June 11th, Afternoon Watch: Mystery of the Missing Sugar Bag

Kock’s headache had worsened. It felt like a million cats inside of his skull, tearing away at his brain with their sharpened claws. No, of course, it was nowhere near pleasant. The discussion, or rather talking, became only noise – no true words were being attached. The boy and the doctor had been talking to Doctor Gallien, about him misplacing his sugar.

Then suddenly the other doctor spoke, addressing him and suddenly he woke up from his ‘zoning out’. He wanted to tell the doctor that he was speaking nonsense and that he was fine but no, his headache as much too painful at this point.

“Ah, yes,” he said at last, moving to an open chair and sitting down. “That sounds like the most excellent of ideas…”

Then Russell turned to him, Wilfred hated how all the attention was on him now - even though there were only three men (two doctors and a boy) in the room, he couldn’t bear it, “… why not a bottle of wine…?”

Stephen moved aside to leave a clear path between Dr. Gallien and Mr. Kock with a quiet "ah" of comprehension. "That would explain things." If this was a common occurrence then Russell would know the swiftest course of treatment and it was probably best to let doctor and patient converge on the matter alone. Besides, he had a patient of his own to attend to, of sorts; the one whom he'd come into the galley seeking sugar for.

"I shall check the sick bay for your sugar on my way back, doctor," though this would mean taking a detour, he hoped that now Russell would stop worrying over the stuff and pay attention to the cook instead. Lifting the milk he added, "I ought to administer this before it grows cold."

Lastly, addressing Terry, he commented, "and Mister Leat might be wanting his tea."

The other doctor was going to leave and this meant that Doctor Gallien would surely corner him about the sugar. Wilfred began to shake his head desperately when the doctor spoke of leaving.

“You… You’re n-n-not going to leave me with… him are you?” Wilfred sounded both pathetic and pleading, he liked Doctor Gallien but the man was going to corner him, possibly yell at him and frighten him to the point of crying!

Once Stephen had moved to the side, Russell used the cleared path to move towards the cook. “Thank you, doctor,” smiled Russell with a simple nod of his head, he casually put a hand on Kock’s shoulder as if to emphasise the fact that he was in good hands. Of course, the grin stretched across the younger doctor’s face faltered right when Kock seemed to beg Stephen to stay. Flabbergasted and eyes widened, Russell demanded angrily, “I beg your pardon, Mr. Kock!” Dragging his hand away from the cook’s shoulder, he laid both hands on his waist.

Mr. Kock's frantic reaction caused Stephen to hesitate, and a bemused frown knitted his brow. The man reminded him almost of a child frightened to be left alone and it puzzled him; it was not the sort of behaviour you would come to expect from a grown man. Moreso, all he knew of Doctor Gallien was a man very much like himself, though prone to bossiness and perhaps more rash in his decisions.

Stephen's palm came to cup against the side of the mug of milk to double check its temperature as he looked between the two men; Mr. Kock with an expression reminiscent of a man about to be thrown to lions, and Dr. Gallien looking very much like an outraged fishwife upon discovering her husband had been playing away. "Perhaps," he said carefully, nodding at the cook, "it would be prudent for you to accompany me, doctor; to fetch something for Mr. Kock's head?"

There was a kerfuffle going on down in the galley. He had misplaced Dr. Gallien, a terrible thing to do, that. So he'd walked the ship up and down and down again until he caught an inkling of his voice. A little more urgency among them than seemed fitting for a conversation in such a place. Perhaps Kock the Cook had accidentally poisoned someone. That would be a sight.

René sidled up to the door and chose to be a silly scared fool and listen for a fraction; Mr. Kock was stuttering. Perhaps someone was cornering him with a knife. Or a red hot poker. He'd always wanted to see someone impaled.

But with the last words of Dr. Gallien, he approached as Mr. Maturin spoke, peeking meekly, spotting a young boy there as well. He was rubbish at remembering faces, but somehow names were better.

"Doctor, m'sieur..." Give me something to do, for God's sake. Wandering around with these funny fellows glaring and chuckling at one by turns was more of a stomach-churner than the worst of sea storms.

