Man of War

11. Trick for Trick

Lieutenant Roger Pointer, Lotus's, gangling commanding officer, swung away from the rail, his weariness giving way to a broad grin as Bolitho, the flag captain, appeared on deck. In the navy it was amazing how quickly sailors could adapt, adjust to any kind of change unexpectedly thrown upon them.

Like Vice-Admiral Bethune's order to be ready for sea by sunset the day after his fast passage from Havana, the jeers still ringing in his ears after being refused permission to board the ship he knew to be a slaver. Hardly enough time to take on fresh water and to snatch a few casks of fresh fruit from the market. And even then they had been ordered to weigh at noon, not wait until sunset.

The other surprise had been the arrival on board of Bethune's flag captain, his emissary to be carried to meet Havana 's captain-general, with a protest or warning Pointer was not sure. He had expected to feel resentment, but common sense made him realize the value of Bethune's decision. He was still not certain how Bolitho felt about it.

They were three days out of English Harbour, with favourable winds making Lotus lift and plunge through the blue water like a thoroughbred.

He knew Bolitho's record and reputation almost as well as that of his famous uncle. Athena'?" captain was now probably completely out of his element, but rank was rank and the navy had its own firm divisions in any ship, two-decker or lowly sloop.

It came as a surprise that Bolitho seemed prepared to accept the role of passenger, keeping his distance from the watch-by-watch affairs of the ship, but approachable in a manner Pointer had never expected or experienced before.

Adam walked to the weather side, feeling the sting of spray as it drifted aft from the forecastle, the elation of the lively hull, the din of canvas and rigging.

He had known full well what Pointer must have thought when Bethune's unexpected orders had been issued; he had suffered it himself when he had first taken command of the brig Firefly. After three full days at sea the barriers had dropped. There were still stares and surreptitious nudges when he took his daily walks on deck, but he understood the strength and the camaraderie of a small ship, and was heartened by the sudden willingness to talk, or speak of their lives and homes without it seeming an interrogation at a court-martial.

He could even feel a certain envy of Pointer and his command. Lotus was like a smaller version of a frigate, well armed for her size, with sixteen twelve pounders and a pair of carronades, and a total complement of one hundred and fifteen souls, including her captain. And no marines to mark the unseen boundary between quarterdeck and common seaman.

He shaded his eyes to stare abeam, at the faint, darker blur on the horizon. Haiti, a place always hated and avoided by sailors, even in their search for fresh water. Superstition, strange and cruel rituals… there was many a mess deck yarn to frighten new hands on their first passage. Even under French rule it had been bad enough, but since the slave rebellion and the retreat of the colonial army it had become even more dangerous.

Cuba was close by, and Adam wondered if the captain-general might see Haiti 's change of ownership as a grim warning, a threat to himself and Spanish rule altogether.

Or perhaps, like Commodore Swinburne, he only wanted an uneventful existence in which to finish his career?

He looked inboard again. A small ship, one hundred and ten feet on the gun deck, not much more than four hundred tons. No wonder he had felt unsteady on his first morning at sea, after Athena's massive timbers and heavy artillery.

He smiled to himself. It was different now, after only three days.

He called, "Good morning, Roger. The wind is still an ally -it does you credit! "

Pointer touched his battered hat. He was still unprepared for it, no matter what he told himself. The youthful-looking figure, hatless, dark hair blowing 'all anyhow', as his boatswain had put it, open shirt, and a coat which had lost most of its true colour along the way: the admiral's trusted flag captain, perhaps poised for that next step up the ladder. Like all the rest of us.

He said, "We should be off the Iguanas tomorrow forenoon, sir." The grin returned. "I'd not care to run through them in the dark! "

Adam nodded agreement, pushing the hair from his eyes. "Then Cuba. A fast run indeed." He saw the unspoken questions on Pointer's face. What it might mean for his ship, and for his reputation. "I shall deliver Sir Graham's despatch as instructed, so that the captain-general or his representative is informed of the change in command." He thought of the scattered wreckage and added bitterly, "If he is not already aware of it."

Pointer said, "I have heard, unofficially, you understand, sir, that the captain-general always speaks through an interpreter." He spread his big, bony hands. "But that he speaks perfect English, when he chooses."

Adam smiled. "Well said, Roger. I have walked into that trap before."

