Dewey Lambdin - A King`s Commander
"Aye, sir, I do." Hyde nodded, reaching into another pocket for a wax-sealed note. "Mister Drake gave it me, from some banker fellow?"
Kept in the dark so far, Hyde could only raise his brows and wonder why a commercial letter was just as important as one from the Consul representing HM Government at Genoa. Having this stranger Peel aboard, with the right of the quarterdeck, and put aboard so urgently, had Hyde and the rest totally mystified.
"Any vessels follow you to sea, sir?" Lewrie asked quickly. "A vessel of any kind that looked in the way of readying for departure?"
"None that I took note of, sir." Hyde frowned.
"Very well, Mister Hyde." Lewrie sighed, deflated. "Mister Buchanon, sir? Well arm the barge before dark. I wish you to take charge of her. Mister Crewe? A two-pounder with round-shot and canister in the barge, with two swivels and ammunition. Four extra hands besides boat crew, Mister Cony. The sharp-eyed, and some decent gunners. I'll want a pistol, musket, and cutlass for every man, as well. Mister Peel, with me for a moment, if you please, sir. Let us compare… notes."
They stepped aft to the taffrails for privacy. Peel had already perused his, and crumpled it up to toss overboard, astern.
"My employer has contacted the Austrian headquarters. They're to keep a close watch on all roads, looking for a scarred man with a limp. They're to particularly inspect any wagon or cart going to one of our Senator di Silvano's estates. Mister Silberberg has also placed a watch upon the senator's mansion, should Choundas be spirited there. But we don't have the willing agents to follow every coach coming or going to his house. The rest of the conspirators' houses aren't covered. Even with things coming to a head, Mister Silberberg doubts di Silvano will tip his hand that directly, I'm sorry to say, Captain Lewrie. I doubt we'd be able to watch close enough should this be happening in London."
"Mister Drake says there've been so many bumboats alongside the privateer, coming and going, that it's impossible to say if Choundas was in one of them, disguised, either." Lewrie groaned. "She's her sails har-bor-gasketed, and her crew ranti-poling with the local whores, as drunk as lords. She's not coming out tonight, at any rate. Or in the morning, either, the way he says they're celebrating their new fortune."
He crumpled up his own note and tossed it over.
"Their heads'll be too thick." Lewrie chuckled without amusement. "The senator does have a yacht. But then, so do almost all of the other conspirators. It's a local sport, yachting."
"Those we know about, sir," Peel cautioned in a covert mutter. "And them we still can't link to the plot, direct. A fishing boat, or a yacht. By dawn, there could be hundreds of 'em out here."
"Does Choundas come out tonight, Mister Peel," Lewrie schemed, trying to put himself in the wily Frenchman's head, "it'll most like be around nine or so, after full dark. Combined with us being close off the approaches, I should think. We'll be turning away, to stand west on our leg. He could idle just off the mole… no lights showing, and follow us, damn his eyes! Close inshore, with a local pilot who can smell a shoal or rock. Not much moon to speak of… him black against a dark coastline. Trail us as far as Voltri. That'd take a couple of hours, then we'd have to turn back east, and he could scoot along the twenty or twenty-five miles to Vado Bay and be just a few miles west of there by false dawn tomorrow morning. A fishing boat, 'bout the same size as yon barge, would be too slow for him. He must know that Vado Bay'd be well-patrolled. There's a decent wind tonight, and night winds are fairly steady in strength and direction. From the nor'east, for once. A perfect wind to ghost out on, and broad-reach west on. He'll want a longer, faster boat for that. I would. If he doesn't make it to Vado, he can't expect to lay up for the day along this coast, not with Austrian troops about. Where are the French, last report? How far east?"
"East of the inland road that comes down to Finale, sir." Peel shrugged. "How far East, I… of late, I have no way of knowing." He gave Lewrie a quick grimace before turning bland again. Hating to say "I don't know" as bad as any secret agent. "Along the coast road, we must assume they've advanced closer to Vado."
"Other side of the headland?" Lewrie grumbled in surprise when Peel told him that. "That'd be only ten miles west of our anchorage!" "It's possible, sir. Sorry I can't enlighten you further." "Forty miles, at most then," Lewrie puzzled. "Genoa to Finale or thereabouts. Seven hours to safety, at six or seven knots. Damme if I'll play his game!"
But not knowing how he was going to accomplish that, yet. That barge could never catch up a larger, faster vessel, once she got to sea, with a bone in her teeth. He'd have to place Jester more to the west, if he hoped to get a decent slant at interception. With his ship tied too close to the harbor entrance, though, Choundas might gain a precious lead that he could never make up, once Choundas slipped past them close inshore. Yet, to remain far enough west to counter that, Jester couldn't guard the entrance, could not spot any vessel leaving in time to overhaul her and inspect her. Or could he?
"Mister Buchanon, 'vast your packing, sir," Lewrie called out. "I apologize, but I'll need you aboard, after all. Mister Hyde, you're still in charge of the barge."
"Aye, sir!" Hyde grinned, proud to have a temporary "command." "Pass the word for Mister Crewe to come to…" ' 'Ere, sir!" Crewe replied from the gangway above the tethered barge, which was still being loaded and armed.
"Mister Crewe, you're familiar with fire-arrows? Darde-au-feu?" "Well, aye, Cap'um…" the gunner replied, creasing his brow. "Don't 'ave no spring-iron t'make th' arms t'catch in sails, though."
