Meeting and Greeting, 9th June

It was not lost on Webb that Thompson offered nothing better than that almost-grunt in response. He'd never been a cautious sort like that. But, he thought sourly, rank changed a man.

As to action? Webb nearly laughed in derision. No, he had not been so fortunate. His life since Temeraire had not stayed good. Or at least his luck had not done.

"No. I were in a sloop for a spell, then I got packed off to a stinking hovel of a ship." He couldn't quite suppress a scowl. "Myrmidon's a level of Hell I'd not wish on any man." Not even that bastard of a lieutenant who'd taken his rank and sent him off to that festering shit-hole.

"Myrmidon? Couldn't be any worse than Sandwich, which was where they packed me off to durin' the Peace," was Thompson's reply, as he turned to lean with his elbows on the rail, gazing up at the towering canvas spread above them on the foremast. "Don't think anythin' could be much worse'n a guardship, anyhow."

This time, Webb did laugh, though the sound was flat, harsh, and short-lived. "Try a slop ship."

He realised then that his pipe had gone out and, muttering an oath, he knocked the remnants of the tobacco out into his palm. What a waste, he thought as he flicked the unburnt flakes over the side.

"Reckon they'm all much of a muchness," Thompson said with a shrug. "All of 'em lubbers who've never bin closer to the sea than five mile an' who can't tell the head from a halyard."

The days aboard Sandwich had been misery for everyone - there were sailors who couldn't even find a berth, or space to sling their hammocks. At least the Marines had a regular detachment and a proper chain of command, even there, which had done a very little to make their lives easier.

"Lubbers an' topmen all a-like. When they was aboard longer'n a minute," Webb commented dryly. It seemed like half the men who came to the ship ended up leaving within a week, bound for the convalescent ship, typically with the complaint of 'itch'. Free-roving bastards, sailors. There was always more men to replace them, and these went the same way. It was a tedious cycle.

"Hard to keep men sharp in a ship that's doin' nowt but swingin' round her anchor for weeks on end," Thompson said with a rueful look, feeling very grateful that he was in a detachment on active service in a frigate and not in a guardship - or even ship of the line on blockade duty.

Webb hadn't had it particularly easy, when he'd had the rank himself, back in the days when the rank was marked by a shoulder-knot and not the stripes Thompson was so conscious of.

That was one way of putting it. He thought of the seaman who'd thrown himself off the bowsprit in an attempt to swim home. Home, according to the raving beggar after they'd fished him out of the water, being Liverpool. They'd packed him off to the convalescent ship that same day.

Webb twitched his shoulders in a shrug. "Aye, well. I'm not sorry to be off that ship. Plymouth ain't anywhere worth bein' either."

"Think the closest I ever got to seein' Plymouth was from Temmyrare's foc'sle," Thompson recalled. "'Member all that hullabaloo over gettin' a new bowsprit after Valiant tried usin' the same patch o' water we was in? Ol' Jarvie wasn't half aireated over it takin' two ship off blockade at the same time, from all I heard."

"How could a body forget it? S'if we was hard to miss, 'cept for a blind man like was at their helm." Webb shook his head. "Were a nice rest from blockadin', anyways."

"Didn't half scare the life outta me, hearin' all the racket goin' on - an' then seeing where our bowsprit wasn't, the next mornin'." Thompson chuckled. "Jus' the sort of thing a nearly new lad wants to be seein', that. An' their lookouts must've been blind, or drunk. Or both. Temmyrare was big enough, after all."

It had been a change from standing off and on, of course, though they'd just exchanged one sort of hard work for another, at least until the new bowsprit was in and rigged.

"Think Valiant got the worst of it, though. Serve 'em right," he added complacently.

For a nearly-new lad, it was a fearful thing, sure, but a handy example of one of the many perils a ship faced. "Things does work out, sometimes." Only sometimes though. Webb was silent for a moment, apparently thoughtful. Then he added, "They best not be that manner of brainless here. One smash like that's enough for a lifetime."

"Only get that sorta brainless in ships o' the line, though - them bein' so ponderously slow an' all," Thompson replied with a grin. "No, the folks here take a deal more care of Terpsy than them idiot Valiants did o' their ship. Any of 'em get in a smash like that..." He shuddered. "Well, I don't want another'n either. Once was more than enough for me, an' all."

