Sunday 21st - afternoon or thereabouts

Stephen pressed his fingers to his eyes, looking for a moment at the coruscations, then opened his eyes again to look around the sickbay, and walked out of the door.

"He don't look too well." A simple observation as M'Clure moved to see what had been changed about those still remaining in their care.

Bridgens exhaled and did not speak a word.

A little later elsewhere aboard the ship Fletcher was looking for Yates. It had been Simon's turn to dine with the officers, and now he had been fed he dutifully returned back to the berth to see if Peter still felt like keeping his promise of going up top. It did occur to him that it may be an idea to let his dinner settle first, but the prospect of going up in company was more immediately appealing than sitting quietly for half an hour by himself.

After dinner with the other midshipmen Peter had come back on deck. There appeared to have been some sort of excitement - possibly involving Dr Maturin, or maybe even Dr Crozier. Fletcher had been dining with the officers, and might know what it was all about.

It was also being said on the quarterdeck, before dinner, that they should sight the squadron off Oporto before dark. What was happening there he did not know, but the army was also making its way to Oporto, to turf the French out, and there was a possibility that the ships of the squadron would be involved - even, that the Terpsichore had sailed north for that very purpose. Peter went to look for Fletcher, and more informed gossip.

By fortunate coincidence Fletcher was on his way up on deck by the same route as Peter was on his way down to find Simon. Seeing the other boy coming his way, Simon smiled and sped up his pace to meet him.

"Hello, Peter," he said cheerfully.

"Simon! I was looking for you." Peter smiled at the younger midshipman. "You said you wanted to go aloft this afternoon. If we go high enough, we might see the Fleet at Oporto!"

Fletcher's smile widened. Peter was in much better spirits than this morning, it seemed, and it looked as if they would have some fun.

"Shall I fetch my glass? We will see them even better with it."

"If we can see them at all - you can't see further with a telescope, you know." He wondered if Simon did know - you could see better, but not further ...

"As I said, we'll see them better! I won't be a moment..."

Had Simon been but a year old he probably would have realised that it would not be dignified for a young gentleman to be seen running in eagerness to his quarters and back again - for any reason. The Master did not run, none of the lieutenants did and Captain Bolitho certainly did not; but all this was not deemed relevant, or even considered, as Fletcher hurried back to the midshipmen's berth, dug in his sea chest the glass the Admiral had bought him and, having found the instrument in question - brass and varnished wood - hastened to return to Yates.

Peter wandered across to the foot of the mainmast, to wait for Fletcher to come back. There was activity on the foc'sle, he saw, and wondered what was going on.

To see ahead, they would have to climb above the sails on the foremast, which would be all right, he hoped. Did Fletcher actually like heights?

His smile returning, Fletcher arrived with his telescope grasped proudly in his hands.

"Here it is! Shall we go up the... What is going on there?" he asked, as he followed Yates' gaze and noticed the small huddle of ship's boys around the base of the forward mast.

Peter saw that de Guarde was there, and the drummer boy he had been fighting with, and most of the other ship's boys.

"I don't know, but they won't bother us. If we climb the mainmast, we can look out over the foresails, and see whatever is out there. Possibly even see the French ship from yesterday, if she's still hanging about."

Fletcher nodded enthusiastically. Even though his order had been obeyed earlier, he had no wish to go near De Guarde more than was necessary.

"Will you lead the way, then? Starboard or larboard ratlines?"

The wind was coming from the south west, and the ship was leaning away from it. To the two young midshipmen the list on the deck was barely noticeable, but it meant that the windward side rigging was slightly less steep. "Larboard," Peter said firmly, "and take it steady - this isn't a race, either between us, or against the others. We are young gentlemen, out for an afternoon's gentle exercise..." He grinned at Fletcher, and swung himself up onto the larboard rail, where the shrouds went out to the chain-wales.

"Young Gentlemen," Fletcher murmured as his clasped the telescope in one hand and made to follow Peter up. It was hard going, he thought as he sought new footholds out with his buckled shoes. The seamen semed to do it faster that this, and the thin ropes beneath his feet did not feel anything like enough secure...

"Put the telescope in your shirt, if it won't go in a pocket," Peter advised. "You'll be happier to have both hands on the ropes." He moved a little ahead and to the left to the younger boy, and waited.

Peter's advice was welcome, as Simon was finding it difficult to take a hold of the rope whilst burdened. Clinging like a rather ungainly limpit, Fletcher fumbled with his shirt collar and managed to shove his telescope down his shirt, suppressing a gasp as the cold metal slid across his skin.

Now with both hands free he could follow Peter more easily, and managed to cautch up the distance lost due to his initial awkwardness.

Peter watched Simon for a moment to be sure that he was climbing more safely now. He had been told to have three points in contact at all times - one foot and two hands, or one hand and two feet. Not to try to move a foot until both hands were firmly grasping the shrouds. Well, you couldn't do that with a valuable telescope clutched in one hand. Now with that burden tucked in his shirt, Simon seemed a lot more confident, and that might mean he would actually enjoy the climb.

"That's good," he said, as Simon drew level. "It is fun, isn't it?"

Simon nodded in return. It was certainly more fun when you weren't afraid of sliping to your doom or alternatively dropping your telescope.

"How high are we going? Are we to climb to the crosstrees?"

"The topgallant trees if you like," Peter said, wondering if Fletcher would be happy to go as far as the topgallant yard, as he had done with Lieutenant Leat.

"Or higher?" Fletcher suggested, following as Peter started climbing again. That would be a possibility, once they were up there. "I will have to do it sometime or other."

"There's a couple of tricky bits," Peter warned. "And it's higher, of course." He smiled across at Fletcher. "If you can't do it now, it might be easier when you're older, and your arms are longer..."

"My arms aren't that short." Fletcher felt duty bound to protest a little at that, but he knew full well that Yates was correct. "All the same, I think I can do it; I don't mind heights in the least. Sam, the Carter's son, did and he got stuck up a tree once, but I don't have that problem."

"Climbing up isn't the problem - cats do that sometimes. Climb up and then can't get down." Peter paused for a moment to look around. The boys on the other mast were making a lot of noise - they seemed to be having some kind of race, one against one. Mr Leat had mentioned such things, but this was not properly organised, just fooling around.

"I don't think I'd have liked to go up in a storm, though," he said as he resumed climbing. "Or in a battle."