'First dog-watch.' The forms would have to be observed: while all the ship knew Kydd's origins, he must now wear the blue short jacket and white trousers of a seaman, while Renzi must appear in the coat and breeches of a warrant officer. Kydd would address him as 'Mr Renzi' on watch, and would take his orders, which, in the immutable way of the navy, he would do without question.
They strolled together to the lee side of the ship, Kydd automatically checking the yeasty foaming of the wake as it slid aft to join with the other side in a perfectly straight line into the far distance - the helmsman would hear from him if there were any betraying dog-legs.
'It would seem we are set on a course to round Sicily and enter the Adriatic, but the captain is under orders to keep in with the coast of Africa to avoid being seen.'
Kydd was acquainted with the charts of the Mediterranean and understood the dangers of such a precaution. He glanced up at the red-white-red of their ensign — that of a unit of the Austrian navy, their disguise for this part of the voyage. 'Wind fair f'r Malta, five days north t' Venice, another three—'
'Master says the wind's dead foul this time of the year up the Adriatic'
'So that lets us get away fast, after,' said Kydd, with a chuckle.
Renzi gave a half-smile. 'We have a Venetian gentleman with us in the gunroom who will be our agent. He warns that we're in some measure of danger: the advance of the French into Italy is fast and unpredictable, and he cannot guarantee the loyalties of any.'
But in his present mood Kydd could not be repressed. It should be straightforward enough: a fast passage, send the boats in to bring off the fleeing notable, and a rapid exit, to admiration and acclaim in Gibraltar. They were not looking for trouble - it would go ill for the captain were he to rescue the fugitive, then hazard him in a battle.
Renzi swung round as the captain appeared at the main-hatch. He wore a frown of worry, and searched the horizon minutely. They were deep into a hostile sea where every man's hand was turned against them, every sail an enemy. 'How does the ship, Mr Griffith?' he asked at length.
'Well enough, sir—we shifted three leaguers aft, seems to have cured the griping.' Kydd and his party down in the hold had heaved aft three massive water casks to raise the vessel's bow, altering her trim such that her stem did not bite so deeply to bring her head to the wind.
'Very well. Do you spare no pains to impress their duty upon the lookouts!' 'Aye aye, sir.'
A broad vista of royal blue water, tinting darker as the evening drew on, was broken at the bows by a school of the small dolphins peculiar to this enclosed sea. They played around the bows of Bacchante, more like darting fish than the disciplined phalanx of the oceanic dolphin.
Renzi had his clay pipe going to his satisfaction and stared out into the blue, letting the peace of the evening calm his senses, the ceaseless wash and slop of the slight waves soothing to the soul.
'Y’r battle, it was a close enough thing, you say,' Kydd said.
'Elias Petit is no more. A round-shot destroyed him.' The gentle, simple mariner, who had shared their mess in the Artemis, had been slammed across the deck by the impact of the ball, his innards strung out grotesquely.
Kydd murmured a commiseration.
'And Joe Farthing lost a leg.' One of the few original Seaflowers, a careful, sober seaman of the best kind, he had been with them in the topsail cutter through all their adventures in the Caribbean. The last Renzi had seen of him was his contorted body carried down to the surgeon's knife with the ugly obscenity of a long splinter transfixing his limb.
'But it was a noble victory, Nicholas.'
'Of course it was, my friend, one that will be talked about for all of time.'
'Especially your Nelson - boards a ship, takes it, then uses it to board another.'
'They are calling it "Nelson's Patent Bridge for Boarding First-Rates".'
'Aye, and in Gibraltar the toast is "To Nelson fill bumbo/For taking Del Mundo". Wish ye joy of y'r prize money.'
Renzi took another puff on his pipe — he had been able to find the tobacco in Lisbon, the light but fragrant Virginia he now favoured. 'Um, your lady, would it be indelicate of me to ask her particulars?'
'Ah, yes.' Emily's image had slipped from Kydd's mind in the contentment of being at sea once more, but Renzi's question brought a pang. 'She's very partial to m' company, Nicholas. We've had some rare times vision' and sketchin' all over the Rock.'
Renzi's eyebrows rose.
Kydd's features took on a bashful cast. 'In a cave she kissed me — she wants me, I know it.'
'And her husband, what is his view of this?'
Kydd threw him an indignant look. 'He's not t' be troubled until Emily has settled her mind.'
'You've discussed this?'
'Not as who should say,' Kydd admitted. 'Ladies don't come to it as fast as we men - they need a bit o' sea-room t' see where they lies.'
Renzi considered. Ashore Kydd was an innocent, and he had got entangled with a married woman. It needed circumspection. His instinct to get Kydd away from the situation had been right, and it would be best to let nature take its course, no matter the cost to Kydd in wounded pride.
The north coast of Africa, low, drab, meandering, with no exciting features in its unrelieved ochre, lay to starboard and would stay there for the next few days. It was the coast of Morocco, Algiers and Tunis — the Barbary coast that had so often figured in the bloody history of the Mediterranean with slave galleys of Christian captives, unspeakable cruelties and straggling medieval empires. All just a few leagues under their lee.
'Steer small, blast y' eyes!' Kydd growled at the helmsman, all too aware of the consequences of falling off course to fetch up on this shore.
There was little shipping. Trading vessels showed prudence on sighting them; a throng of lateen-sailed feluccas clustered nervously together inshore as they passed, while a pair of xebecs came by from the opposite direction, purposeful and sinister, but showing no interest. They would keep in with the land, sheering out to sea around the fortified coastal cities, conscious that news of an English frigate at large would threaten their mission. But it was an odd feeling, knowing that the coastline to starboard was really the edge of a great desert with the rest of a fabulous continent beyond.
The forenoon wore on, sparkling seas as gentle and soft as could be wished, and it was pleasant sailing weather in the warm breeze. A point of land on the empty coast approached, and course was altered to keep it at a respectful distance. They slipped past towards the long bay beyond.
Kydd glanced in the binnacle at the leeward compass to check that the helmsman was being scrupulous in his heading. When his gaze came up, he knew something was amiss. Some indefinable sense told him that all was not right with the world. The ship was on course, all sails drawing well, the watch alert, nothing changed — yet something had.
His eyes caught those of the lieutenant on watch: in them he saw alarm and incomprehension. Exactly on course and with the same sail set, the frigate was slowing, her pace slackening little by little, no other sensation but a gentle retardation.
Sinbad. Ali Baba casting a spell on them. Something had got hold of Bacchante and was dragging her back. The hairs on the nape of Kydd's neck prickled; the world was slipping into fantasy. The ship dropped to a crawl, then gently stopped altogether, her sails still taut and drawing. Around the deck men froze.