The varying shore o' th' world 4
Title: The varying shore o' th' world 4/?
Rating: PG
Pairing: Horatio/Apollo
Notes: Written in collaboration with mylodon
Parts 1 to 3 can be found Here, Here and Here.
The varying shore o' th' world 4
Horatio accepted the spyglass offered to him and trained his eye to leeward. An indistinct haze of white could be seen just outside the bay, the wild sea tossing the ship from side to side as it lay at anchor. Lee joined him, slightly tousled and taking deep, calming breaths. Whether his appearance was from their exertions or in anticipation of action Horatio couldn’t tell, but suspected that it was the former. The two officers shared a glance, realising at once that the situation was not to their advantage. With Hambledon’s captain ashore, along with most of the crew, and not due to return for hours, they could neither give chase to Guichet nor defend themselves if attacked.
Losing their quarry would prove detrimental to their prospects of remaining aboard, but it was infinitely better than pursuing the privateer and leaving captain and crew behind. As the ranking officer aboard, it was Horatio’s decision to make. His jaw twitched nervously as he ordered the signal flags be hoisted recalling all crew members, with a windward gun to nudge them. He waited and hoped that the signal would be received and passed on.
“There’s nothing else you can do. You know that, don’t you?” Lee knew instinctively that Hornblower was not a man to suffer defeat well. Their lack of reaction was undoubtedly weighing on the lieutenant’s mind; and apparently akin to failure, judging by the sullen look Horatio was wearing. “I’d have done the same.”
Hornblower slammed his fist against the rail. “We should have realised that Guichet was still in the area.”
"How, Horatio? She could have been half way to the Med by now." Adama knew by now where the Med was, he'd taken every opportunity to study the, to his eyes, crude maps and charts. "If it is our prey - the last place we'd have expected her was here. Look at those forts, I bet their cannon have a longer range than ours; she wouldn't risk approaching too close. Which makes me wonder what she's doing here in the first place. Not the sort of risk a successful pirate would take - unless they were in trouble of course." His eyes lit up, as did his colleague's.
"Then let's hope that captain Warne gets back here nice and sharp so we can test your theory." Hornblower's face was set, trying to pierce through the darkness and fix his quarry's position clearly in his mind. He tried to work out the minimum number of men he would need to make a reconnaissance - enough to handle at least one battery as well as make sail. Were he to reach that magic number could he take the risk of leaving his captain behind? Would it be seen as a bold stroke or insubordination?
Lee suddenly grinned. "You might be saved all your worrying." Hornblower turned, puzzled. "Look at the flags."
Horatio looked up and saw that within a matter of minutes the stiff breeze had died away to almost nothing. The swell was beginning to ease and the hints of rain in the air had passed over. It offended his pride to know that he had been so involved with his plans that he'd missed such simple signs and that a space pilot or whatever Adama was, had seen and recognised them. He nodded his head in acknowledgement, "As you rightly pointed out Mr Adama, the weather seems to be changing to our advantage. We can neither of us sail in a flat calm."
Lee noticed the curtness of Hornblower's tone, wondering what he had done to deserve what felt like a rebuke. It hurt, probably more than it should have, but Horatio had given no previous indication that he was discontent in any way. His sudden change of mood was a stark contrast to the contented look Hornblower had worn just minutes ago; his new visage discouraging any response Adama may have had. It was surprising how quickly Horatio had changed, but with any luck he would regain his good humour when they finally caught up with Guichet.
The mind numbing tedium of the next few hours saw no change to the lieutenant’s disposition. The crew returned reasonably quickly, Hornblower’s signalling fire having worked to great effect. There were always a few stragglers keen to squeeze every last moment from their time ashore, but they were few in number and would pay the eventual price. Warne had been one of the first to return, concurring with Lee’s observation that Guichet was becalmed but eager nevertheless to regain his full assembly of men. The dawdling crew members who returned in the last boat received a harsh dressing down and a stern warning against future behaviour.
It seemed as if Horatio had taken Warne’s words to heart, even though they had not been directed towards him. His demeanour had transformed into one of penitence, as though he blamed himself for everything from the crew’s behaviour to the unexpected calming of the wind. He had disappeared as soon as he had been dismissed; leaving Adama standing on the deck, a bemused look on his face and a doubt in his mind as to whether to follow.
“The Captain thinks the wind will pick up soon.” Lee appeared in the doorway of Hornblower’s cabin, leaning against the woodwork. As confused as he was over Horatio’s foul mood, he was determined to act as normally as possible. He’d be damned if he allowed one man’s misery to ruin the best, if strangest, relationship he’d ever had. “Says we should be out of here by daybreak.”
Hornblower swallowed hard - it cost him very dear to say that he was wrong, especially to an equal or subordinate officer. He'd been able to apologise to Archie, naturally - had been obliged to do so on many an occasion - but it still stuck in his craw to admit to this man that he had erred. The feeling was not helped by the remembrance of what had occurred in his cabin not many hours since. "You will forgive my shortness up on deck." It came out more as an order than an act of contrition.
Adama inclined his head. "If I let myself get uptight about everything that was said or done on a ship I'd end up in the brig as often as not. Or mental." He smiled ruefully. "Anyway, Mr Warne wants us to get some rest if we can. We'll be called when he's ready to weigh anchor." He turned and entered his own cabin, determined to get a cat-nap at least and leaving Horatio alone with his guilt and turbulent thoughts, two things that he suspected were Hornblower's fairly constant companions.
It felt like only a matter of moments before the shrilling of bosun's pipes brought Lee immediately to his senses, leaping from his cot fully prepared for action like an old salt. Reaching the deck seconds after Hornblower, he found that the breeze had indeed picked up and sail was being made ready. He took his station at the capstan to oversee the raising of the anchor and was grateful for the hot coffee and soft tack that was thrust into his hand by Warne's steward. Horatio and Freddie were eyeing the yards keenly, while the captain had his gaze firmly fixed on the little ship away to the South that was also, according to the lookouts, making ready to sail. A great cry indicated that Guichet had probably cut her cable and was on the move, something that spurred the men at the capstan and on the yards into an even greater zeal for their jobs.
"Are you ready for the chase, Mr Adama?" Freddie's unbroken voice squeaked over the deck.
"You bet I am, Mr Warne." Lee nodded his assent to the boy, anticipation building internally and clamped down upon lest he become swept away by the excitement. He wasn’t apprehensive about the pursuit - nor the boarding action which would follow - not when he could rely on Horatio for guidance. For all his unpredictable moodiness; Hornblower was an infinitely reliable man, one who could be counted upon to ease the demands placed upon the foreign officer. “And you?”
