Setting Sail - Berry

Across from the Sparrow Lieutenant Edward Leat of the Berry was watching the sky, a thoughtful expression on his young face.

"Weather's cleared nicely, sir," he said to the figure standing next to him. "We should make Lisbon in good time with this wind."

(OOC: How about 'Setting Sail' or something similar?)

Edrington also studied the sky, and felt the fresh wind on the back of his head. He considered correcting the lieutenant, but decided he had outgrown that behaviour: 'Sir' would do, and there was no reason why the man should know his other rank. He seemed a pleasant young fellow, friendly and helpful. Soemone else would no doubt tell him eventually

"And what is 'good time', lieutenant? I think the General will be there already."

He looked around at the other ships, with their busy crews, their watchful officers and their innumerable masts, ropes and sails. Would all these be sailing to Lisbon together? Or would the faster ships outrun the troopships?

Leat pursed his lips thoughtfully.

"I'd give it four days, sir, being as we're already two days out. That is if the weather holds." The lieutenant automatically reached out to touch a belaying pin, completely unconscious of the action and continued staring at the sky. "And as for the Verity... yes, I should say she would make harbour either today or tomorrow."

Here he turned to offer a small smile to the army officer.

"We should not be far behind him, my lord."

Edrington had spent a fair few days on ships in his career, being carried hither and thither on campaign. That came of being a soldier in wartime for an island kingdom. Thank God you did have to go overseas to do your fighting these days!

This seemed to him to be a very small ship - he had been on many bigger ones, troopships, frigates... But this was hardly the time to comment on that: sailors tended to get very protective about their ships, and he was a guest.

"That's excellent. It's going to be good to be fighting back again."

"That it will, sir," Leat said simply. He was aware that the warfare of soldiers was completely different to that of the navy, and could not really see the appeal of stampeding across the countryside ankle deep in muck or throwing oneself against the stone walls of a fortress to be slaughtered.

Leat was not fond of killing and merely saw it as a necessary evil that his profession as a sea officer required him to perform, and therefore could not fathom the man's eagerness to start fighting; but then there were plenty of other men - both army and navy - who shared Edrington's attitude, which made him conclude that perhaps he was in the minority. He did not allow it to trouble him much, though, and merely contented himself with snapping at the bosun to get the men for'ard moving a damn sight more sharpish.

(Admin post: Just split this to make it easier to follow)

(Get you being all clever and modly! ;D)

( Now, let's get out of here before they wonder why they've got timetravellers aboard...)

Paget was impatient to reach Lisbon, though one might not have thought it from his recent actions. The truth was that he had not received his orders until quite recently, right after hearing from Queen Charlotte that 'the dear Kg bids me assure You that no application of Yours can ever be disagreeable to him; but that at this Present moment He can not Specify when Lrd Paget's wishes can be Satisfyed.' As it happened, contrary to the Queen's assertions, they could be Satisfyed quite quickly, and he had been assured of a very handsome situation - command of the entire corps of cavalry!

But like a purblind fool, he had taken the time to take his leave of Char, and he had missed the troop transports on which his regiment and staff were travelling, and they had left for Lisbon without him. Paget liked being a purblind fool; at least he did in all cases involving Char, and he would not have done otherwise for the world. But it was deucedly annoying that they should have left him so little time, and his anxiety that he might be unable to find another passage was intensified by his knowledge that in Spain his status might be most awkward. His former friend, Sir Arthur, had been given command of all operations. To arrive late and limping behind his regiment would be positively intolerable.

He had run to Admiral Peyton and asked after a conveyance, and the Admiral had permitted him to travel on the sloop Berry. Two days out already, and Paget was pleased to find that he was regaining his sea-legs; he had always enjoyed a pleasant cruise, and the ship had a fair wind. Of course, the Berry was hardly more than a sailing hat-box, but as long as one did not stay below-decks for too long one did not mind that too much. The trouble was that Paget had been below-decks, thanks to an unfortunate bout of sea-sickness that had not left him until that morning.

Of his fellow-passenger (at least, the only one of any importance, as he was the only one who was also in the peerage) he had not seen much until now. Paget intended to alter that. Straightening his jacket, he stepped out on deck in the full frippery of the hussar's uniform, towards the other red-coat; he gave a nod to the first lieutenant and then greeted the lieutenant-colonel.

"Lord Edrington! What a pleasure it is to be up and about, and to find you here as well, sir! Is it not the finest thing in the world to race before the wind like this?"

