In the King`s Name

him.

Langley had got to his feet and remarked dismissively, “You did your best, Mr. Napier. A pity that we are still in the dark.”

It was over.

Napier had only spoken to the captain very briefly since then, after the admiral had finally returned to his flagship. He had been delivering a message from the purser. He had been about to walk away when the captain had called him by name.

“I’m proud of you, David.”

Then the purser himself had appeared, and the contact was broken.

“All done in ‘ere, sir?” It was the messman. “Think I ‘eard th’ pipe.” He did not wait for a reply, but Napier had long since learned that cooks and messmen usually knew what was happening before any one else.

He glanced at his locker, hesitated, and took out the letter. His thoughts scattered as the order was piped along the deck, faint at first, but as it reached hatch or companion it was loud and clear.

“All hands, all hands! Take station for leaving harbour!”

The admiral had decided.

Proceed when ready.

7 NO MERCY

ADAM BOLITHO ENTERED HIS CABIN and walked aft to the stern windows, which were now leaning slightly to larboard. Not much, but after their slow departure from Freetown it was like a reward. He leaned on the bench seat and peered down at the water below: one of the cutters was towing astern to keep her tightly sealed after baking beside her twin on the tier. He saw the boat yawing occasionally from side to side as if attempting to overtake her parent ship.

But they were making progress. If only the wind would hold.

He opened his shirt and loosened the sleeves. It was almost cool in the great cabin, or seemed so after the small chartroom where he had been comparing notes with Julyan, the master. In there, it had been like an oven.

Julyan had sounded optimistic, even cheerful. “Wind’s holding, not much, but if we keep this up we should sight the approaches day after tomorrow.” Some of his confidence had faded as the rudder had quivered noisily, like something shaking the keel.

Adam rubbed his chin. Even so, three days to make one hundred miles. Onward was used to something better. He smiled to himself. He must be getting like Julyan, with his quaint remarks.

They had been studying the most recent chart when the master had said seriously, “If all the sea ran dry right this minute, Onward would be perched on the edge of a great valley, hills to larboard and a bottomless pit to starboard.” It was a warning any sailor would be insane to ignore.

They had plenty of sea room, but Vincent already had the leadsmen selected to stand by for immediate soundings if the chart proved incorrect. To go from no bottom to only a few fathoms beneath the keel was not unknown.

The pantry door opened and Morgan looked in questioningly.

“May I?” And when he nodded, “Call me when …” He glanced at Adam’s seagoing coat, which was lying untidily across a chair. “I can give that a shamper-up in the meantime, sir.” He went out, the coat hanging over his shoulder like a faded banner.

Adam sighed. Morgan always seemed to know what was coming. He walked across to the old chair and stroked the worn leather. How many times?

He thought of the admiral. What was in those secret orders? Had they really required the fastest available frigate? Perhaps the only available frigate?

He recalled that final signal, Proceed when ready, which Midshipman Hotham had reported as soon as it had broken from Medusa’s yard. Langley must have gone ashore soon afterwards to one of his interminable conferences, because after Onward‘s anchor had broken free and they were eventually clearing the harbour, another signal had been sighted. It read simply, Until the next time. It must have been from Tyacke.

He moved to his small desk and half-opened the drawer where the letter lay. When would it be finished? When might she eventually read it?

He heard the Royal Marine clear his throat and call, “Lieutenant Monteith, sir!”

Four bells chimed faintly above the other sounds. Last dog watch. Monteith would arrive flushed and breathless, apologising even though he was exactly on time. The thought irritated Adam, although he knew he was being unfair.

He looked up at the skylight, remembering how the admiral’s flag lieutenant had so carefully closed it.

Monteith strode into the cabin, his hat tucked beneath one arm. “I do apologise, sir. I was needed up forrard, but when I told them-” He seemed surprised when Adam interrupted him briskly, waving him toward a chair.

“Never mind. You’re here now. And this won’t take long.” He crossed the cabin, feeling Monteith’s eyes on his back, and sat behind the desk. “As third lieutenant, you have the training and the welfare of our midshipmen in your care. Some are experienced up to a certain level, a few are on the first step. We all go through it, and you will recall the pitfalls and misunderstandings yourself, Onward being your first ship as a commissioned officer.”

Monteith sat bolt upright in the chair, hands folded across his hat. “I have always tried to maintain a code of conduct and discipline, sir. If any one has claimed otherwise, I must dispute it!”

Something fell on the deck overhead and there was a gust of laughter.

Adam said quietly, “Whatever we believe or expect, today’s midshipmen are tomorrow’s navy. Loyalty and obedience are essential.”

Monteith licked his lips and nodded, eyes fixed on Adam’s face. “I know that, sir.”

Adam glanced at the papers on his desk, weighed down with a piece of polished coral. There was scarcely any movement, but Onward was responding.

He looked directly at Monteith. “Responsibility extends in both directions, by example and by trust. Midshipman or captain.”

Monteith said, “I was doing what I considered my duty, sir. Very soon now, I will be required to write a report on each of them, as laid down in Standing Orders.”

“I am aware of that.”

He heard hushed voices beyond the screen door, possibly Morgan, trying to think of some way to interrupt this interview. It was a waste of time in any case. Monteith would never change, unless he was threatened.

The rap on the door came as a relief for both of them.

It was Radcliffe, breathless, as if he had run all the way from the quarterdeck. His eyes flickered in Monteith’s direction, and then he deliberately looked away.

“Lieutenant Squire’s respects, sir.” He screwed up his sunburned face as if to recall every word. “A sail has been sighted, fine on the starboard bow, steering west.” He added importantly, “Too far off to distinguish, but fresh lookouts have gone aloft.”

Adam saw it in his mind. A ship crossing ahead of them. Where from? Where bound? Any alteration of course would be pointless, especially now. Like the sun in these latitudes, darkness would come quickly. Like a cloak.

“Tell Mr. Squire that I’ll come on deck directly.”

He turned to reach for the old telescope as the midshipman scurried from the cabin.

Monteith was on his feet, standing stiffly. He looked absurdly young, like a midshipman himself. “I have always tried to do my duty, sir.”

Adam brushed past him. “I rely upon it.”

He had failed.

But by the time he had reached the quarterdeck, he had almost dismissed Monteith from his thoughts. He