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

Though Russell claimed to be the one suffering from sea-sickness, it was Kock who lost his stomach. Stephen brought a hand to his mouth with a cough to disguise his amusement, sobering in time to offer the other doctor his (admittedly grimy) handkerchief.

"Better out than in, Mr. Kock - though I'm not sure our dear doctor will agree with you."

Russell’s eyebrows furrowed in uncertainty and curiosity as he watched the cook struggle to retrieve the pipe and before he could say a word, Kock’s body contorted into a retch. The smell nauseated him and Russell’s throat tightened in disgust. He struggled to say a “quite alright, Mr. Kock” but it came out in barely a whisper coupled with a poor attempt of a smile; it was a vast contrast to how he had been earlier. He accepted Stephen’s handkerchief gratefully and frowned at the man’s comment. He sighed as he began wiping away at the mess; he eventually gave up and removed his tailcoat dumping it on the ground with Maturin’s handkerchief. “I shall take care of those later,” he said to Stephen before turning to Mr. Kock, “would you like your pipe… or perhaps, a drink instead? How are you feeling?”

Kock’s stomach was definitely feeling better but not his head. His head still hurt, it wasn’t spinning as fast as it had been but it was still horrible.

Kock didn’t know what he wanted – the pipe made him feel good, it was an odd feeling but almost Heavenly (it felt like floating and swimming in the clouds) and the drink… well, it all depended on what sort of drink it was. Wine!

“May I have some wine?” He asked, his alcoholic-self speaking.

[Deverel comes from here]

Deverel entered the sick bay just in time to hear the cook's request. The man had just set the ship on fire and now he was drinking wine?

"What the devil is going on here?" he bellowed.

Russell let out a frustrated sigh when Kock the Cook asked for wine. Normally he would not agree to such a request from a man that he just vomited out of fear that alcohol may induce more vomiting; however, he felt that he owed the man for having been a little harsh to him earlier. “René, retrieve our patient a glass of wine, please,” he called. With a few moments of internal debating, he sighed and started his slightly hesitant apology, “Mr. Kock, I would like to…” and before he could finish, Lieutenant Deverel had stormed in.

Russell’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion, uncertain what to make of the situation. “Helping out a patient, what do we appear to be doing?”

"What!" Deverel yelled, momentarily incapable of a better response in his rage, which was furthered by the surgeon's facetious answer. "Damn your eyes, sir, helping a patient nearly destroy the whole ship in a fire!"

Though Stephen was fully aware of the dangers when ships and fires were mixed, he couldn't see where they had aided in almost setting the Terpsichore alight. At what point had they been accomplices in such a thing? He frowned, a streak of indignation rising in him at Deverel's accusation. Though he was but a passenger aboard this vessel, he could not refrain from opening his mouth.

"I beg your pardon Lieutenant," he answered sourly, "but we did no such thing. As you can no doubt see, Mr. Kock has taken ill; not, as you see it - cavorting around setting things alight." In the process, Stephen peered around the man to check for the tell-tale signs of fire; smoke, men running around like headless chickens and the like, but seeing neither of these, he urged, "the Terpsichore looks still very much intact - do calm down - lest you suffer an aneurysm."

Gallien had just asked his little French friend for him to fetch wine, Kock licked his lips. He was in pain but it didn’t matter – wine, he loved wine. A lieutenant came in yelling, Kock covered his ears as it did, indeed, poke his headache and made it worse.

The yelling man was suggesting that he started a fire! How could he have done such a thing if he had been with the two doctors and others the whole time? Clearly this man was mad or losing it. He didn’t even care, he wanted his wine.

For a short moment Russell was speechless and even more confused than he already was. He started mumbling various curses frantically under his breath, rubbing his forehead in frustration, as Stephen responded to the Lieutenant, much calmer than he would have. Realising he was still holding the pipe full of cannabis; Russell shoved it into the cook’s direction without any explanation, “Here, Mr. Kock.” He spoke with a wrinkled nose and bitter voice. Perhaps the Lieutenant needed some of it as well to calm.

Deverel narrowed his eyes at Maturin. Now the little visiting surgeon was joining in with the insubordinate spirit! Just like a bloody Irishman. His voice became quietly precise in its sharpness.

"What I see, sir, is a man who deserted his post, endangering His Majesty's ship with the abetment of a passenger and another member of her crew! For a glass of wine! That is what I see, sir, and that is what I shall report to the captain."

Stephen was indignant at such accusations, but this was clear only in the short huff of air that preceded his words. "Then if you have anyone to blame it is me; it was under my recommendation, no, insistence that Mr. Kock leave his post. Doctor Gallien was responsible for nothing more than administering medication to treat the man" he glanced at the pair, "as any attending physician might."

"what you have here, Lieutenant, is Mr. Kock; unwell through no fault of his own, and Doctor Gallien who is serving His Majesty's ship as he ought - ensuring the well being of her crew. Really, if you are going to report anything to the captain then I think the truth would be more appropriate, opposed to what you assume. Those men have done nothing wrong."

Terry had come in during this conversation, despite not particularly wanting to cross Mister Deverel's path again. He wanted to be hauled there by the Marines even less, though, and kept quiet, looking between the men, even managing to offer the cook a small, shy, encouraging smile.

He ran his bare foot up and down the back of his other leg, not wanting to interrupt the men's conversation, despite the fact he needed to report to the officer.

Deverel thought he was being given alcohol just for the fun of it? Deverel was not thinking clearly – not that Kock could think any clearer; however, they were in the sickbay and there were doctors and such all around him. Clearly he was ill. Kock thought the man a raging goon. And that very goon could report to the captain for all Kock cared (of course if he was feeling well, he would not be thinking that).

He did not want to hear them all gabbling about him and the more they talked, the more his head wanted to dance. Kock took the pipe from Gallien and immediately began to inhale, though he would have preferred the wine.

He gave the young boy who he had seen earlier a nod as out of them all, he was the best.

Deverel took a deep breath, snorting through his nose like a bull. His cradled hand was burning, but his anger was greater than the pain at that moment. He turned it toward his chest so these fools of surgeons would not see. Damned if he was going to ask for their help.

"Very well, sir," he said coldly. "I'll include your admission of culpability in my report, and you may speak further with the captain himself. Button, come with me," he said, turning to leave.

Terry gulped, shrinking back a little against the bulkhead as Mister Deverel swung round. What the officer thought he'd done, he couldn't say. He was only a ship's boy, who ran errands and did his best as Mister Leat's servant... If he was in trouble, would Mister Leat send him back to the purser? He didn't want to go back there.

He followed the Lieutenant, trotting to keep up with him.

Russell breathed deeply, he stood there silently with his lips firmly pressed and his nostrils flaring, clearly anticipating the very moment that Deverel stepped his pretty little foot out the door so that he could release his irritation. Damn pompous muckworm, he thought.