In the King`s Name

the little schooner as one of the captain’s prize crew. A hard man to know, unless he let the barriers fall. But Drummond had not forgotten that when he had been appointed, replacing the bosun who had been killed, Jago had been the first to befriend him. They never discussed it, but there it was.

He saw the same seaman now cleaning a brush, and found himself smiling. The old Jack’s yardstick: if it moves, salute it! If it doesn’t, paint it!

He heard voices: one of the gun captains giving instructions to some of the new hands, making sweeping gestures and ducking beside an eighteen-pounder. He was probably describing the clash with Nautilus. Hardly a battle. If he had been at Trafalgar… Drummond shaded his eyes and looked over at the flagship. His own ship, Mars, had been in the thick of the action, her decks smeared with blood, the enemy sometimes broadside to broadside. Even their captain had fallen, beheaded by a French ball.

He was suddenly angry, and could not contain it. He shouted, “Winning, are we?” But he was immediately ashamed of himself.

He turned as a shadow fell across the deck. It was Maddock, the gunner, and he was smiling. “We were all like that when we were young. So long ago I can hardly remember!”

Drummond saw the familiar felt slippers tucked in Maddock’s belt. He was on his way to the magazine. Nobody would bother him there. Strangers and visitors to their small mess hardly ever realised Maddock was so hard of hearing. He had even made a short and witty speech today to mark the sailmaker’s birthday, and got through it without interruption.

He said now, “I just met the first lieutenant, Harry. I think he wants to see you when you’re free.”

Drummond laughed, his moment of temper forgotten. “That means now!”

Maddock yawned too; it must be contagious. “He’s in the cabin, getting a bit of peace. While he still can.”

Drummond knew there were only two possible reasons. With Squire, Sinclair of the Royal Marines, and Murray, the surgeon, all away in Delfim, the wardroom would be a place to avoid. Julyan, the master, was ashore dealing with some new navigational aids, and Vicary, the purser, was dull to say the least. That left Lieutenant Monteith. That was reason enough.

A marine strode toward them and clicked his heels together. “Beg pardon, sir, but the first lieutenant …”

Maddock held up his hand and grinned. “You were right, Harry. He meant now!”

LIEUTENANT MARK VINCENT loosened his coat and walked through the great cabin to the stern windows. Even with windsails rigged and most hatches and doors opened, it seemed airless, and the anchorage was still, the reflected glare painfully bright.

There was an occasional sound or sensation around or beneath him, and in his mind’s eye he could place and define it. He knew every part of Onward, possibly better than any one. Except her builder.

Something fell on deck and he heard the Royal Marine sentry outside the screen door move away to investigate, then somebody laughed and was hissed into silence again. He glanced at the neat pile of papers brought for his signature by Prior, the captain’s clerk. Quiet and confident, and, for all Vincent knew, watching him and making comparisons. He sat down abruptly and tried to relax, but he was not tired, which surprised him.

For an entire week the ship had been under his command, and as a result he had shared every watch with Monteith and Julyan, keenly supported by Midshipman Hotham, who had once more been appointed temporary acting lieutenant.

Vincent saw a jug of water on the little desk. The surface was barely moving. Suppose … He shut his mind to it.

Every day had been full: dealing with the ship’s routine and the harbour requirements and formalities, discipline and defaulters, but only a few of the latter. They knew him too well by now. He had even met the new frigate’s captain when he had gone aboard Zealous with some local information, more out of curiosity than anything else. Pleasant enough, and friendly up to a point, but the courtesy of the visit had not been returned. He was young, younger than Vincent, and the significance had been obvious to them both.

He was on his feet again, pacing. The pantry door was shut, but he knew Morgan was not far away. A good man, none better … He put that, too, from his mind. He had selected Hugh Morgan himself for the position of captain’s servant, even before Onward had been fully commissioned. Even then, I was behaving like a captain.

He pushed at the other, narrow door until it was half open. Bolitho’s sleeping cabin was almost box-like. But at least it was his own. He looked at the portrait that always hung there, seen only by Morgan and a few interlopers. Like me. Andromeda, awaiting her own sacrifice to the sea monster. He reached out and lightly touched the canvas, as guilty as a schoolboy. What must she have felt as she had posed for it? What did she think now, with Adam Bolitho away at sea, not knowing …

He was closing the door, flushed and unsettled, as Morgan padded past with an armful of clean shirts.

“He’ll be back soon, sir.” He did not move. “Will you be dining with any guests here tonight, sir?”

There was a tap on the screen door. Morgan tutted. “Never any peace!”

“Officer of the guard, sir!”

Morgan was laying the shirts carefully on the seat of the bergere. Then he looked up, staring at the door. “He’s back!” He hurried to open it, but halted as the air seemed to quiver to a dull boom.

Vincent’s eyes remained on the officer in the doorway, a lieutenant like himself. It was the signal from the headland.

He turned without speaking and looked for the last time at the cabin. Like a dream, it was over.

Midshipman David Napier walked across the quarterdeck, gazing at the anchorage. There were still a few lights showing ashore and on vessels at anchor, but that would soon change. All hands had been called at dawn and the air was still fresh and cool, the decks wet underfoot, washed down by seamen half asleep as hammocks were being stacked in the nettings, still warm from their bodies. The midshipmen’s berth had been like a furnace in the night, despite the open ports and hatches.

Napier saw someone stooping over coiled rope and grinned. It was his friend Tucker, the bosun’s mate.

“This makes a change!”

They both looked toward the as yet invisible headland. Napier said, “Bit of a breeze now. That will help them.”

Every one was thinking the same. How soon? What was the cost? When you fought together as one company, it was different. Fighting guns or the sea itself.

Tucker murmured, “Stand by.”

It was Lieutenant Monteith, peering around at the men working below the braced yards and furled sails, which were already sharpening against a clear sky. He saw Tucker and snapped, “I’ll need you to chase up the jolly-boat’s crew, in case …” He did not finish, but beckoned imperiously to Napier. “And I want a few words with you.” He gestured. “Even the flagship’s not wide awake yet!”

Tucker said, “Can I send the men under punishment to breakfast, sir?”

“Ask the master-at-arms. I can’t deal with everything!”

Napier followed the lieutenant down to the wardroom. It was deserted, the table laid for one person. A messman was collecting the empty dishes.

He stopped as Monteith said, “Another cup, Berry. The last one was stone-cold.”

The man nodded and hurried away.

Monteith sat down and wiped his face with a handkerchief. “You have to watch some people all the time!”

Napier glanced around. Lieutenant Vincent must still be in the great cabin, but did he ever sleep? Even during the night he had heard him about, sometimes just prowling along a gangway or the main deck. He had always liked the first lieutenant. Strict when necessary, but he was fair, and always ready to listen. Unlike some …

Monteith was saying, “As you probably know, I am writing your monthly report. I’m afraid it’s something we all have to go through.” He shifted in the chair and gazed at him. “You must have learned a good deal by now.” He ticked each point off on a finger. “Your previous experience when Audacity was lost in battle, then aboard this ship.” He gave what might have been a smile. “And with me and our landing party. I shall put that in my report, of course.”