“Yes Sir!” Freddie grinned up at Adama before scampering off to join his uncle.
Out of the corner of his eye, Lee saw Horatio climb the stairs from the lower decks, having been sent below to put the fear of God into the slower hands. He was obviously in a better mood than before, a hint of a smile on his face which brightened considerably when he saw Adama. It seemed as though whatever had been troubling Hornblower had been forgotten in light of the impending chase. As one who tended to hold grudges, Lee envied Horatio’s ability to push aside personal torment in favour of duty. The lieutenant’s sullen mood had evaporated the moment he set foot on the quarter deck.
A cheer from the crew manning the capstan was the first indication that the anchor was safe aboard. The second was the gradually quickening movement as the wind filled the sails. They were not so far behind Guichet as to lose hope of catching the French ship, but it did have a substantial lead. It would require all of Hambledon’s speed and the experience of her crew to capture the privateer. It was a difficult task, but one Adama was certain they could perform. Despite his lack of practice, he had a feeling the imminent action would prove to be both enjoyable and enlightening.
The sloop was nimble and speedy, but the fact that she possessed a quarterdeck slowed her down and her captain was well aware of that fact - his advantage lay in local knowledge and an intimate appreciation of the British islands and the French coast. His intention was to lead Hambledon a merry dance and, if not able to lose her, then to slip into one of the little anchorages he knew so well and which the frigate could not risk. Or that would have been his intention, had it not been for one slight problem.
Adama had been quite correct in speculating that the sloop must be in trouble to anchor so close to British forts - the nations may be at peace, but pirates were always the enemy. He'd mentioned it to Warne who'd found it food for thought but did not wish to speculate as to the cause of Guichet's difficulties. "I only hope that it's not what Aubrey once found in the Med - the commander's wife in childbed." The remark had not been one of the captain's usual amusing quips - he meant it with all his heart.
It was not a wife in childbed, nor any such unusual thing that had brought Guichet up with a round turn. She’d taken her chances with a juicy merchantman that had been separated from its convoy, only to find that it had an exceedingly competent ex-naval lieutenant on its books, who had made the very best use of the meagre cannon he had at his disposal. Her mainmast had been almost destroyed and she’d been forced to anchor in order to set up a jury rig with the maximum of expediency, preferring to face the risk of the forts - albeit out of their effective range - than trying to ride out the wind in her existing state.
Hambledon gained quickly on the French privateer, the steadily growing wind bringing the ships ever closer. A strange peace had settled over the crew; a calm before the storm, of sorts, as they prepared for close action. The men worked efficiently, almost reacting to their orders before they were given; such was their anticipation of the brewing conflict. It would be a one sided battle, judging by the repairs Guichet had recently undergone, but in a profession where the reward outweighed the often precarious method of acquisition, no one aboard Hambledon could be faulted for delighting in such an easy conquest.
It had been some time since Horatio had seen action, and he was certain that his eagerness was plain for all to see as he stood stiffly at Hambledon’s bow, one eye kept on Guichet, the other on the crew around him. For one brief moment he had considered commenting on the obvious anticipation felt by officers and hands alike, but hastily rejected the idea, instead choosing to stand even more rigidly, an impassive look upon his face.
Lee rolled his eyes at Hornblower’s display of severity, wondering whether the lieutenant knew how many of his thoughts had played out across his face before he had assumed his expressionless façade. In all likelihood, Horatio had no idea how much he had given away, nor how closely Adama had been watching him, hoping to gain a better understanding of the serious young man. If nothing else, Lee now knew that Hornblower would make a terrible actor. He shook his head to clear it, consigning this newly discovered information to the back of his mind, and reapplied himself to supervising the crew.
A swiftly snapped order from Warne saw a warning shot fired at Guichet, falling just short of her stern. Gone was the captain’s relaxed persona, replaced with a calculating eye and battle skills honed from years of practice. “She’s still running. Fire one more warning shot then aim for her jury mast.”
He turned to his lieutenants, "Gentlemen, should she fail to strike then we must cripple her and board her. Mr Adama, you will join me to lead the boarding parties. Mr Hornblower, you will take command of Hambledon.”
Lee didn't look to see what expression Horatio wore; or more properly what expression he was trying to hide. Envy, that's what he would see etched on the man's face. There'd been plenty of posturing on Galactica, people trying to establish their places in the pecking order - it was entirely natural where confident, determined individuals were thrown together, but this was a bit different. He'd seen the competitiveness on Horatio's face from the first time they had run the cannon out; he knew that the man was determined that his crews would outdo Adama's and had been aware in the joking afterwards that he'd been damned pleased to have won the unofficial contest. There'd been elements of it in the cutting out too.
And it explained the scene on deck earlier - Hornblower was cross that he, the experienced officer of the King's Navy, had missed the fact that the wind was dying down and that Adama had spotted it with ease. Lee grinned - he bet that Archie Kennedy had been content to let his lover take the lead, garner all the honours and glory - it would be different now. If Horatio wanted to be cock of the walk then he'd have to earn that right and Adama would tussle him every step of the way.
It made for an interesting relationship; sharing a bed when it suited them, sharing an undoubted affection, working as part of a team to make Hambledon as feared a privateer as any this side of the ocean - but a with an element of competition that would drive them both on to greater achievements. As long as it didn't drive them to recklessness and destruction, then everyone might benefit.
The second warning shot from Hambledon's bow chaser did not even slow Guichet's progress - she was still hoping to make it to one of the little channels she knew that her draught could weather but that would be just too shallow for the larger vessel. The next shot took out the top third of her jury mast, which cost her speed, and the one after took the rest of it and almost brought her to a halt. Horatio looked pleased at last - it was his aiming of the gun that had made all the difference when the blast had changed from admonitory to belligerent.
"Good work Mr Hornblower," Warne clapped him on the shoulder. "Bring us alongside and we'll take her hand-to-hand."
"Alongside it is sir," Horatio saluted, then glanced at Lee. The man looked nervous but not frightened, like a hunter steeling up for the chase. "Best of luck, Mr Adama," he ventured, still wishing it were him leaping onto the decks of a French vessel once more.
"Thanks," Lee smiled and saluted. He was keyed up, ready for the fray. The weapons he held might be archaic - the pistols he'd stolen, the sword he'd acquired - but the basic concept of man-to-man fighting had not changed between this time and his own. When the time came he'd be leading his men, just as he had on Galactica when the frakking Cylons had got on board. Only, he reflected, he was the invader this time.
