1 June; Stargazing

The night, thus far, had been uneventful. Only one call to trim sail and that had come at the start of the watch. It had been quiet ever since and the duty watch were allowed to settle down about the deck. To nap, to talk quietly, to attend any number of small tasks.

It was just as well to Chase. He stretched his legs out and leaned back against the boat tier. With the wind coming steadily from the northeast and propelling the frigate along, there was little need for the duty watch to work.

"Prime night," Chicken Dyer observed, his gaze turned skyward. He sat across from Chase, his legs likewise splayed out on the deck.

Chase craned his neck a bit to look up. "So 'tis. Shinin' brighter than I seen in a while."

There was a hint of a chuckle from Dyer. "Clear skies mean no storms brewin', anyways!"

That was true. Chase reached up to rap his knuckles against the longboat. May it stay that way!

The men on watch were scattered around the gundeck - some of them were even up on the foc'sle, enjoying the relatively warm air.

In the shadows, not far from Chicken Dyer and Cob Chase, sat a ship's boy, his legs drawn up and his arms clasped around them. He felt worried and miserable by turns.

Telling someone was supposed to make things better. Instead, he felt worse. And he couldn't even tell anyone why he was feeling so miserable. And on a night like this one, especially, it just wasn't fair. He heaved a deep sigh and wished he could feel as carefree as the adult sailors seemed to be.

Bare feet padded lightly over the deck toward them. Tommy Edwin came from up forrard, a faintly glowing pipe in his mouth. "Evenin', boys," he greeted. "Heard there was a tearin' good party goin' on back here."

Chase smirked. "Mebbe. Pickin' out stars we know, more like. Be a party if you shared that pipe, though."

"Maybe." Edwin's grin broadened. "Might give it to that fella yon instead. The one skulkin' in them shadows like he ain't wantin' anythin' to do with us."

He felt wretched. Being told you'd done the right thing, he was finding, did not mean you felt you'd done the right thing. He glanced over towards Cob Chase. Any other night, he'd go and sit near the topman, who was forever cheerful and had a great stock of sea-stories to share.

He wasn't sure he could cope with all that tonight, though he wanted to be near the companionable sounds of seamen yarning away.

Oh, why had he ever said anything to anyone?

The two seated sailors glanced toward where Edwin was pointing. It was Dyer who spoke next.

"Too nice a night to be hidin' away all by yerself, lad," he said.

Chase chuckled. " 'Less he's hidin' from your ugly mug."

Terry looked up. They were talking about him. Hell, they were talking to him. He tried to smile, but it was a rather wan, dutiful effort. He didn't really want to be left alone - else he would have found a spot somewhere else, maybe even down on the gundeck near one of the guns - but he wasn't sure he really wanted to be drawn into the cheerful conversation the sailors were having.

Still, he couldn't really stay here, not now they'd noticed him. Sailors were nothing if not persistent, and Terry didn't think he could cope with fending them off.

He uncurled himself, a little reluctantly and moved over, sitting down on the deck a little nearer to them

"Evenin'," Chase greeted. "Ain't gotta be so 'feared, Chicken here don't bite. 'Less you're a chicken."

There was a snort from Dyer. "Charmin' blaggard, you are."

Edwin ignored them both. "Have a puff, fella. It'll stir your spirits up nicely." He held out his pipe to the boy.

A smoke? Terry's eyes widened a little, and he took the pipe tentatively, feeling the warmth from the bowl that held the burning tobacco. He took a puff, and choked, coughing, his eyes watering. How could they like something like that?

"Careful how much you breathes in, mate," Edwin cautioned, just a little too late. "Takes some gettin' used to, it does."

"Aye. Chewin' it's better."

"Not by much!" Dyer took the offered pipe from Edwin. "Does get a body feelin' a mite better though, don't it?"

Once he'd stopped coughing and his eyes had mostly stopped streaming, Terry nodded. It did feel better, though he'd thought at first they were having some sort of joke with him. Such things weren't unknown, of course. He rearranged himself to sit cross-legged, tucking his bare shins and feet out of the way, and hoped that one of the older men would start a yarn or a song.

The three seamen nodded, understanding the lad's unspoken meaning. Dyer passed the pipe to Chase.

"Don't s'pose you know any of them stars up there, fella?"

Chase shifted his seat to see heavenward better. At least as best he could, considering that sails and yards blocked much of the view. "A couple. That 'un there's the Herdsman. An' of course just there's the Big Bear. Can tell the time of night by that 'un."

