In the King's Name (22 page)

Jago watched the schooner's master, Pecco, being taken forward under arms. “I'd trust a rat from the bilges more ‘n that scumbag.” He touched the hilt of his heavy cutlass. “One sign o' treachery, an' ‘e gets it first! Then the sharks can ‘ave ‘im!”

Christie grinned. “Glad you're on
our
side!” Then he murmured, “Heads up!”

It was Lieutenant Sinclair, who, with twenty of
Onward
‘s Royal Marines, had been ferried aboard at nightfall. He looked like a stranger in a grubby shirt, without his scarlet coat and smart crossbelt. But somehow he was still a Royal Marine. He seemed preoccupied in making sure that his men were as comfortable as they could be below deck, and they obviously respected him. Jago shook his head.
As an officer
.

Sinclair glanced at the nearest twelve-pounder and said casually, “If we get that close, I'll be relying on our bayonets!” He sounded almost unconcerned.

Not much of a choice, matey, Jago thought sourly.

Sinclair was saying, “We'll be tipping some of the cargo over the side soon. Give us a bit more freeboard. We'll need it when we move closer inshore.” He strode away. Smartly.

“Not a bad fellow,” Christie said, and paused.

They chorused together:
“For a lobster!”

A voice, or perhaps a touch on his outthrust arm, and Adam Bolitho was instantly awake. He did not recall the moment he had fallen asleep.

So many times, so many different ships … faces … demands.

It seemed completely dark, then he realised that the only lantern was close-shuttered, and what light remained was partly hidden by the figure bending over him. It was Murray, his hawkish face in shadow.

He said only, “Squire said to call you, sir.”

Adam cleared his throat. It was painfully dry. “Thank you, Doc. All quiet?”

It was something to say, to give himself time while the shipboard sounds and movements brought him back to reality and purpose. The chair in which he had fallen asleep was as hard as iron. But sleep was necessary for him, and for those who might have to depend on his ability when the time came. Today.

Murray said, “No trouble, sir. But trust would be something else again.”

Adam's eyes flicked around the box-like cabin, the chart space where Pecco, the schooner's master, lived his solitary life. Adam had examined the available charts, and the crude map Pecco had drawn for him. Like a flaw in the coastline, with a protective scattering of tiny islets that might spell disaster for any larger vessel or complete stranger. He had discussed his final plans with Squire and Tozer, the master's mate.

Pecco insisted he knew nothing about any slavers, only that he had heard it was a regular and safe rendezvous for several of them. He had offered the information as if bargaining for his own security, but would be doomed anyway if the slavers or those who controlled them ever learned of it.

Adam said, “I have no choice. But trust has to play its part, I'm afraid.”

Murray straightened up and reached for his familiar satchel. “I'll be ready, Captain.” He moved away, out of the lantern light, and halted. “Seventy-odd years ago my grandfathers trusted in loyalty and obedience, at Culloden.”

The door creaked open and Jago peered in at them.

“Standin' by.” He glanced at the uniform coat which was hanging from the deckhead. “Not this time, eh, Cap'n?”

Adam faced him. They might have been alone together, the marines squatting outside the cabin invisible. “Don't you ever change, Luke!” He picked up his sword, and added curtly, “Be ready with the flag.”

He felt his way to the ladder and opened the hatch. The sky was still black, so that the tall spread of canvas stood out like wings against a sprinkling of pale stars. There was no moon. The compass light was tiny, but by its faint light Adam saw the faces turn toward him as he appeared on deck.

All the previous day, from the moment they had cleared the approaches to Freetown, they had sighted no other vessel, large or small. Somewhere far astern was a brigantine named
Peterel
, but Captain Tyacke had made sure no other ship would leave harbour in an attempt to overtake this schooner, to divert it or warn others of their intention.

Within the hour the dawn would show another empty sea, and a stretch of coast unknown except to the few who had braved it, some of them to their cost.

Squire called hoarsely, “Sou' west by south, sir! Steady she goes!”

But it sounded like a question.

Adam plucked the shirt away from his skin; it felt clammy, almost cold. “Bring our prisoner on deck.”