And now the place really was getting crowded. Terry gripped Mr Leat's mug in both hands, careful not to burn himself on the hot tin, and gave the cook and the newcomer - the French surgeon's mate, Terry thought he was - a friendly grin and tried to squeeze out without knocking anyone, bumping anything or spilling the officer's tea.

He had a thought. "Here. Mister Gallien's lost his sugar, you seen it anywheres?" he said, looking at the older boy. He seemed a bit young to be surgeon's mate, to Terry, but then, he could probably read and write and speak Latin and stuff like that.

Russell gave Kock the same glare that he had given Terry only a few moments ago but now it was fuelled with the intensity of a thousand suns. The look had vanished almost immediately when he turned to address Maturin, “Ah, yes, perhaps I should.” With a nod and a forced smile, he retreated from where Kock sat and made his way towards the door, collecting his small container along the way and wiping the sweat from his face. It was rather warm in there, he was glad to be leaving. His eyes found René and he made a hand gesture to indicate the young boy to follow him as he neared him and passed into the hall, where the air was surprisingly much cooler. Russell stopped and waited for Maturin, not bothering to give Kock a second thought or friendly goodbye.

Kock sat there wondering now what was going to happen. The two doctors were leaving, there was now Gallien’s little French mate and the boy from earlier was talking to him. Kock sat there now feeling queasy and dizzy. He bent forward, elbows hitting is plump lap and let his hands run through his hair. His hair was going to become something much like Medusa the next time he looked up.

His head was becoming to feel like hammer beating nails… so he was to sit there and wait for the doctors to return? Kock would not have that lest he would open a bottle of wine and drown himself with it. Kock stood up from where he had been sitting, his head felt as heavy as a sack of Irish potatoes.

“May I follow, doctors?” He made his way dizzily to where Doctor Gallien was standing, passing by the two conversing boys (it was getting much too crowded in his kitchen). His hair was sticking up in all directions. “I will not have those two young gentlemen in my kitchen while I’m away.”

"Sugar?" He eyed the young boy, thinking for half a moment that he was spouting nonsense just to tease him. But promptly did remember the doctor's penchant for it...

"Le m'sieur is...ehr...possessive of his sucre. Is it that someone takes it from him, I wonder." But when m'sieur le Docteur breezed past and gave him a motion, he turned on his heel and followed dutifully. At his side, he stood and eyed Monsieur Kock, a funny old thing, he looked rather upset, and at that moment he felt rather sorry for wishing that he might get stabbed with a poker. Horrid nasty thoughts, those. Really ought to be more polite.

Stiil, hot metal on fire was tantalizing.

"Yes, yes - you most certainly may Mr. Kock," Stephen looked upon the fraught man who seemed to be growing more dishevelled by the moment, and gestured towards Russell "Dr. Gallien is going to find something for your head in due course, and I rather think it would be wise if he could administer it in situ."

Though, from the way the doctor behaved towards the cook, Stephen wondered whether Mr. Kock would be receiving a prompt blow with a pick-axe rather than the herbal remedy Dr. Gallien had described. "I really would advise you retire somewhere quiet after that."

Now away from the warmth of the kitchen, the sweetened milk in the cup began to cool and Stephen sighed at it as though it had set out to deliberately oppose him. "I'm sure nobody has taken Dr. Gallien's sugar, René; unless the rats have developed a sweet tooth, or the purser has a sideline trade in confectionery. I tell you it will be stashed in that sick berth or in the dispensary - quite forgotten about."

Terry could have stamped his foot. If he said 'sugar', he obviously didn't mean... pepper or something, did he? He shrugged. "He's prob'ly just put it down somewhere an' dunno where, that's what," he said, and sighed. "I dunno. I gotta get this back to Mister Leat, else I's gonna gettit."

Russell let out a frustrated sigh the moment that Chastain mentioned the possibility of theft, precisely what the surgeon had been thinking himself! He was not particularly convinced by the idea of having misplaced his sugar; he knew he could not have possibly done such a silly thing. It was his priceless Indian sugar and considering its size, it was impossible to lose. Rather than making him laugh or smile, Stephen’s comment made Russell all the more worried about his sugar’s whereabouts.

