but Cadiz was different. It wasn’t home; he’d moved too often to have a home except wherever the majority of his clothes were, but it was a place he liked, and whenever he did look, he wondered if the same priests were there. He had started, since getting here, to want to go to a real Mass again, in a real church instead of the bleak grey English ones with their boneless English parsons. There was something off-putting about faith with no backbone and only just enough teeth to get through a cucumber sandwich.
Just around the arm of the bay was the French fleet. They had been there for thirty days. They hadn’t moved once, not even to scout. They weren’t bothering to fire on the English frigates that scudded up to look at them. Their officers’ wives had even taken to climbing down to see the English officers’ wives as they rowed out to go shopping in Cadiz. It was a weird little piece of friendliness in the middle of what was otherwise a strict blockade. If a single man had been on one of those boats, it would have been blown out the water. But everyone had decided that there had to be a line, and that line was pissing off the women.
Above him, the two sailors filling in the next stripe up were muttering that it was nothing but a way to pass the time. He flicked paint at them.
‘Get on with it.’
‘Yes, sir,’ one of them said quickly.
Usually the trouble officers had was making the men listen. Kite would have liked it if they’d listened less. He had never done anything noteworthy; they had no reason to be afraid of him. The point wasn’t inherently sensible either. They were painting because all Nelson really wanted – and Kite could never decide if he found it dandy or endearing – was that nice checkerboard effect that came of having black hulls with yellow stripes. When the gun ports opened, they hinged black squares into the yellow, and he liked the masts to match.
Tom mooched up from the cabin, in gallant disarray in the heat, and slouched forward against the taffrail just opposite Kite’s swing. He must have stood in the same way at another rail before this one, because his waistcoat crumpled into already established creases.
‘Afternoon,’ he said. ‘Why is … why?’ He waved his hand at Kite’s paint can. ‘Have we not sailors, lieutenant? Have you not that paperwork I made up earlier?’
‘I was tired of waving at the Orion, sir,’ Kite said, and there was an assenting mumble above him. Something under his chest turned unhappily. Jem had waved back early that morning from the other deck. They could only make each other out properly with telescopes. It had been a relief to see that Jem was alive and with all the right limbs, but it was a short-lived relief.
‘So we’re painting,’ Tom concluded. He seemed to search for something constructive to add. He didn’t find anything.
Kite caught himself rubbing at the tattoo under his sleeve, full to splitting with the need to say something to Jem. It was getting so urgent he was willing to try smoke signals.
‘Captain, may we not—’ one of the sailors began.
Tom looked up. ‘May we not go across to other ships even though there is no signal flag on the Royal Sovereign suggesting that we might be permitted to ship visit?’
‘The ladies are doing it,’ the sailor said hopefully.
‘Not any more. Banned since Tuesday,’ Tom sighed. Not far from them, the Royal Sovereign rode a bump in the sea and swayed. ‘For God’s sake, what does Lord Collingwood do all day? I’ve known barnacles with a greater need for society. It’s all very well saying we must be in a state of readiness instead of cluttered about on boats between ships, but three weeks not talking to anyone? He’s either got a very amusing dog or an exceptionally beautiful cabin boy.’
‘It must be the dog, he’d have to speak to a person,’ Kite said. The usual rule about keeping your opinions of senior officers to yourself had eroded around the time the sugar had run out.
One of the sailors made a small annoyed sound as he strayed outside the lines for the paint. Kite passed up the jar of turpentine. His fingers felt sticky when he let go. The open sea shouldn’t have been stuffy, but the air felt just as close out here as it did in tiny