Sunny morning

De Guarde couldn't remember the last time he had felt so cold and stiff. During the night he had shifted and curled up as much as he could, so that he might have resembled a cat albeit of strange colour and shape. It must've been around 7 in the morning. Perhaps more a bell before the end of the Morning watch. It was strangely drafty for below decks. Fresher than he'd remembered being, for the last few days. And so was the hammock a lot flatter, stiffer and had a peculiar wooden smell, mixed with salt and tar.

Slowly he opened his eyes. Right then he felt an ache to his left eye and as he touched the skin, he hissed and withrew his hand immediately. It was swollen, and bruised. Why did he feel as if he were a sail, slapped about in a storm?

He reached out ready to slip of his hammock, when he came, not too gently, in contact with the cannon's cold black barrell before he'd even lowered his legs.

He opened his eyes and above him saw the lovely colouring of the sky, fresh in the early morning. That wasn't supposed to happen below decks, not where the sailors slept. He reached out to his left and right and felt the hammock remain as stiff, like the floors.

He twisted around and then with a wild look, that read even through the bruise, he saw where he was, and how he was dressed - or rather undressed. He covered his mouth with his right hand, before his innitical reaction would have had him crying out in shock. Already his cheeks were a deep, scarlet red, and he reached down to pinch himself thinking it to be some terrible nightmare.

But while the pain of the pinch began to let up, what he saw and felt did not change at all. Though the cannon was cold to the touch he pulled against it closely, trying to squirm out of view. Oh god, oh god, oh god! Where were his clothes? What cruel prank this was? He rubbed some life into his nimble, cold fingers, and peered from his hiding place. What time was it? Were men already awakening? That blasted Oxley!

It was a good thing he wasn't on duty till later, Oxley thought, rolling out of his hammock with a groan. That little blackguard knew how to hurt, that was for sure. He was stiff and had more than one bruise coming up including round his eye. There was going to be no hiding that, he was sure. His wrist still ached a bit as well, but at least he could use it.

He was also sure that de Guarde was going to give his name to one of the officers when he discovered his clothes scattered around Terpsy's rigging. Ah well; he shouldn't have insulted him - or his uniform - like that. Oxley wasn't one to bear a grudge, but he was going to be keeping as far away from de Guarde as he could for the foreseeable future.

The other Marines were already rolling their hammocks to take them up to the weatherdeck and stow them in the hammock nettings around the ship's side.

De Guarde was facing a rather pressing dilemma. He couldn't right run out and to the ladder without notice. But the deck was not yet as crowded as it would be later.

He couldn't wait the whole day as somebody would be bound to notice, and being that he were the mess cook, it wouldn't take too long that they would. After all it was about breakfast time also.

If he ran, he risked coming face to face with the whole of the freshly awoken sailors heading up, marines carrying their hammocks, yet if he stayed the same could happen, but with the difference that it was on deck. He had a second pair of slops, a second shirt in Chase's chest. He could do with that before he was able to remove his clothes from where they've been tied.

But to get to the chest he had to cross the distance, deck and the space below. He grit his teeth. He pressed his fingers against his temples. The best solution would have been if he saw someone he could've trusted to go and fetch him his clothes and say nothing. But other than the marine, Thompson, he seriously doubted that there was another who wouldn't have a laugh, a good telling, before he'd ever consider it.

And Thompson was injured. There wasn't a reason that he'd come hopping by. The boy felt frustrated and angry with Oxley, swearing that next time he may break that wrist and have his drum sticks in tiny ickle pieces before noon!

As he considered his problems his thoughts strayed to the guests. It would have been a great deal worse if he came up just as they left their own rooms. He pressed himself closer to the cannon and chewed at his lip. Whatever he meant to do, he had to do soon.

He rolled his own hammock and headed topside with the other Marines to put it in its designated place in the quarterdeck hammock nettings.

At least, if he was going to get in trouble for it - and he couldn't believe he wouldn't - it would only be him. de Guarde hadn't seen Andrew Shepherd, which was good. And if one of the officers asked him about his black eye, well, he wasn't going to dump de Guarde in it, even if de Guarde himself would drop Oxley in it, were he questioned.

He felt sorry for Cob Chase, having to put up with the boy, and wondered how the lad was going to cope with getting his slops back. He probably had no appreciation for being the butt of a practical joke, either, the spoilt brat.

Thinking about him was only to going to get him angry again, though he grinned as he imagined the look on the Captain's face at seeing someone's slops flying from the foremast signal halliard.

Just as he peeked over the barrel he saw Oxley. Quickly he slipped back down and frowned. Either he could call the lad over, demand that he lend him his coat or.. no he would laugh at that and only call the attention of others to him. He could boldly march out and pretend it did not phase him.

