Afternoon Aloft, 1st July

The pusser? Chase wrinkled his nose.

" 'Cause he's a twat," he said simply. "He wouldn't know a good sailor from a lump of coal, even if you told him the diff'rence."

"Really?" 'A good sailor'... Terry was a long way from being that, but if Chase thought he was even sort-of a sailor, that made everything better. Mister Foxley would never come up here, for one thing.

He couldn't help grinning, though he looked slightly abashed. "I ain't a sailor. 'M only a boy, third class, me."

"Not yet," Chase corrected. "Won't be long till you're rated ordinary. Then me'n'the lads'll get you trained proper."

"You's joshin' me," Terry said doubtfully. "I ain't anyfin' like old enough to get rated ord'nary, not for years an' years!" But he was going to do his best to learn the ropes and everything else, in the hope he could make it happen a bit quicker.

"Though... will I hafta stop bein' Mister Leat's servant if I get rated up? Never had a officer be nice t'me afore I was made 'is servant." And Terry's broad definition of 'officers' included Mister Foxley as well as Mister Bush... though the Captain hadn't been exactly nasty, but he was too awe-inspiring to be classed as 'nice'.

That needed a moment's thought. "Four years, I think. Ain't long at all! By time you gets your ratin', you'll know what's what, so it ain't gonna anythin' like hard gettin' used to the life. An' aye, you'd be a proper foremast lad, once you gets a rate. No servantin' for officers! 'Less it's a cap'n's dinner."

"Don't mind servantin' for Mister Leat, though," he said loyally. After all, the Lieutenant had given him cocoa for the first time ever, and been awful nice about Terry being babyish and crying all over him.

"Don't fink I want to do servantin' for a capting's dinner, though," he added. He was sure to spill something, or drop something, or otherwise ruin things.

"How is that, anyways?" Chase wanted to know. He'd never seen Mister Leat as anything except a hard-nosed second luff.

Terry wasn't exactly sure himself how it had happened. "I was... I was scrubbin' the deck in 'is cabin - 'e warn't there - an' there was 'is cat watchin' me." He shrugged. "Dunno 'ow it 'appened, but I was tellin' Miss Em'ly 'bout the 'Ome an' then 'bout Mister Foxley an'... reckon 'e must've come back wivout me knowin' it. 'Cause he was awful nice -got a me a cup of cocoa an' said... an' said as 'ow I didn't need t'be scared, officers ain't s'posed to make you scared."

He bit his lip and stared into the distance where the blue sky met the greeny-blue sea, and blinked fiercely at the slight prickling behind his eyes.

"Ain't so easy not t'be scared, though, when th'pusser's a mean old bugger wiv a strap, an' allus scares you silly so's you wreck fings," he added, past the sudden lump in his throat.

And just how had he ended up saying all that to Cob Chase?

Well. That was not at all what he would've expected to hear. Nor would he have pegged Mister Leat for having a heart.

"Up onto the platform, mate," said Chase gently, and reached over to keep the lad steady.

Huh? Oh. He scrambled sideways, half rolling onto the platform before he knew where he was at, and rubbed his sleeve across his eyes, and sniffed

"Wouldja show's some more knots?" he asked hopefully, wanting a distraction before he ended up doing something he would definitely regret.

He freed the twine from around the yard, then stepped up to join Button the mast platform. "If you wants," he replied. "Here, hold this, wouldja? Careful like, mind." He had drawn and held out his knife, for the nipper to take by the blade. "I needs the hilt, see."

He gave the Tar a slightly watery grin and carefully held the knife as directed. "Don'... don' go tellin' folks I made a idjit of meself, please?" he asked, and watched what Chase was doing.

Now, why would he do that? "I won't," Chase promised, then worked the twine around the knife hilt. "This here's a timber hitch. Have a guess 'bout what it's for."

Timber hitch? He watched the twine snake around the knife hilt before being threaded through its own bights and pulled tight. "Um. Ah... C... carryin' firewood?" he hazarded.

"Nearly. S'for securin' cordage to the end of a spar, usually." Chase let the ends of the twine drop. "Can be used for towin' spars also, but you gotta put a half-hitch on that too or it ain't any good."

"Oh." There were so many knots used aboard that Terry had no idea how he was going to remember them all, or what they were all used for.

"Bit much, ain't it?" Chase couldn't help a grin. "You'll get used to it, long's you practise. Like when you ain't tryin' to steal Miss Emily's affections away from the second luff," he added lightly.

"I fink she likes me... but she likes him more," he replied, before understanding exactly what Chase had said. "I'll practise when 'e don't want me for nuffin'." He did have time to himself without having to skive the way he had done - and it wasn't as though he needed to get away from Mister Leat the way he'd needed time away from Mister Foxley.

"I s'pose she does," Chase conceded. "Anyways, long's you does it when your work's done! I don't want the second luff after me 'cause I told his lad he could skive off any."

"Ain't like there's much t'do, really," Terry said. "'E don't find all little bits an' pieces that 'ave t'be done jus' so... Pusser's reel partickler 'bout stuff an' if it ain't jus' so, he'll leather you, right crost the 'and."

He took the knife and twine to try to copy how Chase had fastened the string round the knife's handle.

"He's just a stupid lubber, the pusser," he said dismissively.

Using the hands as a place to apply punishment made no sense to Chase. It was a sure way to eventually make a lad unfit for anything like true shipboard work. Just as well the nipper had a new job now.

"Put the end round the spar, then pass it up an' behind the standin' part, then pass it three turns round itself. An' haul taut."

It was easy for Chase to be so blithe about it. Terry had only been Mister Leat's servant for... two and half weeks, something like that, and had been working for the purser since almost the day he'd come aboard. It wasn't so easily forgotten as all that.

"Like this?" he asked, trying to follow Chase's instructions, and holding the finished result up for him to see.

Chase nodded. "Aye. Quick an' easy sort of hitch, that. Have a go agin, so's you got it down."

He slipped it off the knife's hilt so he could try it again. "Tell us some more 'bout when you was a boy?" he asked, still having difficulty imagining Cob Chase as anything but an able seaman, and belatedly added, "Please?"

This request took no thought to fulfill. "First time I learned a knot," he said, "it were already tied. Round me own feet. Lads caught me sleepin' 'tween the guns, like, an' thought it'd be a laugh hobblin' me, like. They used a figure eight knot to do it, secured with half-hitches on either side. Happened too fast fer me to do anythin'."