He recalled Bethune's last words to him before he had been pulled across to the Lotus.

"I have decided that you should represent me in this matter of negotiation, and our right to search suspect vessels. A show of force would be pointless, even if I had the ships to do it. I shall send for reinforcements to increase the patrols. A few captures, some rich prizes, and we'll soon see a change of heart where the money lies." Then, at the last minute, he had touched Adam's arm. "Watch out for Sillitoe. I think he's desperate. So be on your guard."

Adam had not seen Troubridge again before leaving the flagship. Deliberate? Or was he, too, under strict orders?

Pointer excused himself and walked away to deal with his first lieutenant, who had been hovering nearby.

Again he felt the stab of envy. Simply being in command, without obligation.

He saw Jago by the main hatch, turning to talk with one of Lotus's petty officers. They were laughing, and Jago was thumping his back. Adam remembered that Jago had told him that one of the carpenter's crew had been celebrating the birth of his first baby. A girl. No salt pork an' ship's biscuit for her! He had not noticed the sudden shadow in his captain's eyes.

That first night at sea, getting the feel of it as Pointer had called it. The heaving motion, the boom and slap of canvas, the sluice of water alongside, seemingly inches from the swaying cot. Finding time to think, to reproach himself.

Suppose that one precious hour had ruined her life: if Lowenna found herself with child because of his inability to hold back, and shared the despair and shame of his own mother. She would be alone, and might be left with only hate in her breast, like the terrible memories she had been taught to overcome, if not forget. But Sir Gregory Montagu was dead. There was nobody else.

He had thought of the tablet in the old church, which he had insisted on erecting all those years after his mother's death.

In loving memory of Kerenza Pascoe, who died in 1793.

Waiting for his ship.

As he had lain in the cot, feeling the ship moving around and beneath him, he had stared into the darkness, seeing those last words in his mind.

He had eventually fallen asleep, the unspoken words still there.

It must never happen to you, Lowenna.

He came out of his thoughts, as if he had heard some one call his name. But it was Pointer again, his features tense. Making a decision. Or requiring one.

"Mr. Ellis has reported that the masthead lookout is certain we are being held under observation. To the nor' east." He saw the question in Adam's eyes. "She'll know we're a man-of-war. No reason to keep her distance."

Adam glanced at the dazzling sky. "Good lookout, is he?"

Pointer bobbed his head, puzzled. "My best, sir. He or one other I always use them on this run."

No landsman would ever understand that, Adam thought, but he had known such a seaman in Unrivalled. The weatherbeaten face and clear, bright eyes came back to him instantly. Even his voice, when Adam had climbed up to his dizzy, swaying perch to consult him after one such sighting. Sullivan: the name leaped out of memory, like the face. He had never been wrong.

He said, "What do you think?" and saw Pointer relax slightly.

"If I come about to give chase we could lose him amongst the islands. We'll be in the main channel again soon, but not before dusk. Too risky then." He watched him, frowning. "Unless you think…"

"Leave him as he is, Roger. You spoke earlier of the Iguanas." He saw the tired face lightening. "Wait until first light." He banged one hand into the other. "We'll go for him then! "

"But your orders, sir?"

Adam knew the feeling. Beyond measure or control. Dangerous.

He replied, "Our old enemy John Paul Jones had the answer, Roger. He who will not risk, cannot win! "

Jago had stopped by the mizzen shrouds. He had heard none of it, but he recognized the signs only too well.

It went against all his rules, but he was almost relieved.

"Ship cleared for action, sir. Galley fire doused."

That was Ellis, the first lieutenant, clipped and formal. Adam could scarcely distinguish him from the other shadowed figures, moving to a familiar pattern. A strange feeling, as if he himself were invisible, or imagining it. The same drill he had seen and been a part of so many times.

It was uncanny in small ships; sailors could feel their way about, above or below deck in a way which no landsman would ever understand. They were in complete darkness, with only the broken water surging back from the stem and marking their wake astern to betray their progress. Lotus leaned over, close hauled on the starboard tack, swinging her jib boom like a pointer toward the invisible horizon, and the unknown ship. Adam could sense the tension around him. The stranger was still there when first light found them. She might be an innocent merchantman, staying near a man-of-war for her own security and to ensure a safe passage. It was probably common enough in these disputed waters. How different from all those years, of open warfare, when a merchant captain would go out of his way to avoid a King's ship, fearful that she might board him and press some of his most experienced hands before he could find any means of protesting. People were taking shape now, a face here, an arm or a fist gesturing to some one in the shrouds, and another shadow sliding silently down a backstay, feet soundless as they hit the deck.

