Their youthful guide quickened his pace past the wheel, and Bolitho saw that the two seamen were packing away their cleaning gear. Down another hatchway where the deck planking was covered with black-and-white chequered canvas, he could see that the hand ropes were smartly pipeclayed, and a marine sentry, or at least the lower half of one, was standing rigidly beside the screen doors of the great day and dining cabin. The admiral’s quarters.

‘Wait!’ Another screen loomed before them, freshly painted, like white glass in the light from the quarterdeck, similar to the one directly beneath them.

Dancer nudged him with his elbow.

‘The admiral’s on the prowl. And I thought it was all for us!’

He was even smiling.

A servant ushered them into a lobby, partitioned from the main cabin by more screens which could be hoisted and bolted to the deckhead if the ship was cleared for action. There were two or three comfortable chairs sharing the deck space with one of the after battery’s twelve-pounders.

The cabin servant studied them severely and pointed to a bench by a sealed port.

‘When you are called.’ He had the stiff, tired face of a man who had seen it all before. Their midshipman guide had vanished.

They sat, side by side. Almost soundless here, the highest part of the ship. There was a skylight almost directly above them and Bolitho could see the mizzen shrouds and part of a spar, the sky holding its light beyond. After all this time, nearly six years of his life in the navy, and he still had no head for heights. Even now, when the sails cracked and shook and the pipe shrilled All hands aloft! he had to force himself to respond.

‘When we get back to Gorgon, Dick… ’ Dancer was gazing at the screen door. ‘I have something hoarded away for this occasion.’

Nervous now, unsure? It went far deeper. He said lightly, ‘You’ll be fine, Martyn. Under full sail, remember?’