Inshore Squadron by Alexander Kent

create war from almost anything. Sailors, meeting on their home ground, rarely fell out.
    Browne glanced meaningly at Bolitho as Inskip re-read the letter with the broken seal.
    Bolitho noticed that when seamen rushed across the deck above, or some heavy block and tackle fell on the planking, Inskip did not even blink. He was obviously a much travelled man, well used to ships of every sort.
    Inskip was about fifty, he decided. Neatly but not flamboyantly dressed in a green coat and breeches of similar colour. His head was almost bald, the remaining hair and unfashionable queue hanging down his collar like a rope’s end.
    He looked up sharply. “This is bad news, Admiral.” His voice was incisive, a bit like Beauchamp’s. “I thank God you managed to intercept it.”
    â€œLuck, sir.”
    A small smile, pushing the years from the man’s features. “Where would we be without it?”
    His companion said, “You would have had a warmer reception, Admiral, had the brig Echo got here ahead of you.”
    Inskip frowned at the interruption. “I have made some progress with the Danish government. They do not wish to join with the Tsar of Russia’s proposed alliance, but pressure is mounting. Your arrival may be timely. I thank God you had the good sense to come in a small ship-of-war and not a three-decker or something. It is a powder-keg here, although the Danes, being Danes, are trying to ignore it. I would love to return in happier times.”
    Bolitho asked, “Will you wish me to come ashore, sir?”
    â€œYes. I shall send word to you. The guard-boat will lead you to the advised anchorage.” He glanced quickly at the door. “There is a French frigate in Copenhagen, so you must warn your people to avoid any contact with her.”
    Bolitho looked at Browne. An added complication, and they had not yet begun.
    Inskip tapped the letter. “Now I have read this I think I understand the purpose of her presence. I was sent by His Majesty’s Government with the intention of preventing Danish involvement. The French may be here to provoke the opposite. Your small inshore squadron would not stem the flood if the worst happened before we could muster a fleet. Even then, the Russians and the Swedes are said to have sixty line-of-battle ships between them, and the Danes another thirty in commission.”
    Bolitho warmed to this nondescript man. He knew everything, even the size of his own small squadron. The fact he had brought Inskip some information he did not already have made him feel humble rather than superior.
    Inskip stood up, waving Ozzard and a loaded tray aside as he said, “Not just now, thank you. Clear heads are needed.” He smiled. “So I suggest you order your captain to approach the anchorage. You have roused plenty of curiosity and speculation. To see you actually step ashore should add to the gossip, eh?” He picked up his hat and added, “I am sorry you missed meeting with a fellow English traveller.”
    Bolitho allowed Allday to buckle on his glittering presentation sword for this formal occasion, but saw the distaste in his eyes.
    â€œOh, who was that?”
    â€œRupert Seton. I understand he is the brother of your late wife?”
    Bolitho stared at Allday, his mind suddenly frozen. He could see Seton as a young midshipman during the ill-fated attempt to retake Toulon for the French Royalists. A slightly built youth with a stutter. With a sister so beautiful that she was rarely absent from Bolitho’s memory.
    â€œHe told me about the tragedy, of course.” Inskip was unaware of the havoc he had caused. “A fine, intelligent young man he is, too. He has a good post with the Honourable East India Company. Where I should be if I had any sense. There are more kicks than guineas working for Mr Pitt’s administration.”
    Bolitho asked quietly, “You met him here, you say?”
    â€œYes. Taking passage