In the King's Name (14 page)

Looking back, it had been more an interrogation than an interview.

“What did he say? Was that all he said? Was there anything else of significance? And you left
Moonstone
with the others when the order to abandon was given?”

Bolitho had spoken before Napier could answer. “He was trapped between decks. Some loose gear had blocked his escape.”

“But others freed him?”

Napier heard himself say, “It was Jago, the captain's cox'n, sir!”

He had been angry, remembering Huxley's face, his despair, after the admiral had called to him and then brushed him so curtly aside.

And remembering Langley in the captain's cabin, lounging in that same old chair, to which, when Napier had been wounded and unable to walk, they had carried him. And the captain had held him, giving him strength and courage. It was like sacrilege.

Napier had remained standing throughout the interview, the old pain reawakening in his leg as if to goad him.

Langley had got to his feet and remarked dismissively, “You did your best, Mr. Napier. A pity that we are still in the dark.”

It was over.

Napier had only spoken to the captain very briefly since then, after the admiral had finally returned to his flagship. He had been delivering a message from the purser. He had been about to walk away when the captain had called him by name.

“I'm proud of you, David.”

Then the purser himself had appeared, and the contact was broken.

“All done in ‘ere, sir?” It was the messman. “Think I ‘eard th' pipe.” He did not wait for a reply, but Napier had long since learned that cooks and messmen usually knew what was happening before any one else.

He glanced at his locker, hesitated, and took out the letter. His thoughts scattered as the order was piped along the deck, faint at first, but as it reached hatch or companion it was loud and clear.

“All hands, all hands! Take station for leaving harbour!”

The admiral had decided.

Proceed when ready
.

A
DAM
B
OLITHO ENTERED HIS CABIN
and walked aft to the stern windows, which were now leaning slightly to larboard. Not much, but after their slow departure from Freetown it was like a reward. He leaned on the bench seat and peered down at the water below: one of the cutters was towing astern to keep her tightly sealed after baking beside her twin on the tier. He saw the boat yawing occasionally from side to side as if attempting to overtake her parent ship.

But they were making progress. If only the wind would hold.

He opened his shirt and loosened the sleeves. It was almost cool in the great cabin, or seemed so after the small chartroom where he had been comparing notes with Julyan, the master. In there, it had been like an oven.

Julyan had sounded optimistic, even cheerful. “Wind's holding, not much, but if we keep this up we should sight the approaches day after tomorrow.” Some of his confidence had faded as the rudder had quivered noisily, like something shaking the keel.

Adam rubbed his chin. Even so, three days to make one hundred miles.
Onward
was used to something better. He smiled to himself. He must be getting like Julyan, with his quaint remarks.

They had been studying the most recent chart when the master had said seriously, “If all the sea ran dry right this minute,
Onward
would be perched on the edge of a great valley, hills to larboard and a bottomless pit to starboard.” It was a warning any sailor would be insane to ignore.

They had plenty of sea room, but Vincent already had the leadsmen selected to stand by for immediate soundings if the chart proved incorrect. To go from
no bottom
to only a few fathoms beneath the keel was not unknown.

The pantry door opened and Morgan looked in questioningly.

“May I?” And when he nodded, “Call me when …” He glanced at Adam's seagoing coat, which was lying untidily across a chair. “I can give that a shamper-up in the meantime, sir.” He went out, the coat hanging over his shoulder like a faded banner.

Adam sighed. Morgan always seemed to know what was coming. He walked across to the old chair and stroked the worn leather.
How many times?

He thought of the admiral. What was in those secret orders? Had they really required the fastest available frigate? Perhaps the only available frigate?

He recalled that final signal,
Proceed when ready
, which Midshipman Hotham had reported as soon as it had broken from
Medusa's
yard. Langley must have gone ashore soon afterwards to one of his interminable conferences, because after
Onward
‘s anchor had broken free and they were eventually clearing the harbour, another signal had been sighted. It read simply,
Until the next time
. It must have been from Tyacke.

