Artemis - Kydd 02 by Julian Stockwin

transfer.
    'We didn't understand th e bit about a frigate, but Lady Onslow was so sweet about it’ she said. Sir Richard was himself at sea at that very time, Rear Admiral of the White.
    So they would have known about his transfer to Artemis, and therefore would have been horrified when news of her dreadful battle had become known.
    Cecilia flopped on to the bed like the child she so recentl y had been, and looked up at him with shining eyes. 'Tell me, what's it like to be a sailor? Really, Tom, no gammon.'
    Kydd felt a wave of affection break over him, her childish glee touching his heart. He told her of the sea, his lofty world of perils and adventure, skill and honour; the first sight of a sea-tossed dawn, the deep experience of feeling a deck heave, a comber bursting against the bow in a sheet of rainbow spray. He spoke of his friends — his shipmates, and their rough, simple gendeness.
    She listened speechless, carried by his words but never gulled into underestimation by their simplicity. 'Oh, Tom, who would have thought it?'
    Kydd had never experienced hero-worship from his sister, and reddened. 'When I spoke with the King, he remembered Guildford, Cec—'
    'The King!' she squealed. 'Never! You never did!'
    'And with a beautiful princess - a real one, mind you.'
    Her speechless admiration made him feel a poltroon. Guiltily he glanced around. 'What o'clock is it, sis? We mustn't be adrift for Nicholas.'
    The dancing light faded from her eyes. She looked away, her body sagging.
    Kydd felt the cold dread returning. 'What is it, Cec?' he said softl y.
    'Oh, Tom, I - I feel so dreadful!'
    He put his arms around her shoulder. 'Tell me.'
    She looked deeply into his eyes as if to spare him what she could. 'It's Father,' she said carefully. 'His eyes are failing.' He sat back, confused.
    Brokenly she murmured, 'Tom — how can you . . .' Her hands twisted together. 'When I looked up at that great big ship and saw you there, my heart nearly broke. You looked so — right as a sailor. So handsome! My big brother!' Her eyes filled. 'And now we are asking you to give it all up — Tom, he is making mistakes, the customers are complaining. If the shop fails . . .'
    They were asking him to return home, to resume his place behind the counter of the old shop, talking wigs with custom ers. He gulped, and looked sightl essly out into the night and past the celebrations. His sister gripped his hands in hers until it hurt. Renzi and he would part, he would no longer know his dear friend, who would go on to better things in another world.
    'Tom . . .'
    It was not her fault: it must have taken real courage to make the journey alone to this notorious naval town, but only now was she understanding the true cost of her appeal. He got heavily to his feet, and balled his fists in silent agony. There was no decision to make. Without him, the family would slide into destitution, the debtor's prison and worse.
    'This war, Tom, it's ruinous for the business. Everyone is asking for bob wigs only, and some are even refusing to wear any. It's a new fashion.'
    Kydd remembered his father's endless but near-sighted primping and sewing of horsehair at the carcass of full-bottomed wigs, and his retort died before it was uttered. He took a deep breath. 'I have prize money,' he said, but Cecilia cut him off quickly.
    'Tom — it's not just for now,' she said firmly. 'You must face it, we need you to provide for us in the future. We need you, Tom.'
    'Yes,' he muttered. 'Yes, I know -1 know, I know, I know ! damn you!' he choked out in his pain. She said nothing and waited.
    He looked up miserably. 'We'll go to Nicholas now.'
    The darkness outside was split with bonfires, fireworks and excited people hurrying this way and that with blazing link torches, candles in coloured glass and all manner of festive flame. They trudged silently along the sea-front. The dark offshore shapes of the fleet had needlepoints of light on deck, which Kydd knew were lanthorns