10th June; Drummer's Dilemma

The watch was nearly over. Unfortunately. Mister Watts and one of his mates were at the hatchways, trilling "Up All Hammocks" on their calls. The gruff barks of "Out or down!" were being repeated on the messdeck as the other two boatswain's mates went about the business of rousing the ship to begin its day. Thomas could not suppress a cold shiver as the first seamen appeared on deck, carrying their rolled up hammocks for placing in the nettings. Today was not going to be a good day. He was supposed to make good on his promise to pay up and he could not. That motley collection of coins and buttons had been his ticket out of this mess but Corporal Thompson had taken the bag away yesterday.

It meant trouble. Trouble that not even Andrew could see a way out of. Other than to stay in the Marines' area of the messdeck when he was not on duty, Thomas had no better ideas either. All he could hope for was that the matter had been forgotten, but that hope was utterly dashed when one of the seamen looked directly at him and rubbed two fingers together. Nope, Thomas thought miserably, and pretended not to have seen. It wasn't forgotten. Hell and death. His one comfort was that nothing was likely to happen right then, while he was in sight of most of the ship's company. It gave him a little time to try coming up with a last-minute plan.

"Wake up, Shepherd," Joe Preddie teased, stepping close to nudge Thomas with his elbow.

Thomas gave a start and cursed, then blushed immediately. The seaman lifted an eyebrow at him which only made the drummer's cheeks flush darker.

"Got a bad mouth on you, seems. I only meant to say hullo." Preddie shrugged and moved off, leaving Thomas feeling wretched. It wasn't like he'd meant it!

Oxley hurried his hammock on deck and shoved it into the quarterdeck hammock nettings, where the Marines' hammocks were stowed during the day.

The sound of cursing coming from the duty drummer made him pause at the top of the companionway and he skipped aside out of the way of the Marines still coming up on deck.

"What's up?" he said, frowning. Tom Shepherd (if it was him!) did not look at all happy, which was pretty unusual for him, in Oxley's experience.

"Nothin'," Thomas answered reflexively, striving to recover the 'on-duty' mask he was usually so good at wearing. He felt as though the lie was completely transparent though. Even for him, this was not normal.

"Hey - s'only me. Anythin' I can help with?" Oxley said, shoving his hands into his pockets in defiance of the fact he was in uniform, and shouldn't.

Help? It was a fine offer and in any other circumstance, Thomas would've happily agreed. This was different though. He opened his mouth to reply, but hesitated when he saw that same Tar pass by on his way below again. A single, quick scowl from the man was sufficient for the words to die unspoken on Thomas' tongue. He settled for shaking his head.

"No dawdlin', there!" Mister Colburn snapped, appearing up the companionway. "Shift along! S'that you talkin', drummer? I din't think so!"

Ah, crap. Oxley shrugged, darted out of the way of the starter that Mister Colburn held loosely in his hand, and sent the other drummer an apologetic look. He couldn't make Young Tom talk to him, of course, but the youngsters had to stick together.

And wasn't that Seward that'd sent that threatening look at his mate?

There was something going on here, something that wasn't at all right.

If he had had his brother's quick pluck, he might not have been so easily cowed. But he didn't, being of a slightly more cautious nature. That very nature was the reason for all this. He was sure of it.

There was nothing more to do but stand still and attempt to be relieved that most of the crew would shortly be busy washing the decks. The watches would change soon, too.

"The bleedin' hell's wrong with yer mate?" Joe Preddie asked of Oxley, glancing back over his shoulder at the duty drummer. There was a puzzled frown on the seaman's face.

"I dunno. Never seen him so... twitchy... afore," Oxley said with a half-shrug and a glance over his shoulder. "Ain't like him, it ain't," he added, unsure whether to be annoyed or relieved that it was his watch on deck and he was due to relieve Young Tom any minute now.

He hoped Sticks would be able to solve the mystery of why his brother was so unnerved - and, moreover, would share the tale with Oxley afterwards.

"You ain't heard anythin' untoward 'bout anythin' goin' on, have you?" he added, looking up at the sailor.

Preddie grunted. "If you dunno, how'm I s'posed to? All I done was rib him a little an' got swore at for it. Even fer a Shepherd, that's a bit much!"

