The commodore watched him above the rim of his goblet. “Yes. You’ve had fine successes against pirates and privateers in that area.”

Bolitho faced him. “But for my unplanned visit I would not have heard the news. A ship, a King’s ship, had a mutiny aboard, some six months ago, according to the governor. She had been outward bound from Tahiti when it happened. I am not certain of the reasons for it, but one thing is clear, the mutineers cast their officers and loyal men adrift in a small boat. But for the commander, I am told his name is Bligh, they would have perished. As it was, he found his way to Timor, over three thousand, six hundred miles, before he could summon help. The ship was an armed transport, sir. The Bounty.”

Sayer stared at him, his face grave. “I’ve not heard of her.” He stood up and walked to the broad stern windows. “So the mutineers will probably use her for piracy. They have little choice, other than hanging.”

Bolitho nodded, feeling his own uncertainty. Mutiny.

Even the word was like the touch of some terrible disease. He had felt it aboard his first frigate, Phalarope. It had not been of his doing, but the memory was still sharp in his mind.

As the commodore remained silent and continued to stare through the windows Bolitho added, “I up-anchored and headed south-west and then around the southern coast of this colony, sir. I put into Adventure Bay in Van Diemen’s Land. I thought the mutineers might have gone there before the news broke about their crime.” He shrugged. “But they have vanished. It is now my belief they have no intention of returning to a civilized country where they might be seized. They’ll stay in the Great South Sea. Add to the list of renegades and murderers who are living off traders and natives alike. But a King’s ship. It does not bear thinking about.”