The first lieutenant was with Pointer, speaking quietly, while the sailing master showed his teeth in the gloom as one of them said something that amused him. Lotus carried one other lieutenant; the rest of the ship's backbone was comprised of warrant officers. And a solitary midshipman. A small, close-knit company.

Adam thought of David Napier, somewhere at sea in the frigate Audacity. Would he be able to cope with the brutal humour usual in most ships?

He remembered the shy pleasure when he had thanked him for his gift, the shining new midshipman's dirk. Like a bond. A talisman.

Jago must have been standing very close. He said, "Masthead, sir." Even he was whispering.

Adam looked up and realized he could see the reefed topsail, and high above it the long pendant, red and white, streaming in the wind, somewhere above all the darkness, holding the frail light as if it were free and unattached.

Pointer was saying, "There may be nothing in it. But we shall load all guns in good time." Nobody spoke, as if he were talking to himself. Or to Lotus.

Adam heard the boatswain calling out names, telling some one to shift yerself, like an old woman this morning! Then another sound, and he remembered that most sloops carried sweeps, long oars which could be run outboard and manned by all spare hands to give the vessel steerage way if they were suddenly becalmed. They could give her one or two knots in a dead calm. Enough to save her in an emergency.

There was a small oar-port beside each gun, and Adam recalled the galleys they had fought at Algiers. He realized he was touching his side, the wound which she had tended when he had been thrown from his horse. Which she had kissed in that last embrace.

Pointer was beside him. "The sweeps might help if I need to cross her stern." He walked away again. He was obviously in little doubt of today's outcome.

Lotus's only midshipman hurried aft, his white collar patches very clear against the sea's dark backdrop.

He held out a telescope, and said, "First lieutenant's respects, sir."

Adam could feel the youth staring at him. It would probably go in his next letter home. Midshipmen wrote notoriously long letters, never knowing when they would be collected by some passing courier, or indeed if they would ever be finished.

He said quietly, "When will you stand for lieutenant? Soon, I trust?"

He heard the quick intake of breath. Today the admiral's flag captain spoke to me.

"Two years, sir, perhaps less." He turned his head this way and that, and faltered, "But I don't want to leave this ship."

Adam put his hand on his arm and felt him jump. "I know the feeling. But look ahead. When the chance comes, grasp it! "

He saw the midshipman's eyes gleam in the growing light as he looked up as if to see the invisible lookout.

"Deck there! Sail, fine on th' starboard bow! "

Pointer exclaimed, "Still there, same course, by God! " He swung round, his voice sharper now. "More sail, Mr. Ellis get the t' gallants on her if she'll wear it! "

Calls shrilled, and figures scampered to halliards and braces while top men like scurrying monkeys dashed up the ratlines, faintly visible at last as the first yellow edge ran along and over the horizon.

The lookout's voice again, rising without effort above the banging canvas and squealing blocks.

"Deck there! She's a barque! "

"Steady she goes, sir. Nor' east by north! Full an' by! "

Adam relaxed his body, sinew by sinew. A converging tack. Pointer had done well to bide his time. If the stranger went about and made a run for it, they might still out sail him.

"What's your lookout's name, Roger?"

Pointer stared at him, his mind grappling with several things at once.

"Er, Jenkins, sir." It sounded like a question.

Adam slung the telescope over his shoulder. "I'm going aloft." He felt the smile on his lips, as if he had no control over it. "I'll not cross your bows! "

Jago followed him to the weather shrouds. "You sure about this, Cap'n?"

Adam climbed on to the ratlines, feeling the spray cold against his hands, his face.

"They want evidence I intend to give it to them! "

Jago stood his ground. "It's your neck, Cap'n."

Adam lifted his foot to test the next ratline. All those years ago, running up the shrouds with other 'young gentlemen', sometimes barefoot; no fear of heights, or danger.

He recalled Pointer's expression when he had quoted John Paul Jones. But the words still made sense.

Jago took his silence for something else. "We've a few leagues to sail yet, sir."