As bold and brave that could be, and might even earn him points, it would also have everybody look his way. Such sort of publicity he did not want.

He cursed and pulled his legs up closer to his chest. Just splendid.

Thomas Shepherd caught himself whistling cheerfully as he carried his rolled-up hammock to the nettings, glad to be off-watch despite not having as much sleep as he preferred. His brother was duty drummer now and that helped buoy his spirits.

There was a flash of movement from the row of lashed-down guns, lasting barely a moment, but long enough to register. Thomas saw the blur out of the corner of his eye and looked toward the row of cannon, wondering if Miss Emily had taken to playing around the gundeck. It was possible. The cat had the run of the entire ship, after all.

Chase could be of some help , though if the man had noticed him gone, De Guarde only hoped, that he would not say anything but first come on deck thinking him an early bird.

Not something De Guarde was known for. But, it didn't really matter, did it now.

To check, if luck smiled on him he slowly began to lift his head again, then around the gun he looked. A quick scan. No. Hardly a face he knew well. None yet from his mess neither. He slipped back and frowned. He rubbed his hands together again. Walk, not walk. He couldn't decide.

Surprisingly, it was Chicken Dyer who noticed De Guarde's absence from the messdeck first. Chase had been preoccupied with wrestling himself into a shirt and hadn't thought to look around for the boy until Dyer spoke up. A quick glance around the milling group of seamen taking their hammocks down showed that the boy was nowhere nearby - certainly not anywhere that he was supposed to be.

Dyer and Robbins stared at him in unabashed shock when Chase dropped his half-rolled hammock to the deck and dashed off toward the companion ladder. They followed after a moment's hesitation, with Robbins retrieving the discarded hammock so it wouldn't get noticed by the boatswain and his mates. Chase was already topside, looking around for men he knew to have been on watch during the night. He remembered Jonny Seward's rant and unconcealed dislike for De Guarde too, and was looking for him in particular.

More and more men were spilling onto the deck and he had to take greater care to stay unnoticed. Why he was hiding so vehemently and waiting for some miracle, was beyond him. Still he did and wished that a shirt would have dropped from the sky.

Wouldn't mind if God sent a pair of slops after it too. Even used, and slightly dirty. He could do with that! Even too big, as long as they would fit and he could hold them, if needed.

Even with the warmth coming from above, he was feeling rather chilled, and so made up for it by rubbing his hands against his shoulders, arms and sides. Atleast his cheeks were warm, even if it was the red on them, that had them so.

More sailors coming up now. By the voices he thought they couldn't have been the marines. He didn't dare look up, sensing too many eyes out on the prowl this time.

When questioned, Seward professed both innocence and ignorance, though he wasted no time in stating that he didn't care two shakes where De Guarde had gotten to. Chase wasn't convinced, but everyone's attention was drawn away when Tanner Joe called out and pointed aloft.

A pair of slop trousers were fluttering merrily from the foremast halliard. Chase's face went a dark shade of red and he turned to glare daggers at Jonny Seward. He was dead sure now that Seward had been up to something. Laughter was bubbling up from the crew as they stared at the makeshift signal but Chase was not amused.

"Let's go," he snapped at Robbins, who was standing at his elbow. The two of them would search the ship, quietly.

Laughter. What were they laughing about. It didn't take a genius to connect two and two together. He had a good feeling he knew where his slops had gone, or shirt or both.

He sunk further down against the cannon. Damn it.

A burst of laughter came from for'rard. It sounded as though someone had seen de Guarde's slops, hanging out to dry. Well, hanging out, anyway. Oxley wondered for a moment what a pair of trousers on the foremast signal halliard actually meant, according ot the officers' signal book. Probably 'it's washing day aboard'.

He was under no illusion that de Guarde was going to hate him now, though. Good thing seamen and Marines kept apart - though probably the other lads would let him know if they thought de Guarde was going to try anything.

Like the others, Thomas lifted his gaze skyward and saw the trousers lashed to the signal halliard. He knew immediately that his brother had been up to his usual tricks. Andrew would never learn!

Frowning slightly, Thomas looked toward the quarterdeck stairs. Sure enough, his brother was standing there smirking triumphantly. Silly idiot. He added his hammock to the nettings and headed directly toward his brother.

"What the devil have you done this time?" Thomas hissed, taking care to keep his voice down. It wouldn't do to attract attention from the officers. Guilty or not, he wasn't about to get Andrew in trouble.

De Guarde slowly crawled forward. With heads up high, he could spare a short look and judge the amount of men and how they were distracted and then decide whether to make a silent run for it, or whether to wait some more. He couldn't expect it to be perfect. However, he could wish for fewer eyes as possible seeing him.