Small arms fire from the other ship indicated how close the range between them had come - an answering volley from the best of Hambledon's marksmen stilled most of the enemy's reply. Guichet's decks looked strangely bare as they drew alongside her, boarding parties ready fore and aft; Warne raised his hand to check the rush of sailors onto the other ship's deck, a well timed gesture as figures suddenly sprang into sight. The French captain had hoped for one last desperate shot at saving his vessel, looking to surprise his attackers as they were in the act of crossing between ships - forcing them back, targeting their officers and making an attempt to take the frigate itself.
It was just the sort of thing Hornblower might just have tried had he been in the same situation and desperate enough, but Warne's good sense had thrown the timing of it - a short fight was put up on Guichet's deck but the odds were overwhelming and the surrender was soon made. But not before Adama had made his first kill with a sword.
***
Hambledon cut through the calm water; the pleasant turn of the weather lost on Horatio, who alternately scowled at and ignored the small sloop keeping pace with the frigate. They travelled slowly, a concession to Guichet’s feeble state, bound for England and prize money. From his short distance away, Hornblower could easily make out Adama’s compact form striding Guichet’s deck issuing orders and, by the looks of it, relishing in the independence it gave him. Warne had allowed Lee to remain in command of the seized vessel, his silent congratulations for a successful capture. Adama’s crew, some of the more experienced men, were also given the opportunity to remain aboard Guichet, half as a reward and half to ensure everything ran smoothly. As fine an officer as Adama was, he was still unproven in command.
Horatio glanced towards Lee once more, inwardly reproaching himself for the sense of inadequacy that rose in him. He wasn’t jealous of Lee’s achievement, couldn’t bring himself to resent the foreign officer, but observing the triumph of the action and the way in which Adama had conducted it left him feeling bereft. As rewarding as it was to see his friend and, dare he say it, lover succeed in his new life at sea, the sobering truth remained. Lee no longer needed him.
Guichet was sailing as well as it was able, the jury rigged vessel suffering no apparent damage from Hambledon’s guns. In Hornblower’s experienced opinion, the ship had been sailing far too erratically during the chase for nothing to be wrong, and he had half expected the sloop to sink the moment Lee had boarded her, but nothing untoward had happened so far and there was no indication that the ship would not remain in its fit state. Still, it would pay to keep an eye on Guichet. His feelings of inadequacy paled in comparison with his desire to ensure that Adama didn’t humiliate himself by losing a captured vessel. Captains, privateer and naval alike, rarely took kindly to subordinates squandering away valuable prize money out of perceived negligence.
“Mr Hornblower,” A stern voice cut through Horatio’s absent musings. “There is work to be done. I trust that Mr Adama is more than capable of keeping Guichet afloat, there is no need to keep it under continuous watch.” Warne’s reprimand was cushioned by his own fleeting glances in Guichet’s direction. Freddie had begged to be allowed to accompany Adama, and his uncle had not had it in him to refuse. The lieutenant would watch out for Freddie if he valued his career.
Hornblower felt his cheeks colour at the captain’s words. What would once have sent him into a fit of self disgust now only stung mildly - his main annoyance being that Warne had so easily guessed his thoughts - although he upbraided himself for allowing his attention to wander. He emitted an embarrassed “ha’hm” and clenched his hands firmly behind his back; an apologetic grimace meeting Warne’s raised eyebrow and strict frown as he turned his attention back to Hambledon.
By a strange gift of fate, the wind had carried the captain’s words across the small space between the two ships, where they met Lee with all of Warne's stern rumblings, but without the captain's obvious aggravation. He rolled his eyes at the idea of Hornblower attempting to keep an eye on him, but had to acknowledge the warmth that slowly spread through him at the same thought. Lee sent a silent prayer up to the heavens, thanking the almighty for allowing him to fall on his feet. He had a feeling - no more than a gut instinct, really - that he had Archie Kennedy to thank for the pleasant Hornblower whom he had bonded with so easily. He wouldn’t have gotten along with Horatio nearly as well had the lieutenant been morosely dutiful the entire time. They would have been far too alike for one thing. Hornblower had his moments, but he was a good man and Lee genuinely cared for him.
A piercing cry captured Adama’s attention. He had sent Freddie up to the fighting top to see to the repairs being undertaken, a task which could have been done in his sleep nine times out of ten. Hanging precariously from the quickly fraying line, the boy swung fore to aft and back again as the crew looked on in horror. The dull clatter of wood meeting wood announced Warne’s arrival, having laid up alongside Guichet and dashed across the narrow gap with the help of a boarding plank.
An unthinking decision saw Lee make for the rigging, climbing furiously in hope that he reached Freddie in time. One strong arm holding a yard and two muscular legs entwined in the rigging, Adama reached out, slowed the boy's rate of sway, then grabbed him, pulling him and keeping him tight while the line finally broke and fell to the deck.
"Thank you again, sir," Freddie's voice was hoarse and weak. "I'm sorry."
"No, you don't need to apologise." Lee helped the boy the rigging and into his uncle's arms. "My fault sir," he looked Warne straight in the eye. "I should have checked that it was safe before I sent the men up there. It won't happen again."
"You're quite right that it won't." Warne fixed him with a piercing gaze. He addressed his nephew, "Mr Warne, the deck is yours. If you please, Mr Adama..." he indicated his desire for his lieutenant to follow him, leaving the men to speculate that their lucky charm was about to get a right wigging.
Once below, in what had been the captain's cabin, the commander of Hambledon faced his officer with as stern a look as Lee had ever seen on his open, trusting face.
"I require some explanations, sir."
"I neglected to check the ropes were safe, I..."
"No, Mr Adama, I have your assurances that won't be happening again. It's not your competency I question but your provenance. I have still no idea where you served before, or where you come from; but I know that you're no merchant man - you've the heart and eye of a professional combatant. You will tell me the true tale, now."
Lee sighed. "Captain, if I told you the truth you'd never believe a frakking word of it."
"Are you a spy, a deserter?"
"Mr Warne, I'm a fighter pilot. I fly in a ship out among the stars. I come from somewhere million of miles and thousands of years away." He saw the incredulity in his captain's eyes, sat him down, took out a bottle of wine he'd found among the privateer's stores. As they shared the drink, Lee began again the story as he'd told it to Horatio, not neglecting the telling details this time. He produced the lighter and the underwear he'd had under his flying suit - this he hadn't shown Horatio, it being in some strange way too personal to share with an intimate, yet.
Warne sat perfectly still, disbelief etched into his face. He wasn’t an unreasonable man, but even one such as the captain couldn’t be expected to embrace such a seemingly far fetched story. Lee exhaled loudly and slumped back into his chair, taking a large gulp of wine but tasting none of its mellow flavour. “I don’t know how else to explain it. I’m not making this up, you’ve gotta believe me.”
