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mere fancy. But he did call aloft for early clarification; non-fighting ships sailing in company were rare and when they did it was not in pairs but in convoys of dozens. Where they friendly or not? Time stood still with no more information forthcoming, which was not a cause for concern either; it often did at sea.
    ‘Brigantines by their rig,’ came the eventual reply, from a voice that seemed to find a higher pitch.
    Every eye on deck was suddenly trained on him, Pearce sure he could feel their concern and that had him say out loud just one word. ‘Impossible.’ How he longed to go aloft himself and make a judgement but he was one winged and that made it impracticable so, more for prevarication than purpose, he ordered the raising of the private signal that identifying his as a King’s ship would get a like response from a friendly and similarly designated vessel.
    Surely they could not be the same pair he had fought before! Dorling had been off the deck when the first cry came but he was, like everyone else, there now, alternately looking through his own telescope mixed with worried glances aimed at his captain. What would happen was down to John Pearce who, as of this moment, was lacking in any idea of how to react. A gesture brought the master closer.
    ‘An appreciation if you please, Mr Dorling,’ he said quietly.
    ‘We struggled to contest with Barbary afore.’
    ‘I know that,’ Pearce replied. ‘Now I need to know if they are the same pair or even of the same ilk.’
    This was imparted with scant patience; he did not need to be reminded that without the aid of Captain Fleming, who had put his own merchant vessel at great risk to aid him, they could not have survived the previous encounter. What was germane now was not what had gone before but what they presently faced. If these were the same two sea wolves, they each carried more weight of shot than
Larcher
added to which they would likely sail with more speed and the ability to manoeuvre, even damaged. As to numbers of men in close combat, given they were two and individually better manned, that spoke for itself.
    Dorling had clearly decided on the worst case and that was reflected in the slightly desperate tone of his voice, added a look of downright scepticism that the man in command should think anything other than the worst.
    ‘Who else would they be, Capt’n? A pair of brigantines and on our very course, minded to put right where they failed afore?’ Then his voice took a slight note of panic. ‘If we seek to fight, we will be taken this time.’
    The temptation to tell him to pull himself together had to be avoided; it would serve no purpose and he needed to know what his options were. ‘And if you are correct, can we run?’
    ‘Too early to say.’
    Pearce lifted his bandaged arm and responded with cold disdain. ‘Which should tell you, Mr Dorling, that I need to know as soon as possible whether what you fear is truth or mere fancy.’
    There was no need to add an instruction; Dorling knewhe was the only one who could get aloft to see what they faced and judge the chance they might have of escape. He made for the shrouds and began to climb, an act observed and not happily so by the crew. Even Bellam, the one-legged cook was there now, a man who rarely came up at sea except to chuck out his swill, his eyes fixed over the stern, which irritated Pearce.
    ‘Anyone not employed, get below until you are called to your duty.’ The response was slow, even when Pearce added in as kindly a tone as he could manage. ‘Please recall I have as much if not more to lose than you, now do as I have asked.’
    The amount of murmuring that induced sounded, to his acute hearing, like a very active beehive and as it faded he was left with nothing but the disturbing facts. He had risked the lives of these men before and now, due to his insistence of departing Palermo, it might be he was doing so again and in much worse circumstances. The temptation to curse