30th May, Afternoon Watch: In the Cable Tier

Over the other side of the cable, Fletcher could just make out Chase's figure next to the ladder.

"Rats?" his young brow wrinkled in confusion before he remembered his part lie of earlier and flushed bright pink. "Oh. No, no rats, Chase. None here."

Chase grinned and held a hand out to the midshipman. "That's good. No chance of 'em chewin' through anythin'."

"They would have to be very hungry," Fletcher murmured, accepting Chase's hand and so his help to get free of the rest of the cable and back onto the lane.

Now that he could see Chase he suddenly felt an acute embarrassment welling up inside of him. He looked up, suddenly panicked.

"You won't tell anyone, will you Chase?" He could too well imagine the scorn and teasing if the other boys came to hear of this, or God forbid Mr. Leat, even. "Please?"

Aye, they would be. Blasted things.

"Tell anyone what, sir?" Chase asked. He was fortunate in his position amongst the crew. Nobody would directly question him if he was to say something was none of their business. He grinned. "There'll not be questions anyway, sir!"

Fletcher beamed in relief. It was probably the first smile Chase had seen from the lad.

"Thank you, Chase. Thank you for, for everything."

"Never a problem, sir." Chase sketched a half-bow. It seemed more fitting than a salute. Less formal anyway, somehow. "Let's go up topside. This ain't no place for a pair of sailin' lads."

"No... I suppose it is not," Fletcher agreed, and hung back, waiting for Chase to go first.

When neither of them moved Fletcher imagined he must have got something wrong again.

"Am I supposed to go first?" he asked timidly. "Because I'm the officer?"

It was probably not wise, but Chase shook his head. "Never mind it, sir. Up we goes!" He ran easily up the ladder, feeling better as he got up into cleaner air.

Sensing that the answer to that had probably been a 'yes' Fletcher merely sighed and followed Chase up the ladder, knowing again with utter certainty that there was so much still he needed to learn and do before he could even begin to be considered a decent officer.

Or any sort of officer for that matter.

"Chase?" he asked, as they reached the above deck.

The air felt progressively fresher as he moved closer to the weather deck. It was a relief to his senses.

"Sir?" Chase cleared the last steps and moved to the side, unable to keep from squinting in the bright glare of sunlight.

The air was certainly fresher up here, and the light brighter.

"What, in your opinion, makes a good officer?" Fletcher asked, lowering his voice; mindful that they were in company now.

He could trust Chase to give him a good answer as well. Chase was sensible, reliable, an experienced hand and with an innate sense of what was Right - no matter that he had recently received a flogging. Fletcher knew that if anyone could give him a satisfactorary answer to his question, it would be someone like Chase.

What makes a good officer. There was a lot that could be said in reply to that. It was a good sign that Mister Fletcher was asking the question, though.

"Big thing's a sense for fair play," Chase answered, after a second or two. "Treatin' lads decent, but not goin' easy on 'em if they does wrong, either. Not bein' afraid to fight, too. I reckon the most important thing's to not be too proud, sir. Had a lieutenant once who could never admit he were wrong, about anythin'. S'hard respectin' a man what can't own up to an honest mistake."

The topman glanced aft, toward the quarterdeck. "Mistakes happen, sir. If they don't kill you, they's somethin' to learn from, like."

Fletcher listened, nodding slightly as Chase listed each attribute. They were good attributes as well, Fletcher thought; sensible and not too hard to meet. Well, he supposed they might not be too hard. They sounded attainable at least.

But one thing still troubled him.

"But," he said, lowering his voice further. "If it's alright to make mistakes, Chase... why did Mr. Leat shout at me for falling off the mast?"

"Couldn't rightly say, sir," Chase admitted. "Mebbe he was glad for you not fallin' clear to the deck but couldn't show it? Or mebbe he were mad 'cause it was his watch an' he didn't see 'til it'd happened. So he couldn't do nothin' to stop it, like."

