The "Surprise" waited, like a drawn bow, poised for action. It had been a five days since the neighbouring ship in the Dutch port had sailed and now, recumbent as they were, Jack Aubrey was feeling the pinch of dissatisfaction that they were not able to spring into action.

The orders had come, indeed, and direct from Admiralty House, but they were not as Aubrey had expected. They were to remain in port, in Vlissingen, and await further instruction. It had been a blow to the Captain – Jack Aubrey thrived on action and exacting what was required using his array of finely honed skills. It did not suit his demeanour just to wait around.

The men were getting frustrated too, Aubrey sensed; as the finishing touches were being put to the ship more cross words were being said amongst the men; more breakages and fewer evenings with rousing sea-song filtering into his cabin. They had received but one mail exchange, almost three weeks before and had had little news from Britain. There was only so much idleness they would stand and, in the absence of further instructions Aubrey knew he would have to do something to placate them. He also knew that he must not let his frustration show.

Turning from the view of the now empty wharf Aubrey shook his head. Such contemplation not like him – he thrived on action and tactical thinking on his feet, exacting his orders in his own manner. There were things that were concerning him too and despite Hardy being a potentially good companion the man's manner had prevented Jack from confiding in him, not considering the man was doctoring for him only on a temporary basis.

On paper, he and his new surgeon should have had many things in common: they were dedicated to the naval service and patriotic. But that was where any similarity ended. Jack knew that the men on Victory, even the lowliest aboard were the high ranks in ordinary naval vessels: commissioned lieutenants aboard the latter were known to vie with one another for non-commissioned positions aboard the flagship. Such competition made the men better skilled, more efficient, something which Jack vaguely approved, but it also made for a self-important, win-at-all-costs attitude amongst men, and killed any kind of comradeship and goodwill, something which Aubrey believed was essential to bind his men together.

At times, Aubrey found himself feeling grateful that the doctor had taken to his cabin. He had tried to get along with Hardy, but he found him cold and disdainful with a superior air. On the occasions his new surgeon had deigned to join Aubrey, he had made snooty comments about the inferiority of the wine that Jack had on offer and commented on the unfashionable walnut Queen Anne chair in which his predecessor had so often rested.

Now, with such a lull in action Thomas Hardy had barely been out of his cabin, save to bring Jack the remainder of Dr. Maturin's belongings. What had the man in his possession that he required the meagre space that some books and journals, a scientific instrument and a blue dress were occupying? The belongings were now residing in the corner of Aubrey's cabin. The doctor could not have taken them with him – his work now would clearly require him to be swift of foot and light of possession – so Jack Aubrey was conscious to mind his belongings until Dr. Maturin returned.

Despite himself, Aubrey had found his long evenings broken by reading a little of his friend's work. Some of it was beyond him, written for a specific audience, namely the Royal Society. But the richness with which the papers had been prepared showed how much Maturin desired the recognition of his peers, and, ultimately, membership.

He had said that to Jack before, during a post-prandial contemplation, or before a fiddling. But it wasn't until he had seen it written down that Aubrey really understood, recognising the sheer passion burning in its pages, written by a man so dedicated to the natural world, and recording its minutiae in such faithful detail – he recognised himself and his own devotion to the service within his friend's writings.

And then there was the half-written letter to Cicely. Aubrey had read a few sentences before he realised what it was, and returned it.

Cicely. What have you done?

It was a question which had invaded his mind all too often since his letter from Sophie. He had replied almost immediately to his wife once he had received her distressful correspondence. The letter enclosed with hers was undoubtedly from Cicely, and it seemed much worse coming from her hand directly. Sophie was worried, that was for certain, but she had coped with the situation in her own, gracious manner. Much as he should now be annoyed with his former mizzenlad for her treatment of his hospitality so, his wife had made it seem better, and, by her distant influence, his potential exasperation had yielded to concern: she had been, in a manner of speaking, one of his men.

Aside from the worry she had clearly caused Sophie, Jack knew that he would have to tell Maturin the news. The doctor had given Jack the name of his superior whom he should write, should he hear from Cicely. That his wife had absconded and her location was unknown, Aubrey concluded, one he knew the doctor should indeed know. But he knew that, in his stead of spy, it was news he would be without, especially considering its grave nature. He remembered the weight of concern on his friend's shoulders the night before he departed the ship. Clearly the work he was to undertake was perilous, but then – who was he to withhold such information?