"Forget the spring-arms, Mister Crewe," Lewrie countered, with a leer on his face. "Just make me up a half dozen that can be shot up high in the air, that we can see for, oh… six miles, at night? Shot at extreme elevation from a swivel gun. Like a signal-fuzee that Mister Hyde can light off like a fireworks."
"Oh, like a Roman candle, sir!" Crewe beamed. "I can do that, sir. Half dozen, no work a'tall, Cap'um."
"Pass the word for Mister Giles. My compliments, and he is to supply the barge with two days' dry rations and water, biscuit, cheese, and small-beer. And enough wine for two days' 'Clear Decks and Up Spirits.' You'll not be splicing the main brace, Mister Hyde, till I tell you. You're to loaf about just off the entrance, showing no lights of any sort. Stay furtive as mice, till any vessel leaves larger than a rowboat. You're to fire off one of Mister Crewe's fuzees from a swivel, soon as one does. Almost straight up, but in the general direction of her course. Anything heading west is what we're interested in."
"Aye aye, sir," Hyde agreed, though not sure what it was he was agreeing to.
"The captain of that corvette we fought, Mister Hyde, that's the bastard we want. He captured a commissary ship full of British gold… and he now thinks he'll slip away and go back home to crow about it," Lewrie told his senior midshipman first, before he explained things to the rest of his crew before dark. "I want him, Mister Hyde. And with your help, I mean to have him, this time."
CHAPTER
6
A hot supper, for which he had little appetite, almost uncivil a host to Mister Peel and Lieutenant Knolles who dined with him, talking "shop" for once. And so eager for news that most of what he heard wasn't an awkward conversation, but the loud ticking of his chronometer in the chart-space on the starboard side of the great-cabins.
Then back on deck, wondering if Choundas had made a total fool of him, of them all, no matter how cleverly they'd schemed. Alan had always come a cropper, whenever he'd thought himself especially sly-didn't matter at what, he'd always tripped over his own wits-hoping against hope that just this once, events would prove an exception. A gelatinous crawling of time, an age between the half-hour watch bells. Nine o'clock, then three bells at nine-thirty, four bells at ten…
"Signall" a lookout screamed, as a tiny phosphorescent spark leaped into the inky night sky, trailing an amber train of embers. At a fifty-degree angle, Lewrie estimated. Pointing toward Jester, four miles offshore and ten miles down the coast, near Voltri. Pointing to the West! "Got 'at bastid, sir! We'uns got 'im!" A cheer rose from the decks, the duty watch, and the gunners standing idle in the waist. Ferociously satisfied, their blood up for the hunt, a kill. Sure that Jester would avenge herself, prove herself a lucky ship once more.
By God, we'd better, Lewrie thought! But not a very good night for it. Perversely, the winds had risen a trifle, the sea was surging and creaming now and then in tiny whitecaps-cat's paws and horses. What there was of the moon was occluded by scudding clouds coming down from inland, some storm rushing downslope off the Alps. Their view of the coast was only a black smear against a cold-ashes evening, merely a matter of degree.
"Fetch-to, Mister Knolles," Lewrie commanded. "We go galloping off east, he's sure to slip past us."
"Aye, sir! Duty watch, hands to the braces and sheets!"
A quarter-hour later, riding cocked up into the wind, bows almost due north, the ship making no headway. Still nothing to be seen.
"Signal!"
Another fuzee skyrocketing into the night, pointing west, a bit closer to them, as Hyde sailed in pursuit of whatever had aroused him. No hope of catching his Chase, of course, whatever she turned out to be. Safe enough for Hyde and his men, Lewrie thought, relieved; Choundas did not have night enough to turn and make her pay for alerting the blockade he'd have to thread. Assuming that so-far unseen vessel was his; if it was, he'd gotten a late start, and lost a precious hour already.
"We'll begin to stand inshore, Mister Knolles," Lewrie said with impatience, after another quarter-hour had passed. "Slowly, at first."
"Aye, sir."
Another half hour, Hyde's barge making no more than five knots at best, even with that stiff broad-reaching wind on her quarters. An hour, so five miles closer to us he's come, Lewrie plotted, almost frantic, but concealed by darkness on the quarterdeck, as Jester prowled without even a single glim burning. A tartane, lateen-rigged, he thought; she'd go around seven knots off such a goodly wind… two miles closer to us than Hyde? Yet not a whiff of her, not hide nor hair?
Another fuzee, this time fired slantwise, as if Mister Hyde was firing a very long, up-the-stern shot, as a miniature comet arced up and down like the trail of a burning carcase shot from a mortar. Within two miles of Jester's bows, so the Chase surely must be in smelling distance!
"Haul our wind, Mister Knolles! Time to stand in directly. Due north, Quartermaster!"
"Sail Ho!" from a larboard forecastle lookout. "One point awrf th' lar-b'd bow! 'Gainst th' town's lights! D'ye hear, there?"
Lewrie dashed to the larboard side, leaned out over the bulwarks to peer into the gloom as Jester swung. The town of Voltri was three miles north, almost dead ahead, by then. They might have been holding a/esta to celebrate the recent harvests, or some saint's day, for the waterfront and main streets were lit with torches, lanthorns, and a big bonfire, producing a pencil-thin smear of light. And suddenly, there was a ship; a quick, eye-blink glimpse of a ship atop the amber, scintillating fire-glade of the town's lights, stark and black in a second of silhouette-high-pinked stern, sharp bow, and three crescent moon sails, low to the deck; two large lateens, and a long lateen jib!
