In the King's Name Read Free Page A

the anchor like a physical force.
    â€œStand by on deck!” That was Drummond, the new bosun. An unhurried but sharp, almost metallic voice which carried easily above other sounds around him. He seemed to be blessed with a good memory for faces, even names: in his brief time aboard, Adam had never seen him consult a book or slate.
    Faster again, the capstan bars turning like a human wheel.
    â€œAnchor’s hove short, sir!”
They faced one another along the ship’s length. Squire did not even cup his hands.
    â€œLoose the heads’ls!”
    Always a testing moment. Maybe too soon?
Onward
thrusting over her own anchor, at the mercy of wind and tide.
    Adam stared at the masthead; the rain was heavier and the long pendant was moving only sluggishly in the wind. He was soaked and his neckcloth felt tight around his throat, like a sodden bandage. He could feel the tension on deck, sharing it. Small things stood out: a leadsman hurrying to the chains, ready to call out the soundings instantly if they moved into shallows before
Onward
was under way. Vincent would take no chances today. Beyond the revolving capstan he saw Jago piling muskets to allow some marines to add their weight for the last few fathoms.
    â€œAnchor’s aweigh, sir!”
    Shouts, running feet, a few curses as the sails broke free and more water cascaded from the flapping canvas. Adam felt the deck tilt more steeply as the topsails filled and hardened, the quartermaster and an extra helmsman straddle-legged at the big double wheel to keep their balance.
    Julyan was close by, outwardly untroubled as bowsprit and tapering jib-boom began to answer the helm, so that the anchored flagship appeared to be moving as if to cross
Onward
‘s bows.
    â€œSteady—meet her.” Julyan peered at the compass, rain dripping from his hat. “Steady as you go.” Adam saw him look over at the quartermaster, perhaps still surprised. His predecessor had been Julyan’s friend. He had been killed there at the helm during the fight with
Nautilus
.
    Adam shielded his eyes to gaze up at the topmen spread out along the yards, no doubt breathless after fisting and kicking the canvas into submission. A fall to the deck, or into the sea alongside as the hull submitted to the wind, must never be far from their minds.
    Lieutenant Squire was watching the anchor until it reached and was secured to the cathead, the mud and weed of the seabed still clinging to the stock and flukes. His forecastle party was already lashing it firmly into place. He wiped spray from his face with his fist.
Until the next time
…
    He gazed aft and waited until he knew the captain had seen him before crossing his hands to signal that the anchor had been made secure.
    The remaining cable was still being hauled inboard, where it was seized by the nippers, ship’s boys who would scrub and scrape it before stowing it below. No more than children, he thought, and what a filthy job: it reminded him of the mudlarks, naked youths who dived for coins in the shallows at some seaports. It had cost a few of them their lives.
    Squire glanced at the two midshipmen, Napier and the new arrival, Radcliffe. Both good lads, although it was hard to judge either of them without experiencing a pang of envy. Napier’s background was vague; he had close ties to the captain’s family and was a ward of some kind, and Radcliffe was always full of questions and completely untrained. It was said that his father had an important position in banking. A different world.
    â€œBosun’s Mate! Pipe those waisters to be ready to add their weight to the braces!”
    Squire swung round, still waiting for the voice, even though he knew he was mistaken.
    The bosun’s mate in question was newly rated, and had been one of
Onward’
s best topmen and a fine seaman until his promotion. He replaced Fowler, a man Squire had known for years; they had been on the lower deck together. A bully