Free Heart of Oak by Alexander Kent Page B

important.
    An alert, intelligent face, younger than he had expected. Or was he still seeing the stolid and remote Stirling,
Athena
’s first lieutenant?
    “Thank you, Mr Vincent.” He looked along the deck. “Most people will be thinking I could have chosen a more convenient time!”
    Vincent responded with a firm handshake, and the suggestion of a smile. Brown eyes, as dark as Adam’s own. What was going through his mind? Rumours or reputation? Maybe he was making comparisons with the man who had died.
    He stood aside as Grenville came through the port, hooded eyes everywhere.
    “Sir John has told me you’ve all worked with a will since the ship commissioned. She does you credit.”
    Vincent said, “We could not have done it without your support, Sir John.”
    Plain, almost matter of fact, as Grenville would appreciate.
    Another boat was coming alongside, and a harassed-looking seaman called, “For you, Sir John!” But his eyes were on the new captain.
    Grenville said curtly, “I was expecting it, although I might have wished for better timing!” He strode back to the entry port, and Adam saw a lieutenant hovering with a heavily sealed package. He noted the twist of gold lace and thought of Troubridge. This must be the admiral’s flag lieutenant.
    Grenville said, “I shall deal with this in the chart room.” He lifted his hand. “And I
know
where it is.”
    Vincent seemed to breathe out slowly. “If you would care to come aft, sir,” and frowned as two seamen ran ostentatiously to drag some filthy canvas away from the deck. “The galley fire is lit, and you will be more comfortable in your quarters.”
    Adam followed him. A new captain, a senior official from the Admiralty, and now a message from the admiral. It was enough to throw any first lieutenant into a panic. Vincent was hiding it well.
    Behind him, he could hear the hammers and winches resume, the squeal of tackles as more stores and equipment were hauled aboard. A ship coming to life.
    He heard some one shout and Jago’s curt response. “I’m with the Cap’n!” His guard was up, until he was good and ready to let it down.
    Adam climbed on to the ship’s larboard gangway, which linked forecastle to quarterdeck. Beneath him on the maindeck he saw the remaining rigging still to be hoisted and lashed into place, although to the casual onlooker it might seem a meaningless tangle. The real work, however, was finished, stays and shrouds taut and in place, running rigging, braces and halliards piled in coils or hanging like strange creeper in a forest.
    Vincent was careful to point out stretches of wet paint, and any undried pitch that might cling to the shoe of an unwary visitor. Adam looked down at the nearest eighteen-pounders, lined up behind their ports, breeching ropes taut. On parade. The quarterdeck was surprisingly clear, even spacious after the litter and confusion elsewhere. He paused for a moment, his eye taking in the big double wheel, and up and beyond, against the washed-out sky, the finely raked mizzen mast and yards, sails loosely brailed. A seaman was sitting casually astride one of the yards, a marline spike glinting in his hand. He seemed to freeze as he realized that one of the figures peering up from the deck below was his captain.
    Down the companion ladder: less light here, with most of the screens in position to separate these quarters from the rest of the ship. Somebody was planing wood, one of the carpenter’s mates, making a last-minute adjustment to ensure nothing would jam and refuse to move when required.
    Vincent opened a screen door and stepped aside.
    “Your quarters, sir.”
    A strange sensation, almost recognition. Very like
Unrivalled
’s great cabin, but because it was empty it seemed double the size. The stern windows curving from quarter to quarter were the same, the anchored ships and passing small craft shimmering through the wet glass like some unfinished tapestry.
    He felt his head brush one of the