5 June; Cat-scratch Fever

"I can stop 'round, aye," Chase answered. "But he ain't gonna be there long. Just so the sawbones can clean his back up, then he'll be on the messdeck again."

"You certain' bout that?" The lad asked. "He's back won't look like a day's walk in t' park.. once they're done with'im." He indicated the cat, speaking still in hushed tones. "...Though's good in all.. he won't be able ter run a while."

Any reply Chase might have made was prevented by the boatswain's gruff bark of "Twelve! Sentence delivered, sir!"

De Guarde jumped at the bark. It was only to say the sentence was over, but it had made the distracted boy think that he and chase had been yelled at. "..Done." He said and glanced towards the flogged man. It was done and over with and he made no sound. It was impressive in its own, seeing as the flogging was something rather painful and the cat much worse than a simple tap with a stick. He did not want to give him too much credit however, nor praise. Neither he deserved. He had hoped he would cry out in pain so that his shame would be greater. Of course he should have expected this would not happen. Along the line of faces he saw the expressions of midshipmen, boys, other Tars then also the officers and marines.

"I'll be needed now." He straightened a little. "Him's been done."

That was it. The flogging was ended. Fingers shifted from foot to foot, a relieved grin on his face.

"Dozzat mean we c'n 'ave anuvver bit've dancin'?"

"Dunno." Terry turrned and tugged at de Guarde's sleeve to get his attention. "Don't go gettin' any closer to 'im than what you 'ave done," he muttered. "Not if you can 'elp it."

He had to speak to Mister Evans, he simply had to.

At the tug of his sleeve, De Guarde turned around to see Button there making full use of the fabric: "Heed that warnin' Terry. He's bad blood. An' I'm not wrong 'bout that." He spoke after Button gave his warning. "...Need to help dress his wounds, but then... I won't right look for 'im. You up fer some skylarkin' now? You can start ahead and I'll rejoin you once I'm done with 'im." He indicated the man that was to be taken to the sick berth.

He couldn't tell de Guarde of his suspicion - the Captain had been pretty clear that he wasn't to tell anyone apart from Mister Evans, who'd been there when he'd told the Captain and Mister Bush.

"It's worser'n you know," he muttered. "Ain't allowed to say any more'n that, though, sorry."

"Terry...if he did anything to you.." De Guarde placed a hand on the boy's shoulder. It was not there to harm as it had done, to another boy not so long ago. It was a rather awkward, clumsy way to attempt to comfort. But Thompson knew how to do that better. And he was braver. "...I won't let 'im hurt you again. You can tell me wot' 'e did. I promise not to tell anyone. But I won't let 'im hurt you. If I need ter pour salt in' is wounds ter make him stay put, I'll do it rather n' let him."

His smile was a friendly one. "Promise."

"It wasn't me what 'e 'urt," Terry replied. He couldn't say any more, really he couldn't, not without risking getting into trouble with the Captain - and even the thought of that terrified him. "I ain't allowed to say any more. Capting said so." He shrugged. If de Guarde kept pushing, he wasn't quite sure what he'd do. "Jus' keep away from 'im - as far away as you c'n get, a'right?"

"...Who then?" De Guarde was confused. What Terry was saying now did not go with how skittish he looked earlier. He looked frightened and he thought it was because he was being bullied and he had tried to make an end to it, albeit not exactly in a best way. He glanced towards the companionway. The surgeon would be quite annoyed if he was made to wait. He indicated Button to follow him. Not the whole way down, he did not want him close to that beast, but enough that they could conclude this conversation and enable him to make some sense of what the boy said.

"You'um all frightened o' him...now.. you don' need t' lie t' me... you know.." why did captain say that nobody was to know? was it worse? much worse? But why would the captain wish to cover it all up? Did he and Seward have a deal which he had no knowledge of? But even that did not make sense when he considered the flogging which had just taken place. "...Terry. s' makin' no sense that. And.. I tole you 'fore. I have ter dress his wounds, can't right stay away from him. But after that.. t' ship's.. a ship. That's as far you an I can go."

"Never you mind," Tide said brusquely as he strolled past with a deliberately casual stride. "Get below an' tend your duties, De Guarde, 'fore the sawbones misses you."

And there was the quartermaster now.

"Mister Evans! P...please, I need to talk wiv you a moment, please...?"

" Aye, aye, mister Evans." The boy turned smartly on his heel. Glanced at Button briefly and then scampered down towards the companionway and towards the sickberth where he was to do his duty. He hurried to get there ahead of the injured man, to prepare the dressings, careful of his own marks and attempting not to disturb them worse in his hurry.

He had guessed as much. This whole mess had the potential to get even uglier and he knew it.

"C'mon then," Tide said, nodding toward the foc's'le. There were only a few men milling about there so it would be private enough.

He followed Mister Evans towards the foc's'le, chewing his lip nervously. This wasn't going to go down well with anyone, he just knew it. At least the foc's'le wasn't busy right now, and they could talk without being overheard.

"P...please. That man... Seward... he's one of the ones I seen that night," he said quietly, hanging his head and studying his bare feet.

Tide thought a couple of things that were decidedly unpleasant. He sighed. "Damn."

This was certainly not good. And the boy De Guarde had made it all worse by setting Seward up to be flogged. Damn indeed.

"The cap'n'll need to know," he said.

Terry hunched his shoulders and nodded miserably. "Could... could you do the talkin' this time, though, please?" he asked in a small voice. He would have to be there himself, of course, but he would rather not do the actual telling the Captain bit.

"Fink he's mad at me an' all, after las' night," he added as the thought occurred to him, meaning Seward rather than Captain Bolitho.

"Aye, can do," Tide agreed. Then he frowned. "Last night?"

"Well, Second Dogwatch," Terry clarified and looked up, frowning. "Oh. Don' mean the Captain. I mean, Seward. An' after what-all was said las' night, reckon he've got it in fer me an' all now."

At least... at least now, if anything happened to him, one of the officers would notice - though of course, that wouldn't stop the 'anything' happening in the first place. He shivered at the thought.

Tide's frown deepened. "God help him, he even gets thinkin' anythin'."

This was ridiculous, was that this was. Every tiny bloody piece of it.

Terry couldn't help it. He slid down the bulwark until his was sitting on the deck, and drew his legs up, wrapping his thin arms around them. "I's scared, Mister Evans," he said in a small voice, feeling tears pricking at his eyes.

This was perhaps one rare instance where Tide wished he had a broader vocabulary. Or at least a better sense of words. He lowered himself to the deck as well, for he was wise enough to avoid literally talking down to the boy.

"Well, good then," he told the lad. "If you wasn't, I'd wonder at why, an' so'd the cap'n."

He sniffled, trying to stop the tears that threatened to overflow. "An' I fought fings was goin' to be better now," he muttered obscurely. "You... You know I got t...took on as Mister Leat's s... servant?"

"What's sayin' things ain't good no more?" Tide shook his head. "If this's all what's wrong an' all, it ain't so bad. Seward'll hang an' that'll be the end of it. Then," he added lightly, "you can worry 'bout chasin' Miss Emily 'round the wardroom."