Adam looked down at him. His face was still in shadow, but he did not need to see it.

He said, "I've seen enough men killed for a flag, Luke. I'll not stand by while more of them die simply because of greed! "

Ellis, the first lieutenant, commented, "A man of strong beliefs, Cox'n."

Jago shook his head, rarely at a loss except for certain moments.

He answered harshly, "Second to none, sir! "

He peered up again and saw Bolitho's shadow swinging out and around the put tock shrouds. Like a true seaman. There were few officers who would or could do it.

Why do we do it, then? He thought of the painting in the captain's sleeping cabin, hundreds of miles astern by now, the lovely, half naked woman held captive above the sea. And of the reality in that shabby room when the captain and young Troubridge had smashed down the door. And I was with them.

The captain should be with her right now, not risking his life all over again for some poxy slaves.

He heard a voice shout, "All guns load, but do not run out! " Bloody officers.

Jago stared up once more but the captain had vanished. Past the maintop and upwards to the topgallant yard. If the ship changed tack again, or even if he slipped, it would be over in seconds.

He readjusted the heavy blade at his belt and looked for the dawn.

The voice seemed to answer him. It is what we are.

Adam threw his leg over the lookout's dizzy perch on the cross trees and seized a stay for support. A very long climb from Lotus's main deck, and he could feel his heart pounding against his ribs like a hammer. He was pleased that he was not completely breathless.

It was a sight which had always impressed him. Midshipman to post captain, it made no difference. The hull heeling hard over to the thrust of topsails and topgallants, each section of mast quivering and jerking to the press of wind and rigging. From this, the highest point in the ship, the sea was directly below him, the glassy blue and rearing crests reflecting the sails, angled far beneath his dangling legs.

He wiped the spray from his face and mouth, tasting the raw salt, his skin tingling. He swallowed hard. A long climb indeed.

He glanced at the masthead lookout, surprised that he was much younger than he had expected. He had a powerful voice which carried easily above and through the busy shipboard noises, like Sullivan in

Unrivalled, but in fact he seemed only in his late twenties, slightly built, with an open face, deeply tanned almost to the colour of the mast.

He had been watching him climbing from the deck far below with interest, and not a little curiosity, as had some seamen on the main top as Adam had climbed past them. They had been rigging a swivel gun on the top's barricade, but had turned to stare, and one of them had called, "Bit dangerous up 'ere, sir! " They had all laughed.

Adam took another breath.

"Good morning Jenkins, isn't it?"

"That's me, sir." He was studying Adam's flapping shirt and the well-worn, tarnished epaulettes on his seagoing coat.

Adam unslung the telescope and peered ahead and across the bow as the mast reeled over again, the mainsail cracking and thudding to the wind.

Then he saw the other ship, like a delicate model, sharp against a horizon which was sloping over and down as if to dislodge her and Lotus together.

"Is it the same barque which you chased into Havana?"

Jenkins frowned, and it made him look younger. "No, sir, different." There was no doubt or hesitation. "Something about her, see?"

Adam caught the Welsh accent. He levelled the glass again, or tried to as Lotus altered course slightly. It made it seem that the barque was the only vessel moving.

He waited for the mast to steady, and concentrated on the other vessel's rig. A large barque, with the usual untidy appearance when seen on this bearing, square-rigged on fore and main, fore-and-aft rigged on the mizzen, which gave her a broken outline, as if some spars were missing. Big and powerful. But how could Jenkins be sure it was not the one Pointer had described?

The lookouts aboard the barque must have seen Lotus by now. Even with the night sky astern of her, she would be laid bare as daylight drove away the shadows and opened up the sea like burnished pewter.

The lookout was wrapping a piece of cloth expertly around his head, and remarked casually, "Gets a bit like the bakery up here. I wouldn't stay too long, sir."

Adam smiled, and handed him the telescope. "Here tell me what you see."

Jenkins held the telescope as if he had never seen one in his life. As if it was not to be trusted.

But he trained it with great care and said, "It's her driver, sir. When it takes the wind over the quarter it…" He paused. "Well, the driver-boom looks higher than it should." He offered the telescope, as if relieved. "As if to make space for something." He ended lamely, "But then again…" He stared at Adam as he used the glass and said, "Jenkins, where did you get those eyes?" He hardly knew what he was saying: even the most experienced seamen might not notice it. The flaw in the picture. Nothing much. But a skilled lookout knew every sort of tide and current, and the mood of each spar and sail in the ships they passed.

