The Privateer's Revenge

Being of such stature, the man maintained his own office; Renzi entered, then made play of closing the door behind him and testing the latch. Then he intoned gravely, 'Renzi, sir. We have corresponded on occasion.'

Mystified, Jessop rose to shake hands.

'Sir. I have come on a matter of some delicacy. You are aware, are you not, of the commodore's other responsibilities?'

'Um, if you are referring to his activities of a clandestine nature arising from his connections with . . . yes, Mr Renzi, as high clerk to the commander-in-chief I am generally made cognisant—'

'There is no necessity for details at this time, Mr Jessop. The matter under privy investigation at this time merely requires an indication only concerning a possible breach of confidentiality. It may or may not be necessary to take the issue further but for now a simple response will answer.'

Jessop frowned and waited.

'Within the last several months has any communication of a covert or unusual nature been received by this office from the admiral commanding at Plymouth? Do please indicate with an affirmative or negative only.'

The man's face cleared. 'Absolutely not. As you must be aware this is a commander-in-chief's station and does not have anything operationally to do with a subordinate admiral in another station. Therefore we have had nothing from Admiral . . . Lockwood, isn't it? Apart from the routine and mundane, that is.'

'You can be quite certain that nothing touching on covert operations or deployments—'

'Sir. You can rest assured that anything of such a nature must pass across my desk and there has been no such.'

'Nothing that can require a secret deviation from operational orders, perhaps?'

'Mr Renzi, I myself make up the order packs for captains and there have been no secret orders issued a commander on this station these last six months. As you must know, such operations as might be classed as covert are generally attended to by Commodore d'Auvergne. Of course, Cerberus frigate was once diverted—'

'Thank you, Mr Jessop. That has been most helpful. Good day to you, sir.'

So there could be little doubt that Kydd's forged 'secret orders' had not originated from Lockwood. Therefore it must have been effected locally.

Renzi fought down his weariness and concentrated on a careful review of the procedure: he himself had signed for the orders but not sighted them, locking them away in the confidential drawer for the captain's later attention. When Kydd had opened them he recalled that the outer, normal orders had been in a packet as usual, only the secret orders sealed. He did not recall anything singular about the seal.

Surely they could not have been falsely planted in Teazer —there had been no signs of a lock forced and, in any case, the idea of any getting past Tysoe for access to Kydd's inner cabin was ludicrous. Therefore the false orders must have been inserted prior to their delivery to Teazer.

They had been brought in the usual fashion from the commander-in-chief's office by Prosser, the master's mate, who had signed for them properly. He had presumably then returned without delay in the boat to hand them over.

If at the flag office there had been no secret orders and in Teazer there were—there could be only one conclusion: that Prosser had himself inserted them or knew of the act.

Prosser! But what possible motivation could he have had for the deed? Vain, insensitive and no leader of men, he was much more likely to have been led by another. Standish? There was no way of telling. Prosser would never risk his career in admitting anything—he had now his acting lieutenancy. And the principal in the affair would have ensured that all tracks had been been well and truly covered.

It was unfortunate but there was no way forward. As a failed commander Kydd would therefore be for ever under a cloud and—A wave of rage roared through Renzi, shaking him with its intensity. It moved him, as nothing else had, that the gross world of deceit and treachery had reached out and touched his friend.

Renzi knew that unless he did something he would . . . but then . . . he realised he could.

The devil that was in him spoke seductively through the storm, plotting a course of action that in its very symmetry was beguiling and deeply satisfying. If the virtuous were to be brought low by an immoral and felonious act, then the wicked should be likewise: in one stroke he could turn the world he despised against itself and at the same time achieve justice for Kydd at last.

Feverishly he assembled a plan. He would need accomplices who wouldn't talk—with his inside knowledge of the shadow world of spies and assassins that would be easy. Vipere and Hyene would now be available; he brought to mind their saturnine, grave-robbing features. Yes, they would do admirably.

Next, a suitable location. What better than the old sail-loft in which Kydd had spent so much time recently? Excellent. Then let the game commence . . .

Sitting at the single table in the dank and empty space, Renzi trimmed the one candle. It shone up with a trembling flame illuminating his face from below with a malevolent gleam. The table was bare, save an open razor in the centre.

He waited calmly. At the appointed hour there was a scuffle outside; a struggling body was forced within and flung to the ground before him, the pinioned arms splayed immovably sideways, the gagged and blindfolded head desperately turning this way and that.

The struggles eventually ceased and Renzi nodded; first the gag and then the blindfold were removed and a terrified Prosser looked about wildly. He tried to rise but was held down. 'For God's sake, Renzi, what's happening?' he choked out.

Renzi watched him writhe. He had no pity for the man's ordeal, called from the warmth of the Mermaid Club on a pretext, then rapidly bundled away blindfolded into the night.

'What're they doing?' Prosser shouted, terror rising. Vipere cuffed him to silence.

Renzi contemplated the creature who had brought Kydd down and who was now trembling uncontrollably, his