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already there to meet them as they jumped down from the carriage.
     
    “A good journey, gentlemen?” he asked, shaking their hands, and smiling readily.
     
    “Very fair, sir, thank you.” King replied. “A little trouble near Bodmin; the road is yet unmade and leaves much to be desired, I fear.”
     
    “It is being attended to,” Bank assured them. “They are building a mail station here as we speak; the coach will be calling direct from London in no time.”
     
    “Indeed?” King could see little relevance in how the mail was distributed, but was struck by the energy and life that seemed to flow from his captain; a dramatic contrast to the last time they had met.
     
    Banks nodded enthusiastically. “Were we to be based hereabouts, there should be few problems with communication,” he said, then turned away from the carriage with its snorting horses, and began striding down towards the quayside. “Come, there is much to do, and more to see.”
     
    King and Caulfield exchanged glances, before hurrying after him, hoping the coachman would have the sense to collect their belongings.
     
    “A touch eager, perhaps?” Caulfield muttered as they went. “I think the ship may have pleased our dear captain even more than we had thought.”
     
    * * *
     
    Banks had every right to be impressed. Scylla was in fine fettle; a small amount of work had seen any minor defects put to right, and Chilton, the only remaining lieutenant, seemed to have the right idea with regards to routine maintenance. There was further work to do, of course; the ship had to be manned: almost an entire crew found, stores taken on board, and a wealth of other details needed attending to before she could be taken to sea. Banks was also aware that Scylla was not yet his; by even inspecting he was taking a liberty with the usual protocol. But then he wanted her, he wanted her so very badly, and the reaction from King and Caulfield, the two men he felt closest to as far as service matters were concerned, only confirmed his longing, and changed it into something that was very nearly painful.
     
    “How does she sail?” he asked Chilton, who had been present through this, and his earlier, inspection.
     
    “Well, sir,” Chilton was a relatively new lieutenant, and felt awkward discussing the merits of the ship with her potential captain. “She’ll show a fair turn of speed to any of the class, and with the wind on her quarter there are few who can catch her.”
     
    Banks felt his enthusiasm grow, but was careful to keep his feelings hidden. It was very much as he had suspected. He had studied the lines before leaving London, and to all reports Artois ships were good in most weathers. She was also solid; he reached out and felt one of the knees as he stood on the upper deck. It was not the all out bulk of a line-of-battleship, but the warm oak was certainly substantial, and felt massive when compared with Pandora’ s timbers.
     
    “There’s some weight there,” King was looking at the nearest eighteen pounder carriage gun. He was right; the piece was a little shorter than a thirty-two, and the shot would obviously be lighter, but it was powerful enough for anything a frigate might choose to fight and, when backed by the twenty-four pounder carronades, they would have a broadside to be proud of.
     
    “Would you care to view the great cabin, sir?” Chilton chanced. Banks shook his head; he had already seen what would be his quarters on the first inspection, and he knew King and Caulfield well enough; they were as smitten as he was. To investigate further, only to find his father was unable to secure the ship, would be frustrating in the extreme. There was already a personal risk taken in sending for the two officers; discovering that Scylla was not actually available would make him a fool in both their eyes.
     
    “Thank you, no, Mr Chilton. We must leave you to your duties.”
     
    The young man touched his hat respectfully and stood to