He walked a few paces to the side and stared toward a mass of land darker than the darkness: one of the islets he had checked and checked again with the master's mate breathing down his neck. They had no option. A straightforward and safe approach would be seen immediately by any vessel anchored there. Even
Delfim's
master seemed uncertain.

He looked along the deck, faintly visible now in the first paleness of the coming day. A few dark shapes were standing or sitting in readiness to shorten sail, to alter course, and, if so ordered, to fight.

“All carronades loaded, sir. Canister.” That was Christie, gunner's mate, one of the shadows.

He heard Squire clear his throat as he stood beside the compass box. Keeping his distance, or unwilling to distract him? He looked toward the land again, and thought he could see it lying like an unbroken barrier beyond the fin-shaped jib.

“I am
here
, Captain.”

“Are you ready?”

Pecco moved closer to the compass and tapped it with his knuckles. Adam thought he saw one of the nearby seamen reach out as if to prevent him.

Pecco said, “I gave my word, Captain. Will you give yours?”

“Any aid you give will be made clear in my report.”

Pecco breathed out slowly. “Then I must take the helm, Captain. I have the
feel
of her.”

Adam could sense both Squire and Tozer watching him. Their lives, too, were at stake. He saw Pecco look up at the canvas, still taut despite the nearness of land, and heard him say quietly, “I had no part in the killings at the mission.” He might have shrugged. “And the woman … Maybe I had a few drinks too many. At least she is alive.”

He eased the wheel to starboard and leaned forward to watch the compass. “South south-west.” He lifted his eyes briefly from the compass and seemed to grimace. “Not an easy passage!”

The canvas reacted very slightly until the schooner was back on course. The sound was not loud enough to muffle a metallic click as the armed seaman cocked his musket.

“Deep ten!”
The call came from forward as one of
Onward
‘s best leadsmen took his first sounding. He barely raised his voice, but in the tense silence it was as if he had shouted.

Pecco muttered, “You take no chances, Captain.”

Adam gazed up at the masthead beyond the tattered Portuguese flag, and saw the first hint of blue. It was unnerving, with the sky almost hidden by the land as it crept out of the dimness like a groping arm. Or a trap.

“If the wind holds, Captain, we might need to shorten sail. We must alter course very soon now. We will sight a wreck to larboard.” Pecco even sounded as if he were smiling. “If some fool has not removed it!”

“By the mark, seven!”

Adam remembered other times, in other ships, when he had seen the vessel's own shadow passing over the seabed. Not merely a warning but a threat. He could sense the others moving closer, even Murray, watching and recalling his own retort about loyalty and Culloden.

“By the mark, five!”

The leadsman was wasting no time. Skilled enough to make an underhand swing with his lead-and-line, he was feeling his way. Thirty feet beneath the keel. And the next cry …

“And
now
, Captain …” The wheel was turning steadily to larboard, as if they were steering headlong toward solid ground.

Adam tried to see the chart in his mind, and remember the sketches made by the man who was at the wheel beside him. He had nothing more to lose but his life. He swung round as the wheel began to turn faster. Pecco was using all his strength. There was a glint of light from the compass box, then, like a curtain being dragged aside, the sun was upon them.

Pecco shouted,
“Now!”
and Tozer joined him, adding his weight and experience as the spokes were dragged in the opposite direction. There in the sun, between mainland and islet, was the shining curve of the channel. The tall sails hardly appeared to shift; a square-rigger would have been hard aground by now.

Adam heard Jago urging more hands to trim the staysail and jib, and as they ran to obey some fell headlong over yet another unfamiliar obstacle.

Pecco steadied the wheel and looked up at the flag. “Never easy!” Then his eyes met Adam's. “I know what you thought … It was in my heart.” He watched Tozer take over the wheel, and added simply, “Remember that, when the time comes.”

Adam trained his telescope on the widening stretch of water directly ahead. He did not recall having picked it up, and was disconcerted by the surprising heat of the metal and the dryness of his throat.

Pecco was clinging to a backstay, his face devoid of expression. Neither guilt nor triumph.