Jenkins said, "My da was a shepherd, good one too, see? I used to help him as a boy, got used to searching for sheep, straining my eyes for the stragglers. No life for me, I thought." He might have shrugged. "So I volunteered. Not pressed, see."

Adam leaned out as far as he dared and saw the small figures moving about the pale planking between his feet. The barque's big aftermost sail, the driver, was higher than normal, as if the poop had been raised in some way. A glance at the masthead pendant, taut in the wind and pointing toward the other vessel. He measured the distance and bearing almost without thought. III am wrong… He thought of the figures on the deck below.

If he was right, they would not stand a chance.

He swung himself over the cross trees "Thank you, Jenkins. I'll see that this goes in the log! " Something to say, to prevent the conviction from wavering.

He paused, one foot feeling for the first ratline, and looked up, startled, as Jenkins said, "I was serving in Frobisher, sir. I was there." He looked away. "When they told me your name, I was so proud…" He did not go on. Could not.

Adam said, "When Sir Richard fell. My uncle."

He began to clamber down the swaying, vibrating shrouds, his mind suddenly clear, free of doubt.

They were all waiting for him as his shoes hit the deck.

He said, "Your man, Jenkins you were right about him." He pausing, wanting his breathing to steady. "The barque is not all she seems, Roger. I believe she carries heavier artillery than is customary for an honest trader."

They were crowding closer to hear him, maybe to consider their own fate. Excitement, doubt, anxiety, as if something inhuman had dropped amongst them. He found time to notice that Jago was the only one who seemed as usual. Arms folded, his fingers loosely on the hilt of the heavy blade he always carried.

Pointer rubbed his chin, with the habitual frown as he listened to Adam's description. He was Lotus'?" commanding officer. If the other ship proved to be an enemy, no matter in what guise, he would be held responsible if anything went wrong. Adam Bolitho was a vice-admiral's flag captain, part of a legend. But a passenger.

In a matter of a few months Pointer's promotion would be in orders: commander, the first real step toward post rank. One error or reckless action, and he would join the thousands of unemployed, half-pay officers.

He looked along his ship and at the men he had come to know so well during his six months in command. The good and the untrustworthy, the hard men, and the ordinary Jack who had no choice at all but to trust his captain. He faced Bolitho, his searching eyes taking in the faded coat and stained epaulettes. There was fresh tar now on his hands and breeches from the climb to the masthead, but, in any ship, you would know him instantly as the Captain.

He said, "I'll be guided by you, sir." He saw his first lieutenant nod, and nudge some one beside him.

Adam touched his arm and for an instant looked at his hand. Steady: no uncertainty. Like a drug or a breed of madness.

"I shall put it in the log, Roger." He thought of Jago's remark. "It will be my neck."

He stared up through the rigging and pictured the keen-eyed Welshman, searching for lost sheep before volunteering. Who was there on that terrible, proud day when Richard Bolitho had fallen on the deck of his own flagship.

It was past. This was now.

"So let's be about it, shall we?"

Ellis, the first lieutenant, lowered his telescope and called, "Spanish colours, sir! No tricks this time! " It was impossible to tell if he was disappointed or relieved.

Adam looked up at the topsails, writhing and cracking, with the yards braced round so tightly they would appear to any outsider to be almost fore-and-aft.

He gritted his teeth. The only outsider was the barque, so much bigger now and angled almost across Lotus's bowsprit. Two miles? No more.

He heard one of the helmsmen shout something and the sailing master's response. To Pointer he said, "She's as close to the wind as she'll come, sir. If the wind backs we'll be in irons! "

Pointer's eyes flickered briefly to Adam. "Let her fall off a point."

Adam walked to the nettings and clung to a lashing while the deck tilted over again. It was taking too long. If the Spaniard held his course he would be in safe waters, and any further action would be taken very seriously when it reached Havana, and later Madrid. The 'alliance' between the old enemies was already fragile enough.

He glanced along the deck. The starboard guns loaded and manned, their crews crouched and hidden below the bulwarks. One of the cutters had been swayed from the boat tier, its crew and lowering party hauling on the tackle, supervised by the boatswain, making it obvious that they were preparing a boarding party. He did not need a chart. Soon they would be on a lee shore, with shallows for an added hazard.