Dwerry was sitting in his cabin (or what was left of it), frowning at the papers before him and drumming his fingers irritably. He didn't realize he was drumming his fingers - he'd been in a near constant state of irritation ever since he'd received those damned orders. At first, he'd tried not to let it show, but for the past two days the officer's quarters aboard ship had been rather... cramped, as it were. His own cabin had lost a good section to it.

He could hear one of those precious, noble guests stir, and shot a disgruntled look in the general direction as he heard the man finally head above deck.

"Bloody lubbers," he muttered, reaching over slightly to stroke the bulkhead. Dwerry glared upwards briefly. He wanted to be up on deck. But Edrington (and now, Paget) were both up there. He scowled again, trying to burn a hole into the papers on his lap. He was waiting for the next bell - it would signal the end of Leat's watch and he'd be able to be on deck with an excuse to ignore his guests. Commander Aaren Dwerry wasn't waiting patiently.

Edrington turned to greet the other man. He found him tiring. The man was enthusiastic, energetic and given to fads and fancies. These are not necessarily bad qualities, but there was always the danger that one or other of them will precipitate him and his friends, officers and other unwary by-standers into action.

As an infantry man, he should not fall under under the Lieutenant General's command, unless they shifted him with his German fluency* into the cavalry wing of the KGL. But Bauernbrot - the best of his surviving German-bred horses - was not the build for a cavalry mount, nor had received any training in charging en masse towards fire. His main instinct on hearing gunshots was to stand still, and pay even more attantion to his rider's guidance. And Napoleon's take over of the Rhineland, including the Siebengebirge, had cut off that source of supply.

So, he was probably spared service with the cavalry, but his future remained uncertain. The 62nd would be bouncing around in one of those ships with all their equipment. The 2nd battalion had few battle honours so far, and there was work to be done with them - useful work. There was also the possibility of more immediate employment with the infantry battalions of the KGL.

"It was getting decidely stuffy down there, Sir. The food does not always agree with every one, and - well, the deck is much less malodorous. Air this fresh must be good for us."

[Ooc * his, not mine. R]

Everything that Edrington remarked in response to Paget's inquiry was in the perfect character of courtesy, and yet Paget sensed something underneath it - a sort of polite distance, carelessly and yet meaningfully maintained. That was hardly new or unfamiliar to Paget of late, and yet he was honestly disappointed to see it reiterated in the person of Edrington. He had hoped to find camaraderie with his fellow officers. But it seemed that the barriers between them were too great for an unaffected acquaintance.

Paget could not, of course, guess the real reason for the subtext beneath Edrington's words. How could he possibly surmise that his uniform and manner could be a source of irritation, when he took such pleasure in the appearance of that very article? Instead, he attributed it to his own behaviour in England, which had come under censure from all quarters. Paget could not take offense at what he saw, having too great a sense of his own real wrongdoing. Knowing how he felt about Char, he could not have done otherwise, and yet he had deeply injured so many others whose feelings were nearly as important to him as his own.

He looked away from Edrington towards the newly-introduced lieutenant with the feeling of shame sour in his throat, and yet it was only a matter of a few seconds before he recovered his usual high spirits. Paget saluted Leat with a touch of his hat. "Charmed, Mr Leat; a pleasure to meet you. Indeed, I should be very much entertained to hear you explain all the furious activity of a King's ship, so long as you can put in in terms that will suit such a perfect dunderhead as myself. I have taken a cruise on-board such a vessel once or twice, but I confess that nautical knowledge is not my strong point. As soon as the captain began talking about angles subtended and the points of the compass, I scarcely understood a word." Paget's mouth crinkled upwards in a self-conscious grin at giving this revelation about himself.

Leat smiled wanly at the cavalry officer. It was the natural tendancey of the navy to carry the army around begrudingly, as if it was their own miserable fault they hadn't seen fit to think far enough in advance to learn seamanship. An army is all very well, but sooner or later you had to somehow get them abroad, and for that they expected the navy to car them around.

He didn't mind Edrington too much - the man largely kept to himself, was not overbearing in his manner and given time Leat thought he might even grow to like the man. But Paget... Paget was a show-away, a peacock, an army fop and made sure everybody knew it. The lieutenant could not help but feel distaste whenever he looked at the man, although he made certain to keep every air of civility.

"Alas, my lord, I am about to be relieved of my watch by the captain and should like to get my head down. I am sure though that one of the young gentlemen would be more than willing to instruct in the arts of our profession. You might even persuade him to take you aloft the mainmast."

