It was the flag lieutenant. “I am very sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“Well, you have! What’s so important this time?” He attempted to thrust his foot into one of the shoes and almost lost his balance.
The flag lieutenant said, “Onward‘s surgeon is come aboard, sir.” He did not take his eyes off the admiral, but he was speaking to Adam. “He wishes to see the captain.”
Langley grunted. “Sawbones. I hate ‘em!” Then he waved dismissively. “Well, send him in.”
Murray stepped into the cabin and bowed, ever so slightly. “My apologies, sir.” He was looking at Adam. “I thought it might be urgent, sir.”
“I gathered that!” Langley had picked up a telescope and was training it toward something on the frigate’s quarter.
Murray said in a low voice, “We had almost reached the Osprey stairs when,” he paused as the telescope stopped moving, “I thought she was having a relapse. I had to restrain her.” He glanced at Langley’s powerful shoulders, framed against the restless water. “She had seen a ship she seemed to recognise. Said it had been near the mission. It’s here now.”
Langley lowered the telescope. “She’s quite sure of that? Women often make mistakes about …” He snapped the telescope shut and strode across the cabin. “Dundas’s daughter? Where is she now?”
Murray said, “With me, sir.”
Langley sat down. “Well! That will have all the tongues wagging!”
“I was careful, sir.”
But Langley was already on his feet again. “And she’s the only available witness!” He returned to the quarter windows. “Today, of all bloody days-” He turned, his face in shadow. “She will have to identify the vessel herself.”
Murray said curtly, “I am not at all certain we can ask that of her.”
Langley snapped, “Don’t ask. Tell her!” and looked up at the skylight, suddenly calm again. “You are my senior captain, Bolitho, until James Tyacke returns. And you are directly involved, in any case.” His mouth moved in what might have been a smile, but Adam could not see the expression in his eyes. “I leave it in your hands. But this is not a battle, remember?”
“I shall send word, sir.”
The flag lieutenant followed them from the cabin, still glancing nervously over his shoulder.
Adam said, “I shall want my gig,” and to Murray, “I am sorry you had to endure that.”
Murray walked lightly, keeping pace, his hawkish profile withdrawn. “I am still not convinced …”
“I doubt she would have been mistaken. So let’s find out, shall we?”
Medusa‘s first lieutenant was waiting for them on deck. “Your gig is here, sir.” And to Murray, “The schooner you were asking about is the Delfim. Came in yesterday, taking on cargo.” He looked toward the flag lieutenant, who was still hovering nearby as if listening for a summons from aft.
Adam saw Jago standing in the gig, two of his crew holding the hull steady.
The first lieutenant added, “Delfim is under Portuguese colours, sir.” He shaded his eyes to look across the water at Onward. “Do you need some extra hands?”
Adam shook his head. “Time might be getting short.” He was thinking aloud. “A few spare cutlasses would be welcome.”
“Good as done, sir.” He gestured to a bosun’s mate. “What about the young lady?”
Adam said, “I’m afraid she’s a part of it,” and looked over at the gig once more. Claire was sitting in the sternsheets, the wide-brimmed hat obscuring her face; she could have been an ordinary passenger. Even the oarsmen were sitting on their thwarts, apparently unconcerned.
“Watch your step, sir. The officer of the guard will be doing his rounds in the last dog.”
Adam walked to the side. “I hope it won’t come to that.”
Nobody moved as he climbed down the side; there was no ceremonial this time. Murray followed him into the boat and sat beside Claire Dundas.
“I am not in favour of her coming to confront these people.”
The wide-brimmed hat turned slightly. “I want to be with you,” she said. “Don’t you see?”
Adam leaned over but did not touch her. She was very calm; even her breathing was controlled.
He said, “Trust me,” and thought he saw Jago nod. “Trust us.”
They were moving, and faces were watching them from the flagship’s open gunports, men stopping work on the forecastle to saunter alongside, keeping pace until the gig gathered speed. It had to be now. Few secrets in a busy harbour could be kept for long.
The girl reached out and laid her open hand flat on Murray’s arm. “If?”
He covered it with his own, and said only, “When.”
They were pulling abeam of some moored lighters, and there was the Delfim, lying alongside another landing-stage. She was a topsail schooner which, properly handled, could give a larger vessel, even a frigate, a run for her money.
The small figurehead the girl must have seen and remembered was a leaping dolphin, like a miniature replica of Onward‘s own. A bare-backed figure was stooping beneath the foremast, polishing something that occasionally caught the sunlight; he did not look at the gig. Some tackle was already coiled nearby. The loading, or unloading, was finished.
Adam stared along the boat, watching the regular stroke of oars, the familiar faces looking aft but somehow avoiding his eyes.
Jago said, “They’ve got a brow lowered, Cap’n. Larboard side, forrard.”
Adam glanced at the tapering bowsprit, and the gleam of water between hull and scarred timbers. He snapped, “Now!”
Jago was ready, swinging the tiller-bar hard over before easing it against his hip, his eyes fixed on the narrowing gap ahead.
“Boat yer oars!” He swore under his breath. “Stand by to fend off forrard!”
But for some it was already too late. An oar blade splintered before it could be withdrawn, and one of the bowmen was struck by his loom as it jammed in its rowlock, and was sent sprawling.
Adam clambered over the side and steadied himself against the end of the brow. A grapnel slithered past him but held fast as the seamen hurried to join him, each one snatching a cutlass as he jumped ashore. One man stayed in the gig with Murray and the girl.
There were shouts and the sounds of running feet, and Adam saw men coming from aft.
Something slithered over the side, a boathook or boarding pike. It was gone.
Adam reached the top of the brow and heard someone yell in English, “It’s the navy, fer Christ’s sake!”
Others had appeared on deck, staring at the sailors and the bared cutlasses, and one said, “What is the meaning of this?”
Adam rested his hand on his undrawn sword. “Are you the master?”
The man shook his head, staring at Adam’s uniform, noting his rank. “Bosun.” He waved vaguely at his men. “An’ most of them are Portuguese.” He folded his arms. “This vessel is registered as such.” Then he twisted round as he noticed the three people still in the gig. “What’s all this, a joke or somethin’?”
Jago called, “In position, Cap’n!”
The bosun said hoarsely, “You’re goin’ to be real sorry for this, Captain-”
“I command here!”
The newcomer had appeared through a hatch, half dressed, with a towel hanging carelessly around his neck. He was pulling it slowly up and down. “I am Pecco!” His eyes flicked around at the armed seamen. “Arthur Pecco. And who might you be, may I ask? A full captain, no less!”
He did not wait for a reply. “I know this intrusion is your right. And I understand, in these difficult times. We have finished loading.” He shrugged. “Coconut oil. You can look for yourselves, if you must. But I am about to step ashore. We sail tomorrow.” He made a crude gesture at one of the crew. “Don’t stand there dreaming, Miguel! Work!”
Adam said, “I wish to see your charts. And the log.”
Adam heard Murray clear his throat, and when he had Adam’s attention he gave an imperceptible shake of the head. The girl had boarded also and was standing a pace behind him, gazing fixedly at the schooner’s master.