“Where do yer come from?” Doud asked.

Wong laid down his work with a sigh. “China, Kwangchow south part,” he said.

“What’s yer dad do?”

“Dead.”

“Sorry to hear that, Wongy, didn’t know.”

“Not sorry – he no good.” He picked up his scrimshaw and carried on with it.

The freshness of the dawn seemed unwelcome to the men below, who stumbled bleary-eyed on deck, scruffy and seedy. The Navy men stared. They were a sorry-looking crew – dirty, scrofulous and scrawny. They resembled wharf rats more than sailors.

“If they’re seamen then I’m a Dutchman,” said Doud.

“’Oo in ’ell are you?” one said, looking a-squint at Doud.

“They got strange rats aboard this hooker,” said Doud to Kydd. “They’re speakin’.”

“Yes – t’ look at ’em they must’ve just come topsides for a breather straight fr’m the bilges,” Kydd replied.

Doud regarded them dispassionately. “Strange, that. Always thought rats left a sinkin’ ship. This lot seems to have left it a bit late fer that.”

The first man advanced, ingratiating, shifting his battered tricorne hat from hand to hand. “Now look’ee here, me name’s Yates – deck ’ands, we is. Where d’ye come from, I asks yer?”

Kydd replied, “We’re from Duke William – King’s ship. Saw y’ distress guns and -”

“And we saved yer skins, is what ’e’s a-sayin’ of,” Doud continued, his contempt plain.

The contrast could hardly be more obvious: Doud, a prime man-o’-war’s man, strong and confident in his blue shirt and white trousers, and these three, in ragged shore clothes and repulsively unclean.

“We’re thankful, t’be sure,” Yates said, wheedling, looking from one to the other and furtively licking his lips.

“No bloody wonder the barky clewed up in trouble if they only ’ad these fer crew,” Doud said contemptuously. He remembered Warren’s threat. “Hey, you, what’s this that yer carries a fat cargo o’ whisky?” he said.

There was a defensive hesitation. “Ah – that’s right, we ’as a load.”

Doud winked at Kydd. “That’s all I want ter know,” he said.

The deckhands were as useless in practice as their appearance suggested when a yard was crossed on the jury mast.

“Prime!” said Bowyer, easing his back gratefully. “Now we’ll stretch a bit o’ square canvas an’ we’ll be able to set a course.” It was a great satisfaction to ease carefully around and start riding the rollers eastward, heading for the noon rendezvous position that Duke William’s master had written out for Warren.

A change was evident also in Kelsey, who now paced the deck with a confidence that put a spring in his step. He stopped at where the Navy men were working at the foremast. “You men, I have to thank you for your work,” he told them. “But for that we surely would not have survived.” Nothing was said, but each found some task needing extra concentration. “I’d just have to say…” he went on, but hesitated. “God bless you.”

“Well, Ned mate, should be back aboard soon,” Kydd said to Doud that afternoon.

Doud was trying to put a whipping on a ragged brace end. “An’ none too soon, mate. Never seen such a rat’s nest – all twice-laid stuff, canvas yer can see through. This hooker’s fer the knacker’s yard it seems to me.” He pursed his lips in disgust. “Missin’ me tot, and that’s the truth. You’d think that with a clinking great cargo o’ liquor they’d could stove one in b’ accident, after what we done fer them.”

He glanced about, then leaned forward. “So, Tom, me old mate, when you has the watch tonight, you may see a little rabbit pop down the fore hatch, which in course yer won’t notice.” He allowed Kydd to glimpse a sizable gimlet in his pocket.

“I got a thirst on’ll stun an ox – but I’ll not ferget me friends.” He grinned and continued at his work.

At dusk, Bowyer was at the wheel and Kydd on deck with him. Warren had gone below for supper with Kelsey, those off watch were in the cuddy for their supper and all was peaceful.

A figure appeared at the break of the fo’c’sle. Bowyer grunted, but Kydd smiled and whispered, “Ned going after a wet.”