And there, fine on the larboard bow, was the wreck: it must have caught fire before running aground in the shallows. It lay like a blackened carcass, the timbers like charred ribs. Nobody spoke or moved as they glided past, and when the leadsman called from the forecastle it seemed an intrusion.

“An' deep ten!”

They were through, undetected, and ahead was the sheltered inlet. It needed skill and strong nerves, but there always had to be a “first time.” Adam raised the telescope again and saw the nearest beach leap into focus in the lens, some ragged undergrowth almost to the water's edge in places, elsewhere pebbles, washed white by sun and salt. His grip tightened. Two canoes pulled well clear of the water. Furrows in the sand where they had been dragged ashore.
Recently
.

“Seen them afore, Cap'n.” It was Jago, powerful arms crossed, but fingers still close to the cutlass.

The canoes were typical of those used to ferry wretched captives from stream or beach to the ship destined to carry them into slavery. Adam could never understand how so many survived. Slavers were known to sail from this coastline to destinations as far away as Cuba and Brazil. It was inhuman beyond belief.

Pecco said suddenly, “Another two miles. Maybe less.” He spread his hands. “There may be nothing to discover.”

Jago murmured, “Then pray, you bastard!”

Squire strode aft. “I have two good lookouts aloft, and both boats ready for lowering. There's not much else—”

Adam's expression silenced him. “If I should fall …” he said.

Squire said only, “Then I'll be lying there beside you.”

They both looked in the direction of the forecastle as the leadsman completed another sounding.

“By the mark
—” It was as far as he got.

The explosion was more like an echo than gunfire, and for a few seconds Adam was reminded of the early fog-warnings, the maroons he used to hear as a child in Cornwall. Local fishermen always claimed they did more harm than good.

Squire exclaimed, “So much for trust!” and was reaching for his pistol even as Adam stepped between him and Pecco, who was cupping his hands around his eyes and shaking his head in protest.

“No, no! Not us, Captain! Lookouts in the hills!” He gestured wildly. “If a trap was intended they would have been waiting in the channel!” Now his eyes were fixed on the barrel of Squire's pistol. “I tell the truth!”

Adam said slowly, “Another ship. My guess is she's Captain Tyacke's brigantine.” A few more seconds while he groped for the name. “The
Peterel.”

Squire uncocked his pistol and thrust it into his belt. He said, not looking at Pecco, “Your lucky day!”

Pecco said, “I have done all I can!” He pushed past two seamen and vomited in the scuppers.

Adam swallowed and looked away, forcing himself to concentrate on the strip of headland, which was tilting toward a widening expanse of water beyond the jib. “Warn all hands below.”

Jago said, “Done, Cap'n.” Aside to the gunner's mate, he added softly, “Now or never, eh, Ted?”

After the slow and torturous passage past—and sometimes among—the offshore islets, their arrival was startling in its suddenness. From
Delfim's
deck the anchorage was a lagoon as large as an enclosed lake, but from the yards and upper shrouds the keen-eyed lookouts could see the final outcroppings of land, and beyond, like a blue-grey barrier, the great ocean.

Once lying here, a ship would be invisible to any passing patrol or casual trader. In the strengthening sunlight the water seemed calm and unmoving, but the sails were taut and straining, and the tattered Portuguese flag was streaming.

Adam moved a few paces away from the wheel and trained his telescope across and ahead of their course. Individual faces stood out, gazing at the islets or beyond at the green mass of the mainland. One frowning in concentration or apprehension, another with lips pursed in a silent whistle. Men he had grown to know and understand. Who trusted him, because they had no choice.

And the doubts, which always remained in close company, the ambush when you least expected it. Like his own
if I should fall
. Who else would these men look to?

He thought again of his uncle, Sir Richard Bolitho, his last words on that fateful day.
We always knew
. His coxswain, John Allday, had heard him, and James Tyacke had written it in the flagship's log immediately after the action.
We always knew
.

He wiped his smarting eye with the back of his hand and focused again, and for a moment imagined his mind was too strained to concentrate. A ship was almost broadside-on, filling and overlapping the field of view, stark against a backdrop of trees and a narrow strip of beach.