Suddenly Ramage realized that there were only two of them: the Bosun and this man Harris. They must have crept from their hammocks - or sneaked from their stations - without the Tritons spotting them, clubbed the sentry at the door and been planning to seize Ramage as a hostage.

By marching him on deck with a pistol at his back, they guessed they could force Southwick to surrender the ship as the price of saving Ramage's life. Then they would head for a Spanish or French port to hand over the ship and get what they expected would be freedom. They had probably - what a terrible irony - thought the gibbet awaited them at home in England, never for a moment... all at once he realized that Harris had just referred to a "second hostage". Who was the first?

"Come on, Mister Captain, let's get on with the business a'fore the Bosun bleeds to death. Remember, one false step and you're a dead man."

Hoping Yorke would continue to play a waiting game, Ramage decided to try and find out as much as he could. "You're a brave fellow - you and the Bosun. Just two of you taking a ship, eh?"

"Not difficult for packetsmen," Harris sneered. "No, not just two of us: the rest of the lads are ready, waiting for me to pass the word. Then we'll show Mister Bloody Southwick some sail handling - aye, and navigation too. Ever been to Coruña, Mister Captain Ramage? Ever been in a Spanish prison?"

"No. But I imagine you've been in an English one."

"Never - an' there'll never be no risk o' that again; I'll take my oath on it!"

"I'll take my oath that you're wrong," Ramage said conversationally. "Do you know Mr Yorke, by the way?"

"What, the passenger? No, why?"

"I just wondered. You are Harris, aren't you, Bosun's mate?"

"Aye, that's me. Now, let's-"

"Don't turn round, Harris; otherwise you'll be shot dead," Ramage said conversationally. "Mr Yorke is standing right behind you with a loaded pistol in his hand."

The man froze, the white showing all round his eyes. Then he relaxed. "That's a silly trick. You can't catch a packetsman like that. And we've got the Marchesa as well - didn't know that, did you. Got the pair of you, we have!"

At that moment the muzzle of Yorke's pistol pressed into the back of his neck.

"We can catch a packetsman, you know," Yorke said jauntily, and cocked the pistol so that Harris felt the metallic click travel down his spine.

Again the man froze and Ramage saw his eyes straining to look behind him. In a swift movement Ramage stepped to one side and seized the man's gun. Outside the door he heard the plank squeak several times and as he turned he saw Southwick peering cautiously through the door, holding a musketoon whose muzzle in the shadows seemed to bell out as large as a cavalryman's trumpet and which a moment later was jammed into Harris's stomach.

Still trying desperately to think what the mutineers could be doing to Gianna, it took him a few moments to snap, "Come in, Southwick! Is the wheel secure? What about the packetsmen on watch?"

"All attended to, sir," the Master said calmly. "All three of 'em lying in a row by the binnacle. We knocked 'em out the moment we heard the shot. The Mate's at the wheel."

"Very well. Don't make any move against the rest of them yet: they've got the Marchesa as a hostage. Secure Harris and get Bowen to look at the Bosun."

"Come on," Southwick called to the men behind him, "Rossi, Maxton - this man's under arrest. Put him in irons and guard him well."

"Accidente!" the Italian seaman exclaimed, and in a moment he was in the cabin, a knife in each hand and crouching behind Harris while Maxton stood in front, a cutlass pressing against the man's stomach. "Follow me," Maxton hissed, backing to the door, "and just trip once, eh?"

Ramage, rubbing the scar over his brow, saw the Surgeon at the door, with Wilson behind him. "Ah, Bowen, we have a patient fer you: a turbulent Bosun."

"The sentry is dead," Bowen said quietly. "Skull crushed in."

The sentry dead and Gianna a hostage. Ramage felt a chill spreading through his body; time was slowing down and the colours in the dimly lit cabin were growing brighter. He knew the symptoms and knew that for the moment his greatest enemy was himself: this cold rage occurred rarely, but when it did there was no fear and no mercy for whoever caused it.

Cursing himself for letting Rossi and Maxton take Harris away before he could force answers out of him, Ramage pushed Bowen aside as the surgeon went to kneel by the Bosun, who was now beginning to groan, apparently having fainted when he fell.

Ramage paused for a moment and asked Bowen, "Who was the sentry?"

"Duncan, sir."

Duncan ... the young Scot who had been with him in every action from the Mediterranean onwards, and now murdered by one of his own countrymen. Murdered because he was looking the other way and did not know the significance of that squeaking plank. Ramage began rubbing the scar over his brow again and knelt beside the Bosun, who was conscious now and groaning softly. He pulled the man's shoulder, rolling him over on his back. The face was grey: he had lost a lot of blood - it was soaking across the deck, seemingly black in the faint light from the lantern.

"Tell me," Ramage said, almost whispering, "what have you done with the Marchesa?"

"Oh, the pain," the Bosun groaned. "For pity's sake, sir, the Surgeon. I'm bleeding to death..."

"Where is the Marchesa?"

"I'm bleeding badly, sir; my leg, it's smashed - ach..." The man's eyes closed as his body moved when the ship gave a more violent roll.

Ramage stood up and, deliberately winking at the Surgeon, said harshly, "Look at him, Bowen, and tell me how bad the bleeding is. I want to know when he'll die."

The Surgeon gestured towards the lantern, and Yorke unhooked it, holding it so light shone on the man's leg.

Quickly Bowen slit the seam of the trousers and rolled back the material. Ramage could see the wound was painful but not dangerous.

"The bleeding," Bowen said with a wink, "I've got to stop it or he'll die."

"Hear that, Bosun?" Ramage said. "You're quite right; you are bleeding to death. Five minutes, from the look of it."

The man groaned again and Ramage said crisply, "Stand back, Bowen. Now, what's happened to the Marchesa?"

"Oh God, I'm dying - the pain, sir ... I've got a wife and two children..."

"The sentry had three children. Who hit him?"

But Bowen was a surgeon with scruples, and he said emphatically, "Sir, I can't be responsible for what happens if -"

"You're not responsible," Ramage snarled as he knelt beside the Bosun again, turning the man's face so he could not avoid Ramage's eyes. "If I'm not mistaken you now have about three minutes before you go. What's happened to the Marchesa?"

"You're murdering me ... If I tell ... oh, the pain ... if I tell, will you let the Surgeon..."

"Yes," Ramage said, and added bitterly, "I'll save you for the hangman's noose."

"T'was Harris," the man whispered. "He gagged her and dragged her out and passed her over to the rest of them. They were supposed to take her forward."

"Who killed the sentry?"

"Harris, sir. I just caught him as he fell."

Ramage picked up the two pistols the Bosun had been carrying, checked that they were loaded, and gestured to Bowen. "Carry on."

He waved to Yorke. "I'm going to find out what's happening on deck. Are you coming?"

Yorke picked up Harris's pistol, which Ramage had pitched on to the settee. "Delighted," he said. Captain Wilson, still in his nightshirt and with his moustache drooping, waited cheerfully at the door, a pistol in each hand, and followed them.

At the top of the companionway Ramage paused for a few moments while his eyes adapted to the darkness; then he saw Much and Southwick standing beside a man at the wheel, with another - was it Stafford? - holding a pair of pistols aimed at three bodies sprawled by the binnacle. A group of men waiting at the taffrail were presumably the rest of the Tritons.