Ramage waited for Goddard to regain his voice, if not his poise.

"It's nine hundred miles to Jamaica, Ramage; I can only hope you carry out your duties satisfactorily for the whole of the voyage." The voice became more confident, as if he had remembered something else. "At Jamaica you will still be under my orders of course - Sir Pilcher, you know ..."

Ramage knew only too well. The Commander-in-Chief, Vice-Admiral Sir Pilcher Skinner, was a weak, fussy and cautious man who had spent a long career successfully dodging responsibility. He played the game of favourites so flagrantly that it had become a scandal even in an age when patronage was no crime. Many a good captain tried to avoid serving under him.

Goddard had been Sir Pilcher's flag captain several years ago, and Sir Pilcher had pushed him, so that when Goddard reached flag rank, Sir Pilcher had another young rear-admiral indebted to him - a young rear-admiral who, thanks to a wise marriage, had influence at Court. Goddard was said to be one of the few men who could get any sense out of the old King during his occasional bouts of insanity.

Now Goddard was on his way to join Sir Pilcher as his second-in-command. I'm caught right in the middle, Ramage thought ruefully. Well, there's one consolation - Sir Pilcher can only bring Goddard authority; he hasn't any brains or boldness to contribute.

Ramage relaxed as he stood between the two men. The cabin was hot again and the sun bright in the stern lights. There was nothing to fear for the moment - thanks to his unexpected counter-attack whatever Goddard and Croucher had planned for today was cancelled. But another plan would follow; something calculated to bring indignity and shame on the real target of the vendetta, John Uglow Ramage, 10th Earl of Blazey, Admiral of the White, his father and the scapegoat so many years ago for a government's inefficiency and stupidity, and eventually the victim of its viciousness.

A sharp knock at the door made the three men jump, and at Croucher's call the Marine sentry said: "Mr Yorke to see you, sir."

Ramage turned in time to catch a slight questioning lift of the Admiral's eyebrows and an anxious pursing of the Captain's thin lips. Both were wary of Yorke - and perhaps a little afraid? Surely that was too absurd...

"Tell him to come in," Croucher called.

Yorke walked in and nodded affably to Croucher before he saw Goddard.

"Ah, Admiral! Forgive me for interrupting you."

"Not a bit, Mr Yorke, not a bit; you're always a welcome visitor."

Only one thing brought that ingratiating note into Goddard's voice: talking to someone with power and influence.

"I was looking for Mr Ramage. He was kind enough to accept my invitation to dine on board the Topaz, and as he hadn't joined me at the gangway I thought he might have mistaken the day."

"Mr Ramage is a fortunate young man," Goddard said heartily. "Ramage - I hope you haven't let such an invitation slip your memory?"

"No, sir, I was going over as soon as you had finished - er, giving me my instructions."

"Very well - now, let's see: you've signed the receipt for your orders? Ah yes, Mr Croucher has it. Well, I think that's all. Keep a sharp lookout on your side of the convoy, whip in the stragglers - the usual sort of thing, and you know it all anyway!"

Ramage had to admit that Goddard carried it off very well, even down to voicing a hope that Yorke and his passengers would find time to dine on board the flagship when they reached Kingston - a hope Yorke acknowledged with a perfunctory nod.

The black-hulled Topaz had a corn-yellow sheerstrake - to match her name, Ramage guessed - and was well equipped. There was plenty of new rope (the golden brown of manilla, the strongest and most expensive of all), the decks were scrubbed and the brasswork polished man-o'-war fashion. Large awnings rigged out with tight lacing were cleverly designed to give the maximum shade, folding chairs had their padded blue canvas seats and backs neatly fringed and tasselled, and the ship's company was working hard and was obviously cheerful. She looked like a newly launched "John Company" ship - usually only the Honourable East India Company could afford to keep their vessels so spotless.

Yorke had not spoken since leaving Croucher's cabin; he merely nodded when Ramage said he wanted to give a message to his coxswain waiting in one of the Triton's boats. Now, as Ramage stood on board by the mainmast and looked round the Topaz, Yorke suddenly grinned and asked: "Does she pass muster?"

"If she was a King's ship, I'd say yes; but since I haven't seen the rest of the Yorke fleet I'll reserve judgment."

"You won't be disappointed; they're all like the Topaz - identical, in fact. Masts, yards and sails are interchangeable, Navy fashion. With everything standardized for all six ships I save enormously on refits and routine maintenance. The only difference between the ships is the sheerstrake: each has her sheerstrake painted the colour of the stone for which she's named. Drives the painters mad, matching up. Everything else is the best I can get, including the ship's company. I pay them more than anyone else."

"But money doesn't always get good men," Ramage said dryly. "It often attracts the bad ones!"

"True, but I pick them carefully and my scale of wages works differently. When I get a good seaman I pay him well enough to stay with me. If some other ship offers him a berth as a petty officer, he's usually a lot better off staying with me as an able seaman."

"So you have bosuns serving as seamen - and masters serving as bosuns, presumably?"

"Damn nearly," Yorke said, laughing at Ramage's dig. "Do you know the current hull insurance rates, hurricane surcharge apart?"

"No - five per cent?"

"Anything from six to ten per cent. I pay four."

"An uncle who's an underwriter?" Ramage teased.

"I wish I had. No, when underwriters see my ships they know their only risks - apart from the perils of war - are extremes: perhaps an early hurricane, a month of fog in the Chops of the Channel and so forth: not rotten masts going by the board when rotten cordage gives way, or sinking when butts of hull planks spring..."

"So by spending a pound more on rigging you can insure a hundred pounds' worth of hull for a premium of four pounds instead of six to ten."

"Exactly! And get the best freights: I let the others carry the bulky and dirty stuff. With a war on there's always plenty of freight valuable enough for shippers to pay extra to get safe delivery."

"I'm beginning to think you're a good businessman as well."

Yorke laughed. "A pretty compliment - I think. 'As well' as what?"

"As well as a good seaman."

"That's the finest compliment you can pay me."

Ramage shrugged his shoulders. "Very few shipowners are both! I've an idea more ships sink through perils caused by penny-pinching owners than through what the underwriters call 'the perils of the sea'."

Yorke nodded. Unfortunately Ramage was right - Yorke knew only too well that a penny-pinching shipowner employed a poorly paid master who in turn had to be penny-pinching, and was not above taking the opportunity to cheat his master and his men by way of revenge. Behind every master stood a dozen more, unemployed and eager to take his place. To keep his job, the master had to see that every old and tired rope was turned end for end to double its proper life-span, that ripped sails were repaired until there were often more patches than original cloth, and that his ship sailed with half the number of seamen needed to handle her properly. The owner, safe in his country house, knew that if there were not enough men to weigh the anchor in some distant port the Navy would send over men to help, if only to make sure the convoy sailed on time; and if the ship sprang a leak, the Navy's carpenters would set to work to keep her afloat. The convoy system had many advantages and many shipowners thought of it as getting some return on the taxes they had to pay.