2 June; Bit of wind

Take him below? What if he didn't want to go - and, quite frankly, who would?

"Aye, aye, sir," he said nervously, knuckling his forehead again, and gave the man's sleeve a light tug. "Best come along and get out've the way, like," he said quietly, looking down.

Leaford watched the pair move slowly off. The landsman was by no means happy about his abrupt change of fortune, but that was not Leaford's problem. The idiot had brought it upon himself!

"Lively, now! Get that t'gallant off her!" Leat bellowed against the wind, one hand on the quarterdeck rail and the other keeping his hat clamped firmly to his head. Beneath him he felt the Terpsy fall off a couple of points, and he rounded on the men at the wheel.

"Watch your helm there, Sullivan!" he snapped - but no sooner had he done so than he saw that Evans had pushed the wretched Sullivan aside, taken station at the wheel itself and had brought her up again.

"She's full an' bye, sir! Wind's backin' some though, I think!"

"Two points to larboard then, Mr. Evans, if you please!" Leat called in response, taking in the effect of the wind on the sails. He glanced back over his shoulder and grinned at Evans through the rain. "A fine night we are to have of it, Mr. Evans!"

The topmen high above them were doing their work handily. Tide could feel the ship answering the reduction in canvas and he grinned back at Mister Leat. "Two points t'larboard it is, sir!"

The wheel moved, deftly kept from choosing its own rate of motion by the experienced hands gripping the spokes. Now this was more like it!

Leat felt his spirits lift as the Terspy settled better on her new course. With any luck the wind would not back further and they would not have to go through the laborious process of tacking back and forth.

Another mass of rain and sea spray whipped up by the wind smashed straight into his face, causing him to splutter and then laugh at the same time. Someone might think to bring him up a boatcloak if they connected the change in the ship's motion to his being in the middle of his watch - but then he was already drenched through, so calling up for one would be rather superfluous now. So long as the wind did not get up any more he could get Markham to dry his uniform out by the galley fire - or at least render it a little less damp.

However, just below the quarterdeck Leat heard someone shout for the Master-at-Arms and for the culprit to be taken below. He frowned. What could have happen now?

"What is going on down there?" he enquired.

Blow it. Lieutenant Leat had overheard that little distraction. Perfect.

"A man refusing to work, sir," Leaford called up, his voice flat. It was nothing for the officer of the watch to be directly involved with, when the work of sailing the ship had to be done.

Terry froze at the sound of Mister Leat's voice. Not again...! It hadn't been that long, really, since the officer had sent him and Fingers below, after Mister Fletcher had slipped, coming down from aloft.

He found himself unconsciously flexing his hand in memory of that last leathering, and hastily put it behind his back, hoping that Mister Leaford hadn't seen it.

He was used to being pushed around by older people, but still found the midshipmen disconcerting.

Leat gave a brief nod of acknowledgement. It happened with new crews , not used to storms; those that were too afraid to work learned the hard way that work was the only option. The other option ultimately was not one a man could recover from.

"Carry on, Mr. Leaford."

He noticed against the spray a small figure lurking by the side; Button again. The boy had no business being up here in rough weather - was more a danger to himself and his shipmates than anything else if he got under foot - but Leat supposed that curiosity had led him to be here. And whilst he was here he could make himself useful.

"Button!" he called. "Fetch my boat cloak from below."

"Aye aye, sir," Leaford replied. That was something, at least. Or maybe not. The boy - Button, as he was apparently named - was called away by Leat. To fetch his boat cloak. Wasn't that just rich? Well then. Without the boy to guide this useless lubber below, Leaford may have to do it himself. Or no. Why should he have to debase himself so?

"Mister Small!" Such an ironic name for a broadly-built man. "On deck, if you bloody well please!"

Terry's heart stopped as Mister Leat called his name. The officer wasn't supposed to see him - wasn't even supposed to know he existed. Or, well, after the other day, maybe that was pushing things. But why couldn't the officer at least forget his name? Nothing good ever came of an officer knowing your name, after all, let alone being able to put the name to the face.

And with Mister Leat being senior to Mister Leaford, his orders superseded the master's mate's.

He bit his lip, turning to approach the Lieutenant, only to be ordered below to bring the man's boatcloak up to him.

"Aye, aye, sir," he said, hoping the shake in his voice wasn't too noticeable, before knuckling his forehead and turning for'ard to scramble down the aft companionway.

"M... Mister Leat wants 'is boatcloak," he said to the Marine on sentry outside the wardroom, clasping his hands together to hide the fact they were shaking. He hoped he wasn't going to run into Mister Bush or any of the other officers, although with this weather, they were probably all sitting around the wardroom table, rather than in their cabins.

The Marine nodded gruffly, standing aside to let Terry step past into the hallowed territory of the wardroom. He made his way nervously to Mister Leat's cabin, his heart thudding. This felt very like breaking in to somewhere he wasn't allowed, although he had the right be here, now - he'd been sent to run an errand.

The Lieutenant's cabin was tiny, although bigger than the purser's cabin. It was a private space, too, something that Terry himself had never known for himself, ever.

The boatcloak wasn't hanging up anywhere, and he had to wipe damp hands before nervously lifting the heavy lid of the officer's sea-chest, hoping it was there. He had to brace himself against the wild motion of the storm, but there was the heavy boat-cloak, folded tidily and placed on top within easy reach.

He grabbed it and let the lid drop before backing out of the cabin, carefully closing the door, and skirting the long polished table on his way out of the wardroom to return topside.

He pulled his own streaming wet-weather gear closer about him before scrambling up the ladder to the quarterdeck, nervously approaching the officer who was standing near the wheel, braced against the lively motion.

