Fraser raised a sandy eyebrow. 'Your lordship is a plausible liar and should have his ears removed from the sounds of the deck to the masthead. A spell of sky-parlour would cure your impudence... but cut along and have something to eat... and send young Frey up in your place,' he added, calling after the retreating midshipman. The Scotsman began a leisurely pacing of the deck, noting the other duty-men and sentries at their places. A few minutes later Midshipman Frey joined him.

'Ah, Mr. Frey,' remarked Fraser in his distinctive burr, 'you well know how my flinty Calvinist soul abhors idleness. Be so kind as to pipe the red cutter away and row a guard around the ship.'

'Aye, aye, sir.'

Fraser regarded the activity that this order initiated with a certain amount of satisfaction. His mild enjoyment was marred by the unnecessary appearance of Rogers, the first lieutenant. Fraser had just left Rogers at table, his big fist clamped proprietorially around the neck of the gunroom decanter as though it was his personal property. Rogers's face was flushed with the quantity of alcohol he had consumed.

'What the devil's all this fuss and palaver, Fraser?'

"T'is nothing, Mr. Rogers. I'm merely hoisting out a boat to row guard about the ship while this fog persists ...'

'You take a deal too much upon yourself ...'

'I think the captain would have ...'

'Damn you, Fraser. D'you threaten me?'

Fraser suppressed mounting anger with difficulty. 'Reflect, sir,' he said with frigid formality, 'we have a considerable sum in specie under guard below and I think the captain would object to its loss in his absence ...'

'Oh, you do, do you? And who the hell's going to take it? The Swedes are friendly and the Danes are neutral. There isn't an enemy within a hundred leagues of us.'