11 June - Fire in the galley

[Happening during Mystery of the missing sugar bag]

Deverel was making his way down from the quarterdeck to his cabin in the gunroom, walking forward on the gun deck only the short length necessary to reach the ladder. But during those steps his senses caught a strange smell, and his eyes darted forward. Was that fire, or was the cook simply burning the food? Fire on a ship could be as bad as shipwreck or capture, or possibly worse than either. He strode forward and the smell grew stronger. He could see the galley ahead, but he could not see anyone through the windows. A boy was walking past, concentrating on a cup of tea he was carrying.

"Where's the cook?" Deverel demanded of him, and then rushed forward without waiting for an answer. Through the galley windows, he had just seen a flame. He rushed into the little cabin with its enormous stove and saw that the fire was contained within a pan. "Fire!" he shouted, and unthinkingly grabbed the pan by its handle. The hot metal burned him and he dropped the pan amidst a multitude of curses, spilling its contents on the deck. The gravy thus extinguished itself.

"Wha'?!" Terry said, as someone pushed past him, demanding to know where the cook was. He gulped as he realised it was the Third Luff, and hastily knuckled his forehead, trying not to spill Mister Leat's tea. He swallowed. "'E's... e's gone wiv Mister Macherin - looked awful queer, white as a sheet."

His reply seemed to be ignored as the officer barrelled past him into the galley itself, and pulled a pan off the stove, dropping it onto the deck. It hit the brick-lined floor the stove was sitting on and clanged off, spilling its contents all over the deck.

"Fire?!" he echoed, confused.

Deverel glared around at the men who had hurried to the galley at the sound of his shout. "Where the bloody hell is that damn cook?" he bellowed.

"D... doctor took 'im to sickbay wiv... wiv a s... sick headache, s... s... sir," Terry got out, shaking a little at the violence of the officer's temper and very unwilling to have that temper turn on him. Whether te officer could even hear him was something else entirely, of course.

Deverel rounded on him in fury. "What? Speak up, lad! What do you know about this?" He gestured at the stove and the mess on the floor while cradling his injured hand. His question had an accusatory tone.

He wished he hadn't said anything, hadn't moved, hadn't breathed. The officer swung round in a towering rage, it seemed, and Terry gulped and bit his lip.

"I... I dunno, sir," he managed, his voice barely above a whisper despite the order to 'speak up'. "M...M... Mister Kock was taken to the sickberth wiv a... a... sick.... a sick-headache... s... sir," he got out eventually, shaking a bit and wondering when, exactly, he was going to get hit.

Clumsy Charlie was one of the men that had rushed into the galley. He had only just been cleaning in the gun deck nearby before he rushed over carrying his half-empty bucket of murky water at the sound of Lieutenant Deveral’s shouting about a fire and of something metallic dropping. His imagination caused him to anticipate a more dramatic scene than the one he had just ran into. He stood there, uncertain of what to do now and instead listened to the Lieutenant interrogate little Terry about the whereabouts of Kock the Cook with his only blue eye. Occasionally, he glanced elsewhere, leading him to recognise some of the cupboards were slightly open.

A thought formed in the man’s head. “Sir…” Charlie said aloud after Terry struggled to say something, looking at Deveral with a fool’s confidence. He paused before he continued as if to emphasise the severity of the new situation, “If I may say so, I’ve seen strange workings at sea before… and this is the Devil’s work, it is. The cook’s got swallowed by the flames of eternal damnation.” It was an outlandish suggestion and it was obvious that Charlie did not realise it was.

Deverel had seen the one-eyed sailor about the ship, but this was the first time he had spoken with him. He stared at the man for a moment and then vehemently replied "Good!"

He looked back at the young boy. "How do you come to know so much about the goings-on in the galley?"

Terry held up Mister Leat's rapidly-cooling cup of tea in mute explanation; the galley was the only place in the ship where he could get hot water, so of course he was going to know what had been happening in there.

Guus walked beside the cannons on the gundeck. The huge iron monsters. He was watched by some old sailors. They spoke English, and Guus barely understood that language. He did speak more then people though he did, but even that was limited to a few words.
He had found it best to act like he didn't understand a word, so most people had given up in trying to teach the long blond-haired Dutch boy something. He would just stare at them, emotionless, and repeat some of the words.

This practice had gone on for about a month, and he did not really mind it. Nobody ordered him to do anything.
Off course, once in a while someone would try to, but with little success. The only tasks he had done were pulling robes (Tis, ju littel bhastat) and scrubbing the decks with the other boys. Again, some had spoken a few words to him, he had stared at them, and they had given up. It was all fine with Guus.