He moved to his small desk and half-opened the drawer where the letter lay. When would it be finished? When might she eventually read it?

He heard the Royal Marine clear his throat and call, “Lieutenant Monteith,
sir!
”

Four bells chimed faintly above the other sounds. Last dog watch. Monteith would arrive flushed and breathless, apologising even though he was exactly on time. The thought irritated Adam, although he knew he was being unfair.

He looked up at the skylight, remembering how the admiral's flag lieutenant had so carefully closed it.

Monteith strode into the cabin, his hat tucked beneath one arm. “I
do
apologise, sir. I was needed up forrard, but when I told them—” He seemed surprised when Adam interrupted him briskly, waving him toward a chair.

“Never mind. You're here now. And this won't take long.” He crossed the cabin, feeling Monteith's eyes on his back, and sat behind the desk. “As third lieutenant, you have the training and the welfare of our midshipmen in your care. Some are experienced up to a certain level, a few are on the first step. We all go through it, and you will recall the pitfalls and misunderstandings yourself,
Onward
being your first ship as a commissioned officer.”

Monteith sat bolt upright in the chair, hands folded across his hat. “I have always tried to maintain a code of conduct and discipline, sir. If any one has claimed otherwise, I must dispute it!”

Something fell on the deck overhead and there was a gust of laughter.

Adam said quietly, “Whatever we believe or expect, today's midshipmen are tomorrow's navy. Loyalty and obedience are essential.”

Monteith licked his lips and nodded, eyes fixed on Adam's face. “I know that, sir.”

Adam glanced at the papers on his desk, weighed down with a piece of polished coral. There was scarcely any movement, but
Onward
was responding.

He looked directly at Monteith. “Responsibility extends in both directions, by example and by trust. Midshipman or captain.”

Monteith said, “I was doing what I considered my duty, sir. Very soon now, I will be required to write a report on each of them, as laid down in Standing Orders.”

“I am aware of that.”

He heard hushed voices beyond the screen door, possibly Morgan, trying to think of some way to interrupt this interview. It was a waste of time in any case. Monteith would never change, unless he was threatened.

The rap on the door came as a relief for both of them.

It was Radcliffe, breathless, as if he had run all the way from the quarterdeck. His eyes flickered in Monteith's direction, and then he deliberately looked away.

“Lieutenant Squire's respects, sir.” He screwed up his sunburned face as if to recall every word. “A sail has been sighted, fine on the starboard bow, steering west.” He added importantly, “Too far off to distinguish, but fresh lookouts have gone aloft.”

Adam saw it in his mind. A ship crossing ahead of them. Where from? Where bound? Any alteration of course would be pointless, especially now. Like the sun in these latitudes, darkness would come quickly. Like a cloak.

“Tell Mr. Squire that I'll come on deck directly.”

He turned to reach for the old telescope as the midshipman scurried from the cabin.

Monteith was on his feet, standing stiffly. He looked absurdly young, like a midshipman himself. “I have always tried to do my duty, sir.”

Adam brushed past him. “I rely upon it.”

He had failed.

But by the time he had reached the quarterdeck, he had almost dismissed Monteith from his thoughts. He looked up at the sails, feeling the warm air on his shoulders. The wind, what there was of it, was still holding, but the canvas was barely moving.

Squire was waiting with a telescope beneath his own arm. “I've sent Midshipman Hotham aloft, sir. Any one who can read and send signals as well as he does might see what others miss.”

Adam moved toward the small group around the wheel, and one of the helmsmen called instantly, “South by east, sir!”

Vincent was here now, and Adam saw him pausing to flick some crumbs from his shirt.

He stared abeam at the endless barrier of land, like the edge of their world. Bleached and almost colourless under the glaring sun. It was closer now, less than five miles away. When the daylight was gone, it would be dangerous to tack any nearer.

The other vessel would be out of sight by now, heading into the great ocean.

As if reading his thoughts, Vincent said, “Probably seeking more sea room.”

