Drummer's Jacket, 26 May

"That's true 'nough. Though, you don't think I let you take all the blame, do you? Mister Cartwright knows it weren't all you an' Young Tom, though I could've let him think that. And, well, I ain't so mean as to let you take all the blame for it. I helped, after all - showed him what to do wit' the drum, din't I?" It had mostly been Oxley's idea, though the twins had enjoyed the joke and been more than willing to get involved with pulling it off.

"C'mon," Andrew teased. "You won't mind havin' watches to yerself, admit it! 'Sides of which, it ain't like me an' Tom'll actually stand double-watches, is it?"

"True. Though you wouldn't've thought too well of me if I hadn't owned up to bein' part of it all, would you?" Oxley pointed out. He grinned. It must be fun to be able to swap duties and things at will and have nobody else be any the wiser.

Andrew smirked. "It's more fun now you have," he replied. He thought a moment before adding, "Ain't it near to time the officers get piped to their dinner or somethin'?"

"Must be. 'Minded him what to do, so he ain't goin' to screw it up." I hope, he added, to himself. "It's allus more fun when you get more folks involved, though, ain't it?" he thought of something else then. "Did the surgeon say how long you was s'posed to be down here for?"

It happened not a moment too soon, or late. Just on cue, at the same time as every day for the duration of the voyage, and still longer, the drum sounded it's familiar rhythm. It wasn't the call, that would have men beating to quarters, it wasn't any other senseless beat, or even one that meant nothing to anyone.

The many times the lad had practiced, proved to have made the mark. The rhythm was exact, each tap on time and made in the fashion that Oxley had taught him. The roast beef of old England sounded as it should, the boy chewing at his lip at first, he now stood very relaxed, though still intent on his job.

If he wasn't aware of the oddity of the present arrangement, or even if he wasn't seeing it with his own eyes, Cartwright would have thought it was one of the actual drummers currently at work with his well-carved sticks. He had heard that particular call innumerable times before and this lad's rendition sounded, beat for beat, virtually the same as all the others. A fine performance indeed.

With a nod toward the sailing master, with whom he'd had a rather enjoyable conversation, Cartwright headed for the quarterdeck stairs. The boy had since finished his work and now stood with his sticks resting lightly atop the drum, appearing every inch the duty-conscious drummer.

"Well done, lad," Cartwright said, breaking his routine for the moment to offer the praise. It had not been a bad showing at all.

De Guarde stiffened a bit more , when he heard Cartwright's voice and saw him approach. He felt a tug at the corner of his mouth as a proud smile threatened to appear in responce to the good words of the man. He seemed to gain a few inches, and his chest was certainly somewhat puffed out at that. He hesitated in silence for a few moments, debating whether he was allowed to answer, and then very quietly he did: "Thank you, sah!"

All fear that he might miss a beat, or choose the wrong rhythm, or even to make anything but the best of his chance, was for nothing. He did not let the trio of boys down, and not even the lieutenant. He was tempted to ask if he could do it again another time, but bit his tongue. Lieutenant Cartwright could well loose his humour in an instant for that. But he looked eager enough with that thought.

Thompson had finished his pipe by now and knocked the dottle out into the water. The drum sounded from aft, signalling the officers' dinner, and Thompson stowed his pipe before turning to head below himself.

He'd seen the confusion earlier and that de Guarde had been replaced by Oxley, but the drummer standing there beating the drum was shorter than Oxley. He frowned. Why was de Guarde back there?

Cartwright passed the lad, pausing to say something, and Thompson raised an eyebrow. There was definitely something strange going on with the lad, and the officer seemed to be in on the joke. How... peculiar.

"Carry on," was all he said. Then, with a very slight - almost self-satisfied - grin, Cartwright moved along to the ladder and down. It had turned out very well indeed.

The sound of footsteps coming down the companionway made Oxley start guiltily. He glanced up to see who it was, and looked back down at the trousers he was working on when he saw it was Mister Cartwright.

He'd had his free ticket last week; there was no way the officer was going to let today's events slide where Oxley was concerned.

"Master Oxley," Cartwright said, looking around for the drummer as he reached the bottom of the ladder. "Repair aft, if you please."

His heart sank and he gulped as Mister Cartwright called for him. This would not lead to anything good, he just knew it. He pulled his jacket straight and grabbed for his hat. "See you later, Sticks. If he don't have me for dinner first..."

He headed aft, glancing anxiously at the sentry outside the wardroom. Keene let him past and he tapped nervously on Mister Cartwright's cabin door.

Despite his mate's apprehension, Andrew grinned. "Here's hopin' he leaves some for afters," he said cheerfully.

~

"Come," Cartwright called, setting aside the damp cloth he'd been using to wash his face and neck.

Oxley took a breath and pushed the door open. The cabin was just as small as ever, and the only way he could get in was to squeeze round the door and then push it closed, standing to attention just inside it. He didn't dare look at Cartwright's face, and concentrated on the thin wooden bulkhead behind the officer. "S... Sent for, sir."

Poor lad was all but terrified. But he would be, wouldn't he.

"You were involved with Master De Guarde's deception, I take it?"

"Y... Yes, sir." Mister Cartwright already knew that, though - he'd practically said as much earlier, after all.

His palms were damp but he couldn't do anything about that. And after last week, when he'd promised to stay out of trouble - promised! - Mister Cartwright was going to come down on him like a ton of bricks. But he couldn't have let the Shepherds and de Guarde take all the blame - it was mostly his idea, after all, even if Sticks wouldn't have minded taking the credit for it.

"Mhm." The lieutenant fished around in his sea-chest until he found the hip-flask that his steward thought he didn't know was hidden there. "A rather well-conceived plot, I must admit. Care for half a glass?"

No doubt that was far from what the poor lad expected to hear, but in truth the entire prank amused Cartwright greatly. It was indeed quite clever, and handily carried off.

Oxley gaped at the officer, flatly stunned. Then pinched himself, hard. "Ow!"

He managed to recover himself a little. Mister Cartwright was going to think he should be sent to Bedlam or something. "I...I... You ain't angry, sir?" he asked, cautiously.

"Am I meant to be?"

Was he? He'd be perfectly within his rights to be - any other officer would be, after all. He glanced at the flask the officer was holding, then back up at his face and gave a slight shrug. "Dunno, sir. 'Most any other officer would be, sir."

Only Cartwright wasn't any other officer, was he?

Cartwright prised the cork out of the flask and poured two fingers' worth of brandy into the previously-empty glass on his desk. "Perhaps they would be," he agreed. "I, on the other hand, find it most difficult to be angry over such a well carried-off scheme."

Almost despite himself, Oxley began to relax. He'd enjoyed the joke? "You ain't... You ain't like any officer I ever knowed afore, sir," he said, and then bit his tongue. Saying things like that to an officer was a sure way of arranging to have a meeting with the gunner's daughter, or worse.

Grinning slightly, Cartwright offered the glass. Of course he wasn't quite like other officers; he was a bit more imaginative than most. Or at least he liked to think so.

"Perhaps not," he admitted.

Still slightly stunned, Oxley took the offered glass. Wait till the Shepherds heard about this! An officer who enjoyed a decent, well-planned, well-executed prank... Such a thing was unheard-of!

"You honestly don't mind, sir?" he said, still trying to get his mind round it.