Hats firmly under arms, the two officers strolled along the deck forward. In favoured positions on the gratings, against the sunnier bulwark or simply sprawled out on the planking, men got on with the serious business of gossip and yarn-spinning while they skilfully stitched away. They fell silent as Kydd approached but, in the custom of the sea, off-watch this was their territory, and once the two had passed they resumed chatting.

The Teazers seemed in good heart; Kydd knew the telltale signs of disaffection and saw none. He had a suspicion, however, that much of their contentment stemmed from the prospects of a proven prize-taker being in command—but who knew what lay ahead?

Kydd went to a carronade and lifted the lead apron protecting the gunlock bed. The weapon gleamed with attention from lampblack and linseed oil, but when he peered more closely he saw that the fire-channel between vent and pan shone with equal lustre. The gun had probably not been fired since his own time.

Further forward there were other giveaway signs of a ship that had been prepared more for a flag-officer's inspection than war, but with growing satisfaction he noted there was nothing wrong with Teazer that a good first lieutenant could not bring to order in quick time.

As dusk fell Renzi came aboard, Kydd's closest friend and one to whom he owed his present felicity. It had been Renzi who had uncovered the truth behind the conspiracy to ruin him, but he had not wanted to go into details. From long experience Kydd knew not to press his friend until he was ready to talk.