It wasn’t within a subordinate’s best interests to make demands of their superior officer, but Lee was already in hot water. One more misdemeanour couldn’t possibly make things any worse than they already were. Besides, Warne had either ignored it or, better yet, hadn’t noticed.
“I will consider what you have told me. I wonder, Mr Adama, whether you would mind keeping this conversation to yourself?” It wasn’t a question; every word had been laced with a subtle threat. “We can’t have the crew getting wind of this.”
Lee nodded his assent. With any luck, the captain would come to terms with the unlikely story he’d just heard and would take no further action. They were mere hours out of Plymouth, but he doubted whether Warne would be so hasty as to put him ashore there and then. The captain climbed to his feet, draining the last dregs of wine in his glass and made for the door. “See me when we reach land. We’ll discuss more then.” He marched out, blatantly swiping the bottle of wine from the sideboard as he went.
“Sir?” Adama followed, eyeing the captain warily. Surely Warne couldn’t mean for him to remain in command of the prize vessel?
Warne halted, glancing furtively up and down the narrow corridor. “As I said, it wouldn’t do for the crew to learn of this. They admire you, trust you. It is a captain’s duty to ensure the loyalty of his men; I do this with their best interests in mind. This doesn’t mean that I trust you, far from it. I simply do not wish to dishearten the crew.”
“Yes sir. Thank you sir.”
The captain left quietly, leaving Lee to contemplate the frakked up mess he’d made. If Warne had lost faith in him then he had not future aboard Hambledon. No future with Horatio. He wanted, needed, to speak with Hornblower but he knew the captain would never allow it. Perhaps it was best if he kept Horatio out of the situation entirely. He would just have to wait. And hope.
He reached the deck in time to see Warne's back going through the entry port, the crew eyeing their captain with trepidation at the dressing down they assumed he had given their idol. An experienced bosun's mate, fulfilling the master's role on the prize, sidled up to Adama and spoke in a hushed tone. "You wasn't to know, sir. All them original repairs looked fine from the outside - only when you was up there and knew what you was looking for could you see that they'd done a botched job. Someone on this boat wasn't pulling their weight."
Lee considered for a moment; he had felt from the moment they saw Guichet that something wasn't right and he was determined to get to the root of it. He called Freddie over. "Mr Warne, you and I are going to look this ship over from top to bottom. McGrath here," he nodded at the seaman, "is as concerned as I am about the state of this sloop. I suggest that he should join us in a tour of inspection."
It didn't take much in the way of scrutiny to establish that Guichet, while a basically sound vessel, had suffered recent neglect, much of it artfully hidden with paint over rust or superficially adequate repairs. Lee wondered how a successful captain - and Monsieur Silex must have been one to have proved such a nuisance to the merchant fleet - could not have noticed. He made Freddie take notes of all that they found, so that he could produce an adequate report for the boy's uncle; but two of their discoveries needed no writing to augment them.
In a small panel let into a bulkhead in Silex's cabin, located by Freddie - who had an idea about hidden treasure and was knocking anything solid to seek for a cache of it - was a velvet bag containing a small fortune in jewels and the captain's private log, containing a tale of discontent and near mutiny. These were taken immediately to Warne, Adama making sure that his nephew's role in their finding was given its due recognition. The captain appreciated this - it would have been easy for an officer in Lee's position to have used this incident to raise his own standing in his superior officer's eyes. His credit with the crew was already sky high again due to the word about the treasure having passed like wildfire.
***
Plymouth harbour at sunset was a welcome sight for Horatio’s tired eyes, not least for the leave he was sure to be given. Shore leaves had been few and far between in His Majesty’s Navy, and by comparison a privateer’s crew seemed to spend as much time carousing across England’s southern shore as they did at sea. The life was simple; capture a vessel, collect prize money, spend it. In some ways it wasn’t all that different to naval service, but in others it was a poor substitute. Privateering seemed far less honourable to a man like Hornblower, but it was a necessary evil if he was to remain at sea. If he was perfectly honest with himself, he’d find that he was actually enjoying the voyage. He could get used to this life; especially if he was to share it with Lee, whose face was so blindingly familiar that he would never tire of it.
That was assuming Adama was retained by Warne. The captain had returned to Hambledon in a dreadful mood, not exactly angry but far from pleased. If Horatio was to hazard a guess, he’d have said that Warne had been disappointed more than anything else. At what, he had no idea - Lee hadn’t done anything he wouldn’t have done but judging by the captain’s distraction and the way he had disappeared below to his cabin at the first opportunity, something untoward had happened between the two.
Looking across at the small sloop, Hornblower could not even begin to comprehend the circumstances of Adama’s supposed transgression. Warne had perked up considerably at the thought of treasure - and his nephew’s role in discovering it - but it was obvious, even to one as oblivious Hornblower, that the captain was dreading reaching land.
“Sir?”
Horatio started. Clarke had managed to sneak up whilst he had been in deep thought. Considering the boy had been casting his own winsome glances in Guichet’s direction, often to the detriment of his duties, it said much about Hornblower’s current state of mind. He was worried, pure and simple. “Yes, Clarke?”
“Captain wants to see you sir."
"Mr Hornblower," Warned offered his lieutenant a cup of excellent coffee, more of the Guichet's captain's bounty. "We have much to do these next few days; I shall be taking Freddie on the coach up to London so my little squadron will be entirely in the capable hands of yourself and Mr Adama. I will rely on you both to deal with all that's required."
Hornblower nodded. "Indeed, sir." He knew much of what would be required; the prisoners to be handed over to the naval authorities - and left to see whether their letters of marque would afford them protection from the threat of the yardarm. Essential repairs to be undertaken and a rota for leave to be put in place.
"I'll be giving all the crew a little something in anticipation of what these might bring," Warne indicated the bag of jewellery, "it'll ease their stay here." There was enough in the treasure trove to make a very tidy profit - and some of the items that bore a distinct provenance in terms of an inscription or date might yield a longer term gain in terms of goodwill when returned to their grateful owners. The trip to London would set these events in motion, "I'll expect you to have some leave too - Mr Adama and the ship's master between them will keep an eye on things."
Horatio could not keep the surprise from his face. "Will Mr Adama not be taking leave?"
Warne's face was unreadable. "Guichet is in a mess - read the captain's log if you want to know why, but you can take my word for it. I'll be seeing if I can find a buyer for the sloop, either here or in London, but at present no-one would give me Tuppence for her. There are enough men to get her properly repaired while we are berthed here, but I want that work supervised properly. Mr Adama will see to it; he has no family or friends to visit here, as I understand it - he's hardly likely to get up and fly away, is he?"
“Sir?” Hornblower started at the words employed; did Warne know about Lee? And if so, how?
