Tyacke nodded. “That’s excellent, thank you.” The servant was hesitating, and he said with a certain emphasis, “All for now, Simpson,” and when they were alone again, “Here’s to you and your lady.” When he put down the goblet, it was empty.
Then he said, “What’s her name?”
Adam gazed past him. “Lowenna. It means ‘joy’ in old Cornish. We were married at Falmouth, in November,” and he thought Tyacke sighed.
“That’s a lovely name. I gave up hope long ago.” He was touching the scarred side of his face, a habit of which he was probably unaware. “But I didn’t drag you from your own fine ship just to hear all my-”
The door opened once more, although there had been no knock. It was a lieutenant, one of the officers who had been with the side party when Adam had climbed aboard.
“Sorry to disturb you, sir, but …” He glanced at the two coats draped casually over the chairs. “… the admiral is on the jetty, sir.”
Tyacke stood up without haste. “Thanks, Martin. I’ll do the same for you one day!”
The lieutenant was hurrying from the cabin.
Tyacke said dryly, “Stand by to repel boarders!” and reached out to keep Adam seated. “Now we wait. You do, anyway.” Then he was suddenly serious. “You don’t know what this means to me, Adam.” He touched the sword again. “Together.” And the door closed behind him.
Adam refastened the sword and resumed his seat, stretching his legs, trying to relax. No matter what others might think, Tyacke was quite alone. He had asked about Lowenna, but what did he really feel? Envy or resentment?
On that last night, Adam had awakened, reaching out for her, and had seen her standing by the windows, curtains wide, moonlight like silver on her naked shoulders. They had held one another again, trying to delay the inevitable. When the dawn came he had heard her say, “Today, the sea is my enemy.”
He stared up at the same white-coated servant. Had he touched his shoulder to awaken him? Was that possible? He asked, “Time to move, Simpson?”
The man seemed surprised, perhaps that the stranger had remembered his name, or even cared to use it. He said, “Heard voices, sir,” and jerked a thumb up at the deckhead. “Best to be prepared.”
Adam stood up and tugged his collar into shape, and paused as the servant said, “You’ve not had your drink, sir.”
The goblet was still full, the brandy unmoving, as if the flagship were firmly aground.
Adam clapped his shoulder impetuously. “Too late now! I hope you can find a good home for it!”
The man regarded him with disbelief for a second, then grinned back. “As good as done, an’ thank you, Captain!”
Footsteps outside the door: it was the lieutenant again, the one Tyacke had called by his first name. Probably his first lieutenant.
Adam patted his pockets and paused at the door to make certain he had forgotten nothing. The goblet was already empty.
The lieutenant said, “The admiral is ready to receive you now, sir.”
“Wish me luck, Martin.”
A Royal Marine sentry stamped his heels together, and an orderly called, “Captain Bolitho, sir!”
Medusa‘s great cabin was not unlike that of any two-decker Adam had known, or Bethune’s flagship Athena. Although most sailors would swear that no two ships were the same. He had expected others to be present, Tyacke and perhaps a flag lieutenant, or a clerk at least, to take note of any exchange of views. But there was nobody else, and the cabin was dominated by its sole occupant.
Rear-Admiral Giles Langley was tall and square-shouldered, thick-set beneath his immaculate uniform. His hair, reflected now in the white-painted deckhead, was very fair and trimmed short in the style favoured by the younger breed of sea officer. His eyes were in shadow, and Adam realised there was a curtain of some kind half-drawn across the stern lights and windows.
But the smile was immediate and, he thought, sincere.
“I regret the delay, Bolitho. You must be feeling the strain after your long haul.” He gestured to a large table and a litter of papers, and the package, now sliced open. There were pens and ink containers close by so he had not been alone, until now.
He waved Adam to a chair but walked restlessly to the curtain and twitched it slightly. “Yours is a fine-looking ship, Bolitho. Fast too, it would seem.” He did not wait for an answer. “But for the weather,” he looked over his shoulder, “and the unfortunate Moonstone diversion, you would have arrived here even earlier, eh?”
In those few seconds Adam saw that his eyes were blue, and pale like glass.
Langley shuffled some papers. “I read your report, of course. In the little time I’ve had since …” He did not finish. Instead, he turned over a page. “Boarding party. With your own first lieutenant in charge?” The pale eyes lifted briefly. “Good man, is he?”
“He’s been Onward‘s first lieutenant since she commissioned, sir.”
“Not quite what I asked, but no matter.” Langley looked at him directly. “And there was only one survivor on board? The master, you thought? Did your lieutenant express any opinion?”
“That Moonstone had been totally unprepared, and had been fired on without warning. She was already sinking when the boarding party reached her. I signalled the recall when the weather deteriorated and was threatening my men.”
Langley nodded slowly. “The lone survivor was still alive at that time.” His fingers tapped the papers. “Did your first lieutenant glean any information from him?”
“Mr. Vincent was on deck when I made the recall signal. It was one of my midshipmen who was speaking with him, and who stayed with him until he died. He was all but trapped himself.”
The fingers rapped the papers again. “Hardly an experienced witness, Bolitho.”
Adam met the pale eyes coldly. “I trust him, sir.”
Langley’s smile was almost gentle. “That is commendable too, Bolitho.” He was on his feet again. “You know my flag captain, I understand. A very capable officer. I don’t know how I would have coped when I was given this command, without his knowledge and persistence. A pity I could not …” He shrugged, and the epaulettes glittered in a shaft of sunlight which had somehow penetrated the curtain.
Adam had already noticed that Langley’s skin was quite pale, with little hint of colour, although Tyacke had said he had become flag officer at Freetown three months ago. Long enough to have felt the sun of Africa.
Langley said suddenly, “I’m glad to welcome you under my command, albeit temporarily. I have no doubt you’ll be eager to return to England without unnecessary delay.” He frowned as someone tapped at the door. “We will talk again. Possibly tomorrow. I have heard a good deal about you. And I shall discover what I can about Moonstone. And when I do-”
The door opened and Tyacke was standing outside, his hat beneath his arm. Langley gave the gentle smile again.
“Right on time!”
Tyacke strode into the great cabin, but perhaps because of the gloomy interior after the fierce sunlight on deck he did not appear to see Adam as he passed.
A different lieutenant was waiting to escort Adam to the entry port where the gig was waiting. About time, too. He could almost hear Jago saying it. A squad of Royal Marines presented arms and officers saluted, but there was no piping of the side as Adam left the ship. The admiral was in conference.
Tyacke had kept his promise: the gig’s crew looked refreshed and rested, and when Jago stood in the sternsheets to greet him he could smell the rum.
Then, as the gig pulled out and away from Medusa‘s shadow, Adam suddenly got to his feet and gazed astern, and he saluted, not the flag this time, but James Tyacke, brave and defiant. And very much alone.
6 “DON’T LOOK DOWN!”
LIEUTENANT MARK VINCENT half closed his eyes against the sun as he watched yet another work boat pull away from Onward‘s side, and stifled a yawn. It seemed he had been on his feet since they had anchored yesterday. It felt longer. Fresh water, food and general supplies all had to be checked and signed for, and supervised in stowage by the master and the purser to their satisfaction or otherwise.