“Yer mean -”

“He’s goin’ to tap off some whisky,” Kydd said.

“That’s broachin’ cargo – a hangin’ matter,” Bowyer growled.

Kydd’s smile faded. “Says they’re an ungrateful crew, not seein’ us right after riskin’ our lives, and so he’s goin’ t’ even things up!”

“Still no reason ter break into cargo – Warren finds out, ’e’s a gone goose. An’ we’re ’avin’ no part of it – are we?” He looked straight at Kydd.

“You’re in the right of it, Joe,” Kydd admitted. “Ned’s a bit too forward for his own good a-times.”

Doud silently dropped out of sight down the hooded companionway to the hold.

Darkness clamped in, but an unexpected moon broke through the scurrying clouds for the first time, accentuating the whiteness of the foam crests and glittering in the inky troughs. It was strange to have the seas so close, a few feet away after Duke William’s thirty or more.

Doud cautiously emerged on deck, but instead of returning to the cuddy he hurried aft toward them.

“Ned?”

“Yes, mate.”

“Well?”

“Well, I stand well flammed. In truth, I didn’t catch so much as a whiff o’ whisky, so help me.”

Lieutenant Warren’s appearance on deck put an end to the conversation. He peered at the binnacle and up at the vigorously drawing single sail, then concluded with a cautious pace around the decks. “Quiet watch?” he asked.

“Aye, sir,” Bowyer answered stolidly.

“Should be up with Duke William at noon tomorrow,” Warren said.

“Sir.” Bowyer was not given to idle chat with officers.

“Notice anything unusual, Bowyer? Master seems uneasy about something.”

“No, sir.”

“Very well. You’ll be relieved at midnight. Any worries, I’ll be below. Goodnight.”

With a last sniff at the weather he left.

“Good hand, is he,” Doud said. “Others would have us squarin’ off all the time, ’n’ on our knees on deck and such. Hope he gets his step – deserves better’n the Royal Billy.”

“Why didn’t you get y’r taste o’ whisky?” Kydd asked.

“Well, that’s the damnedest thing. I tapped three kegs, ’n’ they were all full right enough – wi’ sand!”

“You went to the right ones?”

“O’ course! If I can’t tell a cask o’ spirits by the feel, I been wastin’ me time ashore.”

“Maybe some was carried as a ballast?”

“Nah – I was careful to choose three separate ones. The whole lot’ll have to be the same.”

They lapsed into silence. Forward the jury rig creaked constantly as it worked with the ship’s roll.

“Makes no sense. If the Cap’n wanted ter bam the merchant by landin’ the spirits fer his own ’n’ switchin’ sand in place of it, you’d think that ’e’d be smoked at t’other end.”

Bowyer frowned as he braced at the wheel. Kydd perceived his disquiet at the way things were developing.

“Whoever does get his ’ands on two ’undred barrels o’ whisky is goin’ to end up with a pile o’ guineas yer couldn’t jump over.” Doud unconsciously licked his lips.

“Doesn’t explain th’ sand,” Kydd said.

There was a murmur from Bowyer.

“What was that, Joe?”

“Well, mean ter say -”

“Come on, spit it out, mate!” Doud urged.

“Er, don’t like ter say it, but there is one reason I c’n think of.”

“Yeah?”

Bowyer looked intently at the weather leech of the mainsail. “Could be this is a coffin ship, mates.”

“It – what?” Kydd said.

“Not sayin’ as it is, but there’s them a’longshore who would send sailors to sea in a barky that ain’t meant to make port. Then they collects on the ing-surance when she don’t arrive.”

“The sand?” Doud challenged.

“Yer can’t see it? Whoever sets it up gets valuable whisky on the ship’s papers so ’e can claim fer it as well, but ’e lands it for ’imself and loads aboard -”

Doud nodded. “Yeah, got a feelin’ yer could be right. Stands ter reason.”