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Eclipse into a trap.

Chapter Six
ANGRIA’S REEF
    The two enemy vessels moved to the north and south of the first unidentified ship, holding the Eclipse in the direct path of a westerly gale and leaving a channel for the frigate to dash towards the coastline.
    The storm was worsening. Jagged streaks of lightning cut the sky. Huge rollers bombarded the frigate, lifting her with a violent force and dropping the hull with a loud crash against the thrashing sea. Horne ordered blocks to be placed beneath the trucks of the cannons to prevent them from breaking loose and careering across deck; he had the water casks secured below deck and found time to visit the wardroom cabin, having a few words with the wounded. Through all the stowing and battening and words of encouragement, his mind was on the three enemy ships hove to like snob-nosed sea vultures in the storm. What were they planning? Were they waiting for the Eclipse to make a lunge for the shore? Why?
    Local seamen would know every little inlet and current of the Malabar Coast, giving them an advantage over the Eclipse. Adam Horne paced the quarterdeck in the pelting rain, telling himself that he was cowardly to credit the enemy with knowledge he did not possess. He was merely providing himself with an excuse for his own inadequacies, for his own shortcomings as a navigator.
    Horne’s training in the Bombay Marine had included preparing maps for the Company and studying charts passed down by former captains and pilots, some mapsold enough to have been drawn upon leather, the later ones detailed upon vellum.
    He did not notice a figure, hunched against the storm, approaching him on the quarterdeck. He continued pacing out his irritation, trying to picture the coastline in his brain, and he walked abruptly into Lieutenant Pilkington.
    Rain dripping from his face, Pilkington leaned closer to Horne and shouted over the wind, ‘Sir, I brought you covering.’
    Ignoring the coat which Pilkington offered him, Horne continued weighing the idea which had occurred to him: a possible answer to his present dilemma and at least one reason for the behaviour of the three enemy ships.
    He looked into Pilkington’s rain-covered face. ‘The answer’s on the chart.’
    Pilkington leaned his head closer to hear.
    â€˜Bull’s charts!’ shouted Horne. ‘Our answer’s on the charts drawn by Commodore Bull!’
    Pilkington shook his head. He did not understand what Horne meant.
    â€˜The answer!’ Horne pointed ashore.
    Seeing confusion on Pilkington’s face, he realized it was futile to try to explain himself in a howling gale.
    â€˜I want to see you in my cabin,’ he shouted. ‘My cabin !’
    Pilkington nodded to show he understood.
    Horne remembered that the quartermaster, Jim Striker, had replaced George Tandimmer at the wheel.
    â€˜You. Tandimmer. Merlin. And Rajit. I want to see the four of you in my cabin.’ He held up four fingers. ‘Four !’
    Pilkington managed a salute. He turned, bracing himself against the gale, and moved towards the ladder.
    A roller smashed over the taffrail. Pilkington stopped, steadying himself in its wash, and continued towards the ladder. Horne followed in Pilkington’s wake.
    * * *
    At the foot of the companionway Horne shed his dripping frock coat and cocked hat. He pushed open the door of his cabin, stowing the sodden objects in the nearest locker and grabbed the first item he found in a sea chest to use as a towel.
    Moving towards the teak chart case as he rubbed his face and hair, he looked through the racks, finding the chart marked ‘Panaji Bank’.
    Enough light poured through the stern windows for him to read the vellum map spread on his desk. He did not raise his eyes from the indigo markings as he called for Pilkington and the other three men to enter the cabin.
    â€˜That’s the reason right there.’ Horne stabbed his finger at the chart.