9th June; Illicit Bounty

When he caught up to Fingers again, there was going to be a reckoning, Thomas Shepherd thought fiercely. He had searched through the sea-chest he shared with his brother for that little striped linen bag with increasing desperation, until one of the lads - one of the new ones, even! - had told him some nipper with a filthy face had taken the bag off. Thomas had slammed the sea-chest's lid shut, snatched up his off-watch cap, and headed topside at once. He'd spotted Fingers immediately, but the little devil was talking to Corporal Thompson. Worse! He was handing over the bag of coins and buttons.

There wasn't much Thomas had dreaded more than that sight. He had disappeared below again at once, shaking with a mixture of anger and worry. He was for it now. Badly. How was he going to get out of this? Not even Andrew ever got into trouble of this sort. Thomas went back to his hammock space and mechanically went about the business of straightening up their sea-chest. His brother didn't know a thing about the bag, its contents, or Thomas' reasons for having it. It was one of the few secrets between them. Though, really, he had no idea how Andrew hadn't discovered the dratted thing himself before now.

Fingers had discovered, though, and that meant Thomas was in monstrous trouble.

"Corp'l," a Marine muttered in a warning undertone, and a couple of lads nearby casually swept their playing cards out of sight into their half-open jackets.

Thompson clattered down the ladder, unconsciously ducking under the solid oak lintel as he arrived on the berth-deck. From the corner of his eye, he noticed a couple of Marines - Ware and Mallory, he thought - furtively sweep their cards out of sight into their jackets. He wasn't about to pull them up for it though; he was here on another errand entirely, and before his promotion he might well have joined in with their game.

"Ah, Shepherd," he said, noticing the drummer. "Mind if we have a quick chat?"

As it ever did, all eyes turned his way when their name was uttered. Thomas did his best not to wilt under the corporal's gaze. If he kept his wits, he could possibly get out of this. Maybe.

"Aye, what?" The borderline flippancy of his answer was typical of Andrew, and Thomas hoped against hope that imitating his brother would help him.

Thompson looked around, catching men's eyes interrogatively. This was none of their business, after all. He returned his gaze to Shepherd - whichever of the two it was! - and folded his arms across his chest, waiting.

From the flippancy of the reply, it would be Sticks he was talking with. Great. "Do you know where your brother is?" he asked.

"On deck this watch, the poor fool," Thomas answered, striving to contain the surging waves of fear. If he acted like his brother would, this would be over soon. Or at least it could be manageable. Right? "What's he done now, then?"

"Then I'll talk to him later." If he didn't get to the bottom of this now, that was. He pulled the cloth-wrapped package from his pocket. "I don't know if you've missed something from your sea-chest lately," he began conversationally, keeping a close eye on the lad's face.

Be calm. Be calm. These two words were racing around inside his head in an endless circle. Just be calm. Thomas glanced at the handkerchief Thompson had produced and shrugged in what he hoped was a dismissive way. "What's that, other'n a nose-rag?"

"Just some bits an' pieces I was handed a moment ago," Thompson continued, unwrapping the cloth. "I was wonderin' if you could tell me where you got 'em from?"

He was standing so that the only person who could see what he was holding was Shepherd himself; this was a private conversation and he wanted that made very clear to the other Marines.

The words be calm nearly vanished amid a storm of other words, all of them foul. Thomas uttered a noise he intended to be a scoff but he wasn't sure it came out as uncaring as he wanted.

"Why's it allus me gets 'cused of things?" It was easier, strangely, to affect an air of indignation.

Now, that was... interesting. Definitely a sign of a guilty conscience right there. That it was nearly always Sticks behind things, of course, might answer the lad's question for him.

"Haven't accused you of anythin', Shepherd," Thompson pointed out. "I jus' asked where you got 'em from. Of course, you might have a good reason for havin' 'em, mightn't you?"

Equally, of course, he might not - and Thompson was quite willing to bet that he hadn't, too.

Thomas regarded the corporal with a slight frown, some of his fear beginning to dissolve. "That," he said, pointing at the gold button amongst the pile in Thompson's hand, "ain't one of ours, is it? It's an officer's. Not hard to figger what you're thinkin'. An' no, I dunno a thing 'bout any of that pretty little lot. But... you don't want 'em, I'll take 'em off you!"