“Come now,” Russell announced aloud, patting Maturin on the back in a friendly manner as he did not wish to wait around any longer. Despite his voice being pleasant, he was evidently annoyed about having lost his sugar and even more displeased with the fact that his search now was taking an indirect course. Expecting René to follow, Russell started moving in the direction of the sickbay and as he did so, he glanced downwards towards the sugary milk beverage that Maturin was carrying and asked curiously, “What is that in your cup, doctor?”

Stiff and unyielding beneath Russell's hand, Stephen did not welcome the physical contact; instead of smiling and accepting the gesture in good grace, one hand moved to create a lid for his mug, shielding the contents from spilling. "It's milk." He said, "warm, sugary milk."

Readjusting his glasses from where they had been knocked askew, he added, "it is somewhat of the essence we find your sugar before this cools, too; I have quite an important matter to attend to."

Russell nodded simply in response to Maturin’s short answer; his mind was only slightly attentive to the subject as his dissatisfaction with his missing sugar wouldn’t leave him. He liked things to be where he left them, whether it was organised or disorderly. His mouth fell into a slight frown when Stephen mentioned that he had little time and not wanting to appear like a selfish young man, he replied apologetically, “Please don’t let my sugar get in the way of your urgent matter, doctor. I’m sure that I will find it on my own eventually.” Despite saying his last words aloud, he was rather unconvinced.

As they left the vicinity, Wilfred gave the boy Terry a wave (as he had announced that he was leaving to give that Leaf his hot cup of tea). He would have said something kind or clever but he was simply in too much pain. Even as he walked behind the two doctors, he felt his head was weighing him down. He felt woozy… somehow his stomach did not feel too well and he was feeling rather green. His walking was slightly unsteady and his headache seemed like it was worsening.

The more he walked, the more nauseous he became – it was odd but that’s how it was like. Soon enough, he felt something acidic emerging from his stomach and trying to force its way out of his mouth, he kept it from coming out by putting a tubby hand to his mouth.

"No, no-" with a dismissive wave, Stephen looked at Russell frankly, "not with you tearing up half the ship and driving Mr. Kock to illness in search of it." He did not speak angrily; his tone was one of objectivity - as though he were remarking on something he could see through the lens of his microscope.

Turning to regard the cook who trundled along behind them like an ailing ox, Stephen wondered how it was that a doctor who consumed sugar not produced by slaves could bully a fellow ship mate so; it reeked of hypocrisy. Clearly, Kock suffered because of it. But he said nothing. Stephen disliked seeing men flaunting their power and using it against those they deemed lesser than themselves, yet this was hardly the time to bring liberal matters to the table. He reminded himself that even aboard the Surprise, Captain Aubrey had not welcomed him voicing his opinion where such things were concerned.

"I'm certain the finding of it will be straightforward," he said at length, doubling back on himself to attend to the man who looked fit to vomit. "Steady, Mr. Kock - breathe in through your nose." Stephen passed his mug of warm milk to René whilst taking a hold of the cook's wrist and applying a pressure with his thumb. He addressed the surgeon's mate with a firm, "do not drink that -" whilst urging the other man towards the sick bay.

Terry gave the cook an encouraging grin, privately thinking that the man didn't look very well... maybe he was feeling sea-sick? It wasn't common, but it did happen, after all.

"'E's prob'ly left somewhere so safe 'e dunno where's 'e puttit," Terry muttered, loud enough for the cook to overhear him. "Tell 'im 'e's a silly idiot what can't see past his own nose, why dontcha."

Wincing a little, trying not to spill the milk thrust into his hands. Oh yes, indeed I am but a hat rack or a shelf to store things on. And yes, monsieur, I would do such a thing as drink someone else's milk right in front of them. Clearly hat racks have the internal organs to facilitate drinking.

He narrowed his eyes and took a healthy step back as M. Kock looked sea sick. Not cut out for the boats. Stupid. And what a stupid name. René stuck close to Dr. Gallien's side. Even though he was acting a bit silly too; sugar. Really.

Trying to suppress annoyance behind an emotionless expression and furrowed eyebrows, Russell crossed his arms as Stephen rushed to Kock’s aid. He did not follow the older man, still unwilling to address Kock as a result of the comment he had made earlier. It was this problematic part of Russell that had caused his own father to be unwilling to lend his son any money, eventually leading to the young man’s poverty before and after he had travelled to Jamaica. Glancing at René as if he were asking to receive some moral support, Russell brushed past both Stephen and Mr. Kock and briskly walked in the direction of the sick-bay.

