In the King's Name Read Free Page B

and a petty tyrant, he had become a real enemy.
    I wanted him dead. Him or me
.
    Now Fowler was missing, having gone ashore in Plymouth, and they had marked him in the muster book as
RUN
. Deserted. But nobody really knew. Maybe he was dead; maybe someone else had had a score to settle. But until Squire knew for certain, he would remain a threat.
    He gestured to the new midshipman, who responded instantly.
    â€œMy respects to the first lieutenant, and tell him we are all secured here.” He raised his voice as Radcliffe turned to run toward the gangway. “Easy does it! I think we’ve earned our pay today!”
    He waited until Radcliffe had dropped out of sight. It was always too easy to take it out of those who could not answer back. He should have known that better than most. He watched some of his seamen mopping the stained deck and dismantling their tackle. Dull, necessary routine, but it gave him time to calm himself. It was over.
    Someone had called his name and he tugged his hat lower over his eyes, peering into the rain. They were under way, the flagship lying across the quarter with only her flags moving, her decks deserted. He stared ahead again, the blue-grey water reaching away on either bow, the jib-boom pointing the way, like the naked figurehead of the youth with outstretched trident and dolphin beneath it.
    He looked toward the land; a church or slender tower was visible despite the downpour. People might still be there, watching the solitary frigate as she headed for the open sea. There would be mixed feelings among the civilians. Pride, perhaps sadness, but certainly not envy. It was still too soon after the long years of war, the fear of invasion and, not least, the hated press gangs.
    Lieutenant James Squire gripped a stay and felt it quivering as if the whole ship were straining forward, eager to leave.
    And he was free
.
    He heard Napier’s voice, and saw him stoop beside one of the anchor party with a spare block and tackle in his hands. “Like this—it’ll run free next time.” He smiled. “Wet
or
dry!”
    The seaman was new, and Squire could not remember his name, but he appeared not much older than Napier. He saw him reach out with an answering grin to help the midshipman to his feet. It was a small thing, but Squire knew that it mattered, more than he could explain.
    Napier was pleasant if slightly shy, and had already proved himself reliable and quick to learn. Squire gazed along the shining deck where men and boys had died. Brave, too.
One day, maybe soon
… He turned and said abruptly, “You were at the wedding, I’m told.”
    Napier wiped his hands on a piece of waste. He was still not used to Squire’s sharpness and swift changes of mood. A man you would never really know, unless he himself allowed it.
    â€œYes, sir. There were a lot of people …”
    â€œAnd the bride?”
    Napier recalled the church, the ceremony, the light on the uniforms. And the girl, Elizabeth, Adam Bolitho’s cousin, dressed as a midshipman, carrying the flowers. She would soon forget. He would not.
    â€œThey looked so
right
together.”
    Squire laughed. “Well said! And so they should.” For some reason, he knew Napier would say no more.
Like me, he has nobody to leave behind
.
    â€œMessage from the captain, sir.” Radcliffe was back, breathless, cheeks glowing from the cold wind. He held out a folded piece of signal pad and grinned at Napier. “Rain’s stopped!”
    Squire unfolded it deliberately. “I told you to
walk
, Mr. Radcliffe. You’re puffing like an old Jack!” It gave him another few seconds, and as he opened the message he realised that the rain had indeed stopped, and the sea surging away from the stem was beginning to shimmer, although any real sun was still hidden beyond the clouds.
    â€œHands take station for leaving harbour. It’ll be lively when we reach open water. Officers’