Dunlochry. He watched as it went about, each action economically one after the other, not all together, smart navy fashion. She would have only a tiny crew.
He looked more closely: was it
Maid
back from a fruitless search for a diving bell?
He felt a stab of remorse. Toby Stirk had been a true friend and shipmate, bringing him without question into the warmth of his family, but now the old salt was way out of soundings.Kyddâs paltry advice was little return for what heâd given.
There was no way he could be involved in the venture, of course. As a kingâs officer it would be a scandal if it were ever known. However, he could still give counsel and that right willingly, although he doubted he would be asked again.
He began to walk back.
By the time he reached the village
Maid
had moored and her crew were sitting on the jetty.
When they saw him they got up and hurried across.
âMr Paine. Sir. We has tâ talk wiâ ye.â Stirkâs battered hat was in his hands.
âAye, anâ urgent, like, if yâ please,â added Jeb.
âVery well. At the Lion?â
âNo! Thisân is serious. Donât want no prattinâ gabblers hearinâ what weâve to say to ye.â
It seemed that only on
Maid
at her buoy could they talk freely.
Kydd sat in the place of honour on the fore windlass.
âShut yâr geggy, Jeb, anâ let me tell âim,â Stirk demanded, then laid it out for Kydd.
Tobermory was a rising and important maritime town with a small dockyard to care for the little fleet of storm-tossed naval sloops guarding the northern approaches to the kingdom. This had been their first port of call, and heâd been right in his hunch that there was a diving bell in town. His informant, a blacksmith taking a wet before an afternoon at the anchor shop, was positive: heâd forged a grappling hook for the beast.
The second part was more delicate. Stirkâs story had been ingenious: he had with him a Dutch philosophical gentleman who prayed he might set eyes on such a wonder, if it were at all possible.
The master attendantâs clerk had been most sympathetic, nodding bemused at the heavily disguised Laddie but regretted that for the last two years the thing had been on the books over at Leith, called on only when needed. And he knew of no other bell in the Western Isles â that is, no kingâs bell.
Picking up on the last, Stirk prowled the few slips and only shipyard and even asked about in shipsâ chandlers, sailorsâ flophouses and the like. On his way back to
Maid
he had been stopped by a ragged messenger, who took him back to one of the chandlers.
The man had quickly disposed of Stirkâs tale and put it to them that they had a treasure map or similar, which had given them certain knowledge of the whereabouts of a rich sunken wreck. Why else would they be looking for a diving bell?
Brushing aside their protests, he put a proposition to them: they were never going to secure a diving bell in all of Scotland, and in any case it would provoke intolerable curiosity if they did. But he had a solution. For a consideration he would provide the means to recover the hoard.
Years ago, a Mr Lethbridge of Newton Abbot, the legendary Wrackman, had invented a diving engine quite different from Dr Halleyâs bell. In it he had successfully brought up much wealth from a Dutch East Indiaman in Madeira, more from wrecks at Cape Town and other parts, and had retired a rich man. His son had followed him and theyâd even come to Scotland with the diving engine and, among other feats, had lifted thirty-five elephant teeth, worth a fortune, from a sunken East India Company merchantman off the Isle of May.
The son had got into difficulties and eventually gone bankrupt, but had left a complete diving engine with this verychandlery establishment as pledge against his debts. It had been kept safe against its redeeming but the son had died