He knuckled his forehead nervously. "'Ere y'are, s... sir," he said, holding the cloak out.

The lieutenant, dripping wet as he was, looked down at the nervous squeak that sounded next to him somewhere near waist height. It was Button, holding out his boat cloak is if it might scald him.

"Thank you, Button," Leat said, taking the cloak and fastening it with a little difficulty around his neck. He probably should have asked for oilskin, but being wet already it did not matter what belated protection he put on. Besides, he did not fancy the idea of having to dry both the inside and outside of his oilskin.

"You had best go below, Button, if you do not have any duties up here," he said to the boy, who was trying to brace himself against the deck as the older men about him were doing. Button was really too young to be on deck in a squall legitimately.

Terry's face fell. He had hoped he might be allowed to stay on deck - he didn't really want to have to go below to where the off-watch sailors and idlers were probably waking up - and the idlers at least would probably end up being sea-sick, which would make him feel ill in turn.

"Oohh..." he said, in disappointment, and looked down. Don't argue with an officer! had been one of the first lessons he'd ever learned aboard ship, and he managed a nod and a barely audible "Aye, aye, sir," although he hoped Mister Leat might change his mind.

Leat blinked, and not entirely because another swirl of spray and rain hit him in the face. Button had actually whinged in his disappointment. Admittedly he was only a child, but even so...

"Exactly; 'Aye aye, sir'," Leat said bluntly. "And you'd be wise, Button, not to let any other utterance pass your lips in future. I take it, though, that though lacking in eloquence you were requesting to be allowed to remain above decks?"

Oh, help. He'd made Mister Leat angry. Well, maybe not angry, precisely, but annoyed. Why did he always manage to do that?

He looked down but still nodded hopefully. "Y...yes, sir. Please, sir?"

He didn't mind the wet and the wind and the rain. It was rather... There was something about being on deck in this sort of weather that was lacking without the feeling of the wind and rain. It felt more alive, sort of, up here.

Tobias winced against a blast of cold water that dashed into his face. The salt and the cold stung his eyes, and he rubbed his face hastily against his shoulder, not wanting to release the braces long enough to use a hand. The weather was blowing up something fierce, and they had just lost a hand due to that useless bloody lubber Hales. Man was a menace to be sure.

He kept an eye on where the lad Button was talking to Mister Leat, however. It certainly was not his place to have an opinion on it, but the boy was barely older than Tobias' eldest son. If he were kept up on deck in this weather, he'd certainly need someone watching out that he wasn't swept overboard in the gale.

Leat did not waste anymore time intimidating Button, though much fun it would have been. He had made his point.

"Very well. Get away for'ard; you can act as runner between myself and the midshipman of the watch."

Not that Button would have much running to do, as Leat could bellow enough to reach the midshipman stationed amidships from the quarterdeck; but it was an excuse for Button to remain up top.

He hated it when the Lieutenants took notice of him, personally. They were nearly as high up as the Captain, after all, and if one of them was angry with him, it wouldn't be at all difficult for the officer to make his life absolute hell.

He nearly didn't believe his ears when Mister Leat gave his pronouncement and blinked up at him before the words sank in.

"Aye, aye, sir," he replied, then knuckled his forehead before turning to dart for'rard, more than willing to get of Mister Leat's way if it meant he wouldn't get sent below.

The wind was fierce, the water splashed and soaked those who were on deck and perhaps dampened some that weren't. The landlubbers would be expected to be ill and sweat with their form of discomfort. But to Gunn it was all to stay standing right, and keeping watch on the captain's cabin. He did not exactly need to do much. Not when the crew was well behaved and unwilling to mutiny. And that was all good, just the same.

If the wind had not howled so, he might have been with his thoughts. The chill itself did not bother him as much, as he believed he had had worse back home. He tilted his head briefly to see how the rest were getting on. Fairly well, it seemed, but it could have been just so much better too.

Shrugging on his boatcloak closer around his shoulders Leat sighed just as another drift of rain and spray hit him again. As it did so the wind caught his hat and lifted it clear off his head and carrying it forward.

Swearing, and forgetting his dignity, the lieutenant started after it.

Someone swore behind him, and then something hit Terry in the small of his back and he turned to see Mister Leat's hat skittering past him. He threw himself at it, landing headlong on the deck but with a firm grasp on it, and scrambled hastily up, hoping desperately that he hadn't damaged it somehow. The Lieutenant would have his hide if he had.

"H... here y'are, sir," he said, heading aft again to give it back, belatedly knuckling his forehead in salute.

Leat looked down as Button's voice piped up at him again, and he saw to his surpirse that the boy had managed to catch his hat. He was surprised as well as pleased that he had not lost his head gear; he would have thought Button would be too small to catch the thing.

"Thank you, Button," he said, taking it and putting it back on again. Then, because he was in a generous mood; "Well caught."

Terry went pink. "'S'nuffin', sir," he said, looking down at the deck. All he'd done was throw himself at it - he hadn't even had time to think, really. He'd just done it.

He knuckled his forehead again and prepared to shift for'rard, not willing to risk being ordered below again.

At that moment the ship gave an unexpected lurch to the side, and grabbing the rail Leat's other hand automatically shot out and snatched Button by the collar to stop the boy taking a tumble. After the wave was passed and the Terpsy had righted herself again Leat looked down at Button.

"Are you alright, Button?" he asked brusquely.

The ship staggered to the side unexpectedly and Terry flailed as his centre of gravity shifted, threatening to throw him into the scuppers again. He was saved by a hand taking a firm grasp on his collar, holding him upright.

Oh help. It was Mister Leat. And he didn't sound to pleased, either.

"Y... Yes, sir," he managed, giving a nod despite feeling nearly half-strangled.