Seaflower

then, perhaps it would be interesting, learning the internal secrets of so many different kinds of vessel. He found himself responding positively.

But there was one left aboard to whom he must say farewell. Luke was stricken at the news. 'B-but, Mr Kydd — you ...'

Touched by his grief Kydd fumbled for words, knowing the dockyard boat would be alongside soon. 'Shall miss ye too, skinker,' he said, ruffling the lad's hair, 'but we does our duty, an' without gripin'.' Luke stared at him but didn't move as Kydd turned and left.

The dockyard hoy was taking advantage of the trip by loading mounds of sails, awnings, cordage and other materials from Trajan for return to stores. Kydd found himself wedged in with these as he settled down for the short trip.

The boat hoisted sail. As they made their way to the dockyard landing place, Kydd looked back on Trajan, his ship: her age-darkened sides, the ugly truncation of topmasts, the secrets of twenty years and the unknown thousands who had sailed in her. He felt a lump build in his throat as she fell astern. She slowly transfigured into yet another feature of the harbour, an anonymous vessel in the distance with all reality of having been his home now faded. He wrenched away his gaze. A different kind of life was starting for him now.

The boat nosed in to the coral-rock quay, ending up neatly under a stout wooden crane where the single sail was dowsed. 'Where's Mr Caird?' Kydd asked the crew. It seemed that he could be found at the boat-house. Kydd heaved out his sea-bag and started to head in the direction they had indicated.

Then incredulous shouts came from the hoy. He looked back and saw Luke clambering out from under old sails. 'Be damned! You're a wicked rascal, to think on desertin' y'r ship like this,' Kydd said hotly. 'Y’r goin' straight back aboard.'

'Not wi' us, he ain't - we got other work t'do,' came a swift rejoinder from one of the hoy's crew.

'Well, how c'n he . . .'

'Not our problem, mate.'

Kydd swore, but saw the appeal in Luke's big eyes, his little bundle of belongings over his shoulder, and knew that, if he insisted, he would be condemning the lad. He swore again. 'Follow me, y' ill-lookin' swab,' he growled, and set out for the boat-house. Obediently Luke fell into step behind.

The boat-house consisted of an extensive loft rested on lines of tall stone pillars. Below, boats were floated inside, then hoisted to the workshop floor. The resinous aroma of timber lay strongly on the breeze that played through the pillars, a clean, welcome scent in the overall reek of a harbour. Mr Caird stepped out from the store-room at the back. Kydd recognised him at once as the master shipwright who had surveyed Trajan.

'Thomas Kydd, who's been sent fr'm Trajan for service ashore.'

Caird looked at him keenly. 'What was your rate aboard?'

Again Kydd was struck by the calm gaze, the certainty in his manner. 'Quartermaster's mate, sir.'

Caird nodded. 'If I may observe, you're young for the rate, are you not?' A series of flat thumps with a mallet sounded to one side.

Kydd returned his look defiantly.

'But, of course, you will have earned it,' Caird added quickly. 'You may need it. Have you had experience of men of colour?'

Taken aback by the question Kydd paused. There were no slaves in England, and the only black men he had seen at sea were all free, as he was. 'Not as y' might say,' he said cautiously.

'I have it in mind to employ you as a Master of the King's Negroes - to take my shipwright's sidesmen in charge.'

'Aye, sir,' Kydd said carefully.

'To