"Quite right that's an officer's button," Thompson said and shrugged. "But as you don't know where they come from, an' 'specially where that'n come from, I'll just have to ask your brother, won't I?"

Not that he really expected the other Shepherd to know - it was generally Sticks who led the shenanigans the twins got involved in. He began re-wrapping the small collection, wondering what it would take to make the lad crack and tell.

This was a relief he had not expected. Thomas made himself shrug, even though inwardly he was dancing for joy.

"Go on, then. As if that idiot'd know anythin'. Proper bore, him!"

"Well, then." Thompson returned the bundle to his pocket and prepared to head topside to question the other twin.

Thomas deflated a little as the corporal headed for the ladder, relieved that his ploy had worked. Then he cursed, with more colour than he had ever used before. He'd just lied his way out of a solution to his problem. What was he, stupid?

~

It was a fine day to be on deck. Too fine a day to be stuck in one spot as duty drummer. Why hadn't he traded watches with his brother again? God damn it. Andrew tapped his thumbs boredly against the edge of his drum, attempting to distract himself from rocking back and forth on his heels, which he had been doing until Sergeant Quinn had caught him.

The watches would change soon though. Happily.

At least the lad was where he was supposed to be, Thompson thought. Even if he did look somewhat distracted.

"Shepherd."

Shit. Andrew straightened up, fixing his gaze on a point away up forrard.

"Corp'ral."

Thompson raised an eyebrow. It wasn't quite a guilty start, but was probably closer to being one than the lad probably would have liked.

"I was hopin' you could help me with a little problem," he said, folding his arms again and wishing he could shove his hands into his pockets.

He needed to look somewhat nonchalant, but having his hands in his pockets this close to the quarterdeck was to risk a pretty good dressing-down. NCOs were supposed to set an example, after all.

What? A problem? And Thompson wanted his help solving it? Andrew stared at the corporal, not trusting his own ears.

"Mebbe," he said presently. Was this something he wanted to get involved in? If a corporal couldn't sort it out on his own...

Thompson pulled out the cloth-wrapped package again. "Y'see, this was given to me a moment ago an' I'm given to understand it might've come from your sea-chest. Only, I don't know how it could've, with the bits it's got in it. So, I was wonderin' how you might've got hold of the bits, see."

For a very long moment, Andrew's gaze was fixed on the bundle Thompson had produced. What in the hell was that? Where had it come from, for that matter? Other than, the corporal claimed, from Andrew's own sea-chest. He knew he didn't have anything improper stashed away. Certainly not where it could be so easily found. Unless it was something Thomas was involved with, and wasn't he below-decks this watch?

"I dunno a thing 'bout any of it," Andrew said, for once being completely truthful. "It'll be a mess Andrew's got himself in, won't it? He wants me to get him out of it too I bet!"

Oh but he was gonna thump his brother later!

"Hmm." Thompson said. He'd just have to give the officer's button to the man's steward, and possibly the useful coins as well - they could always go to the widows' fund or something, after all.

"Well, looks like I'll have to ask him, then," he said, and put the bundle away before heading back down the companionway.

He paused, halfway down and turned back as though he'd forgotten something. "Oh, Sticks?"

That'd work, Andrew thought, if Thompson hadn't already done so. And he'd have to have done, having come from the messdeck. How else would he have known those trinkets had come from the Shepherds' sea-chest? He and his brother were going to have a talk about this!

It seemed that Thompson accepted his denial of knowledge though. Or maybe he hadn't. Andrew twitched, just enough, upon hearing his nickname and only refrained from answering by a great effort. "He's below, ain't he, Corp'ral?"

He'd just made a hash of that, without a doubt. Hell.

Hmm. That twitch had not escaped the sharp-eyed Thompson. He'd thought the two of them had played their trick of switching roles, and that twitch proved it. Clever of the little sod not to answer to the name, though.

"Thanks," he said, exactly as he'd intended to all along, and headed back down.

Yep, he'd made a real hash of that. Damn it. Unable to do what he really wanted to right then, Andrew settled for glowering at the older Marine's retreating back. What in the hell was going on here and why was Thomas of all lads neck-deep in it?

~

Christ above, wouldn't he make up his mind? Albert Ware tugged innocently at the bottom of his jacket to disguise the fact that he'd just shoved his playing cards out of sight. Again.