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Dorling to have it removed.
    Forrest grinned at Kit and offered him the telescope. “Want to have a look-see, sir?” he asked. “Don’t drop it or the master’ll have our hides.”
    “Masters are the same everywhere,” Kit said with a chuckle as he hooked an arm around a topmast shroud and raised the telescope to his eye. They were on a main shipping lane at a good time of year, but the Atlantic was a big place. He wasn’t surprised not to see anything other than the immensity of the Atlantic under a sky flecked with racing clouds.
    Unless…
    “Forrest,” Kit passed him the glass. “A little south of east.”
    Forrest looked—and grunted. “You got good eyes, sir. I might have thought that was a bit o’ cloud but, no, it’s a sail.”
    “It’s nice to know we’re not alone,” Kit said. “Have you been with Hypatia long?”
    “Since Dorling bought her,” Forrest said. “I was on the ship he had before that. Poor old thing she was, but got us there safe enough. Dorling came into some money—legacy, he said—and traded up a bit.” He grinned at Kit. “Home from home, sir? She being ex-Navy like you.”
    Kit shook his head. “A hundred times better than my last ship. And that goes for the crew too.”
    “Ah,” Forrest said, nodding. He passed Kit the spyglass again, and Kit looked back along their wake to the tiny fleck of mist on the horizon that could have been cloud but wasn’t.
    By evening the sail had gone, and Kit joined Uttley for a game of backgammon while Dorling and Sir George watched and criticized every move. In the first game Kit had an easy victory because Uttley got flustered by the criticism of his play, but he braced up when Kit kicked him under the table. Uttley was a competent man crippled by his own uncertainties who needed a few solid successes to give him a better view of his own abilities. Kit was an indifferent backgammon player and didn’t need to give points away once Uttley began to play properly. After three games, where Kit was soundly trounced, the older men demanded they put the board away and get out the cards.
    Uttley was good at whist, too.
    “God be thanked we’re not playing for money,” Kit sighed after he counted up his points in the final game.
    “Ship’s rule,” Dorling said. “Games of chance should be played only for love. Saves the hands falling out.”
    Kit nodded agreement to Sir George’s enthusiastic endorsement of this but had his reservations. Men would bet and favors would change hands. It was probably as well that Captain Dorling stayed in ignorance of what went on before the mast.
    He said as much to Uttley as they went aft again after visiting the heads.
    “You mean they flout my uncle’s rules?” Uttley murmured, shocked.
    “Of course they do. Probably not money, but extra rations or even watches if you don’t keep an eye on them. They need their amusements just as much as the officers do, and if you avert your eyes from those small infringements they may not be tempted into anything more serious.”
    “Ah,” Uttley said. “I suppose that makes sense, though our crews are far smaller than yours were. How many naval ratings would you have on a ship this size?”
    “Assuming six guns and a contingent of marines?” Kit said. “Maybe—eighty including officers.”
    “And we have twelve, including officers, plus Sir George and yourself,” Uttley said. “Not even enough to man two of the guns. Besides, the powder’s damp.”
    “Then why, for pity’s sake, am I sharing my cabin with a four pounder?” Kit demanded.
    “A four pounder?” Uttley grinned. “I’m sure you’re right, but you’d never think it to look at Sir George.”
    When Kit had finished whooping laughing he asked again. “It takes up so much room. Why not get rid of it?”
    Uttley shrugged. “Without the guns the old lady yaws. I guess she was designed to carry them, and without she’s too high in the water. Uncle got them cheap.”
    “Dear God,” Kit