Free Colours Aloft! by Alexander Kent

landed.”
    The boat began to move away, the oars stirring unwillingly. The captain raised his hat. “I shall collect the ladies now, sir!” The contact was broken.
    Keen lowered his voice. “You did not tell him that the girl is a prisoner, sir?”
    Bolitho watched the flannel bag being carried aft.
    â€œI do not recall that he asked, Val.” He left a patch of shade and stared up at the Rock, its ancient Moorish castle shrouded in heat haze.
    â€œThe Governor might easily have shut her in a cell, Val. He has raised a state of seige here, one girl more or less would stand no chance.”
    Keen stared after him, knowing that his lieutenants were waiting with their demands and lists.
    Bolitho had to search through his despatches and compare them with his instructions from the Admiralty. It was a great responsibility to his ships and his men. But he had still found time to think about the girl named Zenoria. It was unnerving.
    He turned and looked at his officers. “Well, Mr Paget, where shall we begin?” His face was quite calm; he was the flag-captain again. If one hint of this matter reached higher authority Bolitho’s name would be smeared too. And yet he had not hesitated.
    By the boat tier Allday peered up at the green-painted barge and frowned. It would not be lowered, here at Gib anyway. He climbed up to peer into the sleek hull, biting his lip as if he expected the hot pain to surge through his chest again. The boat was half filled with water. The seams would not open in the sunlight. He glanced down at Bankart and grinned.
    â€œYou’ve made a good start, lad.” He was pleased although still dazed by the change of events which had given him a son. That was the strange thing. They spoke a lot with each other, but apart from Bankart’s dead mother they had nothing in common except the Navy. But he was a pleasant lad and did not abuse his small authority of second coxswain as some might.
    Allday dropped to the deck and said, “Time for a wet. We’ll not be needed just now.” He glanced aft. “The admiral’s too busy for chatter.”
    Bankart ducked beneath a gangway and asked, “What is he like? I’ve heard tell you’ve been with him since—”
    Allday eyed him fondly. “Since around the day you was born, I reckon. A fine man. Brave, an’ loyal to his mates.”
    He thought of the girl in midshipman’s clothing. All bloody hell would break if Keen wasn’t careful. He had heard some of the seamen laying odds on whether the captain had had his way with her. “All right for the officers, eh, lads? Poor Jack is the one to suffer!” Allday had silenced that one with his fist, but there would be plenty more who thought as much.
    He said, “I’ll take you with me to the house when we gets home. It’s a grand place, but they found room for me like one o’ their own.”
    The mention of Falmouth made him suddenly uneasy. He had seen Bolitho’s dismay change to resentment over something Lady Belinda had said or done.
    Allday would back Bolitho anywhere against all odds, but he felt sympathy for his lovely wife. It could not be a smooth passage to follow in Cheney’s shadow. Bolitho would have to accept this. There was no going back.
    He shook himself out of his mood as he caught the heady aroma of rum.
    â€œA good wet, that’s what we need.”
    The surgeon was standing just inside the door of the makeshift cabin, wiping his strong fingers on a cloth, as Keen appeared. Keen glanced at the Royal Marine sentry and saw that his blank face was wet with sweat, for despite the hastily rigged windsails to every hatch the air felt hot and sluggish.
    â€œHow is she?”
    Tuson eyed him for several seconds. “I’ve removed the dressing, sir.”
    Keen walked past him and saw the girl sitting on a stool, her hair released from its ribbon and covering her shoulders.
    He asked,