HMS Teazer's orders were waiting for her captain when he returned aboard. A single page, delivered by a lieutenant under signature. It was far from elaborate; the "special service" was nothing more than the instruction to resume smuggler-hunting, to remain on station without leaving, at his peril.
It was a cynical move: by one easy stroke, and appearing to be in earnest about a serious problem, Lockwood had ensured that Kydd would find neither glory nor notice; it was a sentence of sea toil and drudgery, flogging up and down the coast after fast and elusive smugglers, who seemed to have second sight.
When Teazer finally put to sea it was with a scratch company, the Impress Service finding seven resentfuls, a new gunner's mate, with Stirk presumed lost, and discontent rippling out from the quarterdeck after their fate was revealed.
How things had changed. Teazer, his fine ship of which he had been so proud, was now the focus of his troubles; and she was not the lovely creature she had been. He had not been able to find the funds to smooth away the raw marks of damage and repair with expensive varnish and had had to accept the utilitarian dull black of the dockyard which disfigured and besmirched her bright-sided hull.
They rounded the Rame westwards past Whitsand Bay; they were the same places as before but now they seemed indifferent, going about their unseen everyday business while Teazer sailed endlessly offshore.
But one held special meaning: almost hidden from seaward the snug village of Polperro came up under their lee—he would have given almost anything to land there, but even the most compelling reason would be misinterpreted. And as he could not travel from Plymouth and return in a day, and was unable to sleep out of his ship, it would be impossible to visit Rosalynd.
Kydd had to possess himself in patience for the twenty-four days that remained before they would be finally together and be satisfied with the precious locket. Polperro was left gradually to sink astern.
Days followed other days; Renzi had retreated into formality and spent time in Kydd's cabin only on ship's business. Standish affected a cynical correctness that preyed on Kydd's nerves, but he hugged to his heart the knowledge that now every day was one closer.
He took advantage of a mild south-easterly to call on the Collector of Customs at Fowey. As usual, he heard a litany of missed landings, fruitless swoops, the outrageous ease with which operations were co-ordinated, and views on the complete useless-ness of the Royal Navy, but nothing to help his quest.
The gig set off to return to Teazer and Kydd spotted seamen crowding together at the foremast about one man. It wasn't until he was aboard that he could see Tobias Stirk was at the centre of attention.
Only Standish knew the real reason for Stirk's absence and Kydd took savage delight in not asking him to the cabin to listen to any adventures, instead ordering him to take the ship to sea.
"Good t' see ye, right fine it is!" Kydd said, in unaffected pleasure. "Th' best sight I've had f'r a sennight, y' must believe."
"An' it's right oragious t' be back, Mr Kydd," Stirk growled.
Kydd felt a rush of warmth. "Ye'll have a rummer for y'r bones," he said, then found glasses and a bottle.
He saw Stirk looking up at him with his steely eyes as he poured and, for some reason, felt defensive. "Not as who's t' tell, Toby, but it's been a hard beat for me these last weeks," he tried to say lightly. "Only t' say, there's been a mort o' trouble over me bein' spliced t' the wrong lady and, er, y' may hear rum things about me," he finished lamely.
Stirk watched him levelly as he took a pull at his drink, then set the glass down and said carefully. "Sorry t' hear of it, sir."
"Aye," Kydd said. There had been a time when he could have unburdened his soul to this man but that was far in the past and they were separated in any friendship by the widest gulf that could exist in a ship. He topped up Stirk's glass. "Then I'll be pleased t' hear of y'r adventuring now, Mr Stirk."
There was a glimmer of a smile. "And ye'll be interested in these," Stirk grunted, as he tugged off his shoes and retrieved some folded papers. "Fr'm Guernsey."
Kydd scanned them quickly. One was a form of cargo manifest but in essence showed orders to tranship specified freight to an English ship, openly listed contraband. It was countersigned—by the guarantor.
"It's Zephaniah Job o' Polperro," Stirk said bluntly. "Runs it all, even sets 'imself up as a bank t' guarantee to the Mongseers which supplies th' run goods."
Kydd brought to memory the kindly face of the Mr Job he had met: could he really be the same man?
He looked at another paper; a letter-of-credit with the same beautifully executed and perfectly readable signature with an ornate flourish in the exact centre below it. Zephaniah Job.
"A very fly gennelman, Mr Job. Has s' much ridin' on the cargoes he's taken over th' business o' gettin' it ashore himself. Organises th' lot fr'm a master book 'e keeps."
So that was how—
"Now, Mr Kydd, if ye has th' book an' matches it there t' the sailin' times, even a blind Dutchman 'll have t' say as how he must by y' man."
"How—"
"That's 'cos I know where 'e keeps th' book. It's in his house, f'r I seen him get it quick, like, so it must be there. An' if ye'd rummage his house, why . . ."
Kydd sat back in admiration. Then he said, "This letter-o'-credit, it's worth a bucket o' guineas an' I'm thinkin' th' owner was vexed t' lose it. May I know, did, er, y' come by much trouble in th' get-tin' of it?"
Stirk said nothing, fixing Kydd with an expressionless stare.
"Come now, Mr Stirk, y' must have a tale or two t' tell."
There was no response and Kydd knew he would never learn what had taken place.
Stirk stood. "I'll go now, sir," he growled.
"This is a great stroke, an' there'll be a reward at th' back of it. I'll see y' square on that, Mr Stirk," Kydd said warmly.
"No, Mr Kydd. I doesn't want any t' know—ever, if y' unnerstands me." Stirk had done what he had for Kydd, but he was not proud to have deceived those who had befriended him and Luke.
Kydd bounded on deck. The sunshine felt joyful on his face.
Standish looked at him curiously. "Did the rascal find out anything of use, sir?"
Kydd smiled. "A rare enough set of adventures, I'll grant, but nothin' o' value."
"Ha! I didn't think it. He's had a holiday on the King's account and lines his pocket in following his old ways. That sort don't know the meaning of honour."
Kydd's smile vanished. "That's as may be. F'r now we have a pressing task. I've had intelligence fr'm the Collector in Fowey that will mean we c'n lay our hands on this smuggler-in-chief."
"Why, sir, if that's so then—"
"We crack on all sail conformable. I'm not goin' t' miss the chance to settle th' rogue." He could have alerted Fowey to send a Revenue party to arrest Job but this opportunity was too good to miss. When he succeeded where all others had failed, Lockwood would be furious but would have no alternative but to thank him publicly and release him from this drudgery.
"Er, where . . . ?"
"No more'n a league ahead, Mr Standish. Polperro!"
HMS Teazer rounded to and anchored in four fathoms off the little fishing village. Much too big to enter the tiny harbour, she made a fine picture so close in and Kydd thrilled to think that Rosalynd might be among the curious sightseers come to see why a King's ship had disturbed their morning.
But they were there for a stern purpose. "Eight men—Poulden in charge. Cutlasses, two muskets." He did not expect difficulties but if Job had men of his own it would be prudent to mount a show of force.