Rating: PG
Pairing: Horatio/Apollo
Notes: Written in collaboration with mylodon
Parts 1 to 3 can be found Here, Here and Here.
The varying shore o' th' world 4
Horatio accepted the spyglass offered to him and trained his eye to leeward. An indistinct haze of white could be seen just outside the bay, the wild sea tossing the ship from side to side as it lay at anchor. Lee joined him, slightly tousled and taking deep, calming breaths. Whether his appearance was from their exertions or in anticipation of action Horatio couldn’t tell, but suspected that it was the former. The two officers shared a glance, realising at once that the situation was not to their advantage. With Hambledon’s captain ashore, along with most of the crew, and not due to return for hours, they could neither give chase to Guichet nor defend themselves if attacked.
Losing their quarry would prove detrimental to their prospects of remaining aboard, but it was infinitely better than pursuing the privateer and leaving captain and crew behind. As the ranking officer aboard, it was Horatio’s decision to make. His jaw twitched nervously as he ordered the signal flags be hoisted recalling all crew members, with a windward gun to nudge them. He waited and hoped that the signal would be received and passed on.
“There’s nothing else you can do. You know that, don’t you?” Lee knew instinctively that Hornblower was not a man to suffer defeat well. Their lack of reaction was undoubtedly weighing on the lieutenant’s mind; and apparently akin to failure, judging by the sullen look Horatio was wearing. “I’d have done the same.”
Hornblower slammed his fist against the rail. “We should have realised that Guichet was still in the area.”
"How, Horatio? She could have been half way to the Med by now." Adama knew by now where the Med was, he'd taken every opportunity to study the, to his eyes, crude maps and charts. "If it is our prey - the last place we'd have expected her was here. Look at those forts, I bet their cannon have a longer range than ours; she wouldn't risk approaching too close. Which makes me wonder what she's doing here in the first place. Not the sort of risk a successful pirate would take - unless they were in trouble of course." His eyes lit up, as did his colleague's.
"Then let's hope that captain Warne gets back here nice and sharp so we can test your theory." Hornblower's face was set, trying to pierce through the darkness and fix his quarry's position clearly in his mind. He tried to work out the minimum number of men he would need to make a reconnaissance - enough to handle at least one battery as well as make sail. Were he to reach that magic number could he take the risk of leaving his captain behind? Would it be seen as a bold stroke or insubordination?
Lee suddenly grinned. "You might be saved all your worrying." Hornblower turned, puzzled. "Look at the flags."
Horatio looked up and saw that within a matter of minutes the stiff breeze had died away to almost nothing. The swell was beginning to ease and the hints of rain in the air had passed over. It offended his pride to know that he had been so involved with his plans that he'd missed such simple signs and that a space pilot or whatever Adama was, had seen and recognised them. He nodded his head in acknowledgement, "As you rightly pointed out Mr Adama, the weather seems to be changing to our advantage. We can neither of us sail in a flat calm."
Lee noticed the curtness of Hornblower's tone, wondering what he had done to deserve what felt like a rebuke. It hurt, probably more than it should have, but Horatio had given no previous indication that he was discontent in any way. His sudden change of mood was a stark contrast to the contented look Hornblower had worn just minutes ago; his new visage discouraging any response Adama may have had. It was surprising how quickly Horatio had changed, but with any luck he would regain his good humour when they finally caught up with Guichet.
The mind numbing tedium of the next few hours saw no change to the lieutenant’s disposition. The crew returned reasonably quickly, Hornblower’s signalling fire having worked to great effect. There were always a few stragglers keen to squeeze every last moment from their time ashore, but they were few in number and would pay the eventual price. Warne had been one of the first to return, concurring with Lee’s observation that Guichet was becalmed but eager nevertheless to regain his full assembly of men. The dawdling crew members who returned in the last boat received a harsh dressing down and a stern warning against future behaviour.
It seemed as if Horatio had taken Warne’s words to heart, even though they had not been directed towards him. His demeanour had transformed into one of penitence, as though he blamed himself for everything from the crew’s behaviour to the unexpected calming of the wind. He had disappeared as soon as he had been dismissed; leaving Adama standing on the deck, a bemused look on his face and a doubt in his mind as to whether to follow.
“The Captain thinks the wind will pick up soon.” Lee appeared in the doorway of Hornblower’s cabin, leaning against the woodwork. As confused as he was over Horatio’s foul mood, he was determined to act as normally as possible. He’d be damned if he allowed one man’s misery to ruin the best, if strangest, relationship he’d ever had. “Says we should be out of here by daybreak.”
Hornblower swallowed hard - it cost him very dear to say that he was wrong, especially to an equal or subordinate officer. He'd been able to apologise to Archie, naturally - had been obliged to do so on many an occasion - but it still stuck in his craw to admit to this man that he had erred. The feeling was not helped by the remembrance of what had occurred in his cabin not many hours since. "You will forgive my shortness up on deck." It came out more as an order than an act of contrition.
Adama inclined his head. "If I let myself get uptight about everything that was said or done on a ship I'd end up in the brig as often as not. Or mental." He smiled ruefully. "Anyway, Mr Warne wants us to get some rest if we can. We'll be called when he's ready to weigh anchor." He turned and entered his own cabin, determined to get a cat-nap at least and leaving Horatio alone with his guilt and turbulent thoughts, two things that he suspected were Hornblower's fairly constant companions.
It felt like only a matter of moments before the shrilling of bosun's pipes brought Lee immediately to his senses, leaping from his cot fully prepared for action like an old salt. Reaching the deck seconds after Hornblower, he found that the breeze had indeed picked up and sail was being made ready. He took his station at the capstan to oversee the raising of the anchor and was grateful for the hot coffee and soft tack that was thrust into his hand by Warne's steward. Horatio and Freddie were eyeing the yards keenly, while the captain had his gaze firmly fixed on the little ship away to the South that was also, according to the lookouts, making ready to sail. A great cry indicated that Guichet had probably cut her cable and was on the move, something that spurred the men at the capstan and on the yards into an even greater zeal for their jobs.
"Are you ready for the chase, Mr Adama?" Freddie's unbroken voice squeaked over the deck.
"You bet I am, Mr Warne." Lee nodded his assent to the boy, anticipation building internally and clamped down upon lest he become swept away by the excitement. He wasn’t apprehensive about the pursuit - nor the boarding action which would follow - not when he could rely on Horatio for guidance. For all his unpredictable moodiness; Hornblower was an infinitely reliable man, one who could be counted upon to ease the demands placed upon the foreign officer. “And you?”
“Yes Sir!” Freddie grinned up at Adama before scampering off to join his uncle.
