11th June; On Styles

"Well, that falls under Article Twenty-two, I think," Thompson said, looking at Andrew. "And I think the getting together of this little collection likely comes under Article Twenty-nine. An' both of them two Articles is court-martial offences, strictly speakin'."

They knew the rules as well as he did - and if they thought he was going to turn a blind eye to things just because he was generally a more personable type than Cross-Eyes, they were wrong.

Both twins looked just a little paler on hearing that. Good. Far be it from him to dish out any praise but Thompson seemed to not be as much a dullard as Johnson had previously thought.

"A matter for Mister Sewell, beyond doubt." Johnson eyed the Shepherds with a disapproving expression on his face. "Who'll have to take 'fore the cap'n. It'll be him decides what best needs doin' about it."

Of the two, he reckoned Thomas was the more fearful, though both would rightly be concerned. A court-martial was nothing to dismiss out of hand.

"Please don't, Corporals," Thomas said in a thin voice, all but trembling where he stood.

"Though gamblin's goin' to come under Article Thirty-five," Thompson said. "You know - all other crimes not capital committed by any person or persons in the fleet, which are not mentioned in this act, or for which no punishment is hereby directed to be inflicted, shall be punished by the laws and customs in such cases used at sea." His voice took on a slightly sing-song tone as he recited the article from memory. He glanced across as Johnson. "Don't you agree, Corporal?" he added.

That was likely to mean the boy's cane for Thomas - and possibly the cat for Seward, though they had no actual proof of that man's involvement beyond the boy's word.

"Which I does," said Johnson and was privately pleased by the mirroring expressions of dismay on the Shepherds' faces. He intended to put both of them forward for punishment. Lord knew it was high time the twins got some proper sorting out!

Thompson sat back. "Seems we need to let Mister Sewell know," he said. "There's a line, you know, between a bit of fun an' runnin' amok. If you start gamblin' - especially with sods like Seward - who knows what's goin' to happen next? You want to keep away from folks like him, they'm bad cess."

"Yes, Corporal," said Thomas in a dull, defeated voice. From Andrew, there was only a nod. He had less to fear than his brother, Johnson guessed, but the precise reasons for that were harder to fathom. Just what in the hell had the miserable nipper gotten mixed up in?

With a grimace, Johnson turned partially toward Oxley. "Respects to the lieutenant, and would he have a moment to for two lads who're up on charges?"

"Corp'ral," Oxley got out, feeling hellatiously as though he was in trouble too. He gave the twins a sympathetic look, though odds were good neither of them saw it.

"Message for the 'Tenant," he informed the wardroom sentry who nodded.

He pulled his jacket straight, trying not to think that he was supposed to be on duty up on deck right at this moment, and knocked on Mister Sewell's cabin door.

The second lieutenant, sitting at the table, looked up from the book he was reading.

"If you are looking for Mr. Sewell, he's up on the deck smoking. Just went up a few minutes ago."

"Sir? Oh." Oxley spun round, saw Mister Mitchell and gave a hurried salute. "Thanks, sir," he said, and left the wardroom. 'On deck' for an officer meant the quarterdeck, and he wasn't allowed up there, not being an officer, and not being on duty up there. Damn.

Oh. Saved. "Mister Chandos, sir," he said, saluting a passing midshipman who looked as though he was heading up to the quarterdeck. "Could you please let Mister Sewell know I've got a message for him, sir?"

With the third drummer gone on his errand, Johnson again spitted the two Shepherds with a glower. "The pair of you'd get a good caning, an' then some, right now if it were up to me!"

That served to deepen the gloomy expression on Thomas' face. Andrew was less willing to be drawn but he too looked resigned to his fate.

"No need, Mr. Chandos, I heard."

Sewell, who had been standing before the mast to get his pipe lit up properly and overheared, leaned over the railing. Quickly glancing to where Oxley was supposed to be on duty, but seeing nothing of interest there, Sewell gave the pipe another puff and went down to meet the drummer in the windshade of the quarterdeck.

"What is it, Oxley?"

Oxley saluted. "Beg pardon sir, but Corp'ral Johnson sends his respec's an' d'you have have time for two lads who's on charges? Sir. They's down in Corp'ral Thompson's mess, sir."

Calmly, Sewell put a coin on the tabacco and the windcap over it, gave it a couple of puffs to extinquish the pipe again, then put it in his pocket.

"Understood. Lead the way."

Since Oxley was not supposed to be down there, he supposed the drummer had been called down specifically, perhaps because he was needed investigating whatever these lads had been up to.

"Aye, aye, sir." Oxley saluted again, turned, and sent Ware an apologetic look. He'd be back on duty as soon as this mess was over. If not sooner.

He clattered down the companionway to the gundeck, swung round the stout post and clattered down again to the dimness of the messdeck. "He's jus' comin', Corp'rals," he announced, coming to attention next to Thomas Shepherd, who looked distinctly unhappy.

Sewell followed a bit slower to give the corporals time to prepare, ducking his head under the low beams as he came down.

"Johnson, Thompson. What is the matter?"

His eyes travelled over the Shepherds before coming to rest on the senior corporal.

At last. Johnson stood up from the table's bench so he could salute.

"The Shepherd drummers, sir. One for violatin' Article Twenty-two. Fightin'," he indicated Andrew, who looked faintly defiant, "an' one for violatin' Article Thirty-five. Gamblin'." He next indicated Thomas, who seemed on the verge of being ill.

Standing all but forgotten next to Andrew, Chicken Dyer's face was carefully blank, but it was plain that he was not at ease with being party to what was happening.

Sewell nodded to indicate that he had understood. His face was emotionless, but he did not like at all seeing these two youngsters standing there. One thing was that he was aware of their names, and not in the best sense; the other was that Johnson had send for him instead of straigthening the matter out under the table, as it was. That did not bode well - either the drummers had angered both corporals for some reason, or matters had come to a point where they could no longer be solved by a stern warning.

Keeping his voice phlegmatic, he inquired:

"Prior incidents?"

Out of his pocket, he drew his notebook and started to take down notes. Once the matter had been brought to his attention, he needed to report it to the Captain; so it was best to get all the information in an orderly fashion and without any chance of misunderstandings not to waste anybody's time.

"Not on the present counts, sir," was Johnson's reply. "Trouble's their business but they've not been this sorta careless before."

Even when they'd had that De Guarde brat up on deck in a Marine's uniform, there had been little in the way of a true offence Johnson could have pulled them up for.

Sewell made a note. The fact that they had sofar steered clear of punishable offences meant they had some sense, but on the long run, that could only lead to bigger problems. Nothing was worse than intelligent troublemakers.

"What happened exactly this time?"

Thompson was also standing