11 June - Fire in the galley

"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.