Out of the corner of his eye, Lee saw Horatio climb the stairs from the lower decks, having been sent below to put the fear of God into the slower hands. He was obviously in a better mood than before, a hint of a smile on his face which brightened considerably when he saw Adama. It seemed as though whatever had been troubling Hornblower had been forgotten in light of the impending chase. As one who tended to hold grudges, Lee envied Horatio’s ability to push aside personal torment in favour of duty. The lieutenant’s sullen mood had evaporated the moment he set foot on the quarter deck.
A cheer from the crew manning the capstan was the first indication that the anchor was safe aboard. The second was the gradually quickening movement as the wind filled the sails. They were not so far behind Guichet as to lose hope of catching the French ship, but it did have a substantial lead. It would require all of Hambledon’s speed and the experience of her crew to capture the privateer. It was a difficult task, but one Adama was certain they could perform. Despite his lack of practice, he had a feeling the imminent action would prove to be both enjoyable and enlightening.
The sloop was nimble and speedy, but the fact that she possessed a quarterdeck slowed her down and her captain was well aware of that fact - his advantage lay in local knowledge and an intimate appreciation of the British islands and the French coast. His intention was to lead Hambledon a merry dance and, if not able to lose her, then to slip into one of the little anchorages he knew so well and which the frigate could not risk. Or that would have been his intention, had it not been for one slight problem.
Adama had been quite correct in speculating that the sloop must be in trouble to anchor so close to British forts - the nations may be at peace, but pirates were always the enemy. He'd mentioned it to Warne who'd found it food for thought but did not wish to speculate as to the cause of Guichet's difficulties. "I only hope that it's not what Aubrey once found in the Med - the commander's wife in childbed." The remark had not been one of the captain's usual amusing quips - he meant it with all his heart.
It was not a wife in childbed, nor any such unusual thing that had brought Guichet up with a round turn. She’d taken her chances with a juicy merchantman that had been separated from its convoy, only to find that it had an exceedingly competent ex-naval lieutenant on its books, who had made the very best use of the meagre cannon he had at his disposal. Her mainmast had been almost destroyed and she’d been forced to anchor in order to set up a jury rig with the maximum of expediency, preferring to face the risk of the forts - albeit out of their effective range - than trying to ride out the wind in her existing state.
Hambledon gained quickly on the French privateer, the steadily growing wind bringing the ships ever closer. A strange peace had settled over the crew; a calm before the storm, of sorts, as they prepared for close action. The men worked efficiently, almost reacting to their orders before they were given; such was their anticipation of the brewing conflict. It would be a one sided battle, judging by the repairs Guichet had recently undergone, but in a profession where the reward outweighed the often precarious method of acquisition, no one aboard Hambledon could be faulted for delighting in such an easy conquest.
It had been some time since Horatio had seen action, and he was certain that his eagerness was plain for all to see as he stood stiffly at Hambledon’s bow, one eye kept on Guichet, the other on the crew around him. For one brief moment he had considered commenting on the obvious anticipation felt by officers and hands alike, but hastily rejected the idea, instead choosing to stand even more rigidly, an impassive look upon his face.
Lee rolled his eyes at Hornblower’s display of severity, wondering whether the lieutenant knew how many of his thoughts had played out across his face before he had assumed his expressionless façade. In all likelihood, Horatio had no idea how much he had given away, nor how closely Adama had been watching him, hoping to gain a better understanding of the serious young man. If nothing else, Lee now knew that Hornblower would make a terrible actor. He shook his head to clear it, consigning this newly discovered information to the back of his mind, and reapplied himself to supervising the crew.
A swiftly snapped order from Warne saw a warning shot fired at Guichet, falling just short of her stern. Gone was the captain’s relaxed persona, replaced with a calculating eye and battle skills honed from years of practice. “She’s still running. Fire one more warning shot then aim for her jury mast.”
He turned to his lieutenants, "Gentlemen, should she fail to strike then we must cripple her and board her. Mr Adama, you will join me to lead the boarding parties. Mr Hornblower, you will take command of Hambledon.”
Lee didn't look to see what expression Horatio wore; or more properly what expression he was trying to hide. Envy, that's what he would see etched on the man's face. There'd been plenty of posturing on Galactica, people trying to establish their places in the pecking order - it was entirely natural where confident, determined individuals were thrown together, but this was a bit different. He'd seen the competitiveness on Horatio's face from the first time they had run the cannon out; he knew that the man was determined that his crews would outdo Adama's and had been aware in the joking afterwards that he'd been damned pleased to have won the unofficial contest. There'd been elements of it in the cutting out too.
And it explained the scene on deck earlier - Hornblower was cross that he, the experienced officer of the King's Navy, had missed the fact that the wind was dying down and that Adama had spotted it with ease. Lee grinned - he bet that Archie Kennedy had been content to let his lover take the lead, garner all the honours and glory - it would be different now. If Horatio wanted to be cock of the walk then he'd have to earn that right and Adama would tussle him every step of the way.
It made for an interesting relationship; sharing a bed when it suited them, sharing an undoubted affection, working as part of a team to make Hambledon as feared a privateer as any this side of the ocean - but a with an element of competition that would drive them both on to greater achievements. As long as it didn't drive them to recklessness and destruction, then everyone might benefit.
The second warning shot from Hambledon's bow chaser did not even slow Guichet's progress - she was still hoping to make it to one of the little channels she knew that her draught could weather but that would be just too shallow for the larger vessel. The next shot took out the top third of her jury mast, which cost her speed, and the one after took the rest of it and almost brought her to a halt. Horatio looked pleased at last - it was his aiming of the gun that had made all the difference when the blast had changed from admonitory to belligerent.
"Good work Mr Hornblower," Warne clapped him on the shoulder. "Bring us alongside and we'll take her hand-to-hand."
"Alongside it is sir," Horatio saluted, then glanced at Lee. The man looked nervous but not frightened, like a hunter steeling up for the chase. "Best of luck, Mr Adama," he ventured, still wishing it were him leaping onto the decks of a French vessel once more.
"Thanks," Lee smiled and saluted. He was keyed up, ready for the fray. The weapons he held might be archaic - the pistols he'd stolen, the sword he'd acquired - but the basic concept of man-to-man fighting had not changed between this time and his own. When the time came he'd be leading his men, just as he had on Galactica when the frakking Cylons had got on board. Only, he reflected, he was the invader this time.
