Heart of Oak (24 page)

“Never had a lot to say, but he was always short of money, getting his wife settled before he was off to sea.” He seemed to notice Napier for the first time. “Anyway, if the officers are putting their hands into their pockets…” Laughter drowned the rest.

Falcon held up his fist. “Show a bit of respect, lads!” But he seemed relieved. “Leave it to me, sir.”

Monteith rocked back on his heels. “The captain will arrange for the proceeds to be put aboard a courier.” He cleared his throat. “With a suitable message.”

“I think you’re wanted on deck, sir!”

Monteith turned and said over his shoulder, “Send word if you need advice.”

A voice muttered, “Pity we ain’t collectin’ for
’im!
”

Falcon glared. “It’s not stand-easy yet, lads, so back to work with you!” But he winked. Monteith was out of sight.

Jeff Lloyd sat on his haunches and waited for the midshipman to pass. “Your new breeks’ll be just about ready in a couple of days. We can try them for fitting—you just say the word, eh?”

Napier smiled with pleasure. “That was quick! Thank you for…”

Falcon bared his teeth. “You’d better jump about, Mr Napier. I think ’is lordship is callin’ for you!”

Jeff Lloyd leaned forward and pressed the canvas very slowly into a tight fold, using all his strength, a simple enough task which he could do with one hand. The laughter and the comments that followed the lieutenant’s departure meant nothing. Like getting over a nightmare, trapped and fighting in his hammock. Unable to escape.

The voices had returned to normal, Falcon making a suggestion to one of his crew. Somebody whistling softly as he used his chisel to put a finish on the new screen.

He thought of Napier, bending to thank him for finishing the breeches. A lie. He had scarcely chalked out the seams. But it had bought him time. Just long enough. He felt his breathing steady again. Or was that all in his mind, too? He should have been ready, anticipated it. But he hadn’t, and after all this time just the mention of that name had made him jump, as if it had been shouted into his face.

He found himself staring aft, past the empty tables and scrubbed benches. A solitary figure in one of the messes was writing very slowly on a piece of paper, tongue poking from one corner of his mouth. Dodging work to try and write a letter, so that it could be taken ashore at Gib. The lifeline.

Beyond the huge trunk of the mainmast, and down another hatchway. Narrow walkways and storerooms, like the one where they had found his corpse. The waiting had been the worst bit. He had thought they might never find him, maybe believe he was still ashore. Skipped his ship to stay with his new wife. Poor woman, she was better off without him. He had even thought Ned Harris might still prove him wrong; he might suddenly appear. Laughing…Like that last time when he had turned his back, the final threat still on his lips.

Slowly, calmly, Jeff Lloyd reached out and gripped his long scissors.

Afterwards, he had heard that they were searching for a knife. Harris’s own blade was still on his belt.

The worst was over. There might always be reminders. Like now, today. Harris’s miserable belongings. He felt his blood pounding again.
He threatened me. Unless I paid him, he would swear himself in as a witness. To murder.
When he had laughed, for the last time.

Boots thudded past, some Royal Marines on their way to their own messdeck, their “barracks,” carrying pieces of equipment, freshly pipe-clayed in readiness for some ceremonial drill at the Rock. A good enough crowd, but in their own special world. Apart. Two of them spoke his name. Glad to be down in the cool shadows.

“I’ve been thinkin’, Jeff.”

He looked up. It was Falcon, staring after the scarlet tunics.

Lloyd wanted to lick his lips. Bone dry. As if he already knew.

“Most of the lads seem to know you, by sight if nuthin’ else. Might seem more proper if
you
go round the messes?” He had his head on one side, unused to asking favours. “Tell ’em about th’ sale of ’is gear. Sound better comin’ from you.”

Lloyd stood up slowly. “Glad to, Mr Falcon.”

The carpenter touched his arm, smiling. “Good lad. See me for a wet at stand-easy!”

Lloyd folded his tools with great care. Buying himself more time. He had been wrong. Ned Harris was still laughing.

Lieutenant Mark Vincent tried to stifle a yawn, and signalled with his free hand to warn the cabin sentry of his arrival. But he was not quick enough.

