"It'll never happen," Kydd retorted. "Can't you see? England would never stoop s' low as to use such, and for the French, why, they'd hold back for fear we'd pay 'em back in their own coin. No, they'd not dare."
"Bonaparte is soon to be crowned the Emperor Napoleon but, mark me, he won't rest until he's master of the entire world."
At Kydd's look of disbelief, Renzi continued darkly, "You don't understand the man. He holds his country in a vile subjection while he destroys and plunders, but the world sees only his glory. The France of Versailles and the Encyclopedists no longer exists, for inside the country . . ." He trailed off.
Kydd felt unsettled. "Strong words from a man o' letters, I'm persuaded," he said, then added, "Where did you hear all this?"
Renzi gave a twisted smile before he spoke. "Dear fellow, I do believe I must trust you. May I have your word that nothing of what I'm about to tell you will go any further?"
"Why, er, yes, o' course, Nicholas."
"Very well. Your understanding of my occupation in Jersey is that I was a species of secretary to an exiled royalist prince. This is, in fact, true, inasmuch that Commodore d'Auvergne is indeed the Prince of Bouillon and awaits a restoration of his fortunes. However, the greater part of my duties was to support and assist in his real vocation—an unremitting clandestine war against the tyrant conducted through a network of brave souls opposed to his rule.
"In that cause, I had occasion to treat with spies and agents as they came and went in France as, indeed, once I was obliged to do myself. You must believe me when I say that this has given me insights of a personal nature into the character of Bonaparte's imperium that trouble me greatly.
"You will be startled to learn that secret police are being deployed by him for . . ." Renzi went on to recount what he had learned of the true state of the tyranny that he had played his part in trying to overthrow, the paradoxes that lay at the heart of the most rational nation in civilisation, which had been torn apart by a bloody revolution and was now being forged together again at the will of one man for one purpose: his own personal vainglory.
Kydd felt growing disquiet; he had never seen Renzi so intense on a subject.
"So you were a—a spy then, Nicholas," Kydd said uncomfortably, shocked to discover that while he had been roaming the seas as a successful privateer his friend had been hazarding his life for higher principles.
"A spy, yes, but in a particular service—the desperate plot to kidnap Bonaparte that came close to ending this war but unhappily terminated in the most hideous consequences to those involved. You should know I find the practice of spying odious and utterly incompatible with the condition of gentleman, and I pray most earnestly that I shall never again be so employed."
Kydd slumped in his chair. If Renzi thought that this was much more than simply the latest war with the French, there was every reason to take fear that some of the rumours and agitations at large were true, and the peril to England that much more serious than he had thought. Later, no doubt, when he was ready, Renzi would divulge more about his time in Jersey. He had come back shattered and must have endured much.
It was a glittering affair and, with a mixture of exhilaration and trepidation, Kydd entered the grand room with Boyd. The hundred or so guests were in every mode of fashion and elegance, their stars and ribbons in a breathtaking show of splendour under the chandeliers.
"It would oblige me, sir, should you point out the Russians to me," Kydd murmured in his best speech, bowing civilly to a passing couple.
"I'll do better than that, Kydd. Come—meet Rezanov. He's to be their new ambassador to Japan," Boyd replied suavely, ushering him across the room. "Ah! Sir, may I present Commander Kydd, a distinguished officer in His Majesty's Navy? He did confide to me that it would gratify him immensely to make the acquaintance of one so soon to make such an historic circumnavigation. Mr. Kydd, the Kammerherr Rezanov." A compact but striking man with a neat black beard regarded him dispassionately as Boyd excused himself and left.
"Your servant, sir," Kydd said, bowing low.
"A sea officer of note, I believe," Rezanov said mildly, in barely accented English.
"Why, er . . ."
"Mr. Kydd, you bear the Nile medal and I have no doubt that your presence at this gathering is not altogether fortuitous."
"Sir, modesty forbids me a reply," Kydd said smoothly, inwardly exulting at the successful deployment of his newfound urbanity. "But I do confess, I'm curious to know the objectives of your expedition."
Rezanov's eyebrows shot up in astonishment, then he eased into a smile. "Very well, sir. You speak directly—and I will tell you. By direction of His Imperial Majesty the Tsar, our prime concern is to discover new routes that will enable us to supply our colonies in Russian America."
Russian America? Kydd supposed he must be speaking of the frozen reaches of the American continent to the north-west.
"You will have no conception of the difficulty we face at the moment—it would astonish you to learn that we expend the lives of four thousand horses a year in the traverse of Siberia with supplies, and alternate means would be very welcome as our interests extend southward."
Kydd was out of his depth: if the Russians were entering from the north and, the Spanish were to the south, where did this leave the United States and Canada? He reached for more familiar ground. "A voyage of that length, sir, is a great thing. Your ships are well found, at all?"
"From Kronstadt to Sitka Island? It certainly is an enterprise to remark, but as to our vessels, you may rest easy—both the Nadezhda and the Neva are recently purchased from the Royal Navy, Mr. Kydd. For your further questions, I believe you shall speak now with the commander of the expedition."
Kydd bowed in acceptance and was taken to a knot of officers in haughty discussion. "Kapitán, this is Commander Kydd," Rezanov snapped at a young but intense-featured officer in the centre. "Mr. Kydd, Kapitán-pérvogo Ivan Krusenstern." He bowed smartly, with a crisp click of the heels, and was gone.
"My best wishes for your success, sir," Kydd said to the officer, as graciously as he could. "Mr. Kru—er, I understand you're sailing in one of our ships," he said slowly, hoping the man had sufficient English for polite converse.
"O' course, Commander. Ye'll recall Leander o' the Nile as was?" It was passing strange to hear the robust idiom of an English fo'c'sle coming from an exotically dressed Russian. "She's now th' good ship Nadezhda an' I'm t' see her where y'r Captain Vancouver once led." He saw Kydd's surprise and added dismissively, "Oh, I've done a mort o' service wi' the King's Navy afore now."
"Why, er, to be sure," Kydd said, taken aback. "I do recall Leander, Mr. Krusenstern, as I was at the Nile myself. A fine ship and gallant!"
Krusenstern beamed as his eyes flicked to Kydd's medals. He leaned across to shake Kydd's hand. "So ye were, b'God! An' 'twas a thumpin' fine mauling ye gave 'em that night, cully!"
The circle of officers about them fell back at the sudden comradely friendliness and Kydd grinned. "A thunderin' hard enough mill f'r all hands, as I c'n tell ye! An' for y'self, a world cruise, why, ye'll have yarns enough t' tell at every dogwatch f'r years t' come."
"Aye, well, it's aught but a tradin' matter," Krusenstern said guardedly, taking Kydd aside. "An' th' mutinous dogs o' Tlingit tribesmen on Kodiak needin' our attention."
They started walking alone together. "But belay th' tough yarns, we've a tight barky or two, and our pel-compass an' y'r Taunton's artificial magnet as'll see us through all a-taunto. A right rousin' voyage it'll be . . ."
The two seamen disappeared happily into the throng.