The figures around him were assuming identity and purpose: men flaking down lines, another splicing a damaged halliard. Two midshipmen, their white patches very clear now, were making notes on their slates, a master's mate watching with a critical eye.
Perhaps they might meet with another courier vessel. But there would be no letters, unless Catherine had written again. He wondered where his uncle was, at sea, or performing some tedious duty ashore. How they would be missing one another. How they belonged…… And Keen, soon to be married. He thought of her letter, her visit to Zennor, the mermaid's church. Only she would have cared enough to write of it to him.
The sort of woman who could fascinate and thrill any real man. She was never truly absent from his thoughts; once he had even dreamed about her, when she had come to him not as a friend but as a lover. He had been ashamed and disgusted with himself because of it; it had seemed a betrayal of them both. But, in the wildness of the dream, she had not rejected him.
He heard somebody mutter, "Another early bird."
It was Deighton, wearing a boat cloak, with his hat tugged down over his eyes. He grunted as the officers touched their hats to him.
He saw Adam and remarked, "That coffee like damned bilge water."
Adam said, "I'll have some of mine brought to you, sir. It comes from London."
"From a lady, no doubt." But there was no bite to his tone. "I'd take it as a favour." He glanced around. "You're not under all plain sail yet." Again, it was not a complaint. Perhaps he was making an effort.
Adam said, "A precaution. You know, sir, first sunlight on their skyscrapers."
Deighton said suddenly, "Rear-Admiral Keen, you've known him for a long while?"
"Yes, sir. We've served together from time to time."
"Lost his wife, I understand."
Adam waited, tensed, for the next question.
But instead Deighton said, "Getting married again, I hear. Shapely little piece, to all accounts."
"When he's promoted, she will be an asset to him." It was as far as he would go.
Deighton said abruptly, "Promoted, of course! Vice-Admiral. No stopping him now. But for the damnable blockade duty, I would have been in that fortunate position. As it is, after this
Adam said, "It's a question on everyone's mind." He thought suddenly of Jago. I've done my share. Perhaps he was the lucky one after all.
Deighton turned to face him. "You're young. Good reputation, successful, many would say. It will be different for you."
It was the closest they had been, probably would ever be, and Adam was oddly moved by it.
Deighton said, "When we rejoin the squadron I might discover more about this campaign
"Deck there!" The masthead lookout's voice seemed unnaturally loud. "Sail to the nor'east!"
Adam was already pulling off his coat, and tossed it to one of the midshipmen.
"I'll take a glass and go up myself. I might know better then."
Deighton restrained him. "An enemy?"
He knew how it would appear to the lookout. Whatever it was, it was coming out of the sun. They would not sight Valkyrie in the lingering darkness just yet. It was little enough.
He replied, "Unlikely to be one of ours, sir."
Deighton peered over the side. They'll not snatch our prize, damn them!"
Adam hurried to the shrouds, faces turning on every side to watch him. How could he destroy the frail confidence which Deighton was trying to build between them?
He gripped the ratlines and began to climb.
How could he explain to Deighton? It's not the prize. It's us they're coming for!
Adam's heels hit the deck as he completed his descent from the cross trees by way of a backstay. It was hardly dignified for a captain, but it saved time, and he was a little surprised that he could still do it; the palms of his hands felt raw from the slide, and his clean shirt was stained with tar.
"I'd like to have a look at the chart, sir."
Deighton's face was filled with questions, but he was experienced enough not to voice them in front of the listening watch keepers
It was dark in the small chart room, but he held the image as sharply in his mind as he had seen it minutes ago. The lookout had pointed unwaveringly. "Frigate, sir. Starboard quarter!"
In the first, uncertain light he had seen the other ship for himself, a perfect pyramid of pale canvas, running before the wind with each sail hard and full. Through the telescope he had been able to see part of her hull. The lookout had good eyes indeed, but what he had not seen was a second ship, a sliver, perhaps of equal size, hull up on the shining horizon.
Deighton asked impatiently, "What was it?"
Adam did not look up from the chart. "One, maybe two frigates, sir. Yankees, carrying all the sail they can muster." He tapped the chart with the dividers. "Probably out of New York, or even Philadelphia. They hadn't sighted us just now, but it won't be long."
Deighton stared at the chart. "What do you think?"
"Two choices, sir. Run, and hope to meet up with the squadron or the admiral's ships." He wished he could see Deighton's face more clearly in the shadows. Only his hand was visible, drumming on the edge of the chart table.
Deighton said, "And the other choice?"
Adam dropped the dividers on the chart. "Stand and fight. There'll be no surprises this time."
Men were moving about the decks again; the initial excitement was past.
But not for long; there were no secrets in any ship.
"Two frigates? We'd be outgunned."
The sailing master said that it would take until the dog watches to meet up with our ships. Twelve hours at best, sir."
The hand moved again, agitated, as if separate from its owner. That Ritchie doesn't know everything, dammit!"
"He's the best sailor in the ship, sir."
He waited, feeling no pity for the man who had insisted on letting Alfriston go without informing the other frigates of his intentions. To extend their patrol area and so lose signalling contact was nothing but folly. All he felt now was a sick despair.
He said, "We have an empty ocean. By setting every sail, we might avoid a stern chase and any serious damage to masts and rigging. We would lose the prize, but we did what we came to do."
Deighton glared at him "You did, that's what signifies to you!" He moved to the door, where the glare of sunlight seemed to catch him unawares.
He said thickly, "I've never run from an enemy. Nor shall I now. What would they say of me?" He laughed, a bitter sound. "Some would find pleasure in it, I daresay!"
Adam looked past him, at the familiar figures near the big double-wheel, the two midshipmen with their slates. Men, and boys like these, to be sacrificed because of one officer's vanity.
He heard himself ask, Then you'll fight, sir?" Like somebody else. A stranger's voice.
Deighton gripped his arm and as quickly released it, as if he had just realised what he was doing.
"You will fight this ship. Captain Bolitho. That is an order! I am going aft. I shall not be long." He looked up at the deck head as a muffled thud made the air shiver.
One shot. To attract the most distant vessel. Valkyrie had been sighted, perhaps even recognised; she was well known enough in these waters.
Deighton had gone. To do what, he wondered. To pray?
He walked out and on to the quarterdeck again, taking his coat from the midshipman who held it with barely a glance. He stared up at the masthead pendant curling and hardening in the wind; real, everyday things. All the rest had been a dream, an illusion.
He beckoned to the first lieutenant, and said, "Two Yankees to the nor'east." He knew others were turning to listen. "We will continue on the same tack for the present, but you may loose the t'gallants, if only to show them we are all awake this day. Then send the remainder of the hands to breakfast." He looked at Ritchie. "Put it in the log. The commodore wishes it to be known. We shall fight."