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Three
     
     
    Probert’s presence, and that he was prepared to talk, made itself noticed almost immediately. The crew of the Hypatia had been politely contemptuous of Kit, and he had had to bite his tongue a few times when they kindly told him things that he knew perfectly well. Now opinion seemed to be split as to whether he had played a grand joke on them in letting them think he was a landsman, or that it had been some kind of plot to make them feel stupid.
    Uttley had no doubts. The next time he took his reading and Kit stood close to observe, he flushed. “I suppose you think I’m making a real hash of things. I don’t suppose they do it this way in the Navy.”
    “No, we don’t,” Kit said quietly. “But then the Navy has more recent equipment. That cross-staff could have sailed with Drake.” He grinned at Uttley. “I’m just keeping my hand in. Your readings are fine.”
    “Are they?” Uttley’s face was a picture of surprise. “Vargas thinks I’m an idiot.”
    “He’s the master, but you’re the captain’s nephew. If he trains you up too well, you’ll take his post.” Kit shrugged. “If you think I can help, just ask, and if I see you doing something that might get the ship in trouble I’ll say, but it’ll be just between the two of us. All right?”
    Uttley nodded and applied himself to his equipment without a fumble, while Kit turned his face up to the sun, closed his eyes, and soaked up the warmth.
    Captain Dorling was delighted. As far as he was concerned a passenger—a mouth to feed who did little to pay his way other than the occasional bit of laundry—had become another person upon whom he could load some responsibility. He would have had Kit standing a watch if Sir George hadn’t intervened.
    “While I have no objection to Kit assisting, I’m afraid I need to be able to call on him freely.” Sir George took his wig off and scratched his head. “Like now. Kit, fetch my hat.”
    Vargas just grunted at Kit, but it was with a little more respect than usual.
    What else Probert had told them became apparent gradually. It was three days before he heard the ship’s cook mutter a reference to Gasson’s Fancies, and he rounded on the man at once with a demand that he speak up.
    “Didn’t mean nothing by it, sir,” the man said.
    “Well, don’t let me hear you say that again,” Kit insisted. “God, man, you might hurt Probert’s feelings!” Thus showing he knew the originator of the epithet and tossing the ball back into his court.
    Probert met him later that day. “I wondered if you’d recall me, sir, our meeting was that brief,” the man said. His sharp, dark eyes looked Kit over like a weasel speculating on the weakness of a buck rabbit.
    “It took a while, but I am glad to see you looking so prosperous. I know this isn’t the Walsingham,” he said, naming the ship Probert had been attached to at the time of the court martial, “but one takes what berth one can find in the times of peace.”
    “That we do, sir,” Probert said, looking pointedly at the bucket full of damp clothing in Kit’s hand. “Best get on, sir.”
    “Indeed you had. Thank you, Probert.” Kit stood his ground, as honor demanded, until Probert had stepped around him.
    Later, Forrest, one of the younger hands, waved a spyglass at Kit and said, “Care to go aloft, sir? I don’t suppose a bit of height will bother you?”
    “Sir George?” Kit asked.
    “Oh, feel free,” Sir George said, casting a wistful eye at the rigging. “Make notes. Tell me what you see. Tell me what it feels like.”
    “I will, sir,” Kit said, already half out of his shoes and stockings. He ran after the man with Sir George’s instruction not to fall off ringing in his ears.
    Forrest kept an eye on Kit until he was satisfied that he was secure. They didn’t go right to the masthead but stopped on the little fighting platform. Kit was surprised to see it still in place, but he supposed that it hadn’t occurred to