Adam hardly heard him. He said, “I'm going up.” He knew Squire in particular was staring at him as he slung the telescope across his shoulder.

“I wouldn't have called you, sir, but—”

Adam looked up at the maintop, thinking of Walker, ordered aloft by Monteith as a punishment and beginning this unforeseen chain of events. He saw Jago standing with Drummond, the bosun, arms folded, and sensed his disapproval.

He gripped the ratlines and started to climb. The sun burned his back, and the cordage felt as if it had been lying across a stove. He glanced abeam again, pausing to wipe the sweat from his eyes with the back of his wrist. They had the sea to themselves, as far as he could see in any direction.

He had reached the maintop and saw Midshipman Hotham lower his own telescope at his captain's untidy arrival. There were two other lookouts with him, one of them Tucker, the new bosun's mate.

Hotham said, “The other vessel is almost out of sight, sir.” He tapped his telescope. “Two-masted, probably a brig. Local, maybe?” He reached out as if to emphasise the point and stopped himself, but was unable to hide his excitement. “But over there, sir!” He pointed toward the uneven coastline. “
Flashes
, sir. Thought the sun was playing tricks on me. But they were flashes!”

Tucker said, “I saw ‘em too, sir.”

Hotham rushed on, ignoring the interruption. “On an' off. Like sunlight reflected from a mirror or a piece of glass. But then it stopped, or was lost in the inshore mist. But I did see it!”

Adam rested his knee against the barricade and felt the whole mainmast shivering against him. And the keel beneath that. His ship.

He focused the glass and saw the nearest land spring into detail, the curve of the next spur of headland. And after that? He thought of the sailing master beside him in the airless chartroom, as they had transferred their calculations to the new chart. He had marked this same thrust of headland. Not much, but still dangerous for any vessel so close inshore.

The most recent chart had shown a tiny landmark, which had not been on the previous version. A mission of some kind, either religious or simply supplying aid or sustenance to any trader or sailor who might venture ashore in this “godforsaken place.” It could certainly be used as a guide.

Tucker said slowly, “Maybe it
was
hidden in the mist, sir.”

Adam closed the telescope. “Not mist this time. It's smoke.” He looked at Hotham again. “Flashes? You're certain of it?”

The midshipman hesitated, but only for a moment. “I've seen the army making signals like that. I'm certain, sir.”

Adam started to climb down. A clergyman's son. What would his father say if he could see him now?
But no matter what he thinks he saw, it is my decision
.

Vincent was waiting, his face full of questions.

Adam said, “We will hold our present course until sunset. Then I intend to come about and close inshore.” He looked at him directly. “And anchor.”

“Landing party, sir?”

“At first light, weather permitting.” As if he were thinking aloud. “Two boats, the cutter towing astern, and the gig. Easier. Any sign of trouble—”

Vincent said, “We'll be ready, sir!”

Adam gripped his arm. “Not this time, Mark. I need you here with me. Remember? The ship comes first.”

He looked toward Squire, who had not moved since he had watched his captain scrambling aloft. “Join me in the cabin, both of you. And I'll explain what I have in mind.”

Only then did he release Vincent's arm.

As he walked toward the companion he could hear the low murmur of their voices. What was there to discuss? Right or wrong, it was decided.

• • •

“Landing party mustered and standing by, sir.” Vincent's voice was clipped and formal, loud in the uncanny silence.

Adam waited for his eyesight to adjust to the darkness on deck. Even Vincent's face was barely visible.

He had stolen a few precious minutes to revisit the chartroom. There was only a small shaded light above the chart table, just enough and no more. The order to darken ship had been piped at sunset, when
Onward
had altered course and headed toward the original sighting, and the master-at-arms and ship's corporal had maintained a regular patrol above and between decks to make certain it was carried out.

They had anchored, and the silence was unnerving. Even the sound of the cable running free had seemed dangerously loud, and the leadsman's regular chant as they approached the inshore waters seemed to invite discovery.