In the King's Name (13 page)

“Just keep with me an' don't look down, right?” He glanced toward the rank of lifeless vessels. He had had only a brief glimpse of it, but it was still fixed in his mind: a longboat, double-banked, two oarsmen on each thwart, pulling steadily, even unhurriedly beyond the shabby prizes.

He replied, “Tell ‘im the admiral is in sight!” He caught Walker's arm and grinned. “Don't stop for nobody!”

He watched the midshipman jump down to the deck, pause, and tear off his remaining shoe before hurrying aft. Someone shouted after him, perhaps Monteith, but he did not stop or turn back.

Drummond followed easily, and wedged the empty water flask behind the flag locker. Until the next time.

Young Walker would remember today, and be proud.

Drummond moistened his call with the tip of his tongue. To hell with Monteith!

After the uncertainty which had followed Walker's breathless arrival at the door of the captain's quarters, the speed with which the actual event unfolded was almost a relief.

A cry from the lookout: “Boat ahoy?”

And the formal response, magnified by a speaking-trumpet,
“Flag—Medusa!”
left nobody in doubt.

Adam Bolitho watched the admiral's barge turning to moor alongside, the double line of oars rising together, bowmen poised and ready to hook on. Even at this distance he could sense the strain and effort after their long pull as a diversion, chests heaving, faces shining with sweat. Jago would be observing critically, and would have a few things to say afterwards about it.

Adam had seen Vincent pass Drummond, the bosun, on the way to their stations for such an event, saw the nod and the answering grin. Like a couple of conspirators. The barge's coxswain was on his feet now, hat in hand, two lieutenants, one obviously remaining in charge, also standing and saluting. And Rear-Admiral Giles Langley's pallid face turned up toward the entry port where the side-boys were waiting, complete with white gloves, to offer assistance.

Langley ignored both and seized a hand rope, still looking up at the motionless ensign.

Langley was not lightly built, but he seemed untroubled by the climb from his barge, or the stamp of boots and attendant squeal of calls as he stepped aboard.

One of the other officers, his flag lieutenant, followed at a discreet distance, stiff-faced, accustomed to such ceremonial. Langley waited for the calls to fall silent, and the muskets to slap into position. Then he smiled and raised his hat as he faced aft. It was more of a gesture than a salute.

He thrust out his hand to Adam. “I
said
we should meet today!” and with a curt nod, “This is ‘Flags.'” He did not offer a name. The lieutenant was obviously used to that, too.

Langley waved his hand expansively. “Would you steer the course, Captain Bolitho? It's not every day …” He allowed the phrase to dangle, perhaps a habit, perhaps for effect.

Adam strode aft, looking for flaws. The lieutenants and senior warrant officers waiting on the quarterdeck, and most of the duty watch mustered below the boat tier, the uniforms of a sweating squad of Royal Marines a vivid splash of colour amidships. A midshipman stood stiffly by each gangway, in case of any urgent message or change of procedure.

He thought of Midshipman Walker, and the quiet determination with which he had bluffed his way past the cabin sentry. And Vincent, usually so loath to reveal any emotion. He had gripped the startled boy's hand and shaken it fiercely.

“I don't care
what
you were doing up there, Walker—you came to
me!
Good man!”

Vincent was here now, much more contained, watching a bosun's mate clearing a section of the deck of spare hands who were still in working rig, or stripped to the waist in the heat.

He murmured to Adam, “I told the barge crew they could stand easy aboard us while they were waiting.” Adam remembered Tyacke offering the same courtesy to
Onward
‘s boat's crew. “The lieutenant declined, sir. He said he was told to stand by.”

The admiral turned, lightly for a man of his girth: there was obviously nothing wrong with his hearing.

“My barge crew? They do nothing else all day. Mister …” He cocked his head. “Vincent? Correct?” And without pausing, “I shall want to talk to you about the
Moonstone
affair before the day is out. You were the boarding officer. When the last ‘survivor' was discovered?”

