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look for someone?’
    ‘No need to look so fessed, lad,’ she replied. ‘As long as it’s out of the way.’
    ‘I can’t afford to pay.’
    ‘Why, what are you bletherin’ about? There’s no need for to pay young sir. How much did that sod Mace try to dun you for?’
    ‘Twopence.’
    ‘Miserable old bugger, he is.’ she retorted, which made Horatio blush. ‘I’ddamn ’im to hell if I didn’t think that Old Nick would send him right back twice as nasty.’

    The lobby was full of people and smoke, some blowing out from the logs on the fire, even more from long clay pipes. The taproom was heaving, abuzz with loud talk, and the fug was so dense it was hard to see. Several men in naval uniform sat there, though not one spared Horatio a sideways look. It would be rude, he thought, to interrupt their earnest conversations and enquire if they had come to meet a Mr Nelson.
    He went outside again, through the front entrance into the street, which only increased his confusion. The road was teeming with people, carts, horses, running dogs and a dozen coaches fighting to make their way through the throng. Horatio was sure he’d never seen such a crush, nor heard such a babble of sound. His questions as to the whereabouts of HMS Raisonable were met with stony incomprehension.
    ‘Must be a ship,’ barked one man, the fifth he had asked.
    ‘She is, sir. A sixty-four gun line-of-battle ship.’
    ‘Then it be a waste seeking for that in the middle of the King’s highway. You’d best make your way to Anchor Wharf.’
    The directions that followed, accompanied by much pointing, were complex. The youngster knew he had gained little more than a general direction but he offered his thanks. He set off, crossing the main thoroughfares, and more inquiries sent him downhill, through narrow, stinking lanes of tall, wood-framed houses, with workshops on the ground and homes above, concentrating on keeping his feet out of the stream of sewage that overflowed the central gutter, while keeping a sharp eye out to avoid the contents of a chamber pot that might suddenly be emptied above his head.
    Eventually he could see the river Medway. Broad and tidal, it was full of boats of all shapes and sizes, but none from what he could tell looked anything like a King’s ship. The prints of warships he had studied had been specific enough. None of the vessels in the basin, floating or tipped over on the mud banks, had any trace of the array of flags, rigging and guns he remembered.
    The gates of the great naval dockyard, surmounted by the royal arms carved in stone, produced no more help than the streets of Chatham. It was late afternoon now, even colder. There had been several heavy showers so it was a wet, bedraggled young man who spoke to the marine sentries, only to be told in no uncertain terms that they were not employed as guides for lost sailors.
    Disconsolate, Horatio turned to walk back towards the Angel, wondering if he had enough funds to pay for a night’s lodging in the hayloft. His shoulders were hunched and the bottom of his cloak soaked and stained with every trace of Chatham filth. His spirits were so low he was close to sobbing.
    ‘Did I hear you enquire for Raisonable, young fellow?’
    Horatio looked up, hope welling in his breast. The man before him, tall and erect, was most certainly a naval officer. The shape of his hat said so, as well as the gold braid on the blue coat that showed through his open cloak. More than that, he was smiling in a way that exuded genuine concern.
    ‘I am, sir,’ Horatio stuttered, trying to control his trembling, frozen limbs. ‘I’m assigned to join that vessel, which is commanded by my uncle Maurice.’
    ‘You are nephew to Captain Suckling?
    ‘Yes, sir.’
    ‘Raisonable lies beside my own ship, out at Saltpan Reach.’ Horatio’s incomprehension was evident. ‘You do not know where that is?’
    ‘No, sir,’ Horatio replied, shuddering once more.
    The man put a hand on his