Midshipman Fletcher Goes Up In The World

"Shou'd we tell'im?" Fingers looked around curiously. He'd never really been made to clean up anybody else's living space before.

"Prob'ly oughta, else 'e'll reckon we've gone an' skived off agen," Terry said, flexing his hand. Maybe they'd be sent to the gunner, or maybe they'd be allowed to go and have some time to themselves, properly. He shrugged.

Chances were, he'd fid something else for them to do, but Terry honestly couldn't think what else needed doing - the purser took cares of the stores himself, the cabin was clean and tidy - or as tidy as they could make it.

"Shall I tell 'im?" he asked.

Fingers shrugged. "He don' like me, so prolly you," he replied. Or at least the purser was more used to Button than he was Fingers.

"He don't like me much, neither," Terry pointed out. He was more used to the purser, though, so he ought to go.

He knocked tentatively on the the store-room door to get Mister Foxley's attention. "W... We's all done, sir," he said, dragging the broom back in to put it away.

"Are you." The purser heaved himself to his feet, abandoning his writing for the moment. "We shall see."

Fingers hovered near the door, watching anxiously.

Terry bit his lip nervously, squeezing to the side to let Mister Foxley past. Oh, let it be all right, please... he thought, crossing his fingers behind his back.

The purser was silent as he looked over his cabin, with no discernible expression on his face. Fingers shifted from foot to foot, unconsciously cradling his recently-leathered hand. Not another round, please, he prayed.

"Hmph," Mister Foxley said at last. "I s'pose."

Terry let out a breath that he wasn't aware of holding. Oh, if only he'd let them go and do something else, anything else, somewhere away from here, please. It sounded hopeful though, somehow.

"S'at all, sir?" Fingers ventured, trying not to sound too hopeful.

The purser glanced sharply at him. "Wantin' to get back to duckin' work, are you?"

Terry shook his head hastily. "Nossir."

Though he'd really rather not have to do anything more, if possible.

Right. Well. They had tidied up well enough, Foxley supposed. He didn't have much else that needed tending to just then either.

"Be off with you," he said grudgingly. "Back here in two bells. Both of you!"

Two bells? "Aye aye, sir," Terry said, with misgivings. He knuckled his forehead before grabbing Fingers' wrist. "C'mon!"

He needed no urging. Button tugged him along and Fingers scurried after him, managing to contain a giggle until after they were safely away.

"Tha' weren't so bad," he observed cheerfully.

"'Pends what he's got in mind when we get back," Terry said darkly, wishing he could think of a way to get out of that, though the purser would probably report them to Mister Leat or someone if they didn't show up.

True enough, but he wasn't going to think about that. "Where we goin' to?"

"Anywhere that ain't around 'ere," Terry hissed at him. "We got two bells, ain't we?" And he wanted to see if his hand was red, as he thought it was, after that leathering it had received.

That was right. They did. Fingers beamed. "Go up top, anyways." As far as the weather deck, at least.

'Up top' sounded perfect - so long as they could keep out of Mister Leat's view. Terry all but ran up the companionway, sending a nervous look aft in case Mister Leat was looking their way.

No thought of Mister Leat entered Fingers' head. The officer might not have been important for all he cared. What was important was getting aloft again.

"Race you!" He was already speeding toward the nearest shrouds.

Terry blinked at the challenge, then grinned, darting after his friend in a bid to be first up the shrouds.

It was much more fun up here than down belowdecks in the stuffy blackness of the purser's stores.

His hands touched tarred hemp and in a heartbeat he was scrabbling up the shrouds, his dirty face bright with a smirk. Good luck to Button beating him!

Terry leapt for the rail, his hands firmly on the rough tarred rope of the shrouds and he pulled himself around them before scrambling up, hot in pursuit of Fingers, careless of who might be watching. He wasn't going to let Fingers beat him if he could help it.

Up, fast as he could make his limbs move. He had a lead on his mate and fully intended on keeping it.

"C'mon, there!" Fingers called back, clambering over the edge of the foretop platform. "You's slow!"

He was already starting up the next span of shrouds.

Terry was intent on catching up with Fingers, who was ahead of him. There was no way he was going to keep his lead. He pulled himself up the futtock shrouds and then headed up the next set of shrouds, careless of the height and the motion of the foremast, carefree in the sunshine.

This was better fun than trying to please the miserable old purser!

His mate was gaining on him. That wasn't right! He was taller and heavier than Fingers. How could he move faster than he?

"Go you lads!" The lookout was watching them with amused interest.