There was truth in that, he supposed. Frigate-men were renowned for being overly proud. Though, he amended with some reluctance, there was a fair amount of basis for that pride. It had been a while since Webb had been in a ship that was this taut.

"So this'n's a lucky ship?" It was almost painful to ask, but it was one of those questions that burned in one's throat until it was spoken.

Thompson nodded. "Aye, I reckon so. There's some bad eggs, o' course, but that can't be helped. The really bad'uns are among the Tars, though Shriver's a bad-tempered sod who won't be set straight. Moans an' groans but he's all hard done by if folks tell him to button it. Me an' Corp'ral Johnson knows him, though, so he ain't goin' to be gettin' away with anythin'. The officers is a good enough lot, I think. They don't let folks get away with slackin' any, but they don't slack theirselves, so it's all good."

Overall, Terpsy was a good ship, in Thompson's opinion. If only the bad eggs could be weeded out, she'd be very nearly perfect.

It was a tidy little report, that, and what it really meant was that if Webb kept himself clean, tidy, and dutiful, there'd be no trouble. That was all he really cared about these days. Then again, avoiding trouble was something he hadn't been very good at these past couple of years.

"It's all happiness an' silver guineas, then." Webb nodded, feeling as close to honestly hopeful as he got. Really, all he could ask for was a decent, quiet ship. Maybe he had finally got to one.

Thompson chuckled at the description. "Well. Dunno as I'd go quite so far as to say that, but she's a good ship, right enough, with good officers and all. There's plenty of worse ships to serve in, at any rate."

His memory flashed back to his time with Leviathan, which in its own ways was worse than being aboard Myrmidon, though of course he hadn't known it at the time. "That's truth," he muttered. Time would tell if Thompson was having him on, but somehow, Webb had a feeling he wasn't. He didn't quite dare hope though. It was still early days.

"Hoi! Corp'ral!" A dirty-faced boy wearing a checked shirt and trousers came dashing up, his left arm bound up in a sling. "You gotta minnet? I on'y got that long 'fore them Shepherds figgers me out. Who's you, then?"

This question, clearly an afterthought, was directed at Webb, who simply lifted an eyebrow. Rather a forward nipper, this one.

It took Thompson a second to realise he was the one being addressed. He straightened, trying to appear professional while still thrilling at being addressed as 'Corporal'. He wondered for a moment if he would ever get used to it, but realised he would probably get used to it all too soon. The promotion had come completely out of the blue, after all.

"Yes, what is it?" he asked, wondering what the Shepherds had been up to now.

The nipper seemed to have already decided it best to ignore Webb. Not that Webb minded. "I bin in they sea-chest, like, 'cause of them owin' me a coupla farthin'. I foun' this'n instead, an' ain't it luvvly?" The lad produced a little linen bag from inside his sling. When he held it up, the bag jingled, just audibly. Judging by the grin on the nipper's face, he reckoned himself in possession of a very fine prize.

"Fingers, that ain't a coupla farthin's, an' more than that, it ain't yourn neither," Thompson pointed out. The twin were likely to be rather put out - at the very least! - when they found that bag and its contents missing. "Ain't so very p'lite to help yourself to summat in someone else's chest, neither," he added.

The nipper didn't lose his grin. "So? 'S the Shepherds, ain't it, an' ain't they allus nickin' this'n'that from everybody else?"

"Nickin' things from them ain't going to help - two wrongs don't make a right," Thompson pointed out. "You'd best put it back, lad, seein' as you ain't no thief."

It was not a good thing, to have things go missing from sea-chests - after all, everyone lived cheek by jowl in the Navy, and if there was a suspected thief aboard....

"The sack, mebbe," said the nipper, even as he fumbled to open the bag. "Lookit. They's sneakin' beggars, them two!"

Webb's eyebrows arched expressively but he said nothing. He was not the one with authority here.

"No, all of it," Thompson said calmly. "Or if you won't put it back, I will." He held his hand out, with one eyebrow raised questioningly to see which option the lad would choose.

"Lookit!" The nipper repeated, apparently uncaring about Thompson's threat. He had managed to wrestle the bag open with only the one hand and promptly up-ended the bag into Thompson's waiting hand.

Despite himself, Webb let out a low whistle. That was some bounty!