He could feel the sailing master's anxiety like something physical. Pointer, he knew, would be equally worried.

He looked over at Jago, who was standing near the helmsmen, arms folded, feet well apart to accept the angle of the deck. What might he be thinking?

"Make the signal! Heave to! " Like hearing somebody else. He measured the bearing and the range with his eye until it smarted. But he could see every detail of the sails, comfortably filling in the wind across her quarter. A few tiny figures in the lower shrouds, a flash of light from a telescope. He wiped his eye and raised the glass again. There were more men on the Spaniard's deck. Not running about or pointing at the sloop as might be expected. It was as if… The picture seemed to freeze in the glass. Past a boat tier to the poop and the wheel. Except that there was no wheel, and the raised poop appeared to be deserted.

"They're not shortenin' sail, sir."

Adam said, "Fire the warning shot! " He held up one hand and sensed that Pointer had turned to watch him. "Then we come about." They had to know, be ready. There would be no second chance.

The crash of the foremost gun seemed muffled by the din of canvas overhead. He saw the gun's crew sponging out and ramming home another ball, like a drill, part of the routine.

"They're shortening sail, sir! " Somebody even laughed.

Adam's fingers throbbed from the force of his grip as he steadied the glass, his feet moving without thought as the hull lifted and dipped, while the sound of thrashing canvas was like that of giant sea birds, spreading their wings in flight.

He blinked, but it was no error, or the effect of strain. The barque's poop was moving, even as he watched, folding like painted canvas, as if controlled by a single hand.

There were men in plenty now, in teams, bowed over as they hauled at invisible tackles, even as three gun ports opened below her mizzen mast and the driver boom which had first troubled the keen-eyed lookout.

Adam yelled, "Now, Roger! Show them your teeth! "

With the helm hard over and every spare hand hauling on braces and halliards, Lotus began to swing wildly to larboard. Spray burst over the scrambling gun crews as the ports opened as one, and her broadside of eight twelve-pounders squealed into the sunlight.

"Steady she goes! West by south! "

Adam watched the other ship, now almost broadside on, near enough to mark every detail. He saw smoke fanning across the barque's ports and the spitting orange tongues from two of them, heard the smack of a ball punching through the main topsail, within feet of the fighting top where the swivel gun's crew had called out to him. A split second later he felt the sickening crash of a ball as it smashed into the lower hull. All in seconds, and yet in so short a space of time he heard the words of Celeste'?" only survivor before he, too, paid the price.

Fired into us at point-blank range, double-shot ted by the feel of it!

They had all felt it now.

Pointer was gripping the rail, his battered hat still in place, his voice strangely calm.

"As you bear, lads! On the up roll." He glanced only briefly at two running seamen, or perhaps at the sound of pumps. "Fire! "

Adam saw the carefully prepared broadside smash into the barque's poop, doubleshotted and with grape for good measure. Pointer's gun captains knew their work well. In small ships, you needed to.

He saw thin scarlet streaks running from the barque's scuppers, as if she and not her sailors was bleeding to death.

There was more smoke in the air now; men were yelling below decks, and there were sounds of axes, and the clank of pumps.

But at each gun nothing moved. Every twelve-pounder was loaded and run out again, each gun captain faced aft, his hand raised.

"Ready, sir! "

Adam watched the other vessel. Perhaps that carefully prepared broadside had damaged her steering; her topsails were in confusion and she was falling slightly downwind.

He could still feel the force and weight of the ball which had crashed into Lotus's hull. Like the ones which had fired into Celeste when she had been asking for medical help.

And all those other pictures which came crowding into his mind. On the African patrols when they had found another survivor, from a prize crew put aboard a slaver. The slavers had somehow overpowered the prize crew, and with the slaves still on board threw them to the sharks. Pointer had seen it, too. A sea of blood.

What had warned him this time? Fate? Or was it part of the legend he had heard sailors talk of?

He made himself lift the glass to his eye again.

He saw the splintered timbers and torn sails, some corpses sprawled where they had fallen. But the third gun was still thrust through its port, manned or not he could not tell. A big gun. Perhaps a thirty-two pounder. Even Athena did not carry such massive weapons.

Pointer was still by the rail, waiting. Perhaps he thought he had not heard him. He said, "Their flag still flies, sir."

