Hold Hideaway

Despite himself, Tide grinned.

"Ah, that," he said. "Sawbones kept Fingers puttin' his old clothes back on, said they wasn't fit for wearin'. After cuttin' the poor lad's hair an' all! Was gonna send him off bare's day, 'til Johnson come up with his jacket."

"Ah, I see." Which he did, but not completely. He wouldn't have thought Johnson had it in him to care in that way, and was very pleasantly surprised to find he was wrong. And what had the surgeon been thinking, not to let the lad wear his own clothes again, thus rendering such assistance necessary, unexpected as it was?

"So you have," Johnson observed wryly. He accepted the offered coat and looked it over despairingly. Whatever had Fingers gone crawling through? He hadn't even had this half a watch!

"Never seen the like." Tide shook his head and hooked his thumbs over the top of his belt. "Whole thing was dead odd, really."

Terry glanced aft. One of the officers seemed angry about something, from the sudden shout, but it wasn't the usual roar that an angry officer directed for'rard, so he shrugged and ignored it. And in the bright light of day, it was obvious that the jacket wasn't quite as clean as it had been earlier.

Oops.

Corporal Johnson wasn't going to like that... though the hold wasn't generally known for being the cleanest place in the ship, of course. Still, it wasn't like they'd gone crawling through the manger or something.

A broad grin came onto Fingers' face. "Thank'ee for it, too," he said, his hands dropping to his sides, where they slid into the trouser's pockets. "Sarn't Quinn ain't... ain't mad, izzee?"

Terry's eyes were round. Fingers seemed to be nearly back to his usual self, which was something. But everyone aboard knew about Corporal Johnson's sour temper - it was legendary aboard Terpsy. And for Fingers to dare ask a question like that... Terry knew he wouldn't. Though, well, maybe it was different if the corporal had helped you out?

Johnson looked up from his despairing study of his soiled jacket. "Eh," he grunted, annoyed by the question. "Don't matter if he is, does it?"

Of course it mattered. Nobody wanted anyone superior to them to be mad, after all. And if Sar'nt Quinn was mad, he'd yell at the Corp'ral, who'd probably take it out on the boys - or the Marine drummers, which would be worse.

Terry found himself poking at a seam in the deck with a bare toe. He'd like to drag Fingers aloft after this, have some fun.

His grin shrank a bit. "S'pose not," Fingers replied, a little subdued. He brightened quickly enough though. "Thank'ee anyway!"

It was probably best to make himself scarce now, before Johnson decided to bemoan the state of his jacket more loudly. In accordance with this thought, Fingers tugged pointedly and Button's sleeve before taking off toward the foc's'le.

Terry blinked, then grinned and knuckled his forehead to the corporal before darting off after Fingers, weaving round the sailors on deck, narrowly avoiding charging straight into one of them, and getting sworn at for his inattention.

"Mind yerselves," Tide said sharply, when the two boys nearly ploughed over a seaman nearby. Daft little beggars... he couldn't begrudge them attempting to lighten their spirits but they could be a trifle more careful about it.

Oops. "Sorry Mister Evans!" Terry called over his shoulder, sidestepping another sailor. "Hey - Fingers!" This was how things ought to be - much better than earlier. "Hey, Fingers," he called again and finally caught up with the younger boy and slapped him amicably on the shoulder. "Tag!" He darted away before he could get tagged back.

He was quick, not quick enough. Button got him before he could make it to the foc's'le. Ah! Fingers skidded to a stop and reversed direction, his bare feet scuffing noisily over the deck.

The chase was on!

Oops! Terry turned and ducked away, scrambling to keep away from Fingers, dodging sailors as he did so.

Fingers was quick!

Older sailors stepped quickly out of the way as the two boys raced back over the deck. Fingers was glad for his small size. It helped him wind his way around the adults' legs more easily.

"Ha!" His unhealthily pink fingers tugged at Button's sleeve and instantly he spun about on his heel, turning his pursuit into flight.

How...? Terry shrugged and changed direction, darting after Fingers, careless of the sailors scattered around. This was much more fun than any stupid wash!

Run! Fingers cackled gleefully as he raced toward the foc's'le, his trouser legs flapping wildly. No way Button was going to catch him now!

He was going for the foc'sle rather than the foremast shrouds, which was something. But it was still going to be tricky catching him. If he could just swing round to the side... once Fingers got right to the bows, he'd have nowhere left to go, of course.

The foremast loomed tall and sturdy immediately on Fingers' left. He grinned and ducked swiftly toward it, slinging himself around the thick mast. It was best to use his size to his advantage.

Dammit. Where was he? He'd probably ducked around the mast or something. He ducked to his left to try to see where he'd got to. Fingers was the smallest boy in the ship and he was sneaky with it, too.

Aft. Head aft. Fingers glanced at the boat tier and got an idea. One circuit around the weather deck and he'd put his little plot into action.

Dammit. He'd circled the foremast and sneaked past on the larboard side of the weather deck. Terry twisted around, trying to see where he'd got to.

Run! Fingers picked up his pace, having slowed a little to catch his wind. Run he did, pattering noisily toward the aft ladder and then past it.

He was going down the aft ladder... Or, no, he wasn't. Terry glanced at the quarterdeck, hoping they hadn't attracted the attention of the officer of the watch. Where was Fingers headed?