Free Relentless Pursuit by Alexander Kent Page B

beating time with his starter as if he alone could see and hear this empty gun in action.
    He lashed out again at the one named Ede. “Don’t let go, you idiot! Put your weight on it!” He struck him again and Ede slipped and fell, his legs beneath the truck.
    â€œBelay that!” The voice was sharp, incisive. “Secure the gun!”
    It was Lieutenant Varlo, his eyes everywhere as he walked along the gangway and stopped directly above the first gun.
    Sandell exclaimed, “It was deliberate, sir!” He gestured towards Ede. “Nothing but trouble since we began!”
    Varlo said, “Stand up, Ede.” Then, “Had this gun been in action it would have recoiled inboard when fired and you would have had both legs crushed.” He watched him calmly, but his voice was meant for the midshipman. “Do you understand?”
    Ede nodded shakily. “Yes, sir.”
    Varlo looked at the foremast. “Afraid of heights, eh? That won’t do. This is a fighting ship. We depend on one another.” He glanced coldly at Sandell. “We have no choice.”
    A boatswain’s mate touched his forehead. “Cap’n’s compliments, Mr Varlo, sir, you can dismiss the drill now.”
    Varlo nodded. “Carry on.” He looked at Ede again. “No choice. Remember that.”
    The others gathered round, the regular gun crews peering at everything as if their own smartness and efficiency was being questioned. Isaac Dias spat on his hands.
    â€œCome on, show ’em how it’s really done, eh?”
    The laughter seemed to break the spell, although nobody looked at Sandell as he strode aft, barely able to contain his fury.
    Only Ede remained, one hand on his arm where Sandell’s rope starter had left its mark.
    Deighton was about to leave when something made him say, “I was scared of going aloft.” He checked himself. What was the matter with him? But he added, “For a long time. But I learned a lot from the old Jacks, watched how they did it. One hand for the King, they always said, but keep one for yourself! ”
    Ede was staring at him, as if he had just realised he was there.
    â€œBut . . . you’re an officer, sir . . .” He stared aft, watching for Sandell.
    Deighton said, “It makes no difference, up there.” He thought suddenly of his father’s intolerance. “Come up with me in the dog watches.” The youth was still staring at the criss-cross of rigging, the aimlessly flapping foretopsail, and he recognised the fear and something more.
    â€œWould you, sir?” Almost pleading, almost desperate. “Just the two of us?”
    Deighton grinned, relieved, but for whom he did not know.
    â€œI’ll try, sir, if you think . . .” He did not go on.
    Deighton touched his arm. “I’m sure.” Then he walked away, into the market-place.
    He did not know how gratitude would look, but now he knew how it felt.
    He thought of the captain’s words in the wardroom. Things will be different. Eventually.
    For both of them it was a challenge.
    After the blinding glare of the sun, the dazzling reflections thrown up from a clean blue sea, the night was like a cloak.
    Galbraith moved occasionally from one side of the quarterdeck to the other, and was surprised that it could still hold him, move him, after all the watches he had worked, all the sea miles logged. A ship at her best. He looked up and through the rigging at the batlike shadows of the topsails, barely moving in a soft, steady breeze. No moon, but the stars stretched from horizon to horizon. He smiled to himself. And he was not yet used to it.
    He glanced at the helmsmen, one at the wheel, the other standing by. Joshua Cristie, the master, took no chances; he had only just gone below himself. It was as if it was his ship. Like the gun captains he had watched at the drills. Possessive, resentful of unnecessary interference. He had spoken about the