Alexander Kent - With All Despatch

If Hoblyn depended solely on a commodore's pay, he was certainly living far above it. The house was spartan Admiralty property, but the food and wine Bolitho had seen would have found favour on the table of the Lord High Admiral himself.

The yards Hoblyn visited would also be well known to the smuggling fraternity. Bolitho turned, and allowed the cold spray to dash across his face to clear his mind, like that first morning after Allday disappeared. His imagination was running wild, with a suspected felon in every shadow.

Hoblyn had tried to tell him in his own way; so had the admiral at Chatham. Let others fret over it, and content yourself with your daily lot until something better offers itself.

He was trying too hard. At the Admiralty he had been told in a roundabout way that he had been chosen because of his gallant record, something which might inspire young men to sign on, to wear the King's coat because of his own service. It was a bitter reward.

The Nore and Medway towns were known for their distrust in the stirring words of a recruiting poster. In other wars the harbours and villages had been stripped of their young men, some who had gone proudly to volunteer, others who had been dragged away from their families by the desperate press gangs. The aftermath had seen too many cripples and too few young men to encourage others to follow their example.

Relic. The word seemed to haunt him.

He watched some seamen clambering up the weather ratlines to whip some loose cordage which had been spotted by the boatswain's eagle eye.

This was their ship, their home. They wanted to be rid of the officer who had once been a frigate captain.

There was a slithering footfall on deck and Matthew Corker moved carefully towards him, his young face screwed up with concentration. He held out a steaming mug. "Coffee, Cap'n." He smiled nervously. "'Tis half-empty, I'm afraid, sir."

Bolitho tried to return the smile. He was doing everything he could to please him, do the things which he had seen Allday do. He had even called him Cap'n, as Allday did and would allow no other. He had overcome his seasickness for most of the time.

"D'you still want to go to sea, Matthew?" The coffee was good, and seemed to give him strength.

"Aye, sir. More'n ever."

What would his grandfather, Old Matthew, think of that?

A shaft of red sunlight ran down the mainmast, and Bolitho stared at it as the great mainsail rattled and boomed in the wind. A few more hours and all pretence would be over.

He would not be remembered as the frigate captain, but as the man who tried to use a cutter like one. Relic.

"I forgot to tell you something, sir." The boy watched him anxiously. "Us being so busy an' worried like."

Bolitho smiled down at him. Us, he had said. It had not been easy for him either. The crowded hull, and doubtless some language and tales which he would barely understand after his sheltered existence at Falmouth.

"What is that?"

"When I took the horses to the stables at the commodore's house, sir, I had a walk round, looked at the other horses an' that." Bolitho saw him screwing up his face again, trying to picture it, to forget nothing.

"There was a fine carriage there. My grandfather showed me one once, when I was very young, sir."

Bolitho warmed to him. "That must have been a long time ago."

It was lost on him. "It's got a special kind of springing, y'see, sir-I've never seen another, until that night."

Bolitho waited. "What about it?"

"It's French, sir. A berlin, just like the one which came to Falmouth that time with some nobleman an' his lady."

Bolitho took his arm and guided him to the bulwark so that their backs were turned to the helmsmen and other watchkeepers.

"Are you quite sure?"

"Oh yes, sir." He nodded emphatically. "Somebody had been varnishing the doors like, but I could still see it when I held up the lantern."

Bolitho tried to remain patient. "See what?"I forget what they calls them, sir." He pouted. "A sort of

flower with a crest." Bolitho stared at the tilting horizon for several seconds. Then he said quietly, "Fleur-de-lys?" The boy's apple cheeks split into a grin. "Aye, that's what my granddad called it!" Bolitho looked at him steadily. Out of the mouths of babes… "Have you told anyone else?" He smiled gently. "Or is it just

between us? " "I said nuthin', sir. Just thought it a bit strange." The moment, the boy's expression, the description of the fine

carriage seemed to become fixed and motionless as the lookout's

voice pealed down to the deck. "Sail on th' weather quarter, sir!" Paice stared across at him questioningly. Bolitho called, "Well, we know she's not the Loyal Chieftain

this time, Mr Paice." Paice nodded very slowly. "And we know there's naught 'twixt

her and the land but-" Bolitho looked at the boy. " Us, Mr Paice?" "Aye, sir." Then he raised his speaking trumpet. "Masthead!

Can you make out her rig?" "Schooner, sir! A big 'un she is, too!" Paice moved nearer and rubbed his chin with agitation. "She'll take the windgage off us. It would be two hours or

more before we could beat up to wind'rd, even in Telemachus. " He glanced meaningly at the sky. "Time's against that." Bolitho saw some of the idlers on deck pausing to try and

catch their words.

He said, "I agree. Besides, when she sights Telemachus she might turn and run if she thinks we are about to offer a chase."

"Shall I signal Wakeful, sir?" Once again that same hesitation.

"I think not. Wakeful will stand a better chance downwind if this stranger decides to make a run for the Dover Strait."

Paice gave a tight grin. "I'll say this, sir, you never let up."

Bolitho glanced away. "After this, I hope others may remember it."

Paice beckoned to his first lieutenant. "Call all hands, Andrew-" He glanced anxiously at Bolitho. "That is, Mr Triscott. Clear for action, but do not load or run out."

Bolitho watched them both and said, "This is where Telemachus' s ability to sail close to the wind will tell. It will also offer our small broadside a better chance should we have to match the enemy's iron!"

He crossed to the lee side and looked down at the creaming wake. There was only this moment. He must think of nothing further. Not of Allday, nor that this newcomer might well be an honest trader. If that were true, his name would carry no weight at all.

He heard the boy ask, "What'll I do, sir?"

Bolitho looked at him and saw him falter under his gaze. Then he said, "Fetch my sword." He nearly added and pray. Instead he said, "Then stand by me."

Calls trilled although they were hardly needed in Telemachus' s sixty-nine-foot hull.

"All hands! Clear for action!"

Tomorrow would bring the first day in May. What might it take away? Bolitho lowered the telescope and spoke over his shoulder. "What do you estimate our position, Mr Chesshyre?"

There was no hesitation. "'Bout ten miles north of Foreness Point, sir."

Bolitho wiped the telescope with his sleeve to give himself time to digest the master's words.

Foreness Point lay on the north-eastern corner of the Isle of Thanet, and the mainland of Kent. It reminded him briefly of Herrick, as had Chesshyre's voice.

Paice said hoarsely, "If he is a smuggler he'll be hard put to go about now, sir."

Bolitho levelled the glass again and saw the big schooner's dark sails standing above the sea like bat's wings. Paice was right. The north-easterly would make it difficult, even hazardous to try and claw round to weather the headland. The lookouts would be able to see it from their perch, but from the deck it looked as if the two vessels had the sea to themselves.