There, some faces up as if searching for more. There were a few that hurried past, eager to see what the other men had spotted. Familiar faces.. Hm, he was marking a few.

The messdeck was cleared of men by now, which made searching it an easy task. Robbins was less than pleased to be dragged along, but he didn't offer more than grumbling complaints. Once satisfied that De Guarde wasn't on the messdecks - he'd even dared to look through the Marines' berth as well - Chase headed down into the hold. There were so many places down there for a boy to be hidden. It was the most likely place to look.

Chase wasn't coming. It was strange that he relied on the sailor to save him, when it was that very sailor that he had been not too pleasant with and to. The sailor that he thought to be less than himself, being that he was a Jack Tar.

He frowned. They probably were all gathered up ahead laughing. They must've been in on the joke too. Perhaps it was Oxley and the .. no he couldn't accuse all of the sailors for that. Not even the idlers who didn't know better.

He tried to collect the courage to run, but though twice he'd near lifted himself into a crouch to do so, both times he backed down, and inched back. No, no, no!

Leave it to Chase to go dashing off half-witted, trying to save that idiot De Guarde. Chicken Dyer shook his head as the others pointed up at the fluttering trousers and speculated about how they had gotten up there. Nobody seemed interested in who the trousers might belong to.

Dyer turned away from the crowd as Watts and his two mates set their starters swinging, having no interest in being on the receiving end of any blow. As he started for the companion way, however, he saw something move between two guns. What was that? In the confusion of seamen scattering and hurrying below, it was easy to slip out of the way and head for the two guns.

Well! If it wasn't De Guarde himself, cowering like a landsman and naked as the moon. Dyer hid a smirk as he joined the lad between the two cannons. "How'd ya fin' yerself down here, boyo?"

He felt his cheeks light anew as he scampered back as far as he could go. He covered himself with a hand and pulled his knees close as if thinking that that could have made it less obvious that he was as bare as the day he was born.

"Get me m' slops." He demanded instead. His voice was shaking though and held very little authority. " They'um in Chase's chest. "He added unwilling to answer the question. What could he say really? He felt the bruise on his eye and scowled.

"or lend me summat, quickly!"

Despite nobly trying not to, Dyer cracked a quick grin at De Guarde's attempt at giving orders. The boy had no place trying to order anyone about, given the state he was currently in!

"That so?" Dyer asked lazily, his grin vanishing when he took note of the bruise on De Guarde's eye. Somebody had handled the boy roughly. There were other marks on the boy's torso and arms. "Who'd ya run up 'gainst?" This question was not mocking, as Dyer was well aware that any sign of ill-use on the boy would bring the officers down on them in a hurry.

"Can we talk about that later.... jus'.. I really need to get dressed before they see me." His tone became more pleading, less authorative. He really just wanted to get out of sight before it was too late. He looked up at Dyer.

".... "

He hesitated and finally: "Please."

Fine. Dyer had to admit the boy had a point. He scowled but shucked off his blue coat and held it out to De Guarde. The boy hadn't answered his question satisfactorily, though Dyer suspected he knew who the guilty party was.

"Hurry up, we'll gitcha down the forrard companion ladder an' back inta proper dress quick 'nuff."

Damn Chase for dashing off belowdecks without having a good look at the gundeck. This was his responsibility, not Dyer's.

De Guarde took the coat and had him on his shoulders before Dyer finished what he was saying. He pulled it close and as far down as it could go. "Le's go." He nodded in confirmation. While the other men were still distracted by his slops serving as a signal.. whichever that might be.

He stepped out from between the two cannons carefully. Turning to walk side by side with Dyer. Atleast in part he would've been shielded by him then.

At least De Guarde was moving quickly enough. Dyer gave the boy a prod in the shoulder to spur him just a little bit faster, as he had no interest in being spotted by Watts or any of the officers.

"Never did say who ya'd run 'gainst," Dyer said once they were safely out of sight down the forrard companion ladder. Now that initial danger of discovery had passed, his natural curiosity was taking over.

He pulled the coat tighter around his frame.

"Wot' says.. i'd run 'gainst ..someun'" He asked quickening his pace. Below he felt as vulnerable as above, it was just that he'd have a harder time seeing someone coming, before it was too late.

He frowned. Oxley must've done that. He didn't remember anyone else. He stole a glance at Dyer. What did the man think of him. "Don' tell ye found me like this. ...t' anyone."

"I ain't knowed any lad t'get knocks like them jes' from fallin'," Dyer pointed out. "An' I'll have t'tell Cob, won't I? Good luck keepin' them other lads from figgerin' it out theirselves too, once word gets out 'bout who belongs t'them trousers."