By the time he unlocked the dispensary, he would have left an imaginative path of debris, destruction, and bloodshed. Being an overly-organised person, the ever-present frustration of having something misplaced still nagged him. There was a metallic clang as Russell’s empty sugar container was thrown aside and it did not end there, cupboards were slammed as he pulled them open to retrieve the cannabis for Kock’s blasted head. There neatly tucked right behind the packaged cannabis was his bag of sugar.

Biting his lips, Russell took a few moments to stare at it, the sudden realisation that Stephen and everyone else might have been right all along, though Russell certainly did not want to admit it. Before anyone, except possibly René could see, the doctor grabbed the cannabis and slammed the cupboard closed, blushing guiltily and looking as if he had seen a ghost. “Make certain that no one sees that,” he whispered in French from the side of his mouth to René.

The young boy Terry had said something before going off, and the boy was right. Gallien’s sugar was likely right under his nose – and yet he still wished to blame Kock! Kock liked Gallien, the man was nice (though Kock would not consider him a friend) as he was one of the few who did at least speak to him during the days. But Kock did dislike the younger man’s bossiness. The other doctor was nicer, he seemed a lot less bossy - but very short. Well, they were all the seven dwarves to Kock on this ship.

After much stumbling and feeling like he was sinking into the sea, he felt Stephen’s hands on his wrist. The man had said something and yet by this point in time he could hear the words but not understand it fully – his head pained him too much and he just felt like throwing up. And finally they were approaching the sickbay… Usually when his headaches smacked their unwanted way into his head, Wilfred drank himself silly or went to sleep… though both did do little help.

Russell opened the package of cannabis slowly and as he did so, he used another hand to pull a simple pipe from a drawer. He prepared the pipe and eventually lit it for Kock, then returned to the sickbay. All anger and annoyance was drained and he now felt rather guilty and incredibly embarrassed, though he tried to hide it all behind an emotionless expression. A muffled thud came from above and Russell paused, wondering what it was before returning to helping sort Kock out. Biting his lower lip, he drew out a chair to shorten Mr. Kock’s journey. Then he waited.

Leading the cook like you might an aged relative, Stephen guided him through to the sickbay. He was taken up with ensuring this happened without the man collapsing or losing the contents of his stomach, that he didn't happen to see Russell find his sugar, or mutter to his mate. "Just here Mr. Kock, and then we'll see about that cannabis-" However, this was no easy task. Kock was broad and tall. By contrast, Stephen was small.

But since ordering large men around was something the doctor had practice in, he brought him through with a practised hand whilst looking to see what Russell was up to. "Ah, I see Dr. Gallien has fetched you a chair - carefully now. Are you quite all right, Doctor? To look at you one might think migraines are catching."

The situation was so disagreeable now. As soon as Russell’s eye had caught sight of Mr. Kock, his chest tightened and he felt a lump form itself in his throat. He certainly felt even guiltier after seeing the man’s expression, but he was much too proud to make an apology. He did not like admitting to being wrong. When Stephen had addressed him, he forced a hoarse, “must be seasickness.” He didn’t care how convincing it sounded, preferring to be left alone to his own thoughts, and the false momentary smile he put on his face disappeared as soon as he turned to Kock. “Mr. Kock,” he said emotionlessly as he held out the pipe for the cook to take, the smell of the cannabis wafted from it. How great would it have been to have some as well, he thought.

Kock was now sitting, and much thanks to the other Doctor. Kock could smell whatever was in the pipe – it was that odd smelling thing that Gallien always gave him. His mind at the moment couldn’t remember its name but every time he took it, he felt strange (but in a good way). He opened his mouth, preparing to use the pipe, but instead things did not go as planned.

As he moved to try and attempt to suck on the pipe, he somehow toppled over and then managed to throw up on the poor Doctor Gallien’s coat.

“…S-so… s-sorry…,” He managed to push out of his mouth, his head feeling like a million cats clawing at his brain, the world seemed like it was spinning.