Hold Hideaway

Button comes from here.

Button had seen the ex-middy and his sentry, but couldn't care less about them. He was headed for the orlop and beyond that, to the dark recesses of the hold, where he was sure Fingers had gone to ground to get away from people.

He flew down the next companionway to the orlop, ducked past the hanging magazine with its Marine sentry who stared at him curiously, and scrambled down the final ladder to the hold itself.

His mate was somewhere down here, he was sure of it.

"Fingers?" he called quietly, moving slower now so he could listen for sobs or any other noise that would tell him exactly where his friend was.

Fingers comes from here.


His headlong flight to the bowels of the ship stopped abruptly, when he caught a foot on the mass of fabric dragging along behind him. The fall was short, as he had nearly reached his intended hiding place, but the remaining few steps were made much more carefully.

Down here, there was no light, so Fingers was spared having to see the light pinkish gleam of freshly-cleaned skin. It wasn't healthy. He tried desperately not to think of what fate his hair had suffered. Not fair not fair not fair. The scratchy wool jacket settled around him like a great scarlet blanket and he tucked up inside it, grateful at least that it was warm.

He'd have to return it eventually though. But that meant venturing on deck again. No, it was easier to curl up in the thick folds of jacket and long for the familiar feeling of his own clothes, which that damned surgeon had said he couldn't wear anymore.

And hell. Somebody was come looking for him. Fingers buried his face into the collar of the jacket and tried to suppress a hiccup. Get lost!

Terry paused. That had sounded like a hiccup, and from not too far away.

"Fingers? Mate?" he said, peering through the thick darkness. He didn't know what to say, now he'd found - or thought he'd found - the other boy. Some miseries were too deep for words, after all.

"You was real brave up there," he tried, wishing he knew what to do.

Brave. Ha. Fingers burrowed deeper into the jacket and shivered. He'd hated every bleeding second of that. He hadn't run because of what he'd seen happen to De Guarde. No way he'd end up like that!

"S'cold," he muttered.

"Yeah, I know. They done me an' all. And them Shepherds went off to go an' do summat... Everyone was... was dead proud of you, like." He couldn't quite see where Fingers was, and bent to try to find him. There seemed to be some sort of hidey-hole down there. Maybe there was room for him, too? They'd warm up quicker then.

He almost smiled on hearing the Shepherds mentioned. Those two were always up to something. It was harder to believe anybody up there could be proud of him, though. This was all their fault!

"Cut me hair." Mentioning it made him reach instinctively to tug at the long-hanging curly tangles, which of course were no longer there.

"I know." He dropped to his hands and knees. "Is there room in there f'r me?" he asked, shivering a little now that he'd stopped moving. That water had been horribly cold.

Normally, Fingers didn't take up much space in this particular spot, but the folds of jacket bundled around him did.

"Prolly," he muttered, budging up as much as he could, without unwrapping himself from the jacket.

Terry crawled into the space. It was amazing how much room that jacket took up, and he reached out to touch it, tentatively. "Corp'ral Johnson give you his own jacket to wear," he said, his voice tinged with awe. "Don't that mean summat?" He wished he could see his friend's face a bit clearer. "I... I... You's worth ten o' that idiot Buckles, an' ev'ryone thinks so, Fingers," he said, rather glad that the other boy couldn't see his face. His cheeks felt awful warm, and he thought he probably rivalled the Corporal's jacket in colour.

This was Johnson's jacket? Fingers gave a choked cough. Who'd've thought...

"Ain't wort' bein'... flogged," he said, reluctantly shifting to unwrap himself from the jacket enough to offer half of it to the other boy.

"Din't known it was Corp'r'l's."

"Who said anythin' 'bout floggin'?" Terry wnted to know, gratefully accepting the offered warmth. "I... I know you din't know. He give it you his own self, though. They... they was all dead proud of you, mate. 'Cept mebbe the surgeon, but 'e don't know nothin', 'e don't."

"They hault De Guarde off to irons, din't they?" Fingers sniffed and scuffed his palm up over his nose. He wanted his clothes. "Bloody sawbones..."

