Artemis - Kydd 02 by Julian Stockwin Page A

lemon shrub, Kydd's father remaining in the shop to complete outstanding orders.
    First, the interior was cleared, and the walls set to rights. The next stage brought out the boatswain with his tackle. He took charge immediately, and with hard, seamanlike orders, perfectly understandable to a brace of foretopmen, had them 'swaying up the yards' and 'tailing onto the topping lift' until the roof beams were all safely in place.
    The boatswain pressed some hands for the roof tiling, and before Kydd's amazed eyes, a trim little classroom appeared. A schoolmaster's study and other necessaries were next, and soon a central plinth in the tiny quadrangle was seen stepping a mast — complete with topmast and all the standing rigging proper to such an edifice.
    The day came when the mayor was prevailed upon to open the schoolhouse. Three soldiers and a fife arrived from the Royal Surreys, and to the grave glee of the children of the town, they marched about then stood to attention in strict line in front of the mast.
    Fine and earnest words were said, and then in this country town, far from the sea, the good folk were treated to the exotic spectacle of the boatswain in his best seagoing gear, solemnly piping a salute to the Union flag of Old England, as it was hauled slowly and impressively up the 'mizzen halliards'.
    There was something suspiciously like a tear in Mrs . Kydd's eye as the guests - and prospective parents -inspected the neat buildings. And there was more than a little of the man-o'-war about the scrupulously clean rooms, the squared-off desks and Spartan appointments. The boatswain stumped about, fierce and strict, his silver call around his neck, and Mr Kydd in the unaccustomed black breeches of a schoolmaster did his best to look severe. Cecilia went up to Renzi and enveloped him in a hug, which went on and on, until she released him, eyes sparkling.
    Kydd frowned. It was not so much having to spend such a fine day inside, here alone in the new classroom, it was the impenetrable obtuseness of the book he was trying to get his head round. It was a standard grammar, Lowth, and it would be the one he would have to teach, but he had only the sketchiest dame-school education to meet it with.
    Without thinking he had sat not at the high, severe teacher's desk at the front of the room, but at a child's desk facing it. His head was a-swim with words. An adverb? What the devil was that again? Wasn't it something that ended with mg? But surely that was an adjective? He sighed in despair. And what if one of the pupils asked him the question he dreaded more than any other: 'If you please, sir, what use is an adverb?'
    He ground his teeth with frustration. 'The adverb (Lat. adverbium) as the attribute of an attribute doth occur in d ivers forms, cf adverbiation, the phraseological adverb . . .' What possible value could that be to anyone in real life? To a sailor, for instance, out there on a topsail yardarm in a blow, fisting the madly flogging canvas to a reef while the ship rolled wildly. He leant back in vivid recollection. And what would Stirk say if at quarters, the gun loaded and run out, he reminded him, 'It is of the first importance to apprehend the singular difference between the two distinct families of nouns — the nomen substantium the first, the nomen adjectivum the second. On no account should these be confused . . .' He smiled at the thought.
    'Then you do not find your lot uncongenial?' He had not noticed Renzi entering the littie classroom.
    'Be damned — how this mumping rogue c'n cackle his grease like this, I'm beggared t' know.'
    Renzi's eyes softened. 'A utile article will always prove perdurant to the mind,' he said enigmatically. Kydd threw him a frosty glance and bent again to his book.
    'I proceed to town this afternoon. There are some articles I must have when — when I return aboard. Do you wish anything for the school?' Kydd looked up. Renzi was saddened at the bleakness in his expression. Kydd's