Rogers was a coarse and vulgar man, no scientific officer and only a passable navigator, but he was a competent seaman and his valour in action was too valuable an asset to be lightly set aside merely because he lacked social accomplishments. Besides, in his present situation he would have precious little opportunity to worry over such a deficiency. He was, Drinkwater knew, perfect as a first luff; the very man the hands loved to hate, who was indifferent to that hatred and who could take the blame for all the hardships, mishaps and injustices the naval service would press upon their unfortunate souls and bodies.

'She's looking very tiddly, Sam. Fit for an admiral's inspection already. I congratulate you.'

Rogers gave him a grin. 'I heard about your appetite for tiddly ships after the Melusine, sir.'

Drinkwater grinned back. 'She was a damned yacht, Sam. You should have heard the gunroom squeal when I cut off her royal masts and fitted a crow's nest to con her through the ice.'

'She was different from the old Virago then?'

'As chalk is from cheese…'

They were interrupted by Lieutenant Quilhampton. 'Flag's signalling, sir: "Captain to come aboard".'

'Very well. Bring the ship to under the admiral's lee quarter, Mr Q… Sam be so good as to salute the flag while I shift my coat.'

'Aye, aye, sir.' The two officers began to carry out their orders as Drinkwater hurried below to where an anxious Mullender had coat, hat, cloak and sword all ready for him.

Chapter Three 

The Spy Master

 March 1804

Admiral Sir William Cornwallis rose from behind his desk and motioned Drinkwater to a chair. His flag-lieutenant took the offered packet of Admiralty dispatches and handed them to the admiral's secretary for opening.