Suddenly, he felt something hairy touching his legs. He jumped up, surprised and almost tumbled over a cannon.
It was a cat. A grey black striped cat. Guus, feeling stupid for being scared by a cat, bend down and petted it. He tried to pick it up, but there was a sudden shout, which he didn't understand, and a crash, as something had fallen. The cat jumped up and sprinted away, up onto the...what did they call it? De kjali? He hadn't explored that part of the ship yet, and he had seen a few men walking towards it so he assumed it was public.

Slowly, still a bit scared he was not supposed to be here, he walked besides the last cannons of the gundeck. And there was that cat again!
This time, he picked it up before it could jump away. He expected to be scratched, but it seemed the cat liked to be carried. As he kept walking the galley, he spoke a few words to it, not paying attention to anything in front of him. Thus, it came as quite a surprise to him when he bumped into something blue.

Charlie just smiled, revealing his yellowed snaggleteeth, feeling rather proud of his seemingly clever observation. He clearly had not caught the tone in Deveral’s voice and took it as praise. He waited for some orders, uncertain of what to do next, until something had bumped into his back. The collision caused Charlie to not only topple over but to also drop his bucket filled with dirty water and the smelly rag that had been hanging on his wrist.

The lieutenant cursed and stepped aside as the water splashed on him. He could see that some of the gravy had spattered onto his breeches as well. It was Smiths, one of the sailors whose name he had learned early because of his distinctive eye patch. And there was that Dutch lad, what was his name?

"Smiths!" Deverel bellowed. "Clean up this filth! And you - Young! Both of you, clean up that water and that muck."

And now, should he report directly to the officer of the watch, or head straight for the sickbay? He narrowed his eyes, fixing them on the boy Button while he decided.

He laughed. Guus knew he shouldn't, but it was too funny to ignore. He gave a small, mocking, boy-ish laugh.

The blue-coated person looked like an officer, all trough the bucket of dirt had made his fine coat look like the rags the sailors wore.
He said something, which sounded like an order, but Guus only understood it was meant to him, for he thought he could hear his name, but said in that typical English way.
He looked to the sailor next him, smiling, hoping he knew what they had to do.

Charlie was still on the ground, drenched. When Deveral shouted his orders, he cowered as if expecting a blow to his head and immediately did as he was told. He crawled forwards to grab the disgusting rag to clean up the mess, slightly slipping on the water. As he started to soak up all the water into the cloth, he glanced towards the boy. He never talked, was he a mute? Charlie wondered. He was at the gun deck when Charlie was cleaning it.

Charlie gestured with his hand for the boy to come over and then pointed with a skeleton-like finger at the bucket so he would know to retrieve it.

The gesture was understandable in any language. Guus put the cat down and walked to the bucket, which seemed twice as old as him.
With the most nonchalant look one could manage he picked it up and put it next to the one-eyed sailor.
He took a piece of the cloth and started cleaning the deck, like the sailor. When in doubt, do the same thing as other people.

He tried to keep an eye on the officer and the other boy by looking up a bit, trough his thick hair so they couldn't see his eyes. The boy was one of those who had spoken to him a few times, but he hadn't caught his name.

"And get all of that stew, or gravy, or whatever it is," Deverel ordered. Other seamen and marines had begun congregating in the area, but he waved them away. "Back to your duties, the rest of you. The fire's out. Not you, boy," he added, turning once again to the young lad with the cup of tea, the key witness in the whole affair. Now Deverel recognized him. "You're Mister Leat's serving boy, aren't you? What's your name?" Ribbon or something. No. "Button, isn't it?"

Terry gulped and took an automatic step backwards as Mister Deverel turned on him, looking... looking entirely too put-out for Terry to not want to get the hell out of there.

He bit his lip and nodded. "Aye, aye, sir," he managed, belatedly remembering that 'aye, aye' was the response to an order. "I... I mean, y... yes, s... sir."

The damn boy was afraid of him. Deverel took a steadying breath and forced himself to moderate the furious glare still on his face. "And that's for him, I suppose," he said, pointing at the mug. Leat was the second lieutenant while Deverel was third, and so it might be prudent to speak with him first before taking his servant away from his duties. Oh to hell with the niceties. There had been a fire on board!

"Well, take it to him and then come and find me in the sick bay. And give him my compliments and all that," he added, waving him off. The boy would be able to explain it to Leat. Deverel descended on the ladder. "And don't make me send the marines for you," he called before disappearing below.


[Deverel goes here]

"Aye..." He had to swallow. "Aye, aye sir," he mumbled, and froze as the officer mentioned Marines. Why was Mister Deverel so interested in him? It wasn't like he'd done anything wrong just being here on an errand.

He clutched the tin cup as though it were a lifeline and turned to hurry aft towards the wardroom.