Artemis(36)

Luke came with a mess kid of steaming pottage. He still had the hollow eyes and withdrawn air that he'd had since the battle.

Quashee broke off his conversation with Petit. 'What ho, Luke, is it to me exactin' standard, or shall we have ter send it back?' There was no answer from the boy, and Quashee glanced at Petit.

'Leave 'im be, mate,' Petit muttered.

Renzi made a characteristic deprecating gesture, and the mess knew that he had something to say, and waited expect-antiy. 'We shall within this week be outward bound — to the far side of the world.' He drew himself up and intoned

'On burning coasts, or frozen seas, Alike in each extreme The gallant sailor's ere at ease, But floats with fortune's stream . .

'Clap a stopper on it!' 'Avast th' jabber, shipmate!'

The good-natured chorus drowned Renzi's attempts, and in mock disgust he drank noisily from his pot. 'What's y'r meaning, Nicholas?' Kydd prodded.

'Well, if you will allow me,' he said, and leant back. 'Get on with it, damn you for a shab!' Kydd's eyebrows contracted at Cundall's ill-judged words to his friend.

Renzi seemed not to have heard. 'It will not have escaped your notice that the officers are laying in stores, a good deal. This voyage will not be a simple one.' The table exchanged looks. It was widely believed that Renzi had second sight, such had been the accuracy of his predictions in the past.

'What do ye mean?' Petit said carefully.

'That mayhap we should follow suit — in our little way, of course.'

'We?'

'Can you conceive a span of six months at sea, nothing new, always the same food, the same company? We will rue it, I believe, were we not to take a precaution.'

The thought had clearly not entered their heads.

'Only one kinda stores we better 'ave - an' if the kegs run out, then it'll have ter be bottles.' Cundall had a handsome face: he took care to flare his side-whiskers to frame it.

'Aye, but ye knows that in th' Indies it's like to be arrack - made outa rice. It'll bowse up yer jib in a brace o' shakes right enough, Billy boy.' Eyes turned to Petit who leant back innocently.

'Come on, mate, you've bin out there afore, ain't yer?' Quashee said.

'Yair, but I wanta hear what Renzi is a-sayin',' Petit said.

Renzi continued, 'Only little things, I grant, but I have the feeling they will be deeply appreciated in the future. I say that we empower Quashee to step ashore to make purchases for the mess in general as he sees fit, some condiments, some—'

'Some 'oo?' Cundall said.

'Conweniences!' said Quashee happily. 'He means conwen-iences! A rub o' ginger, dried 'erbs, a jar o' molasses, that's the ticket.'

'Just so,' Renzi said. 'But we also need amusements. I have made my preparations, but could I suggest it be taken under general consideration?' The concept of preparing for recreation was a novel matter: it caused the table to go quiet.

Pinto spoke up for the first time. 'Padrino’ he said to Petit, 'what you do, when you sail to the Indee?'

Petit toyed with his pot. 'Renzi's right, o' course. Three, four year back it was, if yer recollects, we went ter Batavia to pick up Bligh 'n' his crew 'oo stayed with 'im in the Bounty launch. Took 'em back to Portsmouth.' Kydd remembered reading about it in the news; it had a different meaning now.

Petit had their attention and carried on with his yarn. 'Ill-tempered sod, was Bligh — noo his rights as a grunter, did he, 'n' him only a jumped-up master's mate. Useta strut up 'n' down the quarterdeck, never goin' forrard, ever.'

There was a stirring around the table. Opinions in the Navy were divided between admiration for Bligh's undoubted feat of seamanship - four thousand miles in an open boat without losing a man - and contempt for his equally undoubted senseless brutality to his men. 'Long v'yage, yair, but don't recollect we 'ad troubles findin' things to do,' he ruminated.

'Well, what did y' do in th' dog-watches each night?' prompted Kydd.

'Usual kinda things. Yarns, dice, fancy work with th' rope. Oh, yeah, makin' things!' He fumbled and pulled out his seaman's knife. 'Like this I done.' The handle was beautifully carved, the hand-filling curve of a leaping dolphin in ebony.

"N' others, they like ter scrimshander - carvin' whale's teeth an' that.'

Kydd thought of Wong and the intricate nude Oriental females he always fashioned. 'Yeah, I seen that.'

Petit scratched his head. "Bout all I c'n say — you makes yer own amusements, mates.'

It made Kydd thoughtful, and he broached the subject with Renzi later.

'Food for the intellect, dear fellow. Turn time to account. He who kills time is a murderer.' Renzi had no doubt about it. Kydd guessed that soon a significant amount of space in their shared sea-chest would be taken up with books.

There was no way of avoiding it — the ship was under sailing orders and could sail imminently: Kydd had to write a final letter to Cecilia. Reluctantly he found his portable writing kit and set it up.