Invasion

call the beasts— my plungers.'

Kydd watched the shivering pair shove off and awkwardly ply their sculls to take them into the anonymous blackness. They were under instructions to circle Teazer out in the moonless night, then close in from a random direction.

'Keep a bright lookout, ahoy!' Kydd roared up at the men in the tops. Much hung on this, as everyone knew, and a wary silence settled.

Some minutes later there was a call from aft—'Boooat ahoooy! Away t' starb'd!' It was some time before Kydd could pick out the low form that the sharp eyes of a ship's boy had spotted.

'Around again!' they were ordered, and this time, coming in directly on Teazer's bow, they penetrated easily within a ship's length.

'Splendid!' Popham declared. 'There!' he told Fulton. 'You have your means of delivery, sir.'

CHAPTER 12

IT HAD BEEN FRUSTRATING in the extreme. Hours spent in journeying to London, two days explaining, reassuring, promising, Kydd waiting outside, and the solitary Fulton sitting at one side of a long table, with the seniority of the Admiralty assembled along the other. Popham had assured Kydd and Fulton it was necessary, but in their eyes there were more pressing concerns.

And now more hours in a coach on the return. Kydd pondered the extraordinary turn of events, and the irony that he had now the wealth and the opportunity finally to take his place in higher society, but the grave situation in which England stood made it all but meaningless. Even a small estate was beyond his grasp: as an active captain he could give it no real attention—and he had no lady to rule it.

He watched the neat, rolling hills of the Weald of Kent passing by, almost garden-like in their loveliness. Next to him Fulton's eyes were closed, and opposite, a merchant and his prim lady kept aloof. His thoughts turned inevitably to the war: there was no question but that in a short time there would be a reckoning.

Would he play his part with honour when the time came? Of course. Then doubt flooded in. Did honour include the stealthy blasting to atoms of sailors? Was it so necessary to support Fulton as he did, or had he, as Renzi believed, crossed a moral Rubicon? Troubled, he crushed the thoughts. Did not the situation demand extreme measures? Was not—

The coach lurched to a grinding stop, the horses whinnying in protest. There were sharp voices outside, and Kydd leaned out of the window. Two horsemen stood athwart their path, both masked and each with a heavy pistol. One walked his mount to the window of the coach and leaned down, flourishing his weapon.

'The men—out!'

Highwaymen! Rage filled Kydd that these vermin were still at their trade when the country's peril was so real. His sword was in the rack above the seat, but it would be useless in the face of the big horse pistol pointing steadily at him.

'Now.' The voice was flat, with no emotion and left little choice but to obey.

Kydd climbed out, looking tensely for the slightest chance, but these were clearly professionals. One stood back to cover the other while he dismounted. Kydd tried to peer into the mask but there was only the glitter of dark eyes.

The three male passengers stood together and faced the two riders. It was odd that they were ignoring the lady, for she surely had the richest pickings.

'I—I h-h-have a w-watch!' the merchant stuttered, reaching for his fob.

He was ignored. The highwayman still mounted trained his pistol on each in turn, then rapped, 'Which of you is Fulton?'

In an instant it became clear. These were French agents sent to find the inventor. Fulton glanced at Kydd with a lopsided smile. Neither spoke.

The merchant looked bewildered and afraid.

The rider motioned meaningfully at his accomplice, who threw open the coach door. 'Out!' he snarled at the woman, holding his weapon to her head. She screamed and the man cuffed her to the ground. Still with the pistol aimed at her, he cocked it.

'Which is Fulton?'

If the French took back the inventor they would know in detail what was planned against them and take appropriate defensive measures. Then they would undoubtedly build infernals of their own. It could not be risked. 'I am,' Kydd said, and stepped forward.

In French the mounted man demanded, 'Answer quickly. What rank does Gaspard Monge hold under the Emperor?'

Kydd was unable to answer.

'You!' said the man, pointing to Fulton with his pistol. 'Come here.'

His accomplice swiftly cut the traces of the coach horses and slapped their rumps, sending them galloping away over the heath. Then he resumed his horse but kept his pistol out.

'Up behind!' Fulton obeyed awkwardly. They cantered into the woods and out of sight.

It was a catastrophe—and Kydd was responsible. It had taken half an hour to catch one of the horses and now he was riding south, bareback, thrashing it as hard as it could go. Kydd knew that the agents would be in urgent flight to the coast to spirit Fulton to France.

At a village he hired the best mount he could find and thundered madly down the road, hoping against hope to see the riders ahead. Then, under the goading of urgency, he headed instinctively for his ship. Tired and sore, he left the exhausted animal at the King's Naval Yard in Deal.

As Kydd slumped down wearily, Renzi looked up from his reading. 'Is there—'

'I've lost Fulton,' Kydd said simply.

'Lost?'