Hold Hideaway

Maybe it was. Fingers covered his head with the jacket, letting the oversized garment literally swallow him up.

"Boil yours first." His brother was impossible. Andrew grimaced and picked his way a few feet away from the ladder. "Fingers!"

Behind him, Thomas tripped over something and swore.

Terry rubbed Finger's back, the woollen cloth rough under his hand. "I ain't goin' to see if it is, though," he whispered. He hoped they were hidden well enough - neither of them had reckoned on someone bringing a lantern down here. Though maybe they should've.

It sounded almost like the Shepherds. Officers weren't like to break out swearing like that, anyway. He couldn't think what they'd want.

"Dunno even what'd they be lookin' for."

Terry shrugged. "Sounds like they's lookin' fer you," he said, though he wasn't sure why.

Thomas's bare foot throbbed where he'd caught it against a solid wooden keg. Bloody hell. Good job lighting the way, Andrew. "Mebbe you could wait it up a bit?"

"Mebbe you could keep up so's I wou'n't have to," his brother retorted.

"You try keepin' up, carryin' this lot."

Andrew snorted. "Stop your whinin'. We ain't here for you. Hoi. Fingers! Show us a leg, or sommat."

Terry bit his lip. "You want 'em to find us?" he whispered, fairly sure he was speaking into Fingers' ear.

Why would they be looking for him? Unless they'd been sent by Mister Bush. Fingers didn't like that thought at all.

"Corp'r'l prolly wantin' his jacket back," he muttered, as this thought came to him next. It was nice of the corporal to loan it out, but he'd need it returned. Probably his own officer had told him to get it back.

"He'd make sure you had summat else to wear, though, wouldn't he?" Terry murmured. "Ain't that mean - nobody ain't that mean."

There wasn't any answer to his call. Andrew frowned. He knew the boy was down here. Mallory had said so.

"Mebbe he ain't here no more," Thomas said.

"Course he's here. Mallory saw him runnin'."

His brother sighed. "Ain't a body knows the ship better'n them boys. He's prob'ly tucked in somewheres nobody'd find him."

Andrew rolled his eyes. "Wou'n't you do it too, if you was him?" Honestly. "C'mon, Fingers. We gots some new slops an' all for you."

"You sure you don't want 'em to find you? said he's got new slops for you." Though how they'd managed to get new for him was anyone's guess - Mister Foxley was just like any other purser the Navy and didn't want to lose even a farthing on gratis issue of anything.

New slops. Tempting. Fingers wanted his old clothes, but any clothes would do, he supposed. All he had at the moment was Corporal Johnson's jacket.

"S'pose s'all right," he muttered, thinking he would have to crawl out of here at some point anyway.

"All right, then," Terry replied, and patted his friend's shoulder again. "You'll be all right, Fingers, you'll see." He hoped so anyway, and backed out of their sanctuary, hoping like crazy that it really was the Shepherds, and that nobody else was with them.

Still nothing. Thomas looked around for somewhere to set down the bundle of clothes. He had his own kit to look after, which needed sorting before Corporal Johnson came stomping through the messdeck. As much as he wanted to help Fingers out...

"Hoi. That you over there, mate?" Andrew lifted the lantern up.

"Sort of," Terry said, blinking in the sudden light. It really wasn't that strong a light - lanterns aboard ship had horn panels rather than glass, which was easily broken - but it was quite bright enough after the total darkness of their hiding place. He bent down to address Fingers. "It is on'y the Shepherds, mate. Looks like they've got some clothes an' stuff f'r you."

He inched out of the little nook, finally uncovering his head so he could peer uncertainly at the two Marines.

"Dunno they'd fit," Fingers muttered, blinking owlishly in the lantern light.

"They'd fit better'n that coat," Terry pointed out, looking gratefully at the two older Marines.

"Should fit," Andrew said, grinning when he saw the red jacket-swathed boy appear. "They was mine, from back not long ago."

His brother coughed. "No they wasn't. You never had that checked shirt!"

What? "Course I did. Was me got the blackball down the sleeve. 'Member?"

"Don't be stupid," Thomas countered. "That was Shriver's doin', knockin' his way through the mess like he does. An' it was me scrubbed it clean anyway!"

"Does it marrer?" Terry asked. "Let's have 'em. Poor lad can't wear that jacket f'rever - your corp'ral'll want it back, an it's miles too big for him anyhow."

The twins were bickering. They were always bickering. Fingers squinted at them, his eyes still adjusting to the lantern light, and nearly smiled. If nothing else, they could be counted on for a laugh.

"Izz're trousers anyways?"

"C'mon, you two, pass 'em over," Terry said. They were good sorts, the twins, though they always seemed to be bickering about something or other. About the only thing they didn't bicker about was the pranks they pulled.

Thomas made a point to kick Andrew as he stepped past his brother to hold out the folded clothes. Mouthy idiot deserved it.

"Should fit, anyways," he said. "Weren't so long ago we was your own size."

"Aye," Andrew agreed, reaching out one hand to cuff Thomas in the head. "We actually don't know which bit was whose, neither. Not really. 'Cause of us - "

" - sharin' everythin'," Thomas finished. He waited until after Fingers had taken the bundle away from him before rounding on his brother. Smacking him in the head was completely uncalled for. Thomas had only kicked him, after all!

"You two, pack it in. D'you want someone to come down here an' find us?" Terry hissed at them.

The instant the clothes came into his hands, Fingers wriggled his way free of the big jacket and started dressing himself. The twins had been mostly right. These did fit. Maybe the trousers were a little too wide in the waist and the shirt too long, but it would do for now. He could always have someone take the hems in for him or something.

To Fingers' surprise, the twins had even included a set of braces, which - once he figured out how they were supposed to go - helped keep the trousers up perfectly. It wasn't usual for ship's boys to wear these, but just then Fingers hardly cared.

The Shepherds were now tussling, the lantern fortunately having been set safely aside. Fingers stared, his little hands filled with Corporal Johnson's jacket. It was so typical of them. A reluctant grin wormed slowly onto his face, then he laughed. He couldn't help it.

Terry grinned at the sound of Fingers' giggle. You really couldn't keep him down for long, and having proper clothes made a lot of difference. It looked funny seeing him with the braces on, though Terry could understand it - Fingers was possibly the smallest boy aboard and anyone else's trousers were more than likely going to be too big.

"Looks a lot better like that, Fingers," he said, and rolled his eyes at the tussling Marine drummers.