Napier released his grip on the rigging, then added quietly, 'And after that, you and I will have a little talk. That is an order.'
Monteith glared as some seamen paused to watch or listen.
'I would have dealt with it!'
Murray put his hand under the midshipman's arm. 'I am glad to know it, Hector. And by whose authority?'
Napier could sense the animosity between them, but it meant nothing to him. He hesitated and turned to look up at the masthead, the long pendant whipping out and holding the wind. Suppose… He tried again. The topman named Tucker, another David, who had served aboard a schooner. A prize taken from the enemy… It was not making sense.
He stumbled, but some one else had taken his other arm.
'Easy, my son! 'It was Jago.
'Where to? 'Another voice.
'Cap'n's quarters. It'll save time. 'A chair had come from somewhere. 'Make things a bit easier as well.'
It was quieter now, and airless. Some one propping him up, another tugging away the torn breeches. A scarlet tunic moving to close a door, some one moistening his parched mouth.
'Nice and easy, David. You're going to be all right. Be sure of that.'
Napier opened his eyes and stared into his face. The captain.
Another voice in the background. The surgeon.
