action was not likely—for the moment.

Savery's orders, too, were sparse, emphasising individual initiative and deprecating caution but with the proviso that the preservation of his ship was a central concern for every captain. Throw himself at the enemy or hold back: it would be Kydd's decision. Kydd realised that Keith's constant fear would be that his forces would be so whittled down by taking the war to the enemy shore that at a sudden invasion breakout they would prove of insufficient numbers.

It was a warm, sunny afternoon and, with the breezy northwesterly a foul wind on the French coast, there was little likelihood of an alert. Kydd walked quietly with the other two to the King's Naval Yard, letting the character of the place seep in.

Deal was a curious place, a town at a seemingly random position along a lengthy stretch of flat shoreline, nestled right up to a shingle beach. It was said to be one of the biggest ports in England—yet it had no harbour.

But there were reasons for its existence there: the lethal Goodwin Sands offshore were also a barrier to Channel storms and the ships that gathered in its embrace, waiting for a fair wind, needed provisions, stores and chandlery. Passengers favoured boarding their ships at Deal, thereby avoiding the tedious river trip to London. With naval forces to support in addition, the town was lively and prosperous.

The King's Naval Yard at one end of the waterfront was impressive, with sawpits, smith's shops, sail lofts and the like. A ship could be victualled for an entire ocean voyage from the brewhouses, compendious storehouses and the bakery producing vast quantities of ship's biscuits. Yet without a harbour—no quays, jetties or wharfs—tons of stores, masts and yards, weighty lengths of new-spun cordage, all had to be taken out to the ships in boats.

This meant that the heavy craft must be manhandled down to the water over the steep shingle, loaded and, after delivery, heaved back up again. At the yard there were eight slipways, oaken balks settled well in with a massive capstan at the top of each. Kydd watched as a three-ton frigate launch was hauled up for repair. Even with thirty men at the capstan and others steadying the boat it was a hard grind.

Their business concluded, the Teazers returned to their ship. Kydd knew he had paperwork to deal with but felt restless. He went to the shrouds and gazed out across the sparkling sea to the hard, clean line of the horizon where the distant sombre headlands of France were stark and clear.

There was now no doubt: the gathering storm that was about to break on England could be stopped by only one agency, the Royal Navy. Teazer was at the cutting edge, the furthest forward she could be on the field of battle. And Kydd was her captain.

'Ah, Mr. Kydd, come meet this merry band of mariners!' Savery said heartily, stepping back from the fireplace. A half-dozen officers looked at him inquisitively. 'Commander Kydd is new-joined in Teazer, brig-sloop, from the Channel Islands,' he boomed. 'Claims he wanted a more interesting station.'

There were murmurs of welcome and a shuffling to allow him a sight of the fire.

'This is Commander Dyer, of Falcon, ship-sloop.'

A cautious-looking older officer nodded.

'And L'tenant Keane, Locust, gun-brig . . .'

The cheerful, red-faced young man winked at him playfully.

'L'tenant Mills out of Bruiser, gun-brig.'

The big man grunted defensively. 'Service?'

'Oh, North American station t' begin with,' Kydd said amiably. There would apparently be no standing on ceremony in this company. 'The Med,' he added. 'And the Nile,' he finished lightly.

There was a general stir. 'Doubt we can find anything to top that, Mr. Kydd,' said Keane, respectfully.

'I'm not so sure,' Mills said forcefully. 'Boney's down on 'em hard if they don't put on a brave show defendin' afore their own soldiers on the shore. Why, in that mill we has last month off Calais . . .' The talk ebbed and flowed.

The Three Kings, like so much of Deal, was on the edge of the waterfront, its entrance set at right angles for shelter. The naval officers favoured rooms to seaward that looked out over the Downs and, in the strengthening north-westerly, the windows shook and rattled.

Savery glanced out to sea at the miles of bobbing ships and white caps, then suggested, 'Cards, gentlemen? No alarums to be expected in this blow.' There was a general move to the table. 'I do hope the claret is agreeable to your taste, Mr. Kydd,' he said, as the cards were cut. 'For our Friday gathering we make it a point that the enemy provides for our wine. Out of a prize, of course.'

Kydd did not shine at cards; his heart was not in it. His memory refused to take note of which had been successively dealt and he was regularly trumped. In this company, however, it was no chore, and gave him an insight into the personalities of those with whom he would go to war.

Savery was cool, precise and deadly, clearly enjoying the exercise. Keane was impulsive but ingenious, while Mills was stolid but infinitely patient, marshalling his assets until he could bang down his winning hand with a colourful oath.

It was an experience more pleasurable than he had expected: there was relief to be had from sharing anxieties and fears with those who were in the same position as him, and took strength from the sense of brotherliness in adversity, of fellow warriors awaiting the dawn.

The following morning the wind still held to a north-westerly but had moderated somewhat. There was no alert at the semaphore tower and Kydd held court with Hallum and Purchet over how best to bring the ship to a knife edge of readiness.

It was the age-old problem in war; men raised to a nervous pitch of skill and expectations, then forced to idleness while waiting for the enemy's next move. Traditional make-work employment in harbour centred around cleaning and bright-work, but nothing could be more calculated to dull the spirit; more warlike tasks, such as attending to the gunner's store had long since been completed to perfection. With a fine edge on every cutlass, pistols and muskets flinted and tested, shot brought to an impressive roundness by careful chipping with a rust- hammer, there was little more that Kydd could think of to do.

Poulden knocked tentatively at the door. 'Not sure as what t' do with this'n,' he said, holding out a paper. 'Mr. Calloway says ye'd be interested.'

Kydd read it and chuckled. 'Why, this is just the medicine for the harbour mullygrubs! Gentlemen, your

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