Looking at the letter he had written to his friend he considered its burden before gazing back at the shallow waves in their regular advances towards the harbour. A knock caused Aubrey to turn sharply and he rapidly buried his idle mindfulness.

"Hm," he coughed, and stood straight. "Enter." On eyeing the owner of the knock, he added, "good morning, Blakeney."

Before him, his acting first-lieutenant stood, a downcast expression on his face. He was not the only one feeling the effects of his former doctor's absence and he knew that Will Blakeney had probably had had some contact with the Hardy.

"Is it, sir," replied Blakeney. Clearly the atmosphere aboard Surprise had permeated even the most robustly optimistic of his men.

"And what is it I can help you with?" Jack circumnavigated his desk and stood before his ex-midshipman: since promoting his previous first lieutenant to Captain aboard Acheron, Aubrey merely waited for the formality that was Tom Pullings visiting Admiralty House for the rank to be officially conferred. During wartime such technicalities were often waived, but, in the true spirit of the navy until the papers were officially read before all of the Surprise's men by Aubrey, Will Blakeney still considered himself to be a midshipman.

Another casualty of the correspondence drought, Jack reflected, in a similar fashion to his own unfulfilled professional and social contact with Captain Pullings had he met the former Acheron expected. He knew that there would be a good reason why the Surprise was being retained, of course, and they must play their part nevertheless. However the knowledge of this did nothing to quell their collective anticipation.

When Aubrey realised Blakeney had said nothing he smiled and patted the young man reassuringly on the arm. Will Blakeney smiled back quickly.

"Tell me, why is it that you think that we are here?" Aubrey took a few steps back and leaned, un-captain-like against his desk. As he expected, Will's face clouded as he struggled to come up with an answer. Very well trained, if he did say so himself, Jack concluded: it was quite alien to him to consider why orders were being given. For the lad to progress into captaincy and beyond it would be a vital skill to master.

"Do you recall the celebratory dinner we held for Dr. Maturin before he departed us?" Will Blakeney's face fell immediately at the mention of their mutual friend and Jack realised that this was likely to be the reason the lad had made his way to Aubrey's cabin.

"Yes, sir," Blakeney replied. "It was a lovely dinner, sir. I'm sure the doctor appreciated it."

"Specifically," Aubrey continued, "the story with which he regaled us. About the lizard in the desert? Please sit." Jack gestured towards his Queen Anne chair, inviting his first lieutenant to make himself more comfortable. After a moment, Will Blakeney sat down, brushing his feet against the cabriole legs. After a minute or so of consideration he continued.

"Yes sir, I do remember." A pause as Blakeney thought again, seemingly in order to try to remember the evening accurately. "He talked about the lizards of the family "Gekkonidae" that live in dry, hot climates. He said that the lizards of this family can change colour, and wait for many hours, even days for their prey. They get covered in dust and dirt, while they wait, but they never more." Blakeney looked earnestly at Aubrey, still casually leaning against his desk.

"Well, that is not at all like us, wouldn't you agree? The crew have cleaned our ship from topsail to keel." He stood up, and made his way round to the other side of his desk, taking a moment to peer through the window before taking in Blakeney again.

"But we are waiting, sir," Will replied, with a small smile. "Just like the lizards. We're a clean lizard, waiting for our moment."

"Precisely, acting-lieutenant," nodded Jack Aubrey. "We wait for our orders, like the lizards wait for our prey. Now that you understand, you are to explain this to the men." Smile faded to uncertainty. Jack realised that now was probably not the time to rib the lad.

"Do you think they will understand, Blakeney?" Will shook his head.

"Not like we do, sir. They probably won't understand why we have to wait."

"In that case, I have decided to set a competition." Aubrey leaned forward and opened his thin desk drawer. From it, Will Blakeney watched as Jack placed upon the green leather desk covering an intricately carved Meershaum pipe.

"It's beautiful, sir," Will replied. Jack peered forward and Jack picked it up and, walking over to the lad, offering it to him. Will opened his hand slowly and Aubrey placed it on his palm.

"I propose some days of sport," Jack continued, watching Blakeney examine the pipe, "climbing the rigging…loading the cannon…paces…driving the tiller…and this shall be the prize. Do you think the men will receive this favourably?"

