Langley said, “Not sorry to see him go. Now we might get some results.” He lifted his glass. “He knew a little too much about you, anyway!”
Adam felt the brandy sear his tongue. “Not from me, sir.”
“No, no. Had it all written down, for God’s sake!” Langley laughed again, and nearly dropped his glass. It was empty. “He asked a lot of questions about …” He snapped his fingers again. “Ballantyne, and his affairs at New Haven. Another carpet knight, eh?” He grinned and touched his lips. “And you did not hear that!”
The servant was refilling the glasses, his features expressionless. He was probably used to this behaviour but Adam had never seen Langley like this. It was more than relief.
Langley was saying, “What now, Flags? I thought I made it clear …” He wiped his face with the handkerchief. “Not time already?”
The flag lieutenant closed his little book. “Colonel Whitehead from the garrison is due to arrive shortly, sir. You said-”
“Slipped my mind, dammit.” He looked at Adam and shrugged. “Had to see you first, Bolitho. We’ve both been through it of late.” The pale eyes flickered around the cabin. “They all like to visit the flagship. Makes ‘em feel important!”
Another servant had appeared carrying Langley’s cocked hat and sword, but he was pushed rudely aside as the admiral strode toward the quarter gallery. Langley paused and rubbed his hands together. “Must clean up and pump the bilges before they arrive. Not much longer, eh, Flags?” The door slammed behind him. Adam thought he looked as if he were going to vomit.
The lieutenant waited for the servant to lay hat and sword on the bench beneath the stern windows and leave before saying quietly, “Medusa is being paid off.” The well-thumbed notebook had fallen to the deck, but he did not seem to notice. “Finished!”
Adam was on his feet, his mind quite clear. Like all those other ships he had seen in harbours at home. Some with famous names, legends, and remembered not only by those who had served and fought in them. At the Saintes and Camperdown, at the Nile and Copenhagen, and at Trafalgar. Now awaiting that final voyage.
He walked slowly aft. From here he could see the berth where the Delfim had been moored, when Rear-Admiral Giles Langley had dissociated himself from the plan to seek out the slaver’s lair, for which he had since taken the credit.
And what about Tyacke?
He turned and faced the flag lieutenant, who was glancing around the cabin as if he had never seen it before. Langley had left even this to him.
There were voices beyond the screen door, laughter: the visitors. Makes ‘em feel important. Not any more.
He shook the flag lieutenant’s hand. “Let me know if …”
“Thank you, sir. I’ll signal for your boat.”
Adam thought of Jago, and said, “He’ll be here. Waiting.”
The door had opened a few inches, and he could see the red coats of the visitors, the scarlet of the sentry.
Jago would know already, and by tomorrow everybody would.
He left the cabin, noticing that the notebook still lay where it had fallen.
The flag lieutenant said, “I will tender your apology.”
But the cabin was empty.
13 PRIDE AND ENVY
LUKE JAGO WIPED HIS GLEAMING RAZOR and held it to the light before laying it on a tray.
“Feel better, Cap’n? Ready for a new day?” He watched with approval as Adam stretched his arms and nodded.
It was early, with the morning watch still in force.
Adam felt the deck move slightly and saw Jago’s razor slide across the tray. Onward was coming alive again. The pantry door was closed, but he knew that Morgan was not far away. Like the rest of them: waiting.
Jago said, “Meetin’ at eight bells, Cap’n? I’ll be standin’ by, just in case.” He did not go on. He did not need to.
Adam glanced aft toward the stern windows, remembering the flag lieutenant breaking the news. As if he were personally to blame. He said, “Does every one know about Medusa? You did, probably before me.”
Jago said only, “There ‘ave been a few whispers of late. Naval stores, an’ then I ‘eard tell of it from a fellow in the rigger’s crew.” He shrugged. “No secrets last long in this man’s navy!”
“Well, Luke, until it’s official …”
“Aye, aye, Cap’n. Not a word.”
Adam turned toward the harbour again. Small wavelets cruising ahead of the breeze, seabirds rising and screeching in protest. The flags on other vessels moored or at anchor were no longer listless, but streaming out to a steady northwesterly. Like an omen. He felt his senses quicken. Will you ever lose it? Ready for sea. But when?
He walked back across the cabin, his hand briefly, unconsciously, touching the old chair.
Jago had seen it plenty of times. Like old mates. He waited for the moment. “What will become of Cap’n Tyacke?” And when Adam did not answer, he thought he had gone too far.
But Adam faced him eventually. “He is still the flag captain. An important post, ashore or afloat. They must take that into consideration.”
He heard the distant chime, almost lost in the murmur of tackle and loose rigging. Eight bells. He straightened his back and said briskly to Jago, “At least it’s not Friday!”
Jago heard the door open and close, the stamp of the Royal Marine sentry’s boots. A different sentry in the time he had been here: it was now the forenoon watch. He smiled to himself. Not Friday. Only Bolitho would remember his coxswain’s old superstition.
The skylight was partly open and he heard the pipe being repeated along the deck.
“Hands to quarters! Clean guns!”
He muttered aloud, “You just give the word, Cap’n. We’ll scupper ‘em!”
Even walking the short distance to the wardroom on the deck immediately beneath his own cabin, Adam was aware of the unusual stillness, the squeak of gun trucks very audible as an eighteen-pounder was manhandled for inspection and cleaning, with only an occasional shouted instruction. But the forenoon was usually the busiest time in a ship of war, especially at anchor. He knew it was largely imagination. But the feeling persisted.
The deck tilted slightly and shuddered. In for a blow. He could almost hear Julyan saying it.
A seaman on his knees polishing some brass scrambled to his feet as his captain approached, hesitated, and then ventured, “Mornin’, sir.”
Adam nodded. “Looks good, Savage.” It was an easy name to remember, and the courtesy mattered. Some officers, even captains, never cared, until they were in trouble.
He saw Vincent waiting by the wardroom entrance. Perhaps he thought this meeting was a waste of time. He might be right.
The wardroom was unusually crowded. Apart from the officers and senior warrant officers, all the other warrants seemed to be present, the specialists or the “backbone,” as Adam had heard his uncle describe them. The bosun and the gunner; Tilley, the sailmaker; and the cooper; and of course Hall, the carpenter, bent almost double because of his height. The tallest man in the ship. Probably anywhere … And one midshipman, Hotham, the senior. That had been Vincent’s idea.
They were all seated. Adam was the visitor here.
Vincent said, “All present, sir, except the surgeon. He’s still ashore.”
“I knew that. But thank you.” He looked around at the array of faces. “I expect most of you know, or might have suspected, that Medusa, our flagship, is being paid off.” He saw a few quick, startled glances, but no real surprise. “She will lie in ordinary until her fate is decided.”