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CHAPTER 6
IT WAS GALLING IN THE EXTREME. Because of the gravity of the situation Renzi had overcome his scruples and resolved to warn Kydd of the ugly mood that was building, the savage opinions he had overheard and in charity forewarning him of worse to come. He had to make one last try to get through to Kydd. He entered the cabin after a polite knock and waited.
It was difficult to broach after Kydd's wild triumph, and Renzi controlled himself with effort. "If you only knew what coming to you like this is costing me in violation of my sensibilities—"
"Then you're free t' go. An' why you should come an' waste my time with y'r mess-deck catblash I can't think," Kydd threw over his shoulder, then resumed scratching away with his quill.
"May I know at least why we're at anchor here instead of Guernsey?"
The other vessels had retreated to the security of St Peter Port while they were again moored off Chausey Rocks, with a tired and fractious crew.
Kydd looked up, expressionless. "Since y' ask, I'm t' keep a distant watch on Granville f'r a few days t' see what they'll do." His features had aged so: no sign of animation, none of the interest in things round him, only this dull, blinkered obsession with duty.
"Do you not think it wise to apprise your ship's company of this? They've been sorely tested recently, I believe, and now to be robbed of their rest . . ." The heartless dismissal of the old lady's death as the fortune of war had upset many, and the ferocious solo altercation at the harbour mouth had others questioning Kydd's sanity.
"They'll do their duty," Kydd said shortly, and picked up his pen again.
Renzi drew breath sharply and blurted, "Good God above! The ship is falling apart around you and still you won't see! The men need leadership—someone they can trust, that they may look up to, believe in, not a grief-stricken machine who spouts nothing but duty and—"
Kydd's fist crashed on the table. "Rot you f'r a prating dog!" He shot to his feet. "Who are you t' tell me about leading men?" he said. "As we c'n all see, you've left th' world t' others an' taken refuge in y'r precious books."
Cold with fury, Renzi bit out, "Then, as it's clear you no longer value my services or my friendship, I shall be leaving the ship in Guernsey. Good day to you, sir!" He stormed out, pushing past the boatswain who had been about to knock. Kydd stood, breathing rapidly and gazing after the vanished Renzi.
"Um, sir?" Purchet said uncertainly. "It's b' way of bein' urgent, like."
"What is it, then?" he said.
Purchet stepped inside, closing the door. "M' duty t' tell ye, sir," he mumbled, then stopped as if recollecting himself.
"Tell me what, Mr Purchet?" Kydd snapped.
The boatswain took a deep breath. "In m' best opinion, sir, the men are no longer reliable."
Kydd tensed. "Are ye telling me they're in mutiny, Mr Purchet?" Everything from this point forward, even an opinion or words spoken in haste, might well be next pronounced in the hostile confines of a court-martial.
"I cannot say that, sir."
"Then what?"
"They's a-whisperin', thinkin' as I can't hear 'em," he said gravely. The boatswain's cabin in the small sloop was as thin-walled as Renzi's. "I don't take mind on it, usually, but as it's s' bad . . ."
"Tell me, if y' please," Kydd prodded.
"Er, I have t' say it how I hears it," Purchet said.
"Go on."
"Well, one o' the hands has it as how you're out o' your wits wi' grievin' an' says as any doctor worth th' name would have ye out o' the ship. An' they thinks as how this makes ye not responsible, an' therefore it's not right fer them t' take y'r orders."
"An' the others?"
"Sir, they say how as t' prove it, they seen ye change, like, fr'm their cap'n in Plymouth t' a hard-horse Tartar who doesn't hear 'em any more—them sayin' it, o' course," he added hastily. "They seen ye at Granville, th' last fight, an' say that if ye're careless o' your own life, what's theirs worth?"
Kydd waited, his face stony. "Anything else?"
"Why, sir, this afternoon, when young Jacko said them things y' heard, most would say he'd had his grog an' was talkin' wry, like, no need t' seize 'im in irons like that. An' they're afeared what ye'll do when he comes up afore ye tomorrow."
"And this's y'r mutiny?"
"There's a gallows deal more, sir, as it's not fit f'r ye t' hear." He looked at Kydd defiantly. "I bin in a mutiny once, an' knows the signs. All it wants is f'r one chuckle-headed ninny t' set 'em off wi' hot words, an' then—"
"Thank 'ee, Mr Purchet. Y' did th' right thing," Kydd said formally.