Fletcher doubted that Leat could have done anything to stop him falling anyway; which surely Mr. Leat must know and therefore made no sense. Neither did any of the other speculative reasons. He shrugged.

"Well... I am sorry you missed your dinner, Chase."

The topman lifted a hand in a gesture of dismissal. "Ain't nothin', sir. Better off without it sittin' like a rock in your stummick, like." He looked away at the glittering sea. "Feelin' better up in the air now, sir?"

The tips of Fletcher's ears tinged pink, but he did not flush this time. He nodded stiffly.

"Yes, thank you," he said. The sea air had all but dried away the remains of his tears, and he supposed that his eyes would become less red before long too. "I-I suppose I had better get along, in case anyone may want me."

The likelihood was slim, but you never knew...

"All right, sir," Chase acknowledged, glancing at the lad to offer a smile. "Don't let it get you down, sir."

Fletcher nodded, perhaps a little too earnestly to convey true certainty, but it was a start.

"I won't, Chase."

Terry was very definitely off-duty now, having actually been dismissed by the purser for the rest of the watch. After all, there wasn't anything else for either him or Fingers to do below.

He scrambled up the companionway, wanting some fresh air after the closed-in airlessness of the orlop, and skipped nimbly aside just before bumping into another boy standing near the top of the ladder.

He went pink when he realised that it was Mister Fletcher, and hoped that the young gentleman wouldn't remember the other day in the rigging, or at least, wouldn't hold it against him that he'd witnessed the midshipman's panic or his slip.

He knuckled his forehead and blinked up at Cob Chase, who had obviously been talking with the young gentleman, though he couldn't think what they would have to talk about.

Fletcher let out a short cry of surprise as somebody barrelled into him from below. He turned swiftly, open-mouthed to find Button staring at him in surprise also - before quickly knuckling his head and trying to look deferential. After everything that had happened earlier this could easily have been too much Fletcher, but he bit his lip and straightened his shoulders, all to aware that Chase was watching.

"Apologise for that!" he demanded.

He clapped his hands to his mouth and took a hurried step backward, blinking at the midshipman in horror - he hadn't meant to bump right into him, really he hadn't.

"I... I... I'm awfu' sorry, s... sir," he mumbled, his imagination presenting him with some gruesome punishment for the collision. He swallowed and tried not to imagine what it would feel like to be clapped in irons. Or worse. Didn't the Articles of War say that the punishment for striking an officer was death - and that had been awfully awfully like striking an officer, hadn't it?

"Oh, p...please," he whispered, conscious only of the fact that the other boy was wearing a midshipman's uniform, and completely unaware of the closeness in their ages. "I...I din't m... mean to, s... sir. Honest, I d...din't."

Good lad, Chase thought with an approving nod. He'd turn out very well, with a little luck and fair bit of work. The topman held his silence, however, when one of the ship's boys came dashing up the ladder and ploughed into the midshipman. This was interesting. A tad unexpected, perhaps, but interesting nonetheless.

Fletcher was slightly horrified to see just how repentant Button was - to the point of fear. No one had ever been afraid of Fletcher! He was amazed that one demand for an apology could get such a response. Embarrassed, fearing that he had been too hard, he immediately dropped his attempt at being 'fierce'.

"Oh. Oh... Well, that's alright then. Don't do it again," he finished lamely. Then, perhaps to add extra force to the issue: "And watch where you're going in future."

"I... I will, sir," he managed, and nearly apologised again, managing to change it into, "Aye, aye, sir," at the very last minute.

Today was turning out to be a horribly un-fun day, what with Mister Fletcher's close shave and Mister Leat's seeing it and sending him and Fingers down to the mean old purser and his horrible old tawse. Maybe he ought to go down to the hold and just stay there, where there wasn't anyone to bump into, or officers to notice him at all.

They probably all though he was a waste of space - he couldn't seem to do anything right today. Not even apologise, judging by the look on Mister Fletcher's face when Terry dared glance up from looking at his bare feet.