In the King`s Name

stared across the water. It was still broad daylight, but darkness came suddenly, and they both knew that all the lanterns would be burning within the hour.

In another part of the flagship’s hull someone was singing, in time to the scrape of a violin.

Tyacke said to the window, “Our lord and master has gone ashore again. I don’t know where the man finds the strength,” and faced Adam once more. “I heard about this proposed passage in Delfim. I think you’ve done more than enough already.” He half smiled. “I wish I was going with you.”

Adam said quietly, “I’ve chosen some good hands, and I’m leaving my first lieutenant to carry the load.”

“Vincent. A good fellow.”

Adam recalled Vincent’s expression when he had been told. He was far from pleased.

“You’ll take extra care, I hope.” Tyacke might have been thinking aloud. “That poor woman you rescued-is she reliable?”

Adam thought of her confrontation with Pecco, if that was his real name, the naked courage in her face. “I trust her.”

Tyacke looked at him keenly, eyes very blue in the ruined face. “I’ll make damn sure no unauthorised vessel leaves harbour before, or when, you do.” He tugged out his watch and opened its cover. “Meanwhile, I’ll be right here.” Then, “You’ve been a flag captain yourself, so I don’t have to remind you. If you do the right thing, your superiors will get the credit. If you fail, you’ll take the blame.”

He closed the watch gently and held it for a moment. “A gift from Sir Richard, bless him.”

They walked to the door together. It was time.

Adam said, “And these important guests of the admiral’s? Hard going, was it?”

Tyacke was feeling his pocket as if to ensure that the watch was secure. “Guests? Useless popinjays, as far as he’s concerned. Only one of them matters, just between ourselves.” He paused. “I’ll leave you here,” then seemed to recall what he had been about to say. “The Honourable Sir Charles Godden, no less. I see you’ve heard of him.”

Adam said nothing.

“Well, he’s now become head of the First Lord’s advisory staff. Member of Parliament as well. So our lord and master may have other things on his mind.”

It was like hearing Duncan Ballantyne’s own words. Promotion or oblivion.

Adam clipped the sword to his belt and said, “Sir Richard is still with both of us!”

He was suddenly impatient to begin.

10 BLADE TO BLADE

LIEUTENANT JAMES SQUIRE stifled a curse as he stubbed his foot against an iron ringbolt. By the time they all became used to the commandeered schooner the whole affair would be over. He tugged down his hat to shade his eyes from the reflected glare and examined her critically. She was about eighty feet in length and twenty at her beam.

He stifled a yawn, and it was not even the forenoon watch. They had cast off at an hour most landsmen would still consider the dead of night. Even the sounds had seemed louder: squealing blocks and muffled oaths as they edged away from other, sleeping vessels and hoisted the big gaff-headed mainsail. It had taken time, as all but a handful of Delfim’s original crew were ashore, under lock and key. Culprits or hostages, their fate would be decided later.

He tried not to look at the schooner’s master, standing beside Bolitho and an armed seaman.

Another footstep interrupted his thoughts. This time it was Murray, the surgeon. They had all been too busy to speak much, but Squire had asked him about Claire Dundas. Murray had evaded the question, saying only in good hands or a very brave young woman. In other words, nothing.

It was one of the seamen who had described the moment when Pecco had been identified as the man who had gone to the mission and raped her like a wild beast. Bolitho had not mentioned it. He was embarking on a chance operation which might prove either dangerous or complete folly.

Squire unslung the telescope from his shoulder and trained it toward the coast, in the far distance an uneven panorama of green and brown, with the hint of misty grey further inland that might have been a mountain ridge. And to starboard, the endless ocean.

He saw some of Onward‘s seamen resetting staysail and jib. Christie, a senior gunner’s mate, shouted, “Move yer bloody selves! Gawd ‘elp us if we runs into some real sailors!”

It was oddly reassuring to hear them laugh.

He looked at the compass beneath the sails’ shadow. One of Pecco’s men was at the spokes, and Bolitho and Tozer, master’s mate, were comparing notes. He thought again about the mission, the girl struggling in his arms, her shock and incredulity when he had wrapped his coat around her. She must have been expecting another assault.

Jago appeared in an open hatchway, grinning and hitting a metal basin with a ladle. “Up spirits, lads!” An even wider grin. “Stand fast, the ‘Oly Ghost!”

The age-old signal for a rum issue, but it could still bring some smiles.

Squire saw some of them lift their tots like salutes as Bolitho walked past them. But what was he thinking? Did he fear failure or personal loss, or death? And what of his lovely young wife?

“I need you in the chart space, James.” His tanned face relaxed into a smile. “Or should I say … Jamie?”

Later, Squire was still remembering it with a mixture of embarrassment and pride. No wonder men would follow their captain to the gates of hell. So would I.

Luke Jago leaned against the bulwark, chatting idly to the gunner’s mate crouched beside one of the Delfim’s stocky twelve-pounders. She mounted eight of them, all carronades, four on either side. In these waters every vessel needed some kind of protection if the worst happened, and it was certainly possible. Jago was past being surprised by anything.

Christie glanced up at him quizzically. “Load ‘em with canister, the cap’n says. Close action, d’ you reckon?”

Jago swore and slapped an insect crawling across his bare arm. “Catch bloody fever more like, Ted!”

Christie looked toward one of the main hatch covers. “I went below with Mr. Squire. She’s bigger than she looks. Mixed cargo, passengers mebbee-or slaves.” He lowered his voice. “What d’ you think, Luke?”

Jago watched the schooner’s master, Pecco, being taken forward under arms. “I’d trust a rat from the bilges more ‘n that scumbag.” He touched the hilt of his heavy cutlass. “One sign o’ treachery, an’ ‘e gets it first! Then the sharks can ‘ave ‘im!”

Christie grinned. “Glad you’re on our side!” Then he murmured, “Heads up!”

It was Lieutenant Sinclair, who, with twenty of Onward‘s Royal Marines, had been ferried aboard at nightfall. He looked like a stranger in a grubby shirt, without his scarlet coat and smart crossbelt. But somehow he was still a Royal Marine. He seemed preoccupied in making sure that his men were as comfortable as they could be below deck, and they obviously respected him. Jago shook his head. As an officer.

Sinclair glanced at the nearest twelve-pounder and said casually, “If we get that close, I’ll be relying on our bayonets!” He sounded almost unconcerned.

Not much of a choice, matey, Jago thought sourly.

Sinclair was saying, “We’ll be tipping some of the cargo over the side soon. Give us a bit more freeboard. We’ll need it when we move closer inshore.” He strode away. Smartly.

“Not a bad fellow,” Christie said, and paused.

They chorused together: “For a lobster!”

A voice, or perhaps a touch on his outthrust arm, and Adam Bolitho was instantly awake. He did not recall the