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young Sub stirred and lifted his head to peer blearily around him. His eyes stopped on Smith, blinked, screwed shut then opened again and now they were aware and he climbed to his feet. It was a long climb. He was a very tall young man with a thatch of black curly hair that needed cutting and sleepy dark eyes. He said, “Curtis, sir. CMB 19.”
    Smith now recognised him as the commander of the boat that entered the Trystram lock and thought he also recognised the drawl. “Canadian?”
    “No, sir. American.”
    Smith’s eyebrows lifted. There were a number of Americans flying for the Allies before America had entered the war, and some in the Army — but in the Navy? “That’s — unusual.”
    “Yes, sir. A little.”
    “You come from a Naval family?”
    Curtis grinned. “Hell, no, sir. We’re all farming stock. But I learned to handle a boat on the lake. Wisconsin, that is. Started in the creek near as soon as I could walk and moved out on the lake soon after.” He paused, then: “A farmer turned sailor. Now that’s unusual, sir.”
    “Not altogether.” Smith was a country boy, brought up in a Norfolk village. But he did not elaborate. Instead he asked, “How long have you been in command?”
    Victoria put in deeply, proud. “They promoted him into her. Should ha’ had a medal but for that damn’ red tape again.”
    Curtis shifted awkwardly, embarrassed at the interruption. “Now Mrs Baines it wasn’t like that a-tall. Fact is, sir, I was on vacation over here when the war started an’ I just joined and got a temporary commission.”
    Smith thought it would not have been that easy, that Curtis under his country boy, innocent exterior must hide a shrewd brain and an ability to wangle. He said nothing.
    Curtis went on: “We had a forty-footer and I was midshipman in her till along about the fall of ’16 when we got shot up and the Sub-Lieutenant caught it so I sort of — inherited. Seems I ran her all right so they promoted me to command her permanent and later on they gave me 19. But anything I know about fighting a CMB I learned from Charlie…that was the Sub. He was a regular officer, a great guy.”
    Smith was interested by the tall, sleepy-eyed young man but he had a duty to carry out aboard
Sparrow
, an unpleasant duty but one that had to be done. Still, he asked one last question. “You like the boats?”
    “Wouldn’t change, sir.” That was definite, but then Curtis added, “Except —” He stopped.
    Smith prompted, “Except?”
    Curtis’s voice was still quiet but there was a hardness to it now. “Sometimes I think I’d like to catch up with that destroyer that shot us up, when I was in a ship with a real big gun. And I could shoot the hell out of ’em.” He saw Smith staring and explained, “Just to even up for Charlie, sir.”
    Smith was silent, then: “I wouldn’t harbour thoughts of revenge. You’ll find there’s little satisfaction in it. Good night.” And to Victoria, “Good night, madam. My apologies for intruding.”
    Victoria answered dryly, “I’ll see you tomorrow at sea — if you get that far.”
    Smith hung on his heel, taken aback. “You’ll — at sea?”
    Victoria said complacently, “My tug,
Lively Lady
is going with you.”
    “Of course I knew
Lively Lady
was to be with us, but — you’ll be aboard?”
    “She’s my tug.” That seemed sufficient answer for this old lady with her hat slightly askew despite the two pins. She touched it now, settled it askew on the other side.
    Smith said, “I see.” He did not, but later he would. “Good night.”
    * * *
    He strode on, heading for where
Sparrow
was moored alongside the quay. Her commander had been absent from the Commodore’s briefing. Now Smith wanted an explanation from Dunbar — and a very good one.
    Smoke trailed from
Sparrow
’s three funnels and wisped across the quay on the wind; she was ready to slip at a minute’s notice. The quay was dark, rain-swept, pools glinting from a tiny