Jackson brought the cutter alongside the flagship, hooked on and waited for Ramage to board. He was met at the entryport by the flagship's first lieutenant who, Ramage had to admit, ran a smart ship: there had been sideboys holding out handropes, and the, handropes were well scrubbed. The deck was almost white from vigorous holystoning, and the brasswork's shine showed that many men had been busy polishing with brickdust.

"The Admiral will see you in his cabin, sir," the first lieutenant said with the superciliousness that first lieutenants of flagships inevitably adopted to post-captains at the lower end of the Post List. However, Ramage had met this too often to be intimidated.

"If you lead the way down," he said, at once putting the first lieutenant in the position which could have been occupied by a midshipman, and leaving him with no chance of a direct refusal.

Ramage found Rear-Admiral Rudd seated at his desk, and he acknowledged the Admiral's gesture to sit in the chair in front of him.

"So now we have got over the farce of Capraia," the Admiral observed sourly. "You might have anticipated that a French frigate would pick up those survivors."

The comment was so absurd, Ramage found it easy not to answer: any admiral who tried to blame a subordinate in such a crude way deserved sympathy: he must be very unsure of himself.

Admiral Rudd shifted in his chair and said suddenly: "You know about the Algerines?"

Ramage nodded. "I captured one of their ships once," he said.

"They're still present; in fact they are increasing. We've just had an official complaint from the King of the Two Sicilies, and we have to do something about it. They've suddenly started swarming over the ports along the coast of southern Sicily - kidnapping for their galleys and looting and raping. They are also taking fishing boats and apparently adding them to their own fleet."

"Do we know roughly what ships they have?" Ramage asked.

"All small stuff. Nothing like a frigate. Galleys, fishing boats crowded with men, that sort of thing. As far as I can make out a dozen or so of them attack a particular port one day - they don't bother to wait for nightfall to do their work - and then vanish for a few days, then they attack somewhere else."

Ramage thought for a minute and then asked: "Is there any pattern to these attacks, sir, or are they random?"

"No, they're not random: I was just going to tell you. Appar ently they work their way along the coast, attacking one port and then, a few days later, they arrive off the next. They've nothing to fear from the Sicilians so they needn't bother about surprise."

"What about the Sicilian Army?"

"What do you expect?" Rudd asked sourly. "They are doing nothing and His Majesty has a dozen reasons for their inactivity. He says the ports are often separated by cliffs, and it is almost impossible for troops to move along the coast. That's why he has come to us."

"It seems reasonable enough," Ramage admitted. "But catching two dozen fishing boats is like trying to catch a shoal of herrings with a single hook."

"I don't see why," Rudd said uncompromisingly. "Anyway, I can't spare any of my brigs or sloops: you're the only person I can send."

"Very well, sir: I'll do my best."

Rudd held up a small packet. "Here are your orders. And don't forget the King of the Two Sicilies and the British government are involved in all this. The British Minister is particularly concerned that we root out the scoundrels."

Ramage took the packet. "Will that be all, sir?"

"Yes, but make sure you understand that this isn't just a jaunt chasing pirates: with the King involved this becomes a major operation. If I had anyone else to send," Rudd said bluntly, "I would. I am not very satisfied with your behaviour so far under my command. You seem far too light-hearted."

"I'm sorry, sir: I do assure you I take my duties very seriously," Ramage said, wishing he could make a comment about his opinion of the attitude of the flag officer under whom he was serving. After a polite farewell he left the cabin and went back to the cutter.

Seated at his desk back on board the Calypso Ramage broke the seal on his orders and unfolded the single sheet of paper. After the usual formalities they told him that the Algerine pirates had so far raided Marsala and Mazara at the western end of the island of Sicily, and appeared to be making their way eastward. In view of representations from the Court of the King of the Two Sicilies, Ramage was requested and required to take the ship under his command and destroy the pirates.

And that was it. One thing about Rear-Admiral Rudd, Ramage thought ruefully, he does not waste any words. Even more surprising, the orders were straightforward and unambiguous; there were no hidden threats concerning the penalty for failure.

Before calling his clerk to have the orders copied into the orders book, Ramage sent for Aitken and South wick: it was his habit to discuss orders with them, not because he had any doubts but because he had long since accepted that he was mortal, and if he was killed then it would be up to Aitken as first lieutenant, and therefore second-in-command, and Southwick, as the ship's wise old man, to complete his orders. They would have more chance of doing that successfully if they knew how he had been thinking.

Southwick settled himself in the armchair as Aitken first read the orders and then handed them over to the master. Southwick read them and gave a contented sniff. "It isn't often one reads orders that don't have a lot of concealed threats in 'em," he said. "But it isn't often that one of the King's ships is sent off chasing pirates. What have they got - an old frigate or some such?"

"No, it's not going to be that easy," Ramage said. "The Admiral told me that they have a couple of dozen fishing boats - either local Sicilian craft they've captured with lateen sails and carrying twenty or thirty men, or vessels they've come over in from the Barbary coast."

"Chasing two dozen vessels with one frigate isn't going to be easy," grumbled Aitken. "Those damned things are fast and they go to windward like a ferret out of the bag. They're shallow draft, too, so they can run up on a beach. Half the time they'll be out of gunshot of us if we have to cruise round in deep enough water."

"Come now," Ramage said chidingly, "you're letting the thought of a couple of dozen Algerines beat you before we've set sail!"

"Maybe so," Southwick said gloomily, "but you mark my words: it'll be like trying to catch eels with slippery hands."

"How shall we start rinding out where they're operating, sir?" Aitken asked.

Ramage thought for a minute or two. "Well, we can either go round the north coast and catch them up, or we can go round the south coast and meet them as they work their way eastward."

"Northabout," Southwick said firmly. "It'll be easier following them - we shall know where they are. If we go southabout we'll never know when we are going to run into them - or maybe run past them."

Ramage nodded: Southwick had put into words his own thoughts. He took the orders and folded the paper along the original creases. A single sheet of paper, but it brought a shipload of problems.

Marsala - he had only been there once: a town which looked as though it should be in Africa. And, of course, the home of the strong, sweet wine. And the port's name as far as the Algerines were concerned was the Port of God, Marsah el Allah. Saracen, Algerine, Barbary - they were all pirates and had been for centuries, whether they came from the Levant in the east or Algiers in the west. A pity they had sacked Marsala - had they set fire to the place? From what little he knew of the Algerines, they tended to kidnap, rob and rape; they rarely burned down a town, for the simple reason that they planned to return a year or two later and repeat their raid.