Small arms fire from the other ship indicated how close the range between them had come - an answering volley from the best of Hambledon's marksmen stilled most of the enemy's reply. Guichet's decks looked strangely bare as they drew alongside her, boarding parties ready fore and aft; Warne raised his hand to check the rush of sailors onto the other ship's deck, a well timed gesture as figures suddenly sprang into sight. The French captain had hoped for one last desperate shot at saving his vessel, looking to surprise his attackers as they were in the act of crossing between ships - forcing them back, targeting their officers and making an attempt to take the frigate itself.
It was just the sort of thing Hornblower might just have tried had he been in the same situation and desperate enough, but Warne's good sense had thrown the timing of it - a short fight was put up on Guichet's deck but the odds were overwhelming and the surrender was soon made. But not before Adama had made his first kill with a sword.
***
Hambledon cut through the calm water; the pleasant turn of the weather lost on Horatio, who alternately scowled at and ignored the small sloop keeping pace with the frigate. They travelled slowly, a concession to Guichet’s feeble state, bound for England and prize money. From his short distance away, Hornblower could easily make out Adama’s compact form striding Guichet’s deck issuing orders and, by the looks of it, relishing in the independence it gave him. Warne had allowed Lee to remain in command of the seized vessel, his silent congratulations for a successful capture. Adama’s crew, some of the more experienced men, were also given the opportunity to remain aboard Guichet, half as a reward and half to ensure everything ran smoothly. As fine an officer as Adama was, he was still unproven in command.
Horatio glanced towards Lee once more, inwardly reproaching himself for the sense of inadequacy that rose in him. He wasn’t jealous of Lee’s achievement, couldn’t bring himself to resent the foreign officer, but observing the triumph of the action and the way in which Adama had conducted it left him feeling bereft. As rewarding as it was to see his friend and, dare he say it, lover succeed in his new life at sea, the sobering truth remained. Lee no longer needed him.
Guichet was sailing as well as it was able, the jury rigged vessel suffering no apparent damage from Hambledon’s guns. In Hornblower’s experienced opinion, the ship had been sailing far too erratically during the chase for nothing to be wrong, and he had half expected the sloop to sink the moment Lee had boarded her, but nothing untoward had happened so far and there was no indication that the ship would not remain in its fit state. Still, it would pay to keep an eye on Guichet. His feelings of inadequacy paled in comparison with his desire to ensure that Adama didn’t humiliate himself by losing a captured vessel. Captains, privateer and naval alike, rarely took kindly to subordinates squandering away valuable prize money out of perceived negligence.
“Mr Hornblower,” A stern voice cut through Horatio’s absent musings. “There is work to be done. I trust that Mr Adama is more than capable of keeping Guichet afloat, there is no need to keep it under continuous watch.” Warne’s reprimand was cushioned by his own fleeting glances in Guichet’s direction. Freddie had begged to be allowed to accompany Adama, and his uncle had not had it in him to refuse. The lieutenant would watch out for Freddie if he valued his career.
Hornblower felt his cheeks colour at the captain’s words. What would once have sent him into a fit of self disgust now only stung mildly - his main annoyance being that Warne had so easily guessed his thoughts - although he upbraided himself for allowing his attention to wander. He emitted an embarrassed “ha’hm” and clenched his hands firmly behind his back; an apologetic grimace meeting Warne’s raised eyebrow and strict frown as he turned his attention back to Hambledon.
By a strange gift of fate, the wind had carried the captain’s words across the small space between the two ships, where they met Lee with all of Warne's stern rumblings, but without the captain's obvious aggravation. He rolled his eyes at the idea of Hornblower attempting to keep an eye on him, but had to acknowledge the warmth that slowly spread through him at the same thought. Lee sent a silent prayer up to the heavens, thanking the almighty for allowing him to fall on his feet. He had a feeling - no more than a gut instinct, really - that he had Archie Kennedy to thank for the pleasant Hornblower whom he had bonded with so easily. He wouldn’t have gotten along with Horatio nearly as well had the lieutenant been morosely dutiful the entire time. They would have been far too alike for one thing. Hornblower had his moments, but he was a good man and Lee genuinely cared for him.
A piercing cry captured Adama’s attention. He had sent Freddie up to the fighting top to see to the repairs being undertaken, a task which could have been done in his sleep nine times out of ten. Hanging precariously from the quickly fraying line, the boy swung fore to aft and back again as the crew looked on in horror. The dull clatter of wood meeting wood announced Warne’s arrival, having laid up alongside Guichet and dashed across the narrow gap with the help of a boarding plank.
An unthinking decision saw Lee make for the rigging, climbing furiously in hope that he reached Freddie in time. One strong arm holding a yard and two muscular legs entwined in the rigging, Adama reached out, slowed the boy's rate of sway, then grabbed him, pulling him and keeping him tight while the line finally broke and fell to the deck.
"Thank you again, sir," Freddie's voice was hoarse and weak. "I'm sorry."
"No, you don't need to apologise." Lee helped the boy the rigging and into his uncle's arms. "My fault sir," he looked Warne straight in the eye. "I should have checked that it was safe before I sent the men up there. It won't happen again."
"You're quite right that it won't." Warne fixed him with a piercing gaze. He addressed his nephew, "Mr Warne, the deck is yours. If you please, Mr Adama..." he indicated his desire for his lieutenant to follow him, leaving the men to speculate that their lucky charm was about to get a right wigging.
Once below, in what had been the captain's cabin, the commander of Hambledon faced his officer with as stern a look as Lee had ever seen on his open, trusting face.
"I require some explanations, sir."
"I neglected to check the ropes were safe, I..."
"No, Mr Adama, I have your assurances that won't be happening again. It's not your competency I question but your provenance. I have still no idea where you served before, or where you come from; but I know that you're no merchant man - you've the heart and eye of a professional combatant. You will tell me the true tale, now."
Lee sighed. "Captain, if I told you the truth you'd never believe a frakking word of it."
"Are you a spy, a deserter?"
"Mr Warne, I'm a fighter pilot. I fly in a ship out among the stars. I come from somewhere million of miles and thousands of years away." He saw the incredulity in his captain's eyes, sat him down, took out a bottle of wine he'd found among the privateer's stores. As they shared the drink, Lee began again the story as he'd told it to Horatio, not neglecting the telling details this time. He produced the lighter and the underwear he'd had under his flying suit - this he hadn't shown Horatio, it being in some strange way too personal to share with an intimate, yet.
Warne sat perfectly still, disbelief etched into his face. He wasn’t an unreasonable man, but even one such as the captain couldn’t be expected to embrace such a seemingly far fetched story. Lee exhaled loudly and slumped back into his chair, taking a large gulp of wine but tasting none of its mellow flavour. “I don’t know how else to explain it. I’m not making this up, you’ve gotta believe me.”
