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had ever commanded carried excellent references.
    He relaxed against the upholstered back of the chair that was surely much too comfortable for shipboard use. Glancing at the deckhead, Banks noted the heavy timbers supporting the poop above. They seemed unnecessarily substantial for what was in effect a light platform, and one that did not even boast a single gun. The beams seemed to sum up Prometheus perfectly: she was as tough as they came, and might as easily have been hewn from granite as the solid, seasoned oak that actually made up her frame. Most single deckers could out-sail her on a bowline but, with the wind on the quarter and a pleasing sea, the old girl would still show a fair turn of speed. Once they had a full crew and had attended to her deficiencies, she should be able to stand up to anything the weather could produce, while the two decks of heavy cannon could deliver a punch capable of sinking whatever was foolish enough to chance too close.
    He found himself smiling slightly at the thought and, poorly prepared, ill manned and untested as she was, realised he was already becoming attached to his new command. There would be discoveries to be made and doubtless disappointments to come but, even after so short a time, Banks felt confident in his line-of-battleship and knew she would never let him down. He simply hoped to be in a position to return the favour.
    * * *
    “I f it's men you're a wanting, I know where some can be found.” The woman's voice was low but clear, and Lewis, on his way below and with his mind somewhere else entirely, found himself stopping to consider her words. She must have come from one of the victualling hoys, and really should have stayed in the vessel – women visitors only being encouraged aboard H.M. ships as guests of officers, or when the wedding garland was raised. But Lewis knew from one look that she was of the kind well able to take care of herself. Short, thickset and dressed in an aged watchcoat, the woman stood solid on the half deck as if ready to resist any form of opposition. And her stare was bold and direct; with penetrating eyes that shone white in contrast to the grime on her face. There was a job to be done; she would do it, and no one was going to stop her.
    “If you know of trained hands I should of course be interested,” Lewis said, cautiously. “Perhaps you would wish to speak with our first lieutenant in the wardroom?”
    “I'll stay where I am, if you don't mind, Captain,” the woman replied. “If they sees me going below the talk will follow: I'm not proud of what I'm doing and could be held to account. But if we speaks here it might be about anything or nothing.”
    Lewis considered her further; indeed any person acting as a crimp – one paid to secure men for the Navy – was not likely to be popular. But there was something refreshingly defiant in the woman's manner, and he guessed that what she did was not for financial gain.
    “There's folk in these parts what takes liberties and don't know where to stop,” she continued, guessing further explanation was needed. “I don't mind free trade if that's what it truly is, but cannot cope with those what deals with the enemy.”
    Mention of the term struck a chord in Lewis' mind and now he thought he understood. Free trade was the euphemism usually attributed to smuggling. The woman's hoy was probably delivering the blankets they had been expecting; it was quite possible her business was being affected by the runners, although Lewis could not immediately see how.
    “Alf says I shouldn't be speakin' so, but what's wrong is wrong and owlers is undoubtedly evil,” she said with quiet feeling. “Takin' the wool I used to buy and sendin' it to the Frogs is bad enough. But when they brings back all manner of tawdry lace an' the like, we can't compete.”
    “Owling?” Lewis questioned. “Surely not from here?” Now he was fully aware of the risk the woman was taking. If she truly intended to crimp