It was time to find a ship.
"Aye, I did get sight o' one," Kydd said casually. "She's alongside by South Pier. Name of Cheval Marin. Fine lines she has, trim an' well fettled, wi' a deck as'll take a line o' six-pounders—"
"The brigantine? About two, three hundred ton, a mite over-sparred f'r the Channel?"
"Aye, but not a problem f'r a cruiser."
Robidou's expression hardened. "Pray tell me, Mr Kydd, why do ye think she'll make a privateer?"
"Why, she has the size t' discourage valour and looks a simple merchantman well enough."
"And where did ye say y'r cruising?"
"Gulf of Avranches t' Brest," Kydd said defensively, remembering the two quarry he had seen from Teazer.
"Then ye'll need to think again, I believe. There's two things y' may have overlooked. The first of 'em is, in those waters they're all coasters close in. Shallow draught is what's wanted in chase through shoal waters, bigod, an' that's not y'r Cheval.
"Second is, have ye costed the barky? Three hundred tons, a hundred an' fifty crew—puttin' aside th' purchase price, what'll she cost each day o' sea-time? Disbursements in harbour dues, wharfage, repair an' maintenance? Add all y'r other outlay with this an' we come to a pretty sum. Now, how much do y' reckon a coaster prize will yield, figuring on a ready market but fees o' thirty per centum at the least? Not enough t' cover expenses.
"No, sir. It will not do. You'll be wantin' a trim coaster y'self, I'm thinkin', no more'n eighty ton, probably lug-rigged an' country built, a hold well enough f'r a prize-crew. Y' won't need storin' past a week or so at a time."
Kydd's dreams of cutting the figure of a rapacious privateer putting to sea in a proud craft in search of booty were rapidly fading.
"I did see one as I'll allow is more t' my taste," Robidou went on. "In St Sampson f'r repair, a saucy lugger, just y'r size. You'll want t' see her first, o' course. Name o' Bien Heureuse, been in th' salt trade this last twelve-month, a common enough sight to the French."
"What weight o' metal?" Kydd asked dubiously.
Robidou chuckled. "A Frenchy coastin' craft won't have more'n swivels, so a pair o' small carriage guns'll be enough t' terrify him. If ye're crafty an' go quietly ye'll outsail any deep-laden vessel o' y'r own class, an' then it's how well y' board."
Kydd's first sight of Bien Heureuse was a vessel propped up on the mud near a slip-yard up the coast at St Sampson. Plank walkways were laid to allow their inspection but as Kydd made his way gingerly towards the rearing bulk his heart sank.
Her construction was sound enough, carvel strakes of a thickness out of respect to the rocky shoals and reefs—but so drab. No figurehead or decoration to relieve the sturdy lines, not a touch of gold-leaf or a proud stern-gallery. Her hull was utilitarian tarred black-sided, faded in parts but her spars and rails were varnished, giving an overall impression of unpretentious strength.
They clambered up a wooden ladder to the deck. She was two-masted, really; the third much smaller and well-raked mast right aft was so out of keeping with the others. But at least they soared to a satisfying height, Kydd reflected, and they could probably spread topsails above.
Flush-decked, there was one hatchway forward and one aft: the latter led to what would be his cabin, little more than a hutch with a table and space for a cot, with two tiny skylights above. Forward was a space with curtained-off bunks above lockers, no doubt the officers' accommodation.
Reaching the open air again, Kydd saw that with gratings in the hatches the partitioned hold held good promise of accommodation for prize-crew, and there was the usual fo'c'sle glory-hole right forward for the main crew.
Aware that Robidou was watching him, Kydd took his time. If this was to be his command, nothing could be left to chance. He crossed to the shrouds; they were faded to the plain hemp but when he examined inside the strands, there was the rich black of Stockholm tar.
The deck was uncluttered, the lead of the lines from aloft economical and practical as to be expected of a small crew. There would have to be doubled backstays and the like as in a man-o'-war to provide for rigging carrying away in the thick of an action, and other additions would be needed aloft.
Her ground tackle—anchors and cables—had been landed but could be inspected later, as would the suits of sails going with the sale, but all in all . . . "She'll do," Kydd said evenly. "Subject t' survey, o' course."
The pace quickened: it was made very clear that ships in harbour do not catch prizes, and Kydd spent more of his time at St Sampson.
When he called on Robidou he was asked to provide a completion date for the conversion. "We're livin' on our capital," the armateur rasped. "Ye must have crew, but not too quick—they'll be guzzlin' on our account soon enough—but they needs t' plan out their time fr'm when you're askin' 'em to sign on, which'll be less'n a week afore ye sails. An' that'll be as soon as she's fit t' swim."