His appearance at the foot of the ladder was met with an astonished silence, men twisting at their tables and the nearest scrabbling to distance themselves. The stench of so many bodies in the confined space, with the reek of rush dips guttering in their dishes, caught Kydd at the back of the throat: it had been long since he had endured these conditions, inescapable as they were for sailors in a small ship-of-war.
Standing legs a-brace, he placed his hat firmly under his arm and faced them. He said nothing, his hard gaze holding first one, then another. The dim light picked up the gold lacing of his uniform, and when he spoke, he had their entire attention.
"Teazers!" he began. "I won't keep you f'r long. Now, one of y'r number came aft t' see me, thought fit t' lay an information afore me as was necessary f'r me t' know."
Furtive glances were thrown and there were awkward shuffles: was there a spy in their midst, bearing tales to the quarterdeck?
"He was right t' do so. F'r what he said was concernin' y'r own captain. He said t' me that there's those who'd believe I'm not sailin' square wi' ye since I had m' sad loss—that I'm toppin' it th' tyrant t' no account." He paused: apart from the lazy creaking of a ship at anchor there was utter stillness.
"This I'll say to ye. I took aboard all that was said, an' have considered it well. An' my conclusion is, if there's anything that stands athwart "Teazer's bows in bein' the finest fightin' ship in the Navy then, s' help me, I won't rest until I've done something about it. I'll not see m' men discontented, an' I won't, y' have m' word on't."
In the flickering light of 'tween decks it was difficult to make out expressions but the silence told its own story. "I give ye this promise: at th' end o' the month, any man wants t' ship out o' Teazer c'n shift his berth to another. An' that same day, needs o' the Service permittin'. Thank 'ee—an' good night."
He made his exit. Behind him the silence dissolved into a chaos of talk. About to mount the companionway he hesitated, then turned to a tiny cabin and knocked. Renzi appeared and regarded him. In a low voice Kydd said, "I'd be obliged, Nicholas, should ye sup wi' me tonight. There's some things I need t' get off m' chest."
It wasn't until well into the second bottle of wine that Renzi allowed himself to thaw and listen courteously to Kydd's earnest explanations. "Nicholas, all I could see then was that if'n I wanted t' keep from hurtin' all I needed was t' lay hold on duty an' be damned t' all else!"
"Duty taken at its widest interpretation, I'd hazard," Renzi said drily. "To include a zeal touching on engagement with the King's enemies that's a caution to us all." He looked across at Kydd. "Tell me, my friend—for it's a matter much discussed below—was it an unholy passion to prevail or the baser impulse to suicide that had you throw Teazer across the harbour mouth? Do tell. If I might remind you, it did not seem you were of a mind to communicate your motives at the time."
"Why, nothing as can't be explained wi' a bit o' logic," said Kydd, smugly. "It was a fine piece o' reasonin' by their captain, t' take the gunboats out as they did, an' place 'em out o' reach—so I had t' find a way t' call him off. An' I thought o' you, Nicholas. You always say as how I'm overborne by logic, so I set th' French wi' a puzzle.
"Th' duty o' the gunboats was to defend th' port an' its craft. They see Cerberus an' think t' take her. All I did was remind 'em of their duty. I made a sally at th' harbour as made them tremble f'r its safety. They then have t' make up their mind which is th' higher call on their duty, and . . ."
"Bravo! A cool and reasoned decision worthy of Nelson!" There had clearly been no impairment of Kydd's judgement in his time of madness, and there was every reason to hope for a full restoring of the man that lay beneath.
"On quite another matter, brother," Renzi began lightly, "do I see a brightening of spirit, as it were, a routing of melancholia, perhaps?"
"Aye, Nicholas, y' do. It's been . . . hard." He dropped his eyes.
Renzi noticed the tightly clenched fists; the madness was over but the hurt would remain for some time and he longed to reach out. "Ah, you will probably not be interested at this time, but that sainted ethical hedonist Jeremy Bentham did once devise an algorithm for the computing of happiness, the felicific calculus, which I have oft-times made use of in the approaching of vexed decisions in life. And I'm bound to admit this day, to my eternal shame, that by its calculations it would seem you were right in placing aside the admiral's daughter in favour of . . . of the other . . ."
He trailed off uncertainly but Kydd raised his head with a smile. "Aye, m' friend, but I had not th' time t' perform the calculations and had t' set a course by my stars as I saw 'em—and I dare t' say I would do it again."