A King's Cutter by Richard Woodman Page A

answered the forward of the two men leaning on the tiller.
    â€˜Is she easier now?’
    â€˜Aye sir, much,’ he said shifting his quid neatly over his tongue in some odd sympathy with the ship.
    Kestrel
drove forward again, her motion easier, her speed undiminished.
    â€˜Shortened sail, sir,’ Drinkwater reported.
    â€˜
Da iawn
, Mr Drinkwater.’
    The wind eased a little as the sun set behind castellated banks of cloud whose summits remained rose coloured until late into the evening. In the last of the daylight Drinkwater had studied thesouthern horizon, noted the three nicks in its regularity and informed Griffiths.
    â€˜One might be an armed lugger, sir, it’s difficult to be certain but he’s standing west. Out of our way, sir.’
    Griffiths rubbed his chin reflectively. ‘Mmm. The damned beach’ll be very dangerous, Mr Drinkwater, very dangerous indeed. The surf’ll be high for a day or two.’ He fell silent and Drinkwater was able to follow his train of thought. He knew most of Griffiths’s secrets now and that
Flora
’s order had hinged on the word ‘imperative’.
    â€˜It means,’ explained Griffiths, that Brown has sent word to London that he is no longer able to stay in France or has something very important to acquaint HMG with,’ he shrugged. ‘It depends . . .’
    Drinkwater remembered the pigeons.
    â€˜And if the weather is too bad to recover him, sir?’
    Griffiths looked up. ‘It mustn’t be, see.’ He paused. ‘No, one develops a “nose” for such things. Brown has been there a long time on his own. In my opinion he’s anxious to get out tonight.’
    Drinkwater expelled his breath slowly, thinking about the state of the sea on the landing. He stared to the westward. The wind was still strong and under the windsea a westerly swell rolled up the Channel. He was abruptly recalled from his observations by the lieutenant. Griffiths was halfway out of the companionway.
    â€˜Come below, Mr Drinkwater, I’ve an idea to discuss with you.’
    â€˜Let go.’ The order passed quietly forward from man to man and the cat stopper was cast off.
Kestrel
’s anchor dropped to the sandy bottom of the little bay as her head fell off to leeward and the seamen secured the sails, loosing the reefs in the mainsail and bending on the big jib.
Kestrel
had stood slowly in for the rendezvous immediately after dark. Now she bucked in the heavy swell as it gathered up in the shelving bay to fling itself into a white fury on the crescent of sand dimly perceptible below the cliffs that almost enclosed them.
    â€˜Hold on.’ The cable slowed its thrumming rumble through the hawse as the single compressor nipped it against the bitts. The cutter jerked her head round into sea and swell as the anchor brought up. ‘Brought to it,’ came the word back from forward.
    â€˜Are you ready, Mr Drinkwater?’ The acting lieutenant looked about him. His two volunteers grunted assent and Drinkwater found the sound of Tregembo’s voice reassuring. The other man, Poll, was a pugnacious red-bearded fellow who enjoyed an aggressivereputation aboard
Kestrel
. ‘Aye, sir, we’re ready . . . Come lads.’
    The three men moved aft where Jessup, judging his moment nicely, had dropped the little jolly boat into the sea as
Kestrel
’s bow rose. As her bottom smacked into the water the davit falls were let fly and unrove. The boat drifted astern until restrained by its painter, then it was pulled carefully alongside and Drinkwater, Tregembo and Poll jumped into it.
    Forward Tregembo received the eye of four-inch hemp from the deck and secured it round the forward thwart. Amidships Poll secured the shaded lantern and loosed the oar lashings while Drinkwater saw that the coil of line aft was clear to run, as was the second of small rope attached to the grapnel. They would have to