He turned as his first lieutenant appeared through the companion hatch.

"We're holding it, sir! She'll live to fight again! " He stared around at the silent gun crews.

Pointer asked sharply, "What is the bill?"

Ellis spread his hands. "We lost one killed, sir." He looked at, and through, Adam as if he did not see him. "Mr. Bellamy, sir."

The only midshipman, who had never wanted to leave this ship.

Adam shouted, "Broadside! "

It seemed louder than before, and the smoke less eager to clear. He gripped his hands behind his back to contain the anger and emotion. He stared at the other vessel, the poop clawed away as if by some giant.

"Their flag is down now, Roger." Jago was beside him although he had not seen him move. "Prepare to board. But have the guns loaded and be ready. If he attempts to trick us or resists us this time he will drown in his own sea of blood! "

Jago followed him to the main deck where the boatswain's party were once again preparing to sway out and lower boats for boarding.

He knew he had to stay close to the captain. They had shared and done far worse, but he could not recall seeing him so moved. He thought suddenly of the girl in the portrait and wondered what she would feel if she saw her man like this.

"Boats alongside, sir! "

Pointer was gazing at the starboard side gun crews. But for

Bolitho's instinct, second sight, or whatever it was, Lotus and most of these men would be dead.

And he was going across in one of the boats. Again, as if something or somebody was driving him.

He realized that Bolitho had paused with his leg over the side, and was looking up at him.

Take care, sir! "

Adam shaded his eyes. "You will need a prize crew, Roger. They might listen to us in future! "

"Cast off! Bear off forrard! " The boats were moving away from the side, some of the seamen peering at their ship, looking for the hole where cannon had smashed through the hull, and had killed one of their own. Others gripped their cutlasses and boarding axes and stared ahead at the unexpected enemy, ready to fight and kill if any one opposed them.

The sailing master murmured, "Close thing, sir."

Pointer pulled his mind together. "We were ready for that scum." He beckoned to a boatswain's mate, still hearing the inner voice. But I was not.

Both boats were pulling strongly so that within minutes the drifting barque seemed to tower over them like a cliff. Adam crouched beside Jago and the boat's coxswain, his sword pinned between his legs. Two of the seamen were armed with muskets which they held trained on the barque, ready for a last show of force. He found time to think it strange not to have Royal Marines in either boat, but Lotus's men were experienced in this sort of work. Over the months since the anti-slavery laws had grudgingly been accepted, they must have stopped and boarded many suspected slavers, some without result, and others which had been allowed to go free because of slackness in the wording of some regulations. Adam had heard of a case where a ship had been seized with only one slave still on board. Enough evidence, any sane person might have thought. But the Act stated any vessel carrying slaves, in the plural, so the vessel was released without charge. That clause, at least, had now been changed.

He peered across at the other boat. Lotus's second lieutenant, Jack Grimes, was in charge. He was an old hand at the work, who had come up the hard way to gain his commission, from the lower deck. As some one had once said of such promotions,

if he was good there was none better. And if not, then watch out!

Faces had appeared on the barque's forecastle and above the creak of oars and the sluice of water he could hear some one screaming.

Jago loosened his blade and muttered, "Ere we go, lads! "

"Grapnels! "

The boat surged alongside, the oars vanishing as if by magic. Hands snatched up weapons. Todd, the boatswain's mate in charge, yelled, "Ready, sir?"

Adam felt Jago's hand on his arm. "I'll get no thanks from Sir Graham if I lets you get killed first, Cap'n! " He thrust past him and flung himself up into the fore chains before any one could stop him. The second boat was already grappling the main chains, and Adam managed to see Lieutenant Grimes, hanger in one hand as he shouted something to the men close behind him.

He did not recall climbing up and over the side. One shot was fired, and somewhere a man cried out in anguish. But suddenly the barque's broad deck was theirs… Individual seamen ran to their allotted tasks as if they knew the ship like their own. One was already at a swivel gun and training it aft toward the poop and the blood-spattered aftermath of Lotus's second broadside, others were rounding up some of the barque's people, and weapons clattered on the deck or were pitched over the side. Lotus's men were in no mood for argument, and those who had reached the poop and had found the powerful guns half buried by the false superstructure needed no words of command to keep them fully alert, and ready to hack down any opposition. Had Lotus not played trick-for-trick and been ready to open fire, their little sloop would now be lying fathoms deep.