"Oh yes, sir," replied Will, holding onto the pipe for a few seconds' more examination as Jack made to take it from him. "They should be most proud to be its owner."

An hour later, having despatched Blakeney to announce the news of impending games to the men, and Jack Aubrey examined the letter he had now written to his previous doctor, addressed, as instructed, to William Wickham. It wasn't a letter he had relished composing and had let the enclosed letter from Cicely sent to his wife explain the situation more clearly. It would be a blow to his friend once he read it, Jack knew – he knew it would be in his situation – but he knew he couldn't in all faith withhold the information from Stephen either.

As he went towards the door of his cabin, to officially begin the Surprise's games, he cast an eye on the other letter, the one to Sophie. It always made him happy when he wrote to his wife and, despite several sombre paragraphs, this was no different. He had thanked her for her conscientiousness in alerting to him her current domestic situation with regard to Mrs Maturin and, as usual, sent her his love.

Making his way up to the quarterdeck, he saw the men standing in squads with their officers, as instructed, waiting patiently, but eagerly. Three day of competition and games, Jack mused. And after then? He wondered what he would do in the absence of further orders. Surely someone must have realised that, despite their loyalty, he could have an unruly mob on his hands by now: mutinies had happened over much less.

"Men of the Surprise," Jack began as he beheld his crew, looking over them approvingly. Clearly the idea of the competition had been considered favourably by the salts – they had taken a noticeable care in their appearance. Even Hardy had been suitably impressed by the idea to show his face, standing a few feet from Aubrey next to Blakeney, his ruddy complexion bending into an approving smile.

"Men of the Surprise." Jack Aubrey's voice reverberated around the deck as the salts and his officers beheld him silently. "Today is the first, the first, I hope, of many such competitions. So as every man here knows who is the fastest…the most swift…the strongest…the fleetest. All men, whether rank or no, may stand shoulder to shoulder."

A murmur of agreement rippled around the main deck as the men took in his words, a low susurration feeding its way through the early autumn air. Both the officers and salts alike were trying to pay attention to their Captain as well as exchange words of excited anticipation between one another. The noise settled to silence when they became aware that Aubrey was ready to address them again.

"All duties are to be Naval Lowest for the next three days," Aubrey continued, noting the delight even this small announcement had on his crew. "For such an auspicious occasion, it is only fitting there should be a prize – " Stepping a little further towards the balustrade, holding aloft the valuable pipe. The salts craned upwards and his officers across, taking in the quality carving of the bowl and the elegant stem, imagining as one the pride of acquiring it for themselves.

"So, without further ado, I hereby begin the Games of the HMS Surprise!"

"Three cheers for the captain!" came a lone cry from the men below him. "Hip-hip – "

" – huzzah! Huzzah! Huzzah!"

Retreating to the rear of the quarterdeck, Aubrey watched as his officers organised the men – of which there were nearly all who had come forward to compete – into groups. Many would be eliminated that day and those who qualified for tomorrow would provide excellent sport for the many. He scanned the proceedings before him, noting Hardy's conspicuous absence again. Would nothing engage the man, and allow him to at least show a modicum of interest in the ship?

Aubrey fought to prevent imaginings of his friend were he in Hardy's stead and looked past the forecastle, into the distance. A small boat was docking at the otherwise empty quay there at Vlissingen. Withdrawing his small telescope he noted the Union Flag on its top-mast. He continued to watch as a figure disembarked, made its way along the cluttered wharf and towards the Surprise.

He watched Killick pipe the man aboard – mail had arrived and his steward exchanged with his counterpart letters from Surprise with that for the crew. Immediately, the organisation of the games were temporarily halt as Killick distributed the letters, and a couple of parcels to the men and officers (it would take only the sinking of a ship for the men not to pause in their business to receive communication from their loved ones and, probably, debtors). Moments later, he approached with one for Aubrey.

Orders, Jack noted. At last.

"Permission to pause a-moments?" Preserved Killick looked earnestly at Jack. As Captain's steward technically he was never off duty and had to seek permission for any task that was not directly related to his job.

"Certainly, Killick. I do hope Mary fares well." Aubrey did not wait for a reply as Killick saluted and paced down the steps and back to the main deck.

Breaking open Admiralty House's official seal, Jack Aubrey scanned the military directive and felt his face betray his disillusionment as he read it over three times. The Surprise was to remain berthed at Vlissingen until further orders arrived. They were going nowhere.

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