In the King`s Name

He stretched his legs. “More like it, eh?” He patted the arms of the chair and turned his pale eyes on Adam. “This could tell a few tales, I’ll wager.”

Adam smiled to himself. The flag lieutenant had probably recorded all the details in his little book. “It belonged to my uncle, sir.”

“Guessed as much.” Langley nodded and stroked the worn leather. “Sir Richard. I am honoured!” A pause. “I know that Captain Tyacke served under him, and was with him at the end.” He brushed something imaginary off his sleeve. “But trying to get him to talk about their service together is like getting blood out of a stone!”

Adam saw the pantry door move an inch. Hugh Morgan was standing by.

“May I offer you some wine, sir? I’m not sure about the time, but you must have been on the move for most of the day.”

Langley pouted and said genially, “Not over yet, either. Never is.” He leaned further back in the chair. “Anything will be more than welcome, Bolitho!”

He gazed out of the stern windows, his pale eyes shaded by the overhang of the poop. “I often wonder what our people in London actually know of our problems out here. They worry about slavery, even though all the major powers are doing their utmost to stamp it out.” He wagged a finger. “There will always be men willing or reckless enough to continue in the trade, as long as the prize outweighs the risk. Given time, I might suggest …” He fell silent as Morgan glided into the cabin; he could move like a shadow when required.

Langley appraised the two expensive goblets. “I could become too comfortable in your company, I fear.”

Feet thudded across the deck above, and as if to a signal the flag lieutenant rose and hurried to close the skylight.

Langley said, “Just a precaution, Bolitho. Busy ears, y’ know?”

Adam sipped his wine. Langley’s glass was being refilled. The flag lieutenant’s remained untouched.

Langley said, “I’ve looked into the Moonstone‘s unexpected,” he lifted a finger, “and of course tragic, loss. She had been in our service under charter or direct warrant for some years. Patrol and liaison work, and more recently transporting some natives rescued or freed from slavery and landing them close to their place of origin. Where, and if, it was considered safe. In some cases, not so easy as it sounds.” He leaned forward as if to confide something. “Moonstone had seen better days. But for your sighting and boarding her, it might all still remain a mystery. She had been fired on, and there were no survivors save one. Yes, I read your report. Pirates, slavers, we might never know for certain. And there were sharks in the area …” He glanced at the screen door, which was now shut, and toward the pantry.

He said slowly, “There have been many changes here since I took command, and more since you were last here in-Unrivalled, wasn’t it?

‘Power to the Victor,’ is that what they call it? Beginnings of empire. And we are a part of it.” He banged his hands on the arms of the chair. “Like it or not.”

He stood up, and walked to the stern bench as if to peer out at the anchorage. “Improve communications but cut the costs: a constant demand from their lordships, and from government. If only they knew or understood.” He turned away from the light. “There is a new settlement to the south of us. With its own governor, and a local militia. To save money.”

Adam said, “Yes, I know. It is on the latest chart. New Haven.”

Langley betrayed surprise for the first time. “Well, it may be a part of empire, perhaps, but this is still Africa, for God’s sake!” Just as quickly he was calm again, the pale eyes steady. “I’m sending you there to meet the new governor, since he has not seen fit to offer me an invitation. Moonstone was under charter to him more than once. He will want to know what happened to her. And when he comes to me in the future …” The silence was significant.

He gestured to his flag lieutenant, who immediately handed him a folded sheet of official stationery. “All the necessary details are here. If the wind allows, I want you to get under way tomorrow. Make a signal to confirm it.” Langley turned to his weary-looking aide once more. “Before that, I want to speak to the officer who was mentioned in the captain’s report.”

“Midshipman Napier, sir?”

“If that is agreeable to you, Bolitho?”

Adam scarcely heard him. Even the writing on the page seemed blurred. “I would like to be present, sir.”

“Good thinking. He might forget something, or close up like an oyster. It happens at that age.”

Adam folded the paper. Only the new governor’s name stood out. It was Ballantyne, the name David Napier would never forget.

Nor shall I.

• • •

David Napier stepped into the midshipmen’s berth and stared around blankly. It was empty and somehow spacious, his home and hiding place since he had first joined the ship, along with Simon Huxley. Always full of noisy conversation, argument, and laughter. There were just six members of the mess, but it usually sounded like three times as many.

The only sound now was the faint clink of crockery from the pantry where the messman was either putting aside the dishes from breakfast, or preparing the next offering from the galley. And it was stuffy and humid, airless after the upper deck. The windsails had been lowered and stowed, but from ladders and gangways you could see the flag and masthead pendant flapping, and hear the rattle and slap of rigging, as if Onward were eager to leave.

We are sailing today.

Even the ship felt different. Alive again after stagnation.

He opened his little locker and folded the unfinished letter carefully before putting it away. Dear Elizabeth… No, my dear. He should just forget her. She had probably put him out of her mind as soon as he had left the house.

There were some casks of wine secured in one corner of the mess. In fact, every spare space in the hull seemed to be packed with extra stores of one sort or another. How long did they expect to be away? And to what purpose?

He heard running feet, the sound of something heavy being dragged across the deck above, and a yelp from somebody who was not fast enough. It would be soon now, unless there was another mix-up over the orders.

He sat down, deep in thought, recalling his unexpected summons to Rear-Admiral Langley in the great cabin: the admiral relaxed, even casual, but always maintaining a certain distance, and not merely because of his splendid uniform and gleaming epaulettes. Sometimes interrupting Napier in the middle of a sentence to fire a question, or clarify a point with his crushed-looking flag lieutenant. But the captain had been there also, a shadow against the stern windows, saying little unless in response to some comment from Langley.

Mostly, the questions had centred upon Moonstone, and the boarding party, and those final moments.

“And you were alone with the last survivor? How long was that? Did he tell you his name? What manner of man was he? Where would you say he came from?”

Looking back, it had been more an interrogation than an interview.

“What did he say? Was that all he said? Was there anything else of significance? And you left Moonstone with the others when the order to abandon was given?”

Bolitho had spoken before Napier could answer. “He was trapped between decks. Some loose gear had blocked his escape.”

“But others freed him?”

Napier heard himself say, “It was Jago, the captain’s cox’n, sir!”

He had been angry, remembering Huxley’s face, his despair, after the admiral had called to him and then brushed him so curtly aside.

And remembering Langley in the captain’s cabin, lounging in that same old chair, to which, when Napier had been wounded and unable to walk, they had carried him. And the captain had held him, giving him strength and courage. It was like sacrilege.

Napier had remained standing throughout the interview, the old pain reawakening in his leg as if to goad