Free Artemis - Kydd 02 by Julian Stockwin

seething with excited crowds.
    Crossing to Gosport, the slop and hurry of waves against the wherry sides was hypnotic and Kydd felt a lifting of spirit. He would never tell Renzi, however, that his gibe about the princess had struck hard and true - he had felt the sweet pain of frustration but he had not surrendered his will to a whore.
    The theatre was packed and restl ess, the heat of the chandeliers and burning lime nearly suffocating. They were not the only sailors in the audience: most in the gallery with them were from Artemis and another frigate, happily chaffing while waiting for the curtain.
    A thin orchestra in the pit struck up, the stridulations of the strings setting Renzi's teeth on edge, then one by one the chandeliers were lowered and snuffed. The audience stirred expectantly. The curtain swept aside to reveal an impossibly baroque drawing room, white in the glare of the lime light. Patrons quelled the rowdier elements of the audience, and a quiet spread out.
    The silence lengthened. Vague scuffles sounded offstage, and eventually a dishevelled reprobate figure shot on, to stand swaying resentfully before the crowd. He staggered over to the high-backed chair and collapsed in it, to the vast delight of the sailors. Hastily, a flourish from the orchestra cut across the jeers and laughter, and on to the stage swept a voluptuous mannish figure. Clad in silk breeches with an exaggerated wig and fashionable cane, the figure acknowledged the storm of applause with dignified bows.
    When the noise had died away the figure advanced to the front of the stage. Absolute silence.
    'Prithee, sir, art anguished at Maltravers' summons?' was demanded of the recumbent form. The voice was female, husky and powerful. The form continued to stare.
    'Art thou not?' The imperious tone had a venomous edge. There was no response. Suggestive catcalls broke the silence.
    'Sir!' the voice continued silkily. 'I see thou art in liquor!' The cane flashed out and caught the form in the midriff, doubling him over.
    'But stay, this do I well comprehend!' The shouting died away. With dramatic intensity Maltravers strode to the edge of the stage. 'What man, a drop of English blood in his veins, can stand unmoved at the news — the thrice welcom'd news - that the dastardly French have been bested at sea! By Artemis frigate in a duel at arms at which there could be but one victor - bless'd Albion it was . . .'
    The rest of the extempore speech was drowned in an avalanche of cheering, wild, unashamed exultation. Bowing left and right, Maltravers held up 'his' hands for silence. "'Come cheer up, me lads, 'tis to glory we steer . . ."' The whole theatre stood and broke into the Garrick favourite, feverishly accompanied by the orchestra. Kydd's face flushed as he sang along with insatiable pride.
    The play moved on in a wordy stream. Renzi looked to see its effect on Kydd. To his amused dismay he saw that his friend was no longer concerning himself. He was slumped in his seat, fast asleep.
    Chapter 3
    N ext day the men moved slowly and stoically, stripping Artemis of her guns and stores preparatory to her docking. Her grievous wounds were laid bare, and her injured spars sent down to a dismayed clucking from boatswain Merrydew.
    Noon came, but few could stomach the cold rations supplied by the receiving hulk lashed alongside. After an all-night-in, Kydd was feeling better, and when the day was done and liberty was piped again, he felt ready to step ashore with the larbowlines once more.
    He sat quietiy as Renzi plaited his glossy pigtail. He had cleaned his new rig carefully for who knew what adventures lay ashore, and with prize money still to spend they would take their pick of the pleasures of the land.
    'Hoay, Tom!' The hail from the hatchway was Doud, looking for him.
    'What cheer, mate?' Kydd called back.
    Doud had an expression of marked curiosity. 'Officer o' the day passes the word for Tom Kydd.' He paused for
    effect. 'It's a visitor at the