Alexander Kent - In the King`s Name

Langley said bluntly, “I hear you fell in with Sir Charles Godden.”

“Apparently he was at the funeral service, sir, although he did not announce himself.”

Langley smiled coldly. “He was in a carriage. But I doubt it was by coincidence. Not in his nature.” He turned his head and rapped out, “I shall send word if I need you, Flags.”

Adam had not realised that Langley’s aide was still in the cabin. No wonder he looked so hunted. And where was Tyacke?

Langley asked, just as brusquely, “What did you make of Godden?” and did not wait for an answer. “Had everybody jumping here from the minute he stepped ashore. He and his little group of cronies-they’ve done well for themselves. I can’t even guess what the bill will come to! And he was here looking for ways to save money!” He laughed, almost jovially, but his eyes were very keen. “Well? Did he impress you? A few minutes beside someone in a carriage you had never met before. Or are likely to meet again.”

“I think he was sincere-even eager to learn how we feel about our role here.”

Langley snapped his finger and thumb. “What we’re costing his precious government, more likely! Better friend than foe, in my opinion.”

He leaned over and tapped the little table. “Don’t take all day, man!”

Adam could smell the brandy from where he was sitting.

Langley took out a handkerchief and dabbed his face. “But he’s nobody’s fool. I can see why he’s got where he is. Knows about our antislavery patrols and the results, good or bad. Knows of our co-operation with the ship-owners and traders here.” He winked. “Or lack of same!” He shifted in his chair as the servant approached with a tray and a full decanter, and two fresh glasses. There were wet rings on the tray left by previous ones.

Langley said, “Not sorry to see him go. Now we might get some results.” He lifted his glass. “He knew a little too much about you , anyway!”

Adam felt the brandy sear his tongue. “Not from me, sir.”

“No, no. Had it all written down, for God’s sake!” Langley laughed again, and nearly dropped his glass. It was empty. “He asked a lot of questions about …” He snapped his fingers again. “Ballantyne, and his affairs at New Haven. Another carpet knight , eh?” He grinned and touched his lips. “And you did not hear that!”

The servant was refilling the glasses, his features expressionless. He was probably used to this behaviour but Adam had never seen Langley like this. It was more than relief.

Langley was saying, “What now, Flags? I thought I made it clear …” He wiped his face with the handkerchief. “Not time already?”

The flag lieutenant closed his little book. “Colonel Whitehead from the garrison is due to arrive shortly, sir. You said-”

“Slipped my mind, dammit.” He looked at Adam and shrugged. “Had to see you first, Bolitho. We’ve both been through it of late.” The pale eyes flickered around the cabin. “They all like to visit the flagship. Makes ‘em feel important!”

Another servant had appeared carrying Langley’s cocked hat and sword, but he was pushed rudely aside as the admiral strode toward the quarter gallery. Langley paused and rubbed his hands together. “Must clean up and pump the bilges before they arrive. Not much longer, eh, Flags?” The door slammed behind him. Adam thought he looked as if he were going to vomit.

The lieutenant waited for the servant to lay hat and sword on the bench beneath the stern windows and leave before saying quietly, “ Medusa is being paid off.” The well-thumbed notebook had fallen to the deck, but he did not seem to notice. “Finished!”

Adam was on his feet, his mind quite clear. Like all those other ships he had seen in harbours at home. Some with famous names, legends, and remembered not only by those who had served and fought in them. At the Saintes and Camperdown, at the Nile and Copenhagen, and at Trafalgar. Now awaiting that final voyage.

He walked slowly aft. From here he could see the berth where the Delfim had been moored, when Rear-Admiral Giles Langley had dissociated himself from the plan to seek out the slaver’s lair, for which he had since taken the credit.

And what about Tyacke?

He turned and faced the flag lieutenant, who was glancing around the cabin as if he had never seen it before. Langley had left even this to him.

There were voices beyond the screen door, laughter: the visitors. Makes ‘em feel important . Not any more.

He shook the flag lieutenant’s hand. “Let me know if …”

“Thank you, sir. I’ll signal for your boat.”

Adam thought of Jago, and said, “He’ll be here. Waiting.”

The door had opened a few inches, and he could see the red coats of the visitors, the scarlet of the sentry.

Jago would know already, and by tomorrow everybody would.

He left the cabin, noticing that the notebook still lay where it had fallen.

The flag lieutenant said, “I will tender your apology.”

But the cabin was empty.

LUKE JAGO WIPED HIS GLEAMING RAZOR and held it to the light before laying it on a tray.

“Feel better, Cap’n? Ready for a new day?” He watched with approval as Adam stretched his arms and nodded.

It was early, with the morning watch still in force.

Adam felt the deck move slightly and saw Jago’s razor slide across the tray. Onward was coming alive again. The pantry door was closed, but he knew that Morgan was not far away. Like the rest of them: waiting.

Jago said, “Meetin’ at eight bells, Cap’n? I’ll be standin’ by, just in case.” He did not go on. He did not need to.

Adam glanced aft toward the stern windows, remembering the flag lieutenant breaking the news. As if he were personally to blame. He said, “Does every one know about Medusa? You did, probably before me.”

Jago said only, “There ‘ave been a few whispers of late. Naval stores, an’ then I ‘eard tell of it from a fellow in the rigger’s crew.” He shrugged. “No secrets last long in this man’s navy!”

“Well, Luke, until it’s official …”

“Aye, aye, Cap’n. Not a word.”

Adam turned toward the harbour again. Small wavelets cruising ahead of the breeze, seabirds rising and screeching in protest. The flags on other vessels moored or at anchor were no longer listless, but streaming out to a steady northwesterly. Like an omen. He felt his senses quicken. Will you ever lose it? Ready for sea. But when?

He walked back across the cabin, his hand briefly, unconsciously, touching the old chair.

Jago had seen it plenty of times. Like old mates . He waited for the moment. “What will become of Cap’n Tyacke?” And when Adam did not answer, he thought he had gone too far.

But Adam faced him eventually. “He is still the flag captain. An important post, ashore or afloat. They must take that into consideration.”

He heard the distant chime, almost lost in the murmur of tackle and loose rigging. Eight bells. He straightened his back and said briskly to Jago, “At least it’s not Friday!”

Jago heard the door open and close, the stamp of the Royal Marine sentry’s boots. A different sentry in the time he had been here: it was now the forenoon watch. He smiled to himself. Not Friday . Only Bolitho would remember his coxswain’s old superstition.

The skylight was partly open and he heard the pipe being repeated along the deck.

“Hands to quarters! Clean guns!”

He muttered aloud, “You just give the word, Cap’n. We’ll scupper ‘em!”

Even walking the short distance to the wardroom on the deck immediately beneath his own cabin, Adam was aware of the unusual stillness, the squeak of gun trucks very audible as an eighteen-pounder was manhandled for inspection and cleaning, with only an occasional shouted instruction. But the forenoon was usually the busiest time in a ship of war, especially at anchor. He knew it was largely imagination. But the feeling persisted.