Quarterdeck
“There was an edge of slyness to his manner that Kydd did not like. Was he a sea-lawyer perhaps? But the man was only a little shorter than Kydd himself, powerfully built, with hard, muscular arms and a deep tattooed chest: he had no need of cozening ways on the mess-deck. The man gave a cold smile. “Dobbie, petty offi cer o’ the afterguard,” he added, still in a low tone. Kydd could not recall anyone by that name. The midshipman popped up out of the main-hatchway but saw them together and disap...peared below again. “No, can’t say as I do,” Kydd replied. Unless the seaman had something of value to say to an offi cer he was sailing closer to the wind than a common sailor should. “I don’t remember you, Dobbie—now be about y’r duties.” He turned to go, but Dobbie said quietly, “In Sandwich. ” Kydd stopped and turned. Dobbie stared back, his gaze holding Kydd’s with a hard intensity. “Aye—when you was there. I remembers ye well . . . sir.” It had been less than a year ago but the Sandwich was a name Kydd had hoped never to hear again.MoreLess
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