Edrington overheard the Lieutenant giving Paget the brush-off, and concealed a smile at the thought of the man climbing into the rigging in that get-up. He had had that experience, and thought that he could probably do it again. Perhaps he could volunteer to accompany Paget...

"Mr Leat, that is an excellent idea. I am sure that Lord Paget would enjoy a view of the ship from the maintop. It is so much easier to understand all those ropes and masts from there. If one of the young gentlemen would show the way, I would be delighted to take look at the world from that vantage point."

Paget received no more promising a response from Leat than he had from Edrington, as the lieutenant sent him packing with his first sentence. A crestfallen expression crossed over Paget's eyes, even while Leat suggested fobbing him off upon one of the midshipmen, yet he kept up the appearance of cheerfulness. After all, going aloft in the mainmast would certainly be a fine amusement. He was about to reply when Edrington beat him to it.

"Splendid!" Paget chimed in with the other officer at the instant that Edrington had finished speaking. "I should like it immensely." He looked about him as if he were ready to begin the ascent right then and there.

Leat suppressed the urge to smile as he cynically thought of Paget struggling up the mainmast in his hussar's uniform, instead turning to scan the deck for a midshipman worthy of such a punishment.

"Mr. Fletcher!" he called out, his victim jumping in surprise and quivvering to attention. "Come here. You are to take our two gentlemen guests into the maintop and there explain to the workings of the ship. And use the futtock shrouds," he said, keeping a fixed glare at the mid and daring him to protest. "Do I make myself clear?"

Fletcher glanced to the two army officers doubtfully, then met his lieutenant's expression and swallowed awkwardly.

"Aye aye, sir!"

"Very good, Mr. Fletcher. Get to it. Gentlemen, if you would be so good as to follow Mr. Fletcher."

Just as Mr. Fletcher received his orders, the hourglass was turned and the bell struck. From down below, Dwerry sighed with relief. It took nearly every iota of self-control he had to prevent himself from dashing up on deck like an over-eager middie. Instead, he proceeded at a more dignified pace.

He was fitting his hat onto his head as he came out into the sun. Squinting a little, he strode over towards his lieutenant. But when he saw the proximity of the two army officers, Dwerry faltered, frowning a little. Then he noticed Fletcher, and sly grin began to grow on his face before he could fight it back.

Still smirking a little, hands clasped behind his back, he stood and waited to see if what he thought was going on actually was. For the first time, he noticed just how lovely the weather actually was.

"A lovely day," he murmured to himself.

The midshipman looked incredibly nervous, as well he might be with two such senior officers staring at him. Army officers too, and he wouldn't be able to assume any climbing ability at all. Not fair, really, to place such a burden on him. Probably the success of Wellington's new plans would not fail if both of them were to plummet to this rather small deck, but the boy's career would surely suffer a setback. And Paget's loss might be regrettable, although there were those in London and elsewhere who would chuckle.

Edrington removed his coat, setting it on a post, and placed his hat on the ground beside it. "Mr Fletcher," he asked quietly, "where do you think we should start?" Out of the corner of his eye he watched Paget's reaction.

Paget was still looking around, and Edrington could not see his face He was not a coward, and perhaps he too had skylarked with the youngsters of the ship, on some earlier voyages.

He stooped to the mid's level. "We'll be perfectly capable of climbing on such a steady wind. You have only to lead us throught the labyrinth of ropes. I have climbed to the maintop of a frigate, which I assume is higher that the Berry's. And the Lieutenant General is eager - are you not, Sir?"

Without waiting for a reply he continued talking now to Paget: "I find the coat can be a problem, though I've climbed in boots before. You will find it extremely interesting - and we are stuck on her for another four days!"

Leat stood back from the miserable midshipman and army officers, a descreet smile playing at the corners of his mouth. Edrington seemed to know what he was doing, Padget not so...

It was at that moment that he became aware that the cox'n and men at the wheel had stopped chattering, their postures stiffening and eyes fixed firmly forward, and he turned to find his captain standing a few feet behind him, gazing soberly at the soldiers - but was that a twinkle of amusement in his eyes?

Leat touched corner of his hat respectfully.

"Good morning, sir. Fine weather today."

The lieutenant's words and the increased fear in the eyes of young Mr Fletcher made Edrington swing round. The captain had appeared on deck and was walking towards them. He wondered if the man might call a halt to the morning's expedition.

