In the King's Name Read Online Free PDF

world apart. Without it, all the sweat and tears expended elsewhere would amount to nothing. No matter what the old Jacks liked to think. “This
is
the Atlantic, sir. I think she’s done us proud.”
    â€œAnd so have you.” Adam dragged the heavy log book into a shaft of sunlight and did not see Julyan’s pleasure. He turned a page. The first day of the new year of 1819. It was a Friday. Strange that so many sailors, and not just the older ones, regarded Fridays as unlucky. He had never discovered why.
    Luke Jago had reminded him this morning as he had been finishing his shave. “They said I was born on a Friday, so that should tell us somethin’!”
    Jago seemed to live one day at a time. Always ready. Perhaps because he had no one and nothing to leave behind, or come home to. The sea and the navy were his life, until the next horizon.
    Like the severed epaulette.
Always ready
.
    Adam heard a tap, and the chartroom door opened a few inches. He thought it would be Vincent, impatient to begin making more sail. But Julyan said, “Your cox’n, sir.” He picked up some notes and pulled the door wide. “I shall be standing by, sir.”
    The door closed behind him and Jago stood with his back against it.
    Their eyes met, and Adam said quietly, “Trouble, Luke?”
    â€œA short fuse if you asks me, Cap’n.” He scowled. “Someone a bit too handy with a blade. In the galley, of all places!”
    Adam reached for his hat. “I’m going on deck.”
    Jago watched him leave and swore silently.
    Bloody Fridays!
    Hugh Morgan, the cabin servant, heard the screen door slam shut and waited warily as the captain strode aft to the quarter. Morgan had served several captains, and Bolitho was the best so far. Old enough to have borne the full weight of responsibility, young enough to consider those less fortunate and still finding their way. But there were bad days, too. This was likely to be one of them, New Year or not.
    â€œCan I fetch you something to eat, sir? You’ve touched nothing since they called all hands.”
    Adam pushed himself away from the bench beneath the stern windows with their gleaming panorama of water, greyer now than blue.
    He said, “I apologise. There was no need to bite
your
head off!” Then, “I’m expecting the first lieutenant directly. Maybe the surgeon, too. The meal can wait.” He tossed his hat onto a chair and asked abruptly, “How well d’you know Lord, one of the cook’s mates?”
    â€œThe one who was stabbed, sir?”
    Adam sat down as if something had been cut. If Morgan knew, the whole ship would know.
    Morgan watched the signs. It was bad all right. “Brian Lord. Good lad to all accounts. The cook speaks well of him. Not
too
well, of course!”
    Adam smiled and felt his jaw crack. “You should be a politician.”
    Morgan relaxed a little. “Too honest, sir!”
    Adam looked astern again, at the regular array of a following sea, marked by the shiver and thud of the rudder. At any other time he would have been satisfied. Proud. Instead, he kept remembering the anger on Jago’s face; he knew the course of events better than any one. The man could have died but for Murray’s prompt action, and could still die. There had been blood everywhere.
    The deck tilted suddenly and he saw Morgan pivot round to stare at the pantry door behind him. Someone must have lost his balance; there was an audible gasp and a sound of breaking glass.
    Morgan waited for a few more seconds, and said, “Not one of my best goblets, I hope?”
    The door swung open. The new mess boy was getting to his feet, some shards of glass in his hands.
    Morgan said reprovingly, “There’s clumsy you are, boy, like an ox in a chapel!” He was dangerously calm, and his Welsh accent was more pronounced.
    Adam reached out and took the boy’s arm. “Watch your step, my lad.