Invasion

At Kydd's evident shock, Keith gave a cold smile. 'Don't imagine you'll be out on some wild adventure. I gather it's to be acting as dogsbody to some American charlatan inventor. You'll remain in my command, Mr. Kydd—as Inspector of Fencibles.'

Surely not. The Sea Fencibles—a home-defence force of dabblers and seamen past their prime. At one stage the doughty Earl St. Vincent, first lord of the Admiralty, had muttered dismissively, 'The Sea Fencibles are there only to calm the fears of old ladies, both within and without Parliament.'

What had he done as a fighting seaman that he should be relegated to this? Kydd bit his lip in frustration. 'Aye aye, sir,' he said bleakly.

Keith waved his hand in dismissal. 'Flags will tell you the rest.'

How things had changed. From service in the very front line of the war at sea to nursemaid of well-meaning amateurs and whoever the American was. The flag-lieutenant was unable to add much. Sympathetically, he explained that the commander-in-chief had received his orders from a higher level and had complied, with Kydd the unlucky choice. It was apparently a discreet affair, and while his line of responsibility lay with Whitehall, his appointment as Inspector of Fencibles was to give him cover and keep him administratively within Keith's command.

A gentleman from London was, however, in attendance to explain. He was at pains to make clear the contractual arrangements between His Majesty's government and the American, a Mr. Fulton, who also went by the name of Francis, which in the main appeared to be the production of plans for a contrivance of his inventing to be scrutinised in due course by a learned committee.

Kydd's role was to act as intermediary between the inventor and the Navy, providing assistance of a practical nature to include advice concerning operational procedures and administrative support at all levels. This latter was of particular importance, it seemed, bearing as it did on weighty matters, including the proper form of indenting for dockyard stores requested by Mr. Fulton and lines of responsibility back to Mr. Hammond, under-secretary of state with responsibility for the project.

This contrivance? The functionary was not certain, leaving it up to Kydd to pursue details as he wished with the contractor. All costs must be fairly accounted for and rendered in the proper form, and a journal to be kept.

Voice lowered, the man went on to inform Kydd that, the contract being of a confidential nature, all elements pertaining should be kept from public view. Security for the principal of the contract and his workings would not be his responsibility, however, except in so far as unforeseen events dictated.

Francis, not Fulton, was the name on the contract; he was a gentleman of singular views and would need sensitive handling. Work space was being provided in Dover Castle, any sea trials would probably take place locally and other than that, well, Kydd was expected to work closely and supportively with the man, provided always that the interests and prerogatives of the Crown were upheld.

Numb with rage, Kydd made his way back to his ship. A sloop-of-war of the first rank and a commander, Royal Navy, at the beck and call of some money-grubbing projector—it was infamous. England needed every sail-of-war to face Napoleon!

He swallowed his bitterness. 'Mr. Hallum, we have new orders.'

'Sir?' The man's grey subservience irritated Kydd. 'We weigh within the hour for Dover—and strike the blue ensign,' he snapped.

'S-strike?'

'God damn it!' Kydd roared. 'Take it down, I said. Hoist a red 'un in its place!' He went on grimly, 'As of now we're an unattached private ship so we fly a red. Hands t' turn to, unmoor ship, Mr. Hallum.' It would be remarked all over the anchorage: HMS Teazer was standing down from the fight.

During the short trip south to Dover Kydd brooded. He had no choice other than to do his duty, but all his warrior instincts were to face the enemy. What he had heard at the Admiralty had shaken him, and to be absent from the field in his country's time of trial was almost too much to bear.

He had never been to Dover; the harbour to the west of the town was small and had no naval presence to speak of, but brazenly atop the towering white cliffs was the mightiest fortress in the south: Dover Castle.

The town nestled snugly in a fold of the white cliffs. After he had taken one look at the roads winding up the steep hills, Kydd hired a carriage to take him to the castle. Despite his savage mood he was impressed by the sight of it: the giant central keep within the near half a mile of protecting ramparts and bastions spoke of defiance and age-old puissance in a world gone mad. It had been a symbol of tenacity looking out to England's enemies for nearly eight centuries and, yet again, had come to be a major element in the forward defence of the kingdom.

Entering through the Constable's Gate his spirits rose.

The red coats of soldiers everywhere, others in fatigues with pickaxes and carts, more drilling at their heavy cannon showed it to be an active fortress of a truly majestic size.

Feeling conspicuous in his naval uniform among all the soldiers, Kydd was marched by a genial sergeant inside the walls and his pass was verified. Then an officer was produced who knew of the castle's distinguished guest.

It was not to the towering keep that he was taken. Instead they walked seaward over the grassy slopes of the hill and approached the edge of the cliff. Then, unexpectedly, it was an abrupt descent into the bowels of the earth and a dark world of medieval tunnels, passages and steps. Here, there were subterranean barrack rooms, kitchens, work places, storerooms, sleeping quarters and guard rooms. Then the blessed sight of sunlight—not above, but at the end of casemates, long, fortified chambers, much as Kydd had known in Gibraltar but this time, rather than a view across a dusty plain into Spain, he found himself looking out from a height over the sparkling sea.

Towards the centre of the complex of casemates the officer stopped. 'You'll find your Mr. Francis in there,' he said, pointing to one.

Kydd entered the long cavity and made his way towards a figure arranging desk and drawers at the end. 'Mr. Francis?'

The man turned abruptly. 'Who're you?'

It was odd to hear the American twang he had last encountered in Connecticut in such surroundings. 'Commander Kydd, Royal Navy.'

'And you're to be my keeper,' Fulton grunted, and went back to his sorting. The desk was well sited for detailed