"Can you." Jonny Seward approached, his hands stuffed into the shallow pockets of his old striped waistcoat. "Don't reckon any of you lot seen a couple of landsmen gone by here, eh?"

Terry looked up as someone else approached them. And went cold.

Was it the same man, though? He tried to think back, to remember. He was almost certain it was the same man, but he daren't say anything that might give away what he knew, what he'd seen. Else it might be him going for a swim later. And that thought made him shiver.

"Mebbe up forrard," Edwin suggested. "Nobody here but us beggars."

Seward snorted, his glance passing dismissively over the boy huddled nearby. "Aye. Well. Got a couple of them bastards needs sortin' out, like. Can't do nothin' with 'em!" He sauntered off forrard, leaving the others shaking their heads behind him.

"Somebody'll swing for him yet," Dyer grumbled.

Possibly. Chase looked skyward again. "Here, boy," he said, putting Seward from his mind. He wasn't worth the effort. "Can't see nothin' if yer hidin' away."

Seward was a bad-tempered sort. Pretty much every boy in Terpsy had learned to keep out of his way - but was he the sort of man who could throw a drunk midshipman over the side? Or did Terry just wish it was him?

He was sure it was the same roundish, bad-tempered face - it would be much easier if the man he'd seen had actually said something, of course.

He started, realising someone had said something to him. "See? What we lookin' at?" he asked, shifting over a bit so as not to get in anyone else's way.

"The stars," Chase answered, pushing away from the boat tier so that he could lie flat on his back on the deck. "Can't 'magine a better night for it."

Dyer pointed skyward. "That 'un there's the Dragon. Allas liked that 'un."

"Whazzat?" Terry looked up, craning his neck to see past the great pale spread of canvas to try to make out what Chicken was pointing out. "Can't see no dragon. Jus' a bunch of stars. Pretty, though."

Dyer's tarstained finger traced an invisible line in the air. "It's the way them stars sits in the sky, some of 'em. They forms shapes."

"Aye," Chase added. "They tell you 'portant things too. Where you're sailin', time of night, an' all."

"Huh?" Terry frowned, squinting up at the night sky in a vain attempt to see what it was that Chicken had done. "What sort o' shapes?" he asked, looking from Dyer to Chase and back again.

Chase's arm stretched skyward, pointing. "See that bright star, there? An' the beside it an' down a bit? Them are the snout of the dragon. Then there's a fainter one just back from 'em. The neck. See?"

Terry stared at the stars indicated, still frowning. "Uh-huh," he said, though they were just stars, and surely anybody could see that? "How'd folks get to see a dragon up there - and what's it doin' there any'ow?"

Chase grinned. "To hear Old Oates tell it, it's from some old Greek myth. A hero killin' a dragon as part of some grand mission. S'posed to be he's up there for ever because of it." The topman shrugged, the movement awkward owing to his lying on his back. "He's a useful beggar though. Easiest to spot in midsummer, see."

"Oh." He still couldn't see the dragon, but maybe there were easier pictures to see among the multitudes of stars up there in the blackness. "There any more things to see up there?" he asked, a little shocked at his own forwardness.

There were voices on deck. Light, boyish squeak of Button, a more familiar deep voice of Jacob Chase, a murmur of other tones and voices of men alike, smoking, resting, talking or just listening to the tale of stars. He had been below deck and found almost nobody there, that he could speak of. Even Jacob Chase was absent from his usual place.

The number of steps he had done up the ladder were nearly enough to convince him, he had been better of below, huddled up on the sea chest. But, since he was already more than half way up it would be a stupid decision to make the longer way down when he could take the shorter way up.

Faulty logic which still worked enough that he followed it. He had first thought to find himself a quiet place out of the bustle of men, yet near like a moth to flame he was drawn towards the merry sounds, relaxed and pleasant as they were.

He stopped when Chase's voice became easier to understand. Close enough. He gazed at the stars and that nearly had him miss a step when he took one. He quickly looked down, steadied himself , relaxed his jaw somewhat. Standing perhaps at near the same spot that Button did when he first came close, he held back in the shadows torn between lying down right there, or turning and heading back below.

"The Big Bear," Dyer replied, pointing as well. "He's runnin' just 'head of the Herdsman, who's bein' chased by the Dragon."

Chase's finger carved an invisible line in the air. "Big Bear's 'portant. He's always got his eye on the North star. Reckon you can find the North star, mate?"

"Looks more like a dipper," Terry said doubtfully, hoping that he was looking at the same shape as the two Tars. "Um..." He wasn't sure what he was looking for, but tried anyway. "That one?" He pointed.