“First lieutenant,
sir!
”

Vincent said, “There was no
need
, at this hour.”

In the small, swinging circle of light from the lobby lantern, the Royal Marine might have grinned. Almost. “Cap’n’s still up an’ about, sir.”

How could that be? He had just taken over the morning watch when Bolitho had come on deck. That was yesterday. Did he never sleep?

The screen door opened slightly. It was Jago, Bolitho’s coxswain.

“I came as soon as I could.”

Jago’s eyes shone only briefly in the same swinging light. The unfastened coat and dishevelled turn-out would not pass unnoticed. It should not matter. But it did.

It was after midnight, and apart from the watchkeepers every sane man was tucked in his hammock and asleep. It had been a long day. And tomorrow…He tried to shut it out of his mind.

There was plenty of light in the great cabin, so that the stern windows looked like black mirrors, throwing back the captain’s reflection sharply. He was standing by the table, his log book unopened, the pad which usually lay on the small desk beside it, marked at intervals with unused quills. Charts also, including the one they had used at the last conference before Aboubakr.

“All quiet on deck, Mark?” Almost in the same breath. “Sorry to drag you down aft.” He moved toward the quarter and stared into the darkness. “I’ve been thinking about our shadow. She was still holding station astern at nightfall. And she will be there at first light.”

Vincent waited in silence, unsure where this was leading.

“Whoever planned to disable
Nautilus
must already have estimated her time of arrival.” He spread his hands. “And known that she was coming to Aboubakr. Such intelligence could only have originated in Gibraltar. But there was no time or opportunity to inform any one that
we
would be in company with her.”

Vincent heard sounds in the pantry. Morgan was standing by his captain, despite the lateness of the hour.

He said, “Rebellion, sir?”

“Whoever holds that fortress and commands the only good anchorage until Algiers, might determine the future of a nation.” He stretched his arms. “Given the right allies.”

“The French?”

“Perhaps. When they’re ready.” He gestured. “Take a seat, Mark. We can have a mug of something in a moment.” He moved to his old chair and ran a hand along the worn leather. “But for us
Nautilus
would be a wreck, and her people dead. What, I wonder, would have been the next move?”

He paused and looked at the deckhead, listening. “She’s sailing well. Running like a good mare with the scent of home.” He smiled. “You’ve done her proud, Mark. I shall not forget.”

Vincent watched him, feeling the energy and the frustration driving him. He was by the quarter gallery now, his hand against the glass as if to hold the darkness beyond.

“Landfall today, Mark. If only…”

Vincent could guess what he was thinking. Of the girl who could be sharing it with him.

Adam turned away from the windows. “They’re waiting for our return, at Gibraltar.
As ordered.
You can think me crazy, but I was of half a mind to come about and run down on that damned schooner, chase her inshore and cut her out, to hell with the risk!” He laughed shortly. “Maybe the wind waited until now, when it’s too late, even for a touch of madness!”

“But for you, we would be taking bad news to the flagship.”

“Us, Mark. It was a great deal to ask of a new company.” He glanced at the littered table. “I heard that they responded well to the sale of Harris’s effects. It’s little enough, but most of them gave what they could. I only wish…”

Vincent waited, at last knowing why he was here, surprised that he had not understood. All the days and the long nights, the doubts and the first hint of danger. And fear. The Captain had been carrying it, sharing it with no one.

“I flogged a man because he fell asleep on watch, because he was insolent, and maybe had been drinking beforehand.” His hand moved. “I could call now for cognac and drink my fill,
because I command here.
And yet a murderer walks free amongst us, to blacken the name of the ship. I am
not
proud of it, Mark.”

“We did all we could, sir. Otherwise—” Something fell on the deck overhead and somebody laughed. He must have been standing close to the cabin skylight; another voice was hissing a warning. Then there was silence again.

Adam said, “Thank God they can still laugh.” He tugged out his watch and held it close to one of the lanterns. “I’ve kept you listening to my woes far too long. We’ve a long day tomorrow.
Today.
”

Vincent walked to the screen door, oddly unwilling to leave. He looked through the great cabin, remembering the envy and resentment he had felt; knowing this was a moment of special significance, and only later would he understand why.

