27th May; Setting sail

"Aye," Chase replied, glancing toward the mast captain. "Down we go!"

He preferred remaining aloft but without a doubt there'd be plenty of time spent in the yards soon enough.

"Think it's Dyer's week," he added and grimaced.

"What's wrong with it being his week?" The lad asked and grinned. "He can't be that bad. He's not t' one cookin' it anyway." He averted his gaze and then began shuffling to the centre, ready to climb down when it was his turn.

Chase grinned. "You'll see soon 'nuff! Now budge along, 's time for gettin' our feet back on solid deck."

"Goin'" The boy did as he said, descending towards the deck in a quick, timely manner. When his feet touched the ground he took a few steps back to give space to the other men and then shuffled closer to the railing, just watching as the Tars made their own way down. He glanced towards the city that they had left behind and then studied the sails, which had filled with the wind, sending their vessel ahead.

The frigate was gathering way steadily, the bow wave curling along her hull like a creamy ribbon. Tide noted the last of the sailhandlers coming down from aloft before glancing toward the binnacle. He eased the wheel over a little and checked the compass again. That was better.

"She's handlin' nicely, sir," he said to the quarterdeck in general. It would only improve once they were clear of this damned river.

Terpsy tilted a little to one side as she gathered speed. Thompson waited until the swifter had been unlashed before removing the heavy capstan bar and joining the queue to stow them away.

All in all, that hadn't been too bad. There were times when he wondered why the capstan bars didn't break under the strain - mostly when raising anchor at the Nore or in the Medway.

And probably - hopefully - the cook would have the galley fire alight and they could have dinner soon.

"Smartly, now," Johnson called, standing near the duty drummer. "Marines to fall out below when they're dismissed this duty."

"Aye, aye, Corporal," Thompson said, wondering if there was any particular reason Johnson wanted them all below when they were done.

Terry dragged his feet a little as he headed towards the companionway. He didn't want to have to go below and face Mister Foxley and whatever duties the purser had for him. He'd much rather stay up here in the glorious fresh air, feeling the movements of Terpsy's lively motion under his feet and having the sun and wind on his face.

Though if he didn't get down below soon, he'd probably get a proper belting. He hated Mister Foxley's tawse and the way the other man seemed to use it all the time, not thinking that he might not be so free with it if Terry didn't try to slack off whenever he could.

Dismissed below. There could be any number of reasons for this, or there could be none at all. Branning hardly cared. He stowed his capstan bar and headed for the companionway.

"Easy bit of work, that," he remarked cheerfully.

Below? What on earth for? Oxley automatically began calculating what misdemeanours had occurred recently that the Corporal might have only just learned about, and drew a blank. That didn't put him at ease, however. If anything, it only made the uncertainty worse.

"What's he plannin'?" he whispered to the nearest Shepherd, feeling worried.

Andrew Shepherd blinked sleepily. After the exertion of running back and forth along the messenger cable, his weariness from the previous day was catching up to him.

"Whaa?"

"Corp'ral Johnson." Oxley indicated the Marine NCO in question. "Wants us below - honestly! Dontcha ever lissen to what's goin' on? I jus' wondered if you had any idea why, that's all."

Oh. Um. Andrew shrugged, stifling a yawn. "No," he replied blearily.

"Ain't no hope for you," Oxley said, fighting back a yawn of his own. There was only one way to find out - and he would just have to hope it wasn't for something bad.

He turned to join the other Marines heading below.

Probably not, Andrew thought as he fell mindlessly into line, following the older Marines down to the gundeck and lower.

"You," Corporal Johnson said, pointing to Andrew when the drummer reached the bottom of the ladder. "And your brother. Up here!"

Oh hell. Andrew trudged toward the corporal, while Thomas appeared close behind him. What was this about?

What on earth was the Corporal planning? Oxley swallowed as the two Shepherds were summoned - that didn't bode well for them. Or for him, either, really. But if Corporal Johnson just wanted the twins, why get all the other Marines down here too?

"These two," Johnson said without preamble, "carried off a prank yesterday, which I bet all of you knows about now. Swapping duties as drummer with a sailor. Borderin' on dangerous, never mindin' stupid."

He looked around at the assembled Marines. "They played their last trick, if I got anythin' to do 'bout it. Any man here what helps 'em with anythin' more'n their assigned duties will be for it. You can all be dead sure of that!"

Damn. Damn.

He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment and took a shaky breath before opening them again. He couldn't let them carry the can for that... Before he quite knew what he was doing, he was moving towards them, pushing past the assembled Marines.

"C... Corp'ral... Was my idea, Corp'ral," he got out, annoyed as his voice cracked - and it wasn't simply because his voice was breaking, either. Though hopefully the assembled Marines would blame it on that.

Allen watched in shock as Oxley stepped forward. That took quite a bit of bravery for the lad to admit to the corporal that he had been involved in the prank. Though he felt sorry for Oxley, Allen was not quite willing to admit that he had known about the deception. If the corporal found out that he had caught on to the Shepherds' prank and said nothing about it, he would be in for it too, and Allen was none too keen on being on the receiving end of Johnson's anger. Besides, it was not as though him speaking up would lessen the blow for the boys. The corporal was going to be mad at them no matter what.

Both Shepherds glared warningly at Oxley, but it was useless.

"That so?" Johnson seemed unsurprised. "Oh I knew you was in it, but you ain't for ever stirrin' up bad mischief like these two. Maybe I'm wrong?"

Thomas stared at Oxley and shook his head almost frantically. If Oxley was any kind of smart, he'd shut up now. They needed somebody able to 'stir up bad mischief', after all!

Oops. Oxley caught... Young Tom's?... eye, as the twin shook his head desperately. Ah, yeah, right.

"N... no, Corp'ral. You ain't wrong." Though he felt wretched knowing that the twins were going to catch it for something that had, essentially, been his idea - if he hadn't shown Buckles how to do any drumming, they wouldn't have had a prank to start with, after all.

Oxley had guts, for sure, but not enough common sense to keep him mouth shut until he received a direct threat of punishment.

Thompson couldn't help feeling sorry for the twins, even as he opened his sea-chest to dig out his tin of brick-dust. It had been a good prank, but there was a time and place for that sort of thing. Though it could have been a lot worse - at least they hadn't done it when at sea, and de Guarde knew the various calls and things to beat. He'd made a fair good job of beating Roast Beef of Old England, after all - if Thompson hadn't known it wasn't a bona fide drummer, he wouldn't have guessed it.

Still, it was over now, and now the twins were getting the rough side of Johnson's tongue. He shrugged. They could have his tot between them afterwards - it had been very well carried off, after all.

"Smart lad," Johnson rumbled. "Right. You two. There's some work up forrard, in the arms locker, that needs sortin'. Move it."

The twins exchanged dejected glances and studiously avoiding looking around as they fell in behind Johnson like a pair of ducklings.

Ouch. The twins looked quite subdued as they followed the Corporal out of the Marines' messdeck, though.

Still, working in the arms locker would keep them out of trouble and wouldn't hurt them, either. It could be worse.

Thompson found his brickdust and settled down to start cleaning the brasswork of his accoutrements where it had started to go dull.