It wasn’t within a subordinate’s best interests to make demands of their superior officer, but Lee was already in hot water. One more misdemeanour couldn’t possibly make things any worse than they already were. Besides, Warne had either ignored it or, better yet, hadn’t noticed.
“I will consider what you have told me. I wonder, Mr Adama, whether you would mind keeping this conversation to yourself?” It wasn’t a question; every word had been laced with a subtle threat. “We can’t have the crew getting wind of this.”
Lee nodded his assent. With any luck, the captain would come to terms with the unlikely story he’d just heard and would take no further action. They were mere hours out of Plymouth, but he doubted whether Warne would be so hasty as to put him ashore there and then. The captain climbed to his feet, draining the last dregs of wine in his glass and made for the door. “See me when we reach land. We’ll discuss more then.” He marched out, blatantly swiping the bottle of wine from the sideboard as he went.
“Sir?” Adama followed, eyeing the captain warily. Surely Warne couldn’t mean for him to remain in command of the prize vessel?
Warne halted, glancing furtively up and down the narrow corridor. “As I said, it wouldn’t do for the crew to learn of this. They admire you, trust you. It is a captain’s duty to ensure the loyalty of his men; I do this with their best interests in mind. This doesn’t mean that I trust you, far from it. I simply do not wish to dishearten the crew.”
“Yes sir. Thank you sir.”
The captain left quietly, leaving Lee to contemplate the frakked up mess he’d made. If Warne had lost faith in him then he had not future aboard Hambledon. No future with Horatio. He wanted, needed, to speak with Hornblower but he knew the captain would never allow it. Perhaps it was best if he kept Horatio out of the situation entirely. He would just have to wait. And hope.
He reached the deck in time to see Warne's back going through the entry port, the crew eyeing their captain with trepidation at the dressing down they assumed he had given their idol. An experienced bosun's mate, fulfilling the master's role on the prize, sidled up to Adama and spoke in a hushed tone. "You wasn't to know, sir. All them original repairs looked fine from the outside - only when you was up there and knew what you was looking for could you see that they'd done a botched job. Someone on this boat wasn't pulling their weight."
Lee considered for a moment; he had felt from the moment they saw Guichet that something wasn't right and he was determined to get to the root of it. He called Freddie over. "Mr Warne, you and I are going to look this ship over from top to bottom. McGrath here," he nodded at the seaman, "is as concerned as I am about the state of this sloop. I suggest that he should join us in a tour of inspection."
It didn't take much in the way of scrutiny to establish that Guichet, while a basically sound vessel, had suffered recent neglect, much of it artfully hidden with paint over rust or superficially adequate repairs. Lee wondered how a successful captain - and Monsieur Silex must have been one to have proved such a nuisance to the merchant fleet - could not have noticed. He made Freddie take notes of all that they found, so that he could produce an adequate report for the boy's uncle; but two of their discoveries needed no writing to augment them.
In a small panel let into a bulkhead in Silex's cabin, located by Freddie - who had an idea about hidden treasure and was knocking anything solid to seek for a cache of it - was a velvet bag containing a small fortune in jewels and the captain's private log, containing a tale of discontent and near mutiny. These were taken immediately to Warne, Adama making sure that his nephew's role in their finding was given its due recognition. The captain appreciated this - it would have been easy for an officer in Lee's position to have used this incident to raise his own standing in his superior officer's eyes. His credit with the crew was already sky high again due to the word about the treasure having passed like wildfire.
***
Plymouth harbour at sunset was a welcome sight for Horatio’s tired eyes, not least for the leave he was sure to be given. Shore leaves had been few and far between in His Majesty’s Navy, and by comparison a privateer’s crew seemed to spend as much time carousing across England’s southern shore as they did at sea. The life was simple; capture a vessel, collect prize money, spend it. In some ways it wasn’t all that different to naval service, but in others it was a poor substitute. Privateering seemed far less honourable to a man like Hornblower, but it was a necessary evil if he was to remain at sea. If he was perfectly honest with himself, he’d find that he was actually enjoying the voyage. He could get used to this life; especially if he was to share it with Lee, whose face was so blindingly familiar that he would never tire of it.
That was assuming Adama was retained by Warne. The captain had returned to Hambledon in a dreadful mood, not exactly angry but far from pleased. If Horatio was to hazard a guess, he’d have said that Warne had been disappointed more than anything else. At what, he had no idea - Lee hadn’t done anything he wouldn’t have done but judging by the captain’s distraction and the way he had disappeared below to his cabin at the first opportunity, something untoward had happened between the two.
Looking across at the small sloop, Hornblower could not even begin to comprehend the circumstances of Adama’s supposed transgression. Warne had perked up considerably at the thought of treasure - and his nephew’s role in discovering it - but it was obvious, even to one as oblivious Hornblower, that the captain was dreading reaching land.
“Sir?”
Horatio started. Clarke had managed to sneak up whilst he had been in deep thought. Considering the boy had been casting his own winsome glances in Guichet’s direction, often to the detriment of his duties, it said much about Hornblower’s current state of mind. He was worried, pure and simple. “Yes, Clarke?”
“Captain wants to see you sir."
"Mr Hornblower," Warned offered his lieutenant a cup of excellent coffee, more of the Guichet's captain's bounty. "We have much to do these next few days; I shall be taking Freddie on the coach up to London so my little squadron will be entirely in the capable hands of yourself and Mr Adama. I will rely on you both to deal with all that's required."
Hornblower nodded. "Indeed, sir." He knew much of what would be required; the prisoners to be handed over to the naval authorities - and left to see whether their letters of marque would afford them protection from the threat of the yardarm. Essential repairs to be undertaken and a rota for leave to be put in place.
"I'll be giving all the crew a little something in anticipation of what these might bring," Warne indicated the bag of jewellery, "it'll ease their stay here." There was enough in the treasure trove to make a very tidy profit - and some of the items that bore a distinct provenance in terms of an inscription or date might yield a longer term gain in terms of goodwill when returned to their grateful owners. The trip to London would set these events in motion, "I'll expect you to have some leave too - Mr Adama and the ship's master between them will keep an eye on things."
Horatio could not keep the surprise from his face. "Will Mr Adama not be taking leave?"
Warne's face was unreadable. "Guichet is in a mess - read the captain's log if you want to know why, but you can take my word for it. I'll be seeing if I can find a buyer for the sloop, either here or in London, but at present no-one would give me Tuppence for her. There are enough men to get her properly repaired while we are berthed here, but I want that work supervised properly. Mr Adama will see to it; he has no family or friends to visit here, as I understand it - he's hardly likely to get up and fly away, is he?"
“Sir?” Hornblower started at the words employed; did Warne know about Lee? And if so, how?