In the King`s Name

“We have no proof.”

Tyacke stretched his arms and some of his papers slid to the deck. “Then we’ll find some!” And for a second, Adam saw “the devil with half a face,” more feared than any other by the slavers. “Tomorrow, first thing, I want to go over the charts with you, and any one else you care to call. I have some ‘instructions’ from the admiral for Ballantyne.” He broke off just as abruptly, and gave Adam the piercing stare again. “What did you make of our honourable guest, by the way?”

Adam heard more running feet, then silence. Vincent could cope. Was probably enjoying it, in fact.

“I had the impression he had already made up his mind.”

Tyacke nodded slowly, his eyes steady. “As I said earlier, so like Sir Richard. And I agree.”

The pantry door opened an inch. “May I bring some wine, sir? Or a little something from the cask?”

Tyacke looked at his papers and shook his head. “Not for me. Later, mebbee.” He grinned. “If I’m asked, that is.” He looked over at Adam. “These are your quarters, after all.”

“Yours, too.” Adam gestured to the high-backed bergere. “I shall be there until we’re well clear of local craft.” He stood up; he had heard footsteps outside the screen door. “But now …”

There was a tap on the door.

“Midshipman of the watch, sir!”

It was Napier, droplets of spray glittering on his sleeves. “First lieutenant’s respects, sir.” Their eyes met. “Requests permission to loose t’gallants?”

Adam saw Morgan bringing his hat. Tyacke was quite still, watching them.

He touched the boy’s arm. “How are you, David?” So formal. Withdrawn. How it had to be. “My compliments to the first lieutenant. I shall come now.”

But Napier had already hurried on ahead, having glimpsed something in the flag captain’s scarred face, and holding the knowledge to himself like a secret. Understanding and regret, a strange sadness.

And envy.

14 SURVIVAL

THE TWO CAPTAINS STOOD side by side at the chart table while the ship seemed to quieten around them. It was the forenoon watch, their first at sea.

At moments like this Adam felt as though his senses were still on deck, or in some obscure part of Onward‘s hull where someone or something was related to certain sounds or movements. The morning watchkeepers groping their way below for a hurried meal and stowing their hammocks in the nettings, probably not long before all hands were piped to make or reef more sail. The wind had remained steady and fairly strong, and men working aloft had to be doubly careful. But spirits were high, with the ship alive and responding well to her helm.

He felt the table press into his hip, then withdraw, as if Onward were holding her breath before the next plunge. He was conscious of Tyacke’s silent concentration, broken only when he scribbled a note on the pad at his elbow, or used a glass to magnifiy tiny print or some diagram Julyan had already provided.

Tyacke said as if thinking aloud, “It’s just as well that you’ve visited New Haven before,” and smiled without looking up. “So have I. Unofficially.”

Adam heard Squire’s strong voice from the quarterdeck: officer of the watch, doing what he enjoyed most, holding the ship in his hands. For him, it had been a long journey. Vincent would be snatching some breakfast before taking over matters of discipline and routine.

Tyacke was saying, “The admiral wanted Ballantyne to maintain complete records of every vessel, cargo, and owner using the harbour and approaches.” He smiled sarcastically. “To save us money.”

Adam shook his head. “One day, maybe, if New Haven ever becomes another Freetown.”

Tyacke said shortly, “Not in our lifetime!”

Julyan interjected, “Will you excuse me, sir? I believe I need my other log,” and slipped out, closing the door behind him.

Tyacke seemed to relax visibly. “Now we can talk.”

They both knew Julyan had left deliberately.

Tyacke tapped the chart. “There’s too much money invested in slavery to expect a few laws and some keen patrols to put a stop to it. I’ve tried to explain this to our admiral. He won’t listen, of course. All he can see is the next step up his personal ladder-and soon, he thinks.” He stared around the small chartroom as if he felt trapped by it. “It’s all I’ve heard since he hoisted his flag over Medusa. I hope they appreciate it at the bloody Admiralty, or wherever they decide these things!”

He touched Julyan’s old octant, which the master liked to keep on display. “To hell with it. I shouldn’t let it scupper me like this-in front of you, of all people.”

Adam touched his arm. “I’ll not forget,” and smiled. “Did you manage to get any sleep?”

Surprisingly, the scarred face lightened into a broad grin. “A damn sight better than you, I’ll wager. That chair was empty every time I woke up!” Then he glanced toward the door. “He’s coming back. Thinks he’s given us long enough to trade secrets.”

When Julyan entered with a new chart folded beneath his arm, he found both of them joking and very much at ease. As he had intended. One captain was enough.

Lieutenant Mark Vincent sat at one end of the table and flattened out the list reminding him of several outstanding tasks. Not that there were many: he tried to be certain of that wherever possible. He had been on deck in charge of the morning watch, and was still feeling the strain of a first night at sea after a long spell at anchor. Men working in the darkness, falling over their own feet, waiting for the dawn.

He pushed a plate aside, but could hardly remember what the messman had offered him. The wardroom was empty, which was the way he liked it while he was sorting out his tasks and duties. At sea again, but for how long? Onward had left England on a mission, and that was completed. So why the delay? Chasing slavers was not work for a fine frigate like this one.

He tried to smother another yawn. The captain wanted the gun crews to exercise action today, either to reassure or impress their senior passenger. And the purser had asked for some stores to be shifted again. The man always seemed to have something stowed in the wrong place, and never made the discovery until after they had weighed anchor.

Vincent thought of the frigate Zealous, which they had left riding untroubled at her anchor. Her captain was apparently too new and inexperienced to be entrusted with a passenger like Tyacke, but how else would he gain the necessary confidence? He knew he was being intolerant, unfair to a complete stranger, but after this, what would follow for him?

He swung round in the chair and saw Monteith hovering by the door.

“I was told that you wanted to see me.” Monteith’s eyes flickered toward the other door, which was swinging half open.

Vincent said curtly, “There’s nobody in there,” and looked at his watch, which was lying on the table beside his list. “You’re with a working party up forrard, aren’t you?”

Monteith had his head on one side, an irritating habit Vincent always tried to ignore. “I left them with full instructions. It’s not the first time I’ve told them what I expect when I’m needed elsewhere.”

Vincent leaned back in his chair and attempted to appear in command. He should be used to Monteith by now, and immune to him. They shared the daily routine, in harbour and in action, and they shared the only escape: this wardroom.

He said, “I know you better than most of the hands you deal with. Harsh, perhaps unfair treatment of men in front of their messmates can easily rebound on the one in authority, and at the wrong time. I don’t want to make an issue of it.”