Seven of the barque's company had been killed in the broadsides; several others had been badly cut and wounded by flying splinters. Lieutenant Grimes made the first discovery. With one of his men he brought the barque's master to Adam from his hiding place in a spirit store in the poop.

He said harshly, "We must mount a guard there, sir. Enough grog stored to float the flagship! " He pushed the ship's master forward. "His name's Cousens, sir. English, God help us! "

Adam said, "We have already met, Mister Cousens, have we not?" Even the brig's name, Albatroz, was ice-clear in his mind. Like a storm passing: the madness of the attack, each second expecting the jarring agony of musket ball or the blade of a cutlass, then this. A sudden calm which was almost worse.

A year ago, Unrivalled had put a boarding party aboard a suspected slaver. No slaves were found, but his men had discovered chains and manacles slyly hidden in a cask of boiling pitch. Evidence enough, his boarding party had believed.

But once delivered in harbour to face charges, the brig's master, this same man, must have laughed at them, and had walked free.

Cousens looked him up and down. "You look as if you've fallen on hard times, Captain. An' once again, you'll find nothing."

The calmness remained, although something deep inside him wanted to cut this man down, here and now.

He said, "You intended that we should reach Havana ahead of you. So that we might be "detained" long enough for you to land your cargo."

"I don't have to say anything until…"

He gasped as Jago seized his arm and twisted it behind his back.

"Sir, when you speak to a King's officer, you scum! "

Todd, the boatswain's mate, was hurrying aft, his face split in a great grin despite the blood and corpses around him.

"Captain, sir! Found the cargo! " Somewhere along the way he had had his two front teeth knocked out. The grin made it worse. "Can't get right into it, sir, more locks and bolts than a Chatham whorehouse, but it's gold right enough, tons of it! "

Grimes scowled. "Something else we'll have to mount a guard on."

Cousens exclaimed, "Not my fault! I was under orders! "

Adam turned away and watched the Lotus slowly coming about, her gun ports closed, and from this bearing only the spreading tear in her main topsail to mark what had happened.

And the midshipman, I don't want to leave this ship, had been killed.

It gave him time. But there was never enough when you needed it so badly.

He said, Tut this man in irons, and prepare to get the ship under way. We will ask Lotus for some more hands. We are going to need them."

Grimes turned his back on the man called Cousens.

"The steering is undamaged, sir. But what do you intend?"

Adam glanced at the carving on the poop, the barque's name in gilt lettering. Villa de Bilbao. It, too, was splashed with blood.

"We shall return to English Harbour. I think we have evidence enough. Sir Graham's message to the captain-general will have to wait a while longer."

Grimes paused to listen to one of his men, and said, "She's a slaver right enough, sir. All the usual fittings, no covers on the hatches, just bars to keep the poor devils penned up for the journey, the last for some of them, no doubt! "

"And the gold?"

Grimes studied him guardedly, not yet sure of the bridge that might exist between them. Then he said bluntly, "Payment for the last few cargoes, I'd wager, " and seemed surprised when Adam grasped his arm and said, "I am certain of it! "

Cousens tried to thrust past Jago, shouting, "What about me, damn your eyes! "

Adam looked along the littered and scarred deck, at Lotus's men leaning on their weapons, another bandaging the arm of one of the barque's sailors, and turned toward Cousens again, remembering the terrified faces he had seen in a slaver's hold, women too, some no older than Elizabeth. They all ended up as pieces of gold.

"You, Cousens, will be put ashore and hanged. You fired on a King's ship, one authorized by law to stop and search any suspected vessel, as well you know. Those who pay you will not save you."

He felt sick, furious with himself for caring so much. They had captured a prize which, given time, would reveal names and places.

If Cousens lived or died the trade would still go on. But just this once they had made their mark.

He walked over to watch Lotus's jolly boat pulling across the water toward the Villa de Bilbao.

He realized that he was still gripping the old sword in his hand, but could hardly remember drawing it. Another minute and Cousens would not have had to wait for the rope. He tried again to shake it off, the narrow margin of life and death.

He watched the jolly boat pulling closer.

Help was on its way. Very carefully, he sheathed the sword which had served other Bolithos. Not a moment too soon.