1 June; Stargazing

Now, that was a good idea. Mister Bush would have to approve it, but that was a bridge to cross later.

He approached the landsman, a little hesitantly. "'Ere, Mister," he said, trying to get the man's attention without risking another shove.

Now what. Hales glanced irritably at the boy.

"What."

"I gotta... a... an idea for you," Terry said, annoyed that he couldn't remember the word he wanted. "You don't like bein' up 'ere, do you? 'Ow about you an' me swap duties? You work for the pusser an' I'll stan' watch wiv the other sailors?"

A swap? It sounded straightforward enough. But undoubtedly there were strings attached. There always seemed to be, with this lot.

"What's the pusser?"

"The... the man who deals wiv the stores an' stuff - you must've met 'im when you got your slops issued. Kinda f... tubby. Mister Foxley, 'is name is." He shrugged. "'E's gen'rally in a bit of a temper, but I reckon 'e'd like you better'n 'e likes me, see."

Hales looked warily at the sailors standing a few steps away. He suspected this was a trick, but the prospect of getting out of sailing duties appealed to him.

"Where's he now?" If this was to be a deal, he might as well get it signed and done. So to speak.

"He's a idler - only works durin' the day. Which you would an' all. I can take you down termorrer, if you want," Terry offered, his bruised arm forgotten with the prospect of getting away from the purser once and for all.

How convenient. Though... if Hales was to take this boy's place, he would only work in the daylight hours too.

"Fair enough," he said grudgingly.

"Can you read'n'write? Betcha can - he'll like you way more'n he likes me, if you can," Terry said, grinning. "An' you know where 'e's at - or if you don't, I'll take you down after brekuss." He couldn't honestly believe anyone would prefer to work down in the orlop, but there were some strange people in the world.

He'd known it. There were strings attached. Of course.

"I can only read. And but a little, at that."

"Ah, well. 'E won't mind that. I can't read at all an' I've bin all right wiv it." He couldn't quite believe he was willing to swap the life of an idler for that of a proper Tar - watch and watch, with never a chance of more than four hours' sleep at a time, but it had to be better than spending half your life in the gloom of the orlop.

Somehow Hales doubted that, but he shrugged all the same.

"I suppose that'll do," he said.

"Won't be any more 'aulin' braces an' stuff," Terry said, and grinned.

Yes. He'd gotten that much.

"I said it'll do," Hales said shortly. Had he not been speaking plainly?

"Arrigh'," Terry said and grinned up at him before slipping back towards Cob Chase, determined to try to be useful - or at the very least, not to get in the way if he could help.

The topmen had withdrawn to their previous spot by the boat tier, lounging back to their former sprawling positions.

"All sorted?" Chase asked as he slouched against the boat tier.

"Fink so," Terry relied. Who said landsmen were no use, he thought, as he dropped to sit on the deck, wondering what they were going to talk about now.

De Guarde had been watching them from a distance. With a faint nod to himself and his thoughts he lay back down, right where he stood. He sighed. Perhaps he should have gone below while they were all chatting away.

Sleeping right there could be done in perfect order too. He was not thinking of climbing into a hammock either way, if he could help it. With a yawn he placed his chin in part against the floor, squirmed a hand under his ear, shifted to his side, but avoided turning the whole way over and with his eyes closed tried to find a way to doze off. He was tired. His spirits not too high, but it did not matter. Sleep would make him an unthinking Tar.

Good, good. Chase grinned and flicked a hand out to swipe Button's hat. "Arrigh'. I'll be takin' this fer payment, then. Helper's fee, like!"

He tugged the woollen cap down onto his head and smirked.

He made a grab for his hat - too late; the topman was already tugging it onto his own head. "Hoi! Gis that back! Please?"

''Nope." Chase scuttled out of the boy's reach. "I helped get you outta the purser's stores, this here's payment for it."

"If I'd'a knowed you wanted payment, I'd've offered you sippers of me grog ration," the boy pointed out. Cob was too tall for him to be able to grab his hat back, damn it all.

Chase smirked. "I din't want your grog!" He tugged at the hat. It was just a little too small for his head. Damn.

"Aintcha got your own hat?" Terry asked, wondering how he could get it back otherwise.

"Sommers in me sea-chest," Chase told him with a smirk.