Command

pointing finger. Chuckling, he bent down and retrieved a petrified scrap of fur. 'Sprits'l, bless y' heart!' he said, turning to the throng. 'Doesn't care f'r cannon fire—we've searched the whole barky, fore 'n' aft, looking for the little rascal!'

Miss Peacock came to see for herself. 'Why, it's a wee-bitty kitten!' she cooed, offering her finger to be licked. 'It's so thin, the poor bairn—to be kept in this awful ship to be fired at with guns! Whoever could do such a thing?'

'Miss Peacock,' said Kydd, 'this is Able Seaman Sprits'l, a member of Teazer's ship's company, an' he has his duties.' The button eyes moved about in sudden interest and the tiny nose twitched. 'I've an idea he'll need t' be used to the sound o' gunfire if he's going to be a Teazer!'

CHAPTER 9

TEAZER WAS HEADING NORTH to the trading routes around the heel of Italy. She had been sent on a cruise of her own with the barely concealed purpose of acquiring a prize or two to line the pockets of her brave commander and crew.

They had been fortunate indeed: there had been remarkably little damage and only a small number with wounds, such was the speed with which it had all happened. The French captain, Reynaud, had been mortified at his misreading of Teazer and the result of his overweening confidence, and had sulked below during the short but triumphant journey back to Malta at Teazer's tail.

It had done wonders for the Teazers' morale, and as Kydd strolled about the decks that fine morning he was met with grins and respect; even Tysoe assumed a regal bearing.

For Kydd only one thing mattered: he had achieved distinction and his command was secure. He and Teazer would be together from now on.

And that meant he could make plans for both Teazer and her company. In Malta he had seen a new ship fitted with patent windsails for ventilation that would be perfect for keeping a flow of fresh air through the length of the mess deck. There were other things he had in mind: Yates, his coxswain, had been among the wounded left at the hospital and he would take the opportunity to rate up the cool-thinking Poulden to the position. Perhaps tonight he would invite the two midshipmen to dinner—they had grown considerably in both stature and confidence and were a lively pair . . .

His pleasant musings were interrupted by the lookout's call of 'Sail hoooo!' There had been sightings aplenty since their departure but only feluccas and other small vessels, not worth the wear and tear of a chase.

'Deck, ahoy! Ship-rigged, an' holding f'r the north!'

A sizeable vessel. Was it predator or prey? That they had overhauled it under full sail suggested a fat-bellied merchant ship. This would be confirmed by a sudden sighting and hopeless bid for escape, but it would take a racehorse of a ship to outrun Teazer.

Kydd waited for the expected outcome—but, to his puzzlement, there was neither the instant reaching for the weather position of a man-o'-war nor the consternation and fleeing of a merchant vessel, simply a steady northward course.

Why such confidence? It might be a guiltless neutral or, even more unlikely in these waters, a friend, but its actions were not natural to either. Unknown sail was a threat until proved otherwise and this one seemed to have not a care in the world—or was it leading them into a trap?

'T' quarters, Mr Dacres. I don't trust th' villain.' There were no colours evident but that was not significant: owners of merchant packets were not inclined to waste money on flags that would blow to tatters in weeks at sea.

By early afternoon they had come within gunshot of the vessel, which still held to its course. Doubled lookouts at the masthead could spy no skulking sail, no gathering jaws of a trap—it was deeply unsettling.

'It's a plague ship, sir,' Dacres suggested unhappily.

It fitted the facts: the lack of activity in the rigging, the monotonous and unvarying course, the lack of fear. Kydd took his pocket telescope and trained it on the vessel's decks. There were the usual small number of merchant-ship crew, just a couple about the wheel and a few others around the forebitts.

'Mr Dacres, there's something amiss. Give 'em a gun.' A two-pounder ball sent up a plume ahead of the vessel. It had no effect. The ship stood on regardless, curious gazes on Teazer as she hauled up on them. Another gun brought a sudden burst of angry shouting that was incomprehensible, but no action.

'Half pistol shot t' wind'd, Mr Bonnici,' Kydd grunted, at a loss to comprehend the situation. They closed and Kydd added, 'This time I'll have ye sight close enough t' scratch his varnish.'

The threat brought a grudging heaving to, a sullen wallowing with backed sails. 'Board him, Mr Dacres, an' find out what he's up to,' Kydd ordered. He had considered leading the party himself but he did not want to leave Teazer in this unknown situation.

'If it has plague—' Dacres protested feebly.

'He has nothing o' the sort. He's under our guns an' you'll take no nonsense. Two shots fr'm us to return directly, a wave of y'r hat should ye want assistance. We're looking to a possible prize. Do y' have the latest interrogatories?' he asked, referring to the questions issued by the Admiralty to assist boarding officers in their assessments.

'Aye aye, sir,' Dacres muttered.

The cutter pulled away smartly and disappeared round the leeward side of the ship while Kydd went below to his paperwork. It generally took an hour or so for the preliminaries of a prize boarding to be concluded.

After just ten minutes there was a knock on his door, and the message, 'Sir, our boat is returning.' This made no sense and Kydd hurried on deck.

Dacres climbed over the bulwarks with an acutely worried expression. 'Sir, may I see you privately?' he said urgently.

In Kydd's cabin he looked about carefully, then closed the door firmly. 'Sir, I have to inform you . . . If you'd please to read this.'

It was a French commercial newspaper, not the government Le Moniteur, notorious for its lies and sweeping claims, but a sober publication from Marseille, intended for merchants and others in trade. A phrase blazed out in the headlines: 'La Paix'—peace!