He saw Vincent striding to join him, his face alive with questions.
Adam said, "Marchand's emergency signal. Pipe the hands aloft and get the courses on her. The wind's dropping, so let's use what we have!"
He heard a groan from the gangway. It helped to focus his thoughts.
"Cut down the prisoner and have him taken below."
The master-at-arms called, "What about the punishment, sir? "Confused, even indignant. "Less than half, sir!"
Adam stared up at the masthead pendant. Not much. But enough. As if he were telling the ship, or himself.
"Send some good eyes aloft, Mr. Vincent. The best you can muster. Give him a glass, mine if it saves time. "He knew he was speaking too fast, and why. He looked at Rowlatt, who was still standing by the blood-splashed grating. "Ended! We have work to do."
Jago saw his face as he made his way to the companion.
Preparing himself for whatever lay ahead. But Jago had known him longer than any one else aboard, and was gripped by what he had just witnessed. Like Dimmock the prisoner, the Captain had been cut free.
10. Under Two Flags
Midshipman David Napier climbed steadily up the foremast ratlines, his hands and feet working in unison, the deck already far below him. He felt the sun on his neck and shoulders as the foretop loomed over him, and he arched his back to swing out and around it. He could still remember all those first attempts, when he had scrambled up the shrouds with the other boys and midshipmen. The sailor's way, around the futtock shrouds, all toes and fingers like a monkey. It still made him hold his breath until he was up and reaching for the next challenge.
The deck was angled beneath him, less crowded, only the duty watch standing by the braces and trimming the freshly set courses.
The first lieutenant had told him to join the masthead lookout. "And don't drop that glass, or you need not come down again!"
To break the tension, perhaps in the only way he knew.
The grating had been lowered, and two men were scrubbing it clean. The prisoner who had been flogged had already vanished below.
Napier had heard a marine say in an undertone, "His lucky day, I reckon."
He gripped the barricade of the foretop and stared across the blue water. The land appeared sharper now, with shadows marking inlets, and the harder wedge of headland beyond.
And he saw the Nautilus, apparently have to, sails loose and aback, poised above her own shadow.
He recalled hearing the third lieutenant, Monteith, remark, "This is where we part company, and good riddance!"
He took a deep breath and pulled himself on to the next stretch of ratlines. Don't look down. Don't count every step. It helped expunge the sound of the lash from his memory. The gasps of agony. He had witnessed floggings before, had sensed the hostility of those around him. Us and them. And it was still there: he had just passed a seaman coiling some halliards. The man had deliberately looked away.
He felt his ankle twist, his foot jerk sharply from the ratline.
He had almost forgotten the pain, the numbing shock that seemed to burn into his leg like fire, or the surgeon's knife.
His shirt was plastered to his back. Sweat, fear. Some one called out, but he could not speak or breathe.
"You all right down there? "Then again, more sharply, "Don't move! Don't even blink! I'm coming!"
He lost track of time; maybe he had fainted. He was lying on his back with some one kneeling beside him. Naked to the waist, skin tanned like leather: one of the topmen. He could see the heavy scabbard at his belt, the sort favoured by professional seamen for knife and marline spike. He felt him gripping his breeches, the cloth tearing like paper.
"Jesus! What did this to you?"
He had turned slightly, and Napier saw his face, young and open, in his twenties; he had been in the navy since he was twelve. Napier struggled to sit up, to clear his throat.
"Tucker. I thought for a minute.
"That's me. "He had his arm around his shoulders. "I'll fetch help."
Napier shook his head. "Not yet, David. I have to look at something. "It was like a fog lifting from his mind. They had first met when Tucker had asked him if he would read a letter he had received, as he could neither read nor write, and they had discovered they shared the same Christian name. Little enough, but it had been a bridge between the us and them.
Napier had written two or three letters for him after that, and in exchange Tucker had taught him the finer points of ropework and splicing. But most of all, they had talked. Tucker was an orphan, and had been signed into the navy by a relative of some kind. The easy escape. Something else they shared.
He was on his feet, gripping Tucker's arm, swaying with him like two drunks after a run ashore.
He said, "I must use the glass. Now, before it happens again!"
Tucker watched him doubtfully. "If you say so. Sir."
He glanced down to the foretop again: the other seaman had gone. He looked back at Tucker, who was unfastening the telescope. Would it have made a difference? Tucker said, "Fine piece of work, "and rolled it expertly in strong fingers. "What's this writing say? "and when Napier told him, "God Almighty, the same name as the Captain!"
"It belonged to his uncle. Did you know him?"
Tucker smiled, but there was sadness in it.
"Who didn't?"
Napier steadied himself against the barricade. "The Frenchman fired a signal, have to for a rendezvous. We're standing by in case of any local disputes. "He sucked in his breath; the pain was coming again. "That was how it was explained to us."
"Never thought I'd be asked to worry about them! A broadside's always done the talking before! "He crooked his elbow to train and steady the telescope like a musket: a true seaman. "There's Nautilus. No extra canvas set. "He shifted the glass. "And there's another sail, fine off the headland. "He did not take his eyes from it. "Is that what you saw, before you fell?"
Napier nodded, mind still grappling with it, as if it were a badly finished painting.
Tucker murmured, "Got you, my beauty! "Then, "She's a schooner. French colours. Some sort of signal hoisted."
Napier took the weight on his leg once more. No pain now, but he knew it was weeping, like the first time he had walked without a crutch. He could hear the surgeon's warning: he'll always have a limp. He had beaten that, too…
"You can report to the quarterdeck… sir. It'll be hours before they get close enough to talk. The schooner's not under full sail, and the boat she's towing will slow her down even more. "He closed the telescope with a snap. "SailorsЦ I've…" He did not finish. "They need more sail. Soon as the wind dropped, they should have done it. "He stared across the water, the telescope held loosely at his side. "I've spouted more than enough!"
Napier sensed his uncertainty, felt it, like a barrier.
"What is it? It might be important."
Tucker looked down at the torn breeches, flapping open in the warm breeze.
"Here, let me fix that before you present yourself to the gold lace, eh?"
But he was gripping the telescope again, his fingers running over the engraving.
"It was a while back, four, maybe five years. I was with the prize crew in a schoonerЦ she was a Frog, too. Lively little craft after a two-decker of eighty guns. But she needed all hands when the call came to make or shorten sail. "He unslung the glass and offered it abruptly, perhaps before he could change his mind. "This schooner don't seem to be carrying enough men to do the job."
Napier moved to the barricade and peered down at the deck, and the forecastle where he had listened and learned from Lieutenant Squire and felt the rough camaraderie of the men around him.
He heard Tucker call after him, "Watch that leg o "yours!"
And then, "They might not believe you!"
Napier turned stiffly and peered up at him. There was still no pain.
7believe you, David! "He lowered himself on to the ratlines, which seemed to be vibrating, shivering in his hands. Like the sudden mutter of canvas. A note of urgency.