The Privateer's Revenge Read Online Free

Pool. Rounding the pretty stern windows he brought it expertly alongside her side-steps, and Kydd boarded briskly.
    â€œYou, sir!” he roared at Prosser, the lounging mate-of-the-watch, who straightened in dismay at Kydd’s sudden appearance. “What kind o’ watch can’t sight their captain returnin’ on board?”
    Prosser snatched off his hat. “Er, you’re not in uniform, sir,” he said weakly.
    Farther forward the boatswain faltered under Kydd’s glare. “We—we weren’t told ye was comin’, sir,” he said.
    Hurriedly the watch found things that needed attention round the decks. “This is not a King’s ship, it’s a Dutch scow. What are th’ men doin’ for’ard?” Kydd said angrily. “Hangin’ out th’ washing? If’n ye can’t take charge properly, Mr Prosser, I’ll find someone who will.”
    He stalked down to his cabin. Renzi paused, then descended the after hatchway to his own tiny hideaway to wait out the mood.
    The morning wore on: he usually worked by the clear light of the stern windows in the captain’s cabin. He gathered up his papers and made his way aft, knocked softly and waited.
    â€œYes?”
    The impatient tone made him hesitate.
    Kydd was at his desk, his face stony. “Is there anything y’ need?”
    â€œOh—er, you wished to sight the quarterly return on casks shaken,” Renzi said, thinking quickly. “Will this be the right time, do you think?”
    â€œNot now. Ask th’ bosun to step aft, if y’ please.”
    The afternoon watch came to an end and the starboard watch for liberty mustered. There would be the usual sore heads in the morning after their time ashore. Standish paid his respects warily and was off as smartly, leaving the ship to its evening rest. Renzi waited a little longer, then went up.
    Kydd was sitting motionless by the stem windows, gazing out at the shadowed waters. “I—I’ll be stayin’ with Teazer for now, Nicholas,” he said stiffly. “Ye’re at liberty t’ use number eighteen as y’ see fit.”
    â€œThank you, my friend,” Renzi said quietly. “But, as you’ll know, we’ve been at sixes and sevens in recent days. I need to take some quiet time to bring things to order. I shall stay aboard.” Without asking, he sat down in the opposite chair.
    Kydd stirred and cleared his throat. “Ship’s business? Then do y’ care t’ share m’ dinner?”
    It was a cheerless meal: not so much Kydd’s halting conversation or his silences but the contrast with what had been before. Kydd’s face was drawn, his eyes dull, and there was no light-hearted taking up of Renzi’s witty sallies.
    As soon as he decently could, Renzi excused himself.
    The next day Kydd kept to his cabin. Life aboard Teazer settled to a dreary stasis at her mooring, the entire ship affected by the solitary and melancholy figure in the captain’s cabin.
    Renzi knew the cause of the flares of temper, the distracted silences: Kydd had seized on duty as salvation—the stern call to a code of conduct that was plain, uncompromising and immediate. A pathway out, which would offer a clear and unthinking course to follow that was sure and secure. And it was denied him while Teazer lay idle.
    What would Admiral Lockwood plan for them? he wondered. It was an embarrassment now to have Kydd in his command, despite his recent successful cruise. Another anti-smuggling patrol? Worthy but dull, with possibly the Admiralty questioning continued employment of such a proven asset in this way. It would probably be a vague order to keep the seas as far from Plymouth as could be contrived; in any event, the sooner they got under way the better.
    On the fifth day, Standish went ashore to the dockyard and returned with packages. He disappeared into Kydd’s cabin and soon the ship was