Invasion

gone t' ground with her, hasn't he? Answer, you villain!'

The young lad looked about miserably, then said, in a small voice, 'He's quean-struck on her, Mr. Kydd, and— and he won't listen to his shipmates . . .' He tailed off under Kydd's venomous look.

It was the end for Calloway unless he could be brought to reason.

A memory came to Kydd of a shy thirteen-year-old painfully learning his letters with dockyard master Thomas Kydd in Antigua those years ago. Now that lad had turned into a fine seaman whom he had been able to set upon his own quarterdeck as midshipman, with a future as bright as any. But if he spared him, ignored the crime, every seaman in Teazer would expect their own offence to be treated in the same way.

Calloway must face the consequences and . . . No, damn it! How could he let young Luke be scuppered by some scheming wench? If only he could get to him, talk to the rascal, knock a bit of sense—

'Mr. Tawse! You're guilty o' condoning desertion, failing t' inform your superiors,' Kydd bellowed.

The lad shrank back, his eyes wide.

'And I find there's only one thing as'll save your skin.'

'S-sir?'

'Tell me truly where he's at—and no whoppers or I'll personally lay on th' stripes.'

'I—I don't know, sir. She's—she's not o' the quality, I know. Luke—Mr. Calloway—he won't say much 'cos I think he's worried we'll not approve her station.'

'Where?' Kydd ground out.

'Oh, sir, on stepping ashore we always must leave him at the top o' Dolphin Street. Mustn't follow or he'll give us a quiltin'.'

'That's all?'

'Why, sir, we've never even seen her, no matter where she lives.'

It was hopeless. 'You've not heard him talk of her last name a-tall?'

'I can't say as I remember—oh, one day I heard him say as she's got long hair like an angel, as our figurehead has.'

'I see. Well, duck away, Mr. Tawse, and not a word t' anyone. D' you mark my words?'

'Clap a stopper on m' tongue, I will, sir,' the youngster piped.

Kydd bit his lip. The only chance Calloway had now was if someone went ashore and roused him to his duty before it became open knowledge and reached the ears of authority.

Should he send Tawse? And let the lad roam the streets of a sailor-town alone? Purchet or Moyes? No. It would compromise their standing aboard if ever it came out.

Then who? It must be someone he trusted but at the same time a man who had the power to give credible reassurance. Kydd heaved a sigh. It was crazy, but there was only one who could go about the darker side of town knocking on doors and entering taverns, then confront the looby and hale him back aboard. Himself. But he would need a trusted accomplice.

'Mr. Hallum,' he said casually, after going on deck, 'I've just recalled something as needs my presence ashore for a short while. Call away the pinnace, if y' please.'

'Sir?' the first lieutenant said, frowning. It would be a wet trip, if not impossible, but a delay in returning would probably prevent his captain being able to get back at all until the storm abated.

'Of course,' Kydd added casually, 'should I be unfortunately detained then you've nothing to worry of. We've the safest anchoring in the kingdom.'

'Sir, may I ask what it is—'

'No, sir, you may not.'

A worried look descended on Hallum, but Kydd told him, 'I'll need to take the gunner—no, a gunner's mate will suffice.'

'That's Stirk, then, sir?'

'He'll do,' Kydd replied. 'Have him lay aft.'

While the boat's crew were being mustered Kydd retired to his cabin, tore off his captain's coat and breeches and pulled on an old pair of Renzi's plain trousers that he had borrowed. With his ancient grego he would probably pass as a merchant skipper on business ashore.

When a mystified Stirk arrived, Kydd laid out the situation before him. 'Young Luke's got himself in a moil.'

'I knows, Mr. Kydd, sir.' Nothing could be read from the glittering black eyes.

'And I've a mind t' do something for him.'

No response came.

'Someone should go ashore an' bring the young scamp t' his senses. I've a notion that's t' be me. What d' you say . . . Toby?'

Slowly, Stirk's expression eased into a smile. 'As I was a-thinkin'—shipmate.'

A rush of warmth enveloped Kydd. The years had been stripped away; the old loyalties of his days as a foremast hand had not been forgotten.

Stirk rubbed his chin. 'Won't be easy. We'll need t' describe 'em both without anyone knows the cut o' the jib of his dollymops.'