Adam said, “Get some sleep. You have the forenoon watch. I shall see you then.”

The door was shut and Vincent was outside in the swaying circle of light once more, with the same sentry, his body leaning slightly as the hull dipped beneath them.

He could still see the cabin in his mind. A fresh shirt lying near the old chair. The uniform coat hanging nearby, not the faded seagoing one with its tarnished lace. And no doubt his coxswain would be on hand to shave him when dawn changed those stern windows from black to blue.

This night’s conversation was something he would not forget. A privilege, and a warning.

Co
MMODORE
A
RTHUR
C
ARRICK WAITED
for his servant to close the cabin door behind him and gestured to a chair.

“Be seated, Bolitho. I regret leaving you to cool your heels, but now I am all attention.”

Almost an hour had passed since Adam had boarded the flagship, although he had seen no other visitor arrive or leave before him. The same flag lieutenant had met him at the entry port, and had explained that the commodore was eager to see him but was extremely busy. That, despite the signal for
Onward
’s captain to repair on board, which had been hoisted even before the anchor had hit the bottom.

Nothing had changed aboard
Tenacious
, although some awnings had finally been spread to protect the upper deck from the sun. Here in the great cabin the quarter windows were open, and there was a slight breeze from the harbour.

He sat in silence as Carrick unfastened the folder, which Adam had checked with care before climbing down into the gig. The guardboat had signalled
Onward
to a different anchorage this time, convenient for the shore, but a longer pull for the gig’s crew. Even the urbane flag lieutenant had been unable to hide his surprise when Adam had requested that his men be allowed aboard the flagship, rather than left sitting tired and parched in the sun.

“If you say so, sir.” But it had been done. He had seen Jago’s expression, and was glad.

The servant had padded in again and was speaking softly to his master.

The commodore was outwardly relaxed, even casual, his lean, bony features composed. Only the hard blue-grey eyes gave a hint of the man within.

Even the matter of the gig’s crew had occasioned a cool jibe. “Hope they appreciate it, Bolitho. Most Jacks would only take advantage, from my experience!”

He must have sensed a corresponding chill in Adam, and changed the subject. “Now, in your own time, Bolitho, tell me what happened during your passage to Aboubakr. I will give full attention to your report, but I need to hear it from you in person. I have already gleaned some of the sorry details—even here on the Rock, we are not without news of the real world.” He smiled. “As they say in our home county, bad news rides a fast horse!”

Then he swivelled round on his chair as if watching for passing vessels or inquisitive harbour craft, and waited.

Adam found himself listening to his own voice, flat and unemotional. The reports from the lookout. The midshipman, almost fainting with pain, managing to describe what he and the seaman had seen and interpreted. And the grim outcome, no heroics, no flags, except the ensign dipping in salute after the smoke had cleared.

Carrick spoke at last. “
Nautilus
owes her survival to your prompt action. Your gun crews had good fortune.”

Adam recognized the challenge, and felt the iron-cold eyes on him as he pulled a packet from his coat. He could still hear Lieutenant Squire’s voice when he had handed it to him: “A prayer would have helped, but I couldn’t think of one fast enough!”

He put it on the table. “Part of the schooner, sir. Fell on our foc’sle deck. We were as close as that.”

Carrick unwrapped the charred wood and held it to the sunlight. “Indeed.” He nodded. “Too close for comfort.”

The servant had returned, and placed a pair of goblets discreetly near the papers and Adam’s rough map.

Carrick was saying, “Some local resistance, or a full-scale rebellion…I can understand why the French authorities will be concerned, and, it is to be hoped, grateful for your initiative. There I trust it will end, at least while I still command the Strait Squadron.” He saw Adam’s expression and laughed. “Rear-Admiral Aylmer is still unwell, although I am informed that he expects a complete recovery, damn his eyes!” The laugh became a cold smile. “You did not hear that, Bolitho. So, now let us drink to you and your fine ship.”

They touched glasses, although Adam had not seen them filled. If he slept when he went back to
Onward
, he thought, he might never wake up.