'Fresh air,' offered Kydd, eyeing the dirty window. 'And a fireplace.' The small grate looked mean and still contained the disconsolate crumbled remains of the last fire, but he rubbed his hands, and said briskly, 'We'll soon have it shipshape. Um, not as who's t' say, but I don't spy a kitchen a-tall. How . . . ?'
Renzi forced a bright smile. 'In course, we as bachelor gentlemen do send out for our victuals, dear fellow. There's sure to be a chop-house or ordinary close by. As to the smaller comestibles there'll be your milkmaid, baker, pieman calling, eager for our trade.'
Kydd looked at the small fireplace. 'A kettle f'r tea an' coffee?'
'Tea will soon be beyond our means, I'm sorry to say,' Renzi said firmly. 'Scotch coffee will probably be available.' Kydd winced. Childhood memories of scrimping in hard times had brought back the bitter taste of burned breadcrumbs.
They set to, and a seaman-like scrubbing from end to end soon had the spaces glistening with damp, the window protesting loudly at being opened, and a resolve declared that they would invest in more aids to comfort when their affairs were on the mend. Meanwhile another chair was needed, with various domestic articles as they suggested themselves.
When evening fell and they set about their meagre repast, the extravagance of a bottle of thin Bordeaux did little to lift the mood. A burst of ill-tempered rowdiness came up from below. Was the future stretching ahead to be always like this?
The night passed badly for Kydd. In just a few months he had come from contemplating a high-society wedding to regretting the coals for the comfort of a fire. From captain of a man-o'-war to tenant of a dirty garret. It was hard to take, and lurking at the back of his mind there was always the temptation to slink back cravenly to England.
But that would be to accept the ruin Lockwood had contrived and he'd be damned if he would!
The dull morning began with rain pattering on the window and leaks appearing from nowhere. Over the last of their tea, Renzi gave a twisted smile. 'I rather think that the occupation of gentleman is quite over for us, brother. We must seek out some form of income—of employment suitable to our character, or it will be the parish workhouse for us.'
'I'll never get another ship from Admiral Saumarez,' Kydd said glumly, 'even supposing he's one in his gift. Er, y' haven't seen my hairbrush? You know, the pearl-backed one Mother gave me.'
'I thought it was on the dresser,' Renzi said absently.
'No matter,' Kydd said. 'It'll turn up.'
He reflected for a moment. 'An' it must be admitted, anything of employment as takes me back t' sea is not t' be considered—I'd then be removed fr'm here an' couldn't find m' man.'
Renzi smiled briefly. 'As one of Neptune's creatures, there's little enough for you on terra firma, so completely out of your element.'
'I shall think on't,' Kydd answered stiffly. 'May I know, then, what it is you're proposin' to do, Nicholas?'
'It does set a challenge,' Renzi admitted, 'my qualifications being of the most cursory. I do suggest we devote this day to a reconnaissance of prospects, each being free to follow our independent course and exchange our experiences later tonight.'
Kydd headed down to the busy quayside and found the little octagonal building that had been pointed out to him. The genial harbour-master greeted him and made room for him among the charts and thick-bound books. 'What is it I c'n do for ye, Mr Kydd?'
'Kind in you t' see me, Mr Collas. Er, I'd have y' know that I've seen m' share o' sea service—'
'Oh, aye?'
'But at th' moment I find m'self without a ship, an' I thought it might be time t' swallow th' anchor an' take employment ashore, if y' see what I mean.'
There was a careful silence.
'That is t' say, if there's a position open in th' harbour authority t' a man o' the sea that ye'd recommend, I'd be grateful t' hear it.'
'Y' mean a harbour commissioner, inspector sort o' thing?'
'I do.'
'Then I have t' disappoint ye, Mr Kydd. We runs things differently here. No King's men pokin' into our affairs an' that. An' no Customs an' Excise neither. In th' islands trade is king. So it's leave 'em at it to get on wi' their business.
'Now, the most important thing we does is the piloting. T' be a Guernsey pilot is t' be at the top o' th' profession, Mr Kydd. An' afore ye ask, there's none but a Guern' will have th' knowledge t' do it. See, there's nothing like here anywheres in Creation f'r rocks 'n' shoals, and then we adds in the tidal currents, and it's a rare place indeed f'r hazards. Y' learn about a rock—it looks like quite another when th' tide state's different. Y' come upon it in th' fog, see it just the once—which rock are y' going t' tell y'r ship's master it is?'
He went on: 'Currents about here c'n be faster'n a man can run but they'll change speed 'n' direction with the tide as well. It's right scareful, th' way it can be well on th' make in one part an' at the same time only at slack in another. Why, springs in the Great Russel y' can hear th' overfalls roaring—does y' know how t' navigate the far side of an overfall in spate? An' then there's the seamounts. Nasty beasts they are, currents over them are wicked and they change—'
'—with th' tide,' Kydd said hastily. 'I did hear as ye've bought a patent lifeboat.' 'We did. A Greathead thirty- footer, cost us a hundred and seventy pounds so we takes good care of it.'
'And does it need—'
'We keep it at St Sampson.'
Clearly it was of small interest and tucked away safely out of harm's way. Kydd was running out of ideas. 'Do ye conduct hydrographical surveys hereabouts? I'm doubting th' Admiralty has the time.'
'No need. We're well served b' the private charts, all put out b' local mariners as we know 'n' trust. Dobree an' others, rutters by Deschamps . . .'
