1st July; Occupational hazards

If he was quick enough, he could elude Johnny Quinn, who was hard on his heels. It was a big 'if' though. Johnny was a swift-footed bugger. And it was Johnny's drumsticks he had in one hand.

"Give over, y'devilish rascal!"

Grinning, the youngster ducked away from Johnny's grasping hands and reversed his direction, getting up to speed again within a few strides. Being shorter than the others was sometimes a good thing!

In his flight, however, he spared no attention for his surroundings. A tent-rope caught his foot as he tried to cut too close around an officer's tent and in an instant he was tumbling headlong into something solid and nearly unmoving.

Nearly, that was, until he crashed into it.

The nearly solid object gave way with a clang, a splash and a startled curse.

One moment he had been upright, freshly filled kettle in hand and the next he was flat on his ass in a mess of water and dripping wet. "What the--" Christian stared from the kettle in his lap up to the lad with the drumsticks who had appeared seemingly from nowhere. "What the devil do you think you're doing?" he demanded.

Whatever he'd ploughed into sprayed water everywhere, in addition to being noisy as it landed. Not that the lad could claim to have been soundless in his own tumbling.

"Oi!" And here came Johnny Quinn, almost but not quite succeeding in avoiding the mess of outflung limbs and slippery grass. Despite his attempt to stop, he tripped just enough over his mate's leg to go sprawling himself.

Unabashed despite the scene, the lad smirked up at the poor fool he'd run in to. "What's it look like we're doin', then?"

"Earnin' a good, hard smack is what it looks like," Christian retorted irritably, attempting to untangle himself and get up. "Why don't you watch where you're goin'? Coulda been the lieutenant you went plowin' into and then where'd you be?"

If it had been an officer he'd knocked down, it was a sure bet neither he nor Johnny would still be here. They weren't stupid.

"Oh aye, but it weren't," he returned cheerfully, trying to roll away from Johnny Quinn, who was by now on his knees and grabbing for the purloined drumsticks.

Shaking his head, Christian grabbed for the boy's arm with one hand and the sticks with the other.

"Here now!" Johnny Quinn burst out, nearly in the same instant as his mate offered a startled "Oi!"

Both boys pulled away instinctively, though with one of them still on the ground, this was not as effective as either of them might have hoped.

With a not entirely age appropriate exclamation of triumph, Christian brandished the single drumstick above his head.

"Give that here!" Johnny Quinn cried, making a grab for the drumstick, forgetting in his indignation that his mate still had the other one.

In the meantime, the other drumstick was being held onto firmly, even though the immediate danger of having the item snatched away seemed over. The lad was grinning fit to bust at the fun his bit of thieving had stirred up. There was no way this could have been planned!

Grinning, Christian dodged backward. "Go on, then. Trade you." He kicked the now empty kettle toward the lad. "For a fresh pot o' water."

"Just wring out your trousers, then," the youngster retorted, shoving Johnny Quinn away enough to allow him to get up to his knees. "They're soakin' enough and all, they are!"

Johnny made another grab for the captive drumstick, forgetting for the moment that his mate still had possession of the other one.

[Jenny comes from here.]


"What are these little wretches doing?" Jenny exclaimed behind Christian.

"I'll wring you out in a minute," Christian muttered. He was still holding the drumstick out of reach when a voice sounded behind him and he turned in surprise, unconsciously lowering the object.

"Huh? Oh." He grinned suddenly. "No idea."

"Like to see you try," the lad countered airily, smirking as he watched Johnny Quinn make another grab for the now-accessible drumstick. If he was lucky, he could keep the second stick and clear off out of here before Johnny or this oaf noticed.

He shifted so he was kneeling, the single drumstick held so it was pressed against the inside of his forearm. It was mostly out of sight that way. Then he glanced at the woman and added, "We weren't interruptin' nothing, I hope!"

She eyed the empty kettle and Christian's drenched clothes. "Interrupting the progress of my tea, I'd say. I think you boys owe me some fresh water."

Both boys stared at her. They were to fetch her fresh water? She had to be out of her mind.

"The hell we do," said the lad, a distinct note of indignation in his voice. "D'we look like batmen to you or somethin'?"

Wasn't that what this sopping wet lump of a fellow was supposed to do? Never mind he obviously wasn't very good at it, since he'd dropped the kettle and spilled its contents all over himself and the ground.

"Oi," Christian swatted at the lad's head. "Mind your manners."

The swat left him with a sharp stinging pain along the side of his head, just above his ear, and a rough word or two slipped out in pure surprise at the blow.

"Here," he said, recovering his wits quickly enough, though he took care to scuttle just out of the drumstick-wielding oaf's reach. "Mindin' manners is somethin' done for ladies, ain't it, and unless your skirt here is just in her layabout clothes..."

Christian made a grab for the lad's collar. "That's enough of your cheek," he retorted roughly, only just refraining from adding several other choice words. "Now apologise to Miss Ross."

" 'Miss', is it?" He ignored the warning glare from Johnny Quinn. "Cor! Sure I ain't done anythin' that wants apologisin' for. Anyway, what's it to you?"

Jenny frowned thoughtfully, but her tone was mild. "What is it worth to you? Is it worth perhaps... a finger?" She looked at Christian and spoke calmly. "Which finger would be the worst to have broken?"

Christian checked just shy of smacking the lad sharply upside the head and simply stared at Jenny. Broken? Sure, the boy was a mouthy little sod, but Jesus.

She was going to have his fingers broken? The evil harpy! He stared at her with widened eyes, unable to flee because of the grip on his collar. Johnny Quinn, on the other hand, was edging slowly away - the slimy coward!

He was not without a means of defence, however. He still had that drumstick. "Just you try it, hag," he snapped, brandishing the slim drumstick like it was a sword. "I won't be sufferin' anythin' broken here, I won't!"

Not without a fight, anyway. He needed his hands and fingers intact!

This time Christian did cuff him, hard. "Quiet, you."

Jenny laughed at his show of bravado, though from amusement rather than mockery. "A drumstick, is it? Well, perhaps we could just break his drumsticks and have done with it."