Artemis(70)

Kydd found the mark and noted that the muzzle now swept above and below the mark by equal amounts. But the ship was moving, and the mark was already off line. Boldly, Kydd pointed to Wong again, gesturing with small downward movements as he had seen Stirk do to indicate minor changes. The gun came on target by jerks and he could see that if he could time it well, he had a chance.

The ship sailed on steadily, and he tracked carefully. Kydd took the opportunity of estimating when he would fire, that brief hesitation between triggering the gunlock, the priming catching, and the powder charge going off would translate to an astonishing sweep of movement at the muzzle.

There was a distant shout then Rowley snapped, 'Number one gun — fire!'

Seconds ticked by and then the peace was split by an aggressive bang from forward followed by gunsmoke rolling out a hundred yards or more. It was immediately blown back by the stiff wind and the gundeck was darkened by the acrid cloud. It cleared quickly and the distant plume of the fall of shot duly showed, but way to one side.

The smell of fresh powder smoke was pleasing to Kydd's senses — it was manly, keen and spoke of duty. He kept the brutish gun muzzle squarely on the tiny red flag and waited resolutely for his turn.

The next vicious blang and rolling gunsmoke came from the gun next to him. He tensed. The smoke cleared and a splash appeared behind the mark and seventy feet to one side, a good shot at this range.

'Number five gun - fire!'

At the full extent of the lanyard Kydd sighted down the muzzle. It rose slowly to a wave, so he waited. It began to fall and he was teetering on the point of firing when some seaman's fine instinct made him hesitate. Sure enough a smaller, playful wave countered the first and the muzzle lifted slightly before resuming its downward sweep. He gave the lanyard a firm pull and after a brief hesitation his piece obediently thundered forth. Kydd arched his body and the maddened beast crashed to the rear in recoil, sending towering masses of gunsmoke downrange.

'Stop yer vent!' He heard Stirk's shout dimly through ringing ears, and remembered that he had to stop the flow of eroding gases through the vent-hole. It was easily enough done, but he wanted to know where his shot had gone. Staring at the jauntily bobbing flag he willed his ball on. Magically a plume rose up, almost dead in line but sadly short.

'Blast me eyes, but that was well done, mate,' Stirk said in admiration.

Kydd looked at him in disbelief. His shot so far was the furthest away.

'Never mind th' range — yer ball will take 'im on the ricochet. Not easy ter lay 'er true like that!'

With a swelling pride, Kydd stepped back and rasped, 'Well, let's see some heavy in it, then, y' pawky lubbers!'

'Yair — can't come soon enough fer me, Ol' England.' Cundall smoothed his shining black hair and stared morosely back at the tiny mirror, the only one the mess possessed.

Kydd was sitting on his sea-chest to allow Renzi to finish tying off the end of his pigtail, now a quite respectable length again. At sea he wore it clubbed. The gun practice had broken the spell of his morbidity and he had managed to surround his sorrow with limits that enabled him to function on a daily basis.

'You're quiet, Ned,' Kydd said, noticing Doud's unusual reserve.

Doud looked up. 'What's ter say? All th' time we're swannin' around out this godforsaken side o' the world, some other frigate is a-snappin' up the prizes — sooner we're back 'n' doing what comes natural, better fer all.'

Busily at work on a square wooden plate chopping herbs, Quashee unexpectedly spoke up. 'Yer may get yer wish earlier than you thinks, Ned.'

'How so, yer big bastard?' Doud said, instantly curious.

Quashee smiled. 'Has yer thought? We're touchin' at Manila. What if while we've bin away the Dons have gone ter war on the Frogs' side?'

Cundall sneered. 'Then we gets ter take a few dozen fishin'-boats an' half a dozen merchant packets — which in course we can't take with us. Wake up ter yerself, yer ninny.'

Quashee's smile grew broader. 'Then yer ain't heard of. . .'

'. . . the Manila Galleon!' finished Petit loudly. All looked at him in astonishment. 'He's in the right of it, mates!' he said, his face animated. 'Fat an' fair, sails once a year from Acapulkee in Mexico fer Manila, stuffed to the gunnels with all the gold 'n' silver they rips fr'm their colonies.' On all sides around the mess table, eyes grew big. Petit continued, with great satisfaction, 'An' here she comes, sailin' in, all unsuspectin' that there's a state o' war, which we o' course are obliged to tell 'em.'

Happy babbling broke out, but it was interrupted by a shout at the hatchway. 'Pass the word fer Thomas Kydd — Able Seaman Kydd, ahoy!'

Kydd rose. 'Aye!'

'Cap'n Powlett passes the word fer Thomas Kydd!'

The mess fell silent and stared at Kydd. It was unusual to the point of incredible that the Captain would directly notice any of so lowly a station. Kydd's mind raced. As far as he was aware he had done nothing wrong and, anyway, daily discipline was the business of others. He hurried to the quarterdeck. 'The Captain will see you in his cabin/ Party said sharply.