The waning moon drifted through a long archipelago of clouds, casting its light down the sounds and channels between. It slipped, now and then, behind the pale islands, illuminating them in a soft glow. In the distance, the lights of Inconstant could be seen, and when the moonlight that flowed over the sea found her, Archer could make the shape of the sails in his night glass.
He glanced up at the sky, gauging the course of the moon, establishing the positions of the islands of cloud, measuring the time it would take for the moon to transit each mass.
“How distant is Sir William?” Griffiths asked.
“Two leagues,” Barthe replied.
Archer would have said five English miles, but two leagues was near enough.
The three men had gathered at the rail and were gazing at Inconstant to windward. Jones always claimed no ship could sail nearer the wind than his, so Archer and Barthe had decided to let him climb to windward of them, which would no doubt feed his substantial vanity and pride. The truth was, the Themis was every bit as weatherly.
Archer glanced up at the sky. “That is great acreage of cloud in the west, Mr Barthe. Do you think it might douse the moon as we require?”
“It might provide an hour of meagre light, Mr Archer. Might I suggest we douse our own lanterns, one by one?”
Archer gave the order, and the larboard stern lantern was snuffed. An area of shadow crept west, slipping over Inconstant so that only the pinpoints of light that were her lanterns could be seen, and those but barely.
“Let us douse another lantern,” Archer ordered, and this was quickly done.
The massive shadow that flowed over the sea approached, silent and slowly roiling, down and up, like a languid sea serpent. It reached them and passed over, more insubstantial than a dream.
“The last lantern,” Archer ordered. “We will shift our yards and wear ship. I should like to see as many sea-miles as can be managed between ourselves and Sir William, come dawn.”
Archer went and stood at the taffrail, from where he could still see the lights of Inconstant as they winked up and down on the trade-driven sea. He could almost imagine it was his first command—even if an acting command—disappearing over the horizon. Jones might find them on the morrow and install some other in his place. It was the greatest good fortune that Sir William had informed him, in great detail, of his plans for the cruise. If Jones stayed with those plans—to any degree—Archer could avoid him. The only difficulty this threw up was that Jones had chosen the best cruising grounds and, as Archer would not be able to go there, the Themis would not likely have as profitable a cruise as her officers might hope, and bringing prizes to Caldwell would likely assure Archer of remaining in command. One choice made seemed to mean another was lost.
The passage north of Guadeloupe would be their cruising grounds for the next few days, and Archer dearly hoped he would find good fortune and never wake to see the sails of Inconstant bearing down upon him.