Bolitho opened the door of his tiny cabin. About the length of the swinging cot and enough room to sit down. A place for privacy, or as near to it as one could get in a small, bustling man-of-war. After the midshipman’s berth on the orlop deck it was a palace.

His advancement had been very swift, as Rhodes had remarked. But for all that, if the unknown lieutenant had not been killed by a fall from his horse the vacancy for third lieutenant would not have been posted.

Bolitho unlocked the top half of his sea-chest and then hung a mirror on one of the massive timbers beside his cot. He looked at himself, seeing the small lines of strain around his mouth and grey eyes. He was leaner, too, honed down to a youthful toughness which only shipboard food and hard work could produce.

Poad peered at him. “I could pay a waterman to go into town and purchase some extra victuals for you, sir.”

Bolitho smiled. Poad was like a stall-holder at a Cornish fair.

“I have some coming aboard directly, thank you.” He saw the disappointment and added, “But if you see that it’s stowed properly I’ll be obliged.”

Poad nodded quickly and scuttled away. He had made his play. Bolitho’s reaction had been the right one. There would be payment somewhere along the way if Poad looked after the new lieutenant’s personal stores.

A door crashed open and a tall lieutenant strode into the wardroom, hurling his hat on one of the guns and yelling for Poad in one breath.

He examined Bolitho very slowly, his eyes taking in everything from his hair to his new buckled shoes.

He said, “I’m Palliser, the senior.”

He had a crisp way of speaking. He glanced away as Poad ran through the door with a jug of wine.