Artemis(72)

Kydd caught his breath. Around the mess table were petty officers, men he had learnt to fear and respect. They were the backbone of the Navy, hard men in charge of fighting tops, afterguard, topmen - the elite captains of 'part-of-ship'. They stared up at him, some with narrowed eyes, others with a shrewd wariness. 'Good t' know ye,' Kydd said, in as neutral a voice as he could manage. He had no idea how to address these men, his claim to be a petty officer, one of them, now seeming a flimsy pretence. They did not answer.

Stirk went on, An' this Kydd is the juggins 'oo sees a merchant hooker in a blow on 'er way ter Davy Jones. Gets 'imself streamed off in a raft from a ship-o'-the-line, jus' cos he thinks ter save 'er.'

There was an interested stirring. 'Did yer?'

'Yair. But got nothing out've it later, the shysters,' Kydd said carefully.

A tall, dark man, whom Kydd recognised as captain of the maintop, grunted and said, 'Well, get yer dunnage then, Kydd — seems yer movin' in 'ere with us.'

He felt a jet of exultation, then turned to Stirk. 'You . . .'

'Quarter-gunner, jus' rated up.' He thrust the canvas flap aside and called back over his shoulder, 'An' we got one other Royal Billy in with us — cap'n of the mizzentop.'

Kydd wondered who it could be, but time was short and he had his gear to shift. When he got to his old mess there were few left at the table, but with a pang he saw Renzi, standing over their shared sea-chest.

'Nicholas - I, well . . .'

Renzi looked at him for a long moment. Then he spoke. 'Bear a fist, y' poxy lubber!' he snapped, in a very good approximation of a petty officer's impatient growl.

Kydd could hardly believe his ears. He glowed with pleasure. 'You?'

'It seems I have been raised to the felicity of captain of the mizzentop,' Renzi continued, in a more normal tone, 'and thus might aspire to more congenial quarters.'

The mess was more snug than Kydd thought possible. Instead of being lost in the gloom of the open mess deck, the lanthorn light now shone cosily on the inside of the canvas partitions, revealing on the forward one a painted scene of a furious battle at sea in which Artemis was easily recognisable, and on the after one several mermaids combing each other's hair. The racks of mess-traps were more elaborate, and Kydd guessed that in other things there would be similar improvements. He slung his ditty bag with the others along the ship's side and took his seat.

'Quartermaster's mate — which watch are youse then, Kydd?' the tall dark man asked.

'Starbowlines, and it's Tom,' he said warily.

'Crow, Isaac Crow,' the man said. 'Cap'n of the maintop. So that'd be Hallison, then, Joshua Hallison who's yer quartermaster.' He chuckled. 'Yer've picked a right taut hand o' th' watch there, cully.'

Another petty officer Kydd knew was Mullion, larboard captain of the foretop. He had reason to — Mullion was never without his colt, a braided rope's end, which he used impartially on his men in the belief that it was the undoubted origin of their markedly faster times. He looked at Kydd steadily, then nodded and grunted, 'Jeb.'

The canvas flap was thrown aside and a short but sharp-faced man entered and crashed down the grog kid on the table, taking his place on one side. Kydd knew him only from afar as one whose temper was best avoided.

'Parry, God rot his bones!' he said in a grating voice, and noticed Kydd. 'Who're you?' There was a visceral challenge in the tone.

'Kydd - Tom Kydd, quartermaster's mate o' the starb'd watch,' he said, and felt colour rising. 'An' who are you, then?' he said boldly.

The man paused, fixing him with colourless eyes. 'Haynes.'

'Yer glass, Kydd,' reminded Crow, holding out his hand over the grog monkey. Kydd had his old pot ready, then remembered that petty officers had the privilege of taking their rum neat, not diluted to grog.

A glass was returned full of the dark mahogany liquid, the powerful odour of rum heavy on the air. Kydd raised it in a general salute and swallowed. The liquor was pungent and strong.

As they drank, Kydd began to feel the pattern of comradely warmth of his new mess. Crow asked him more about his time in a line-of-battle ship, and others put in their contribution. The lanthorn was trimmed up, and meal-time conviviality set in.

Just as the food arrived, Renzi appeared, silent and watchful. 'Renzi,' said Stirk briefly. 'Tie-mate o' Kydd's,' he added, referring to the service close friends did for each other in turn — plait and tie off the pigtail.

'Yeah, heard of 'im, Toby,' grated Haynes. 'With yer when you boarded the Cttqyong through the gun-ports.' He gave the smallest of nods to Renzi, but impaled him with his eyes.

Renzi sat, but remained quiet.

'Got a headpiece on 'im, 'e 'as,' Stirk added. 'We listens ter what 'e 'as to say, like.'

The table held its reserve — a sea-lawyer was not a popular character to be.