The flag lieutenant leaned forward and interjected, “It was not Lieutenant Vincent who found him, sir.” He was consulting an open notebook. Langley stared coldly beyond him.

“I wasn't aware that I was asking
you.”

Adam said, “I should have explained, sir,” and Langley gave him the now familiar, humourless smile.

“You did, I believe.” Then he said abruptly, “May we pause, Bolitho?”

Adam saw Vincent give an almost imperceptible nod and hurry aft.

Langley was looking at the windsails. “Might be a little cooler below—and we can talk.” He turned just as swiftly and beckoned to Midshipman Huxley. “And who are
you?
”

Adam saw the flag lieutenant open his mouth and close it again.

“Huxley, sir.”

“Oh. I thought perhaps …” He seemed about to walk on toward a line of seamen, but stopped and swung round again. “Huxley? I trust not related to …”

He left the rest unspoken, but it was enough. Huxley's face had closed, and Adam saw his fist clench before he thrust it out of sight.

He said, “I think I am very fortunate in
Onward
‘s midshipmen, sir.”

Langley pulled out a large handkerchief and dabbed his mouth. “Well, time will tell, as every captain must know!” He looked aft again. “I think I've shown the flag enough for the moment.” He waited for Vincent to present himself. “You may carry on now, Lieutenant. A smart ship. Are
you
satisfied?”

Vincent answered without hesitation, “Ready for sea, sir.”

Langley stepped into the shade with obvious relief, remarking, “As it should be.”

They reached the cabin, where the screen door was already open, the Royal Marine sentry at attention, his eyes fixed discreetly on some point above the admiral's epaulette.

The flag lieutenant had his little book open again, but Langley snapped, “Not
now
, Flags! That can wait.”

Inside the great cabin it seemed cool after the upper deck. The stern windows were open, and an unfinished letter on Adam's small desk was stirring slightly in the breeze.

Langley strode across the cabin and tossed his hat onto a chair, ducking his head, his fair hair almost touching the deckhead.

“This takes me back.” He did not elaborate. Then he saw the bergère facing astern, in the place of honour, as Jago always called it. Langley lowered himself into it slowly and carefully, while his aide hovered nearby.

He stretched his legs. “More like it, eh?” He patted the arms of the chair and turned his pale eyes on Adam. “This could tell a few tales, I'll wager.”

Adam smiled to himself. The flag lieutenant had probably recorded all the details in his little book. “It belonged to my uncle, sir.”

“Guessed as much.” Langley nodded and stroked the worn leather. “Sir Richard. I am honoured!” A pause. “I know that Captain Tyacke served under him, and was with him at the end.” He brushed something imaginary off his sleeve. “But trying to get him to talk about their service together is like getting blood out of a stone!”

Adam saw the pantry door move an inch. Hugh Morgan was standing by.

“May I offer you some wine, sir? I'm not sure about the time, but you must have been on the move for most of the day.”

Langley pouted and said genially, “Not over yet, either. Never is.” He leaned further back in the chair. “Anything will be more than welcome, Bolitho!”

He gazed out of the stern windows, his pale eyes shaded by the overhang of the poop. “I often wonder what our people in London actually know of our problems out here. They worry about slavery, even though all the major powers are doing their utmost to stamp it out.” He wagged a finger. “There will always be men willing or reckless enough to continue in the trade, as long as the prize outweighs the risk. Given time, I might suggest …” He fell silent as Morgan glided into the cabin; he could move like a shadow when required.

Langley appraised the two expensive goblets. “I could become too comfortable in your company, I fear.”

Feet thudded across the deck above, and as if to a signal the flag lieutenant rose and hurried to close the skylight.

Langley said, “Just a precaution, Bolitho. Busy ears, y' know?”

Adam sipped his wine. Langley's glass was being refilled. The flag lieutenant's remained untouched.