Hatless and coatless, he raised a hand in a gesture that might have been a casual salute or a civil acknowledgement.

"Captain Dwerry, good morning. I hope you don't mind us cluttering up your quarterdeck. We'll be out of your way in a few moments."

Paget watched the horrified reaction of the midshipman and his mouth quirked in a grin. The poor Fletcher was appalled at the thought of what had just been laid across his shoulders. The futtock-shrouds were...what were the futtock-shrouds? He was sure that Curzon had informed him at one time or another, but for the life of him he could not tell what part of the ship they might be. It was hard to believe that others of Paget's blood had joined the navy, but hopeless incompetence in seamanship was fortunately not hereditary. Perhaps his father's decision was not so black a cruelty as it had seemed when he was young...or perhaps he was just too old of a dog.

Paget gave Fletcher a cheerful grin and informed him, "I promise that I shall not fall, sir." As Edrington also answered the midshipman, Paget looked skyward towards the maintop. There was not the least twitch of trepidation in him at the sight of their destination so far above them on the swaying mast. He had never had such an opportunity before, but he was full of confidence as to his climbing ability and the state that his head would be in at such a height.

But then Edrington spoke to him with a slightly disturbing possibility in his words. Remove his pelisse and busby? What sort of figure should he cut in the rigging in such a pitifully stripped-down uniform? Yet the possibility of altogether losing his busby to the wind was enough to force Paget to the brink of the dreadful decision. He only had one or two spares, after all. "I believe that you are right, Lord Edrington," he mused for a second or two more.

His hands went to his head to remove the busby, and now that he thought of it he should remove his sword as well. It shouldn't do to have that tangled up in the rigging. But at that precise inglorious moment a new figure in the trappings of a Navy officer, with the single epaulette of the Commander, appeared on the deck. "The devil!" Paget exclaimed under his breath. Dwerry certainly knew how to put in an appearance at an undignified moment. On a previous day, the captain had found Paget bent over the stern, donating his lunch to the waves below. Paget immediately replaced the busby and strode forward; he snapped out a crisp salute towards Dwerry.

"Good morning, Captain! A pleasure to see you." Edrington chimed in with his own greeting, and Paget clarified the Earl's words with an explanation of why they would be, as he said, out of Dwerry's way. "I hope you don't mind. We have cooked up a smashing plan to visit your main-top."

"We were just deciding on the best place to start," murmured Edrington, "Lord Paget, let me relieve you of your busby." He paused for a split second before saying "It will be perfectly safe here with my hat, and my sword and belt."

Captain Dwerry was gazing down at his coat, which had fallen from its post, his hat and sword left on his quarterdeck with an expression that suggested that they were as distasteful and out of place as if they had been dragged up from the deep. Edrington approved of Order: probably more important at sea than on land. Yet the Captain could not order either of them flogged, or fined, or whatever punishment would have been exacted from a sailor who left rubbish on that deck. Picking up the coat, and slinging the sword belt over the other arm, he said "Mr Fletcher. Could you find Lord Paget's man and send him up to collect the Lieutenant General's hat and ... things, before we start.

Still fighting back a smile, Dwerry nodded at Leat.

"It is that," he said absently before turning his attention to the others. He scanned them slowly, nodding in reply to Edrington's... wave. Paget's embarrassment didn't get quite so casual a response. Feeling vaguely sorry for the man - his dignity seemed to be taking a bit of a beating aboard the Berry - Dwerry replied with his own naval salute.

"A good day to you, too, sir."

His gaze lingered upon the coat, hat, and sword. Dwerry grimaced, but looked away quickly enough, he hoped, to avoid giving offence. Edrington picked his look up though, and promptly collected the items. Then ordered one of his midshipmen to fetch Paget's man.

Mr. Fletcher hesitated at Edrington's order, his pale, stricken face turned towards his captain. Dwerry - steadily losing control over his facial expression - nodded solemnly. Fletcher disappeared off to fetch the man.

"Well, gentlemen, I suppose you are allowed a trip up to the maintop," His eyes glittered. "And you are quite right to remove extra articles of clothing. Apparently those ill-used to the sea find them cumbersome." His voice was light enough, he supposed, but he couldn't quite keep a bit of scorn from creeping into his voice.

Hoping they would soon remove themselves from the deck as Edrington claimed, Dwerry strode over to stand beside Leat, scanning the deck of the sloop as he did so.