Oh. "You prob'ly scared the wits half outta him, is all," Oxley said, rolling the sleeves of his shirt down. "Or summat like, any'ow. 'E don't mean no 'arm, y'know."

"That'd be a first," said Preddie. "What's that sour-puss Seward got 'gainst him, though? I seen him glarin'. Hopefully them two ain't done a prank on him!"

"Dunno - though ain't Seward got a set 'gainst everyone?" It seemed he had, anyway, from everything Oxley had seen, though why that should be the case, he didn't know. Maybe he was just a bad-tempered sort like Shriver.

At that, Preddie simply shrugged. He had no idea what was going on and he'd already said as much. "If yer a landsman or a boy, sure," he answered. "Better warn that fool mate of yers off him. I'd've thought even those two had sense!"

The seaman headed below, half a step slower than a smirking Cob Chase and a couple of men he was chatting with.

As far as Oxley knew, the Shepherds were as sensible as any other lads aboard Terpsy. He shrugged again and headed below to get kitted up before coming on deck to relieve Young Tom.

"If there's anythin' I can help with, tell me!" he said, tugging his jacket straight

That was it. Thomas was only too happy to surrender the drum. Ignoring Old Tom's remark was impossible but he hesitated a little before affecting a shrug. "Ain't nothin'. Just some Tars havin' no sense of humour!"

It was the best he could come up with. For the moment. He should get out of sight below before either of the corporals or Sergeant Quinn came on deck. Andrew would be waiting. But Thomas lingered, feeling undecided. This was beyond both of them.

"Don't s'pose you got a spare shillin' on you?" The answer would be 'no', Thomas already knew, but the question had slipped out anyway.

"A shillin'?" Tom shook his head, but shoved his hand into his pocket any way. "Waddaya know... I got a ha'penny," he said, coming up with a couple of farthings. "You ain't in trouble with that Seward, are you?" he added, offering the coppers to his friend.

"Nah," Thomas lied. "Just lost a bet with the beggar. Tars!"

A ha'penny wasn't much but it was more than he had otherwise. He accepted the two coins with an attempt at a grin. "Cheers. I'll get 'em back, I will."

"No worries," Oxley said and busied himself hooking the drum to his crossbelt. "Don't go bettin' with the bugger, it ain't worth it," he said, looking back up.

No kidding.

"Aye, well..." Thomas shrugged again, relieved that his lie had been accepted. "Next time I won't."

He had to get below now, if only to get out of his duty rig. Maybe, if miracles happened, he'd get that bag of coins and buttons back. Was it possible to steal it back? Thomas hoped so. He wasn't above that if it helped save his neck.

"Here now," a gruff voice cut in, from the direction of the companionway. "What're you two chatterin' hens about? Changin' drummers don't take half of for ever."

"Scram," Oxley muttered, straightening. He wanted to help, but being stuck up here meant that he wouldn't be able to until the change of the watch - and Shepherd would probably prefer his brother's help over Oxley's any day. If there was anything he could do, though, he would, come hell or high water.

It would have to be Corporal Johnson. If ever there was a bad time... Thomas suppressed a grimace and twisted round to make for the ladder, but there was a hand on his collar before he could make more than a step.

"What you two been plottin'?" Johnson enquired, his gaze shifting from one drummer to the other.

"Nothin', Corporal," Oxley said blandly, wishing like hell that he'd managed to get shuffled into Corporal Thompson's squad rather than getting stuck with Cross-Eyes.

He kept his gaze fixed for'rard, standing to attention, which wasn't easy with the movement of the ship, and the drum hooked to his crossbelt.

"And you?" Johnson asked of the captive Thomas, who tried not to squirm.

"Nothin', Corp'ral. Like he said."

There was a grunt from the corporal. "No? So what was that I saw about coin changin' hand?"

Despite himself, Thomas quailed.

"Owed 'im a coupla farthin' acause he helped me with pipeclayin' me crossbelt, Corp'ral," Oxley piped up. "Though I'd give him 'em now afore I forgot."

"You was cheated," retorted Johnson after a critical glance at Oxley's crossbelt.

Still helplessly in the corporal's grasp, Thomas could only feel an increasing sense of dread. The longer he stayed here, the more likely it was that word would reach Seward about his being 'in trouble', and that could not end well.