Langley said, “I've looked into the
Moonstone
‘s unexpected,” he lifted a finger, “and of course tragic, loss. She had been in our service under charter or direct warrant for some years. Patrol and liaison work, and more recently transporting some natives rescued or freed from slavery and landing them close to their place of origin. Where, and if, it was considered safe. In some cases, not so easy as it sounds.” He leaned forward as if to confide something.
“Moonstone
had seen better days. But for your sighting and boarding her, it might all still remain a mystery. She had been fired on, and there were no survivors save one. Yes, I read your report. Pirates, slavers, we might never know for certain. And there were sharks in the area …” He glanced at the screen door, which was now shut, and toward the pantry.

He said slowly, “There have been many changes here since I took command, and more since you were last here in—
Unrivalled
, wasn't it?

‘Power to the Victor,' is that what they call it? Beginnings of empire. And we are a part of it.” He banged his hands on the arms of the chair. “Like it or not.”

He stood up, and walked to the stern bench as if to peer out at the anchorage. “Improve communications but cut the costs: a constant demand from their lordships, and from government. If only they knew or understood.” He turned away from the light. “There is a new settlement to the south of us. With its own governor, and a local militia.
To save money
.”

Adam said, “Yes, I know. It is on the latest chart. New Haven.”

Langley betrayed surprise for the first time. “Well, it may be a part of empire, perhaps, but this is still Africa, for God's sake!” Just as quickly he was calm again, the pale eyes steady. “I'm sending you there to meet the new governor, since he has not seen fit to offer me an invitation.
Moonstone
was under charter to him more than once. He will want to know what happened to her. And when he comes to
me
in the future …” The silence was significant.

He gestured to his flag lieutenant, who immediately handed him a folded sheet of official stationery. “All the necessary details are here. If the wind allows, I want you to get under way tomorrow. Make a signal to confirm it.” Langley turned to his weary-looking aide once more. “Before that, I want to speak to the officer who was mentioned in the captain's report.”

“Midshipman Napier, sir?”

“If that is agreeable to you, Bolitho?”

Adam scarcely heard him. Even the writing on the page seemed blurred. “I would like to be present, sir.”

“Good thinking. He might forget something, or close up like an oyster. It happens at that age.”

Adam folded the paper. Only the new governor's name stood out. It was Ballantyne, the name David Napier would never forget.

Nor shall I.

• • •

David Napier stepped into the midshipmen's berth and stared around blankly. It was empty and somehow spacious, his home and hiding place since he had first joined the ship, along with Simon Huxley. Always full of noisy conversation, argument, and laughter. There were just six members of the mess, but it usually sounded like three times as many.

The only sound now was the faint clink of crockery from the pantry where the messman was either putting aside the dishes from breakfast, or preparing the next offering from the galley. And it was stuffy and humid, airless after the upper deck. The windsails had been lowered and stowed, but from ladders and gangways you could see the flag and masthead pendant flapping, and hear the rattle and slap of rigging, as if
Onward
were eager to leave.

We are sailing today
.

Even the ship felt different. Alive again after stagnation.

He opened his little locker and folded the unfinished letter carefully before putting it away.
Dear Elizabeth
… No,
my dear
. He should just forget her. She had probably put him out of her mind as soon as he had left the house.

There were some casks of wine secured in one corner of the mess. In fact, every spare space in the hull seemed to be packed with extra stores of one sort or another. How long did they expect to be away? And to what purpose?

He heard running feet, the sound of something heavy being dragged across the deck above, and a yelp from somebody who was not fast enough. It would be soon now, unless there was another mix-up over the orders.

He sat down, deep in thought, recalling his unexpected summons to Rear-Admiral Langley in the great cabin: the admiral relaxed, even casual, but always maintaining a certain distance, and not merely because of his splendid uniform and gleaming epaulettes. Sometimes interrupting Napier in the middle of a sentence to fire a question, or clarify a point with his crushed-looking flag lieutenant. But the captain had been there also, a shadow against the stern windows, saying little unless in response to some comment from Langley.

Mostly, the questions had centred upon
Moonstone
, and the boarding party, and those final moments.

“And you were alone with the last survivor? How long was that? Did he tell you his name? What manner of man was he? Where would you say he came from?”