In the King`s Name

looked up at the sails, feeling the warm air on his shoulders. The wind, what there was of it, was still holding, but the canvas was barely moving.

Squire was waiting with a telescope beneath his own arm. “I’ve sent Midshipman Hotham aloft, sir. Any one who can read and send signals as well as he does might see what others miss.”

Adam moved toward the small group around the wheel, and one of the helmsmen called instantly, “South by east, sir!”

Vincent was here now, and Adam saw him pausing to flick some crumbs from his shirt.

He stared abeam at the endless barrier of land, like the edge of their world. Bleached and almost colourless under the glaring sun. It was closer now, less than five miles away. When the daylight was gone, it would be dangerous to tack any nearer.

The other vessel would be out of sight by now, heading into the great ocean.

As if reading his thoughts, Vincent said, “Probably seeking more sea room.”

Adam hardly heard him. He said, “I’m going up.” He knew Squire in particular was staring at him as he slung the telescope across his shoulder.

“I wouldn’t have called you, sir, but-”

Adam looked up at the maintop, thinking of Walker, ordered aloft by Monteith as a punishment and beginning this unforeseen chain of events. He saw Jago standing with Drummond, the bosun, arms folded, and sensed his disapproval.

He gripped the ratlines and started to climb. The sun burned his back, and the cordage felt as if it had been lying across a stove. He glanced abeam again, pausing to wipe the sweat from his eyes with the back of his wrist. They had the sea to themselves, as far as he could see in any direction.

He had reached the maintop and saw Midshipman Hotham lower his own telescope at his captain’s untidy arrival. There were two other lookouts with him, one of them Tucker, the new bosun’s mate.

Hotham said, “The other vessel is almost out of sight, sir.” He tapped his telescope. “Two-masted, probably a brig. Local, maybe?” He reached out as if to emphasise the point and stopped himself, but was unable to hide his excitement. “But over there, sir!” He pointed toward the uneven coastline. “Flashes, sir. Thought the sun was playing tricks on me. But they were flashes!”

Tucker said, “I saw ‘em too, sir.”

Hotham rushed on, ignoring the interruption. “On an’ off. Like sunlight reflected from a mirror or a piece of glass. But then it stopped, or was lost in the inshore mist. But I did see it!”

Adam rested his knee against the barricade and felt the whole mainmast shivering against him. And the keel beneath that. His ship.

He focused the glass and saw the nearest land spring into detail, the curve of the next spur of headland. And after that? He thought of the sailing master beside him in the airless chartroom, as they had transferred their calculations to the new chart. He had marked this same thrust of headland. Not much, but still dangerous for any vessel so close inshore.

The most recent chart had shown a tiny landmark, which had not been on the previous version. A mission of some kind, either religious or simply supplying aid or sustenance to any trader or sailor who might venture ashore in this “godforsaken place.” It could certainly be used as a guide.

Tucker said slowly, “Maybe it was hidden in the mist, sir.”

Adam closed the telescope. “Not mist this time. It’s smoke.” He looked at Hotham again. “Flashes? You’re certain of it?”

The midshipman hesitated, but only for a moment. “I’ve seen the army making signals like that. I’m certain, sir.”

Adam started to climb down. A clergyman’s son. What would his father say if he could see him now? But no matter what he thinks he saw, it is my decision.

Vincent was waiting, his face full of questions.

Adam said, “We will hold our present course until sunset. Then I intend to come about and close inshore.” He looked at him directly. “And anchor.”

“Landing party, sir?”

“At first light, weather permitting.” As if he were thinking aloud. “Two boats, the cutter towing astern, and the gig. Easier. Any sign of trouble-”

Vincent said, “We’ll be ready, sir!”

Adam gripped his arm. “Not this time, Mark. I need you here with me. Remember? The ship comes first.”

He looked toward Squire, who had not moved since he had watched his captain scrambling aloft. “Join me in the cabin, both of you. And I’ll explain what I have in mind.”

Only then did he release Vincent’s arm.

As he walked toward the companion he could hear the low murmur of their voices. What was there to discuss? Right or wrong, it was decided.

• • •

“Landing party mustered and standing by, sir.” Vincent’s voice was clipped and formal, loud in the uncanny silence.

Adam waited for his eyesight to adjust to the darkness on deck. Even Vincent’s face was barely visible.

He had stolen a few precious minutes to revisit the chartroom. There was only a small shaded light above the chart table, just enough and no more. The order to darken ship had been piped at sunset, when Onward had altered course and headed toward the original sighting, and the master-at- arms and ship’s corporal had maintained a regular patrol above and between decks to make certain it was carried out.

They had anchored, and the silence was unnerving. Even the sound of the cable running free had seemed dangerously loud, and the leadsman’s regular chant as they approached the inshore waters seemed to invite discovery.

It was the middle watch, almost over now. Adam stared through the darkness toward the land, imagining he could smell it, but he knew it was about two miles distant, if his calculations and Julyan’s were correct. The sailing master had seemed satisfied. By guess and by God, as he had put it.

The cutter and gig were moored alongside. It would be a long pull for the oarsmen, with extra men and weapons adding to the weight. Squire would be in command. Not an easy man to know, but he was brave, reliable, and popular. His experience as a master’s mate, ashore and afloat in a surveying vessel taking part in Sir Alfred Bishop’s expedition, made him the obvious choice. His service throughout the expedition had gained him a commendation from the great man himself, and a promotion to commissioned rank which still seemed to surprise him.

He would be leading in the cutter, which mounted a swivel in the bows as additional protection, with the gig staying as close astern as possible. If Squire ran aground on a sandbar before reaching a suitable beach, the gig could tow or kedge him free. Monteith would be in charge of that. There was no alternative.

It might all prove to be a mistake and a waste of time, and Rear-Admiral Langley would not be pleased about that.

Two midshipmen were also among the landing party, Huxley and David Napier, requested by Squire because he had worked alongside both of them while anchoring and getting under way. Adam had mixed feelings about Napier. Experienced, yes, but it was too soon after the Moonstone affair. But any exclusion would be seen as favouritism, and Napier would be the first to protest.

Many of Onward‘s company had been standing by for most of the night. Some may have snatched a catnap curled up against a gun or in some corner of the hull, waiting for the call. No hammocks had left their nettings, in case of some emergency when all hands might be needed. A sudden shift of wind, or the leadsman’s cry, warning of unexpected shallows. Like the edge of Julyan’s “great valley,” Adam thought.

They were ready. It was now.

Vincent had reported that there had been no shortage of volunteers, but Squire had only chosen a few extra men, including a squad of Royal Marines. Adam could still hear the disappointment, and see it on Lieutenant Sinclair’s face, when he had been told that he was staying aboard and Sergeant Fairfax would be in charge of the