"Only 'cause he was a damn idiot," Terry pointed out. "Which you ain't." He risked putting an arm around his friend. "Here, wanna go an' get somethin' on 'sides Corp'ral's jacket? There's room for two of us in here, an' it ain't so comfy as alla that. 'Sides, we might see what them twins is up to - bet's summat good."

Clothes. His skin prickled slightly at the thought of it. But his sea-chest was up on the messdeck and there were men up there and he was all wrapped up in a Marine's jacket...

"I wants a hat." That was the first thought in his mind. He hadn't any hair worth boasting of, thanks to that stupid surgeon. It was best to hide what was left entirely.

A hat? That was easily sorted out. "You c'n have mine," Terry said, pulling it off and shoving it into the other boy's hands. His hair probably wasn't as bad as he thought it was, but Terry couldn't be sure - he'd seen very little after the surgeon had got the scissors out.

He felt the hat carefully until he had it rightside up, then slipped it onto his head. It was too big but that didn't matter. "Cheers," he said quietly, after pulling it down as low as he could without covering his eyes.

"'S all right. We's mates, ain't we?" He tried to grin at Fingers, but was glad of the dark because it felt as though it was more of a grimace - he was just too worried about the other lad. "Shall we... Here, if I go up first, I can dig some clothes out an' you won't have to go rootin' aroun' for 'em yourself." He bit his lip and added doubtfully, "If you wants, o' course. Or we c'n go up together."

Mates. Aye, they were. Fingers tugged absently at a button on the jacket. "May's well go," he said grudgingly. He didn't much want to go on deck, but he'd have to eventually. Couldn't keep Johnson's jacket for ever. Pity. It was wonderfully warm, even though the wool scratched against his bare skin.

"Aw'right, then," Terry said,with a quick grin - a proper one this time. "We'll jus' have to sneak up, careful like." If they could, with Fingers half-smothered in a red jacket that was much too big for him. He patted the other lad's thin shoulder and shifted to wriggle out of their hiding-place.

Fingers snuffled again, using the inside of the collar to wipe his nose this time. He eased out of the little nook after Button and pulled the jacket closed around him once he was upright. Sneaking up. He could manage that. Hopefully.

"I can't b'lieve it was Corp'ral Johnson hisself give you his own jacket," Terry said, and looked around. They were on their own down here, it seemed, which was good. They had to get up to the orlop and then up to the berthdeck. At least, he thought, they didn't have to pass de Guarde, the stupid idiot. He'd much rather be with Fingers than him - 'specially with Fingers being so brave and all.

"C'mon, mate," he said encouragingly. "We'll be quick an' nobody'll know it was us." If they could sneak anywhere with Fingers in that enormous coat.

He had an idea. "Here, could swap clothes. Be easier for you to sneak up there then, if you got my stuff on an' I'm in that jacket."

In truth, Fingers couldn't quite believe it either. Hopefully Johnson wouldn't expect anything in return for it. Like having Fingers black his shoes or whatever.

"Yer stuff don't fit," Fingers told him. Besides, he was already wearing Button's hat.

There was a dim glow bobbing its way down the aft ladder, a short ways distant. A lantern. Lanterns meant petty officers, or worse. Fingers sucked in a breath and ducked for his bolt-hole. No officers!

"So?" Terry replied, and blinked. No - light wasn't good right now. He followed Fingers, scrambling into their hiding place.

Who was coming down here with a lantern at this time of day? And please, they'd be quick. He wanted them to both get back up to the messdeck quickly and without being seen, if possible. People wandering around with lanterns weren't good news.

Andrew had, somehow, gotten his hands on a lit lantern. Precisely how was something Thomas was in no hurry to find out. It only mattered that they had one to help brighten up the heavy darkness of the hold.

"Watch your feet, idiot!" Andrew snapped, when Thomas accidentally kicked his brother on the last couple steps of the ladder.

"Boil your head," Thomas shot back. Andrew had the easy job, carrying only the lantern. It was hard for Thomas to see where he was stepping with the bundle of clothes in his arms!

That sounded like the twins. But... with a lantern?

"Think it's the Shepherds," Terry whispered, hopefully into Fingers' ear. He wasn't in any particular hurry to leave their bolthole and find out it wasn't, though.