“So if you will excuse me, Captain, I have work to do.”
He grinned and dabbed his cheek with the towel. There was a trace of blood on it.
Like facing an enemy, Adam thought, out of nowhere. Gunports open, ready to fire. And in his mind he saw Luke Jago, razor poised for the much-needed shave. He said, “Did your man have a beard, Claire?”
“What the bloody hell are you saying? I’ll see you broken for this!”
Jago was there. “Keep yer mouth shut, Mister Pecco.”
The girl’s voice was very quiet, but not subdued. “Yes, it’s him. I should have known immediately.”
“What is she saying?” It was almost a scream.
Adam put out his hand protectively, but she was very calm, and her eyes remained on Pecco.
She said softly, “I remember the beard. How could I forget?” Her fingers were unfastening the buttons of her shirt, and before Adam or Murray could stop her she had dragged it down over her shoulders and turned them toward him. “I felt it when you did this to me!”
She tore the dressing away, so that the scars seemed raw and untreated where she had been bitten. She was saying, almost to herself, “He was the first.” She did not look down as Murray gently fastened her shirt. “Then he watched the others …”
Adam said sharply, “Search him!” He beckoned to one of his men. “Take a message to the officer of the guard.”
Jago said, “Here now, by the sound of it, Cap’n.” There was a jacket in his hand, but he was holding up a medallion on a thin chain. “Yours, missy?”
She snatched it and pressed it to her lips. “My father’s.”
The Delfim’s master tried to push one of the seamen aside. “You’ll never prove a charge of slavery against me!”
Jago seized his arm and twisted it behind him. “No need, matey! You’ll swing for murder!”
Murray had managed to pacify the girl and had seated her on a hatch cover. He pulled a flask from his pocket, and said, “Against doctor’s orders, but it will help.”
There were more shouts as booted feet thudded across the brow and onto the deck. Marines.
Murray said, “I’ll take you to the mission, Claire. It’s safe now.”
She was staring at the scarlet uniforms as they hurried past, and whispered, “Where’s the one you call Jamie?” Then she collapsed.
Adam saw Murray supporting her head on his folded coat, while he murmured and stroked the hair gently from her face.
“Up to us now, sir.”
And Adam heard the voice in his mind respond.
It is up to me.
Captain James Tyacke waited for his cabin door to close, then seized Adam’s hand and shook it warmly.
“I hate to drag you aboard at this hour. I’ve only just returned myself!” He strode to the stern windows and stared across the water. It was still broad daylight, but darkness came suddenly, and they both knew that all the lanterns would be burning within the hour.
In another part of the flagship’s hull someone was singing, in time to the scrape of a violin.
Tyacke said to the window, “Our lord and master has gone ashore again. I don’t know where the man finds the strength,” and faced Adam once more. “I heard about this proposed passage in Delfim. I think you’ve done more than enough already.” He half smiled. “I wish I was going with you.”
Adam said quietly, “I’ve chosen some good hands, and I’m leaving my first lieutenant to carry the load.”
“Vincent. A good fellow.”
Adam recalled Vincent’s expression when he had been told. He was far from pleased.
“You’ll take extra care, I hope.” Tyacke might have been thinking aloud. “That poor woman you rescued-is she reliable?”
Adam thought of her confrontation with Pecco, if that was his real name, the naked courage in her face. “I trust her.”
Tyacke looked at him keenly, eyes very blue in the ruined face. “I’ll make damn sure no unauthorised vessel leaves harbour before, or when, you do.” He tugged out his watch and opened its cover. “Meanwhile, I’ll be right here.” Then, “You’ve been a flag captain yourself, so I don’t have to remind you. If you do the right thing, your superiors will get the credit. If you fail, you’ll take the blame.”
He closed the watch gently and held it for a moment. “A gift from Sir Richard, bless him.”
They walked to the door together. It was time.
Adam said, “And these important guests of the admiral’s? Hard going, was it?”
Tyacke was feeling his pocket as if to ensure that the watch was secure. “Guests? Useless popinjays, as far as he’s concerned. Only one of them matters, just between ourselves.” He paused. “I’ll leave you here,” then seemed to recall what he had been about to say. “The Honourable Sir Charles Godden, no less. I see you’ve heard of him.”
Adam said nothing.
“Well, he’s now become head of the First Lord’s advisory staff. Member of Parliament as well. So our lord and master may have other things on his mind.”
It was like hearing Duncan Ballantyne’s own words. Promotion or oblivion.
Adam clipped the sword to his belt and said, “Sir Richard is still with both of us!”
He was suddenly impatient to begin.
10 BLADE TO BLADE
LIEUTENANT JAMES SQUIRE stifled a curse as he stubbed his foot against an iron ringbolt. By the time they all became used to the commandeered schooner the whole affair would be over. He tugged down his hat to shade his eyes from the reflected glare and examined her critically. She was about eighty feet in length and twenty at her beam.
He stifled a yawn, and it was not even the forenoon watch. They had cast off at an hour most landsmen would still consider the dead of night. Even the sounds had seemed louder: squealing blocks and muffled oaths as they edged away from other, sleeping vessels and hoisted the big gaff-headed mainsail. It had taken time, as all but a handful of Delfim’s original crew were ashore, under lock and key. Culprits or hostages, their fate would be decided later.
He tried not to look at the schooner’s master, standing beside Bolitho and an armed seaman.
Another footstep interrupted his thoughts. This time it was Murray, the surgeon. They had all been too busy to speak much, but Squire had asked him about Claire Dundas. Murray had evaded the question, saying only in good hands or a very brave young woman. In other words, nothing.
It was one of the seamen who had described the moment when Pecco had been identified as the man who had gone to the mission and raped her like a wild beast. Bolitho had not mentioned it. He was embarking on a chance operation which might prove either dangerous or complete folly.
Squire unslung the telescope from his shoulder and trained it toward the coast, in the far distance an uneven panorama of green and brown, with the hint of misty grey further inland that might have been a mountain ridge. And to starboard, the endless ocean.
He saw some of Onward‘s seamen resetting staysail and jib. Christie, a senior gunner’s mate, shouted, “Move yer bloody selves! Gawd ‘elp us if we runs into some real sailors!”
It was oddly reassuring to hear them laugh.
He looked at the compass beneath the sails’ shadow. One of Pecco’s men was at the spokes, and Bolitho and Tozer, master’s mate, were comparing notes. He thought again about the mission, the girl struggling in his arms, her shock and incredulity when he had wrapped his coat around her. She must have been expecting another assault.
Jago appeared in an open hatchway, grinning and hitting a metal basin with a ladle. “Up spirits, lads!” An even wider grin. “Stand fast, the ‘Oly Ghost!”
The age-old signal for a rum issue, but it could still bring some smiles.
Squire saw some of them lift their tots like salutes as Bolitho walked past them. But what was he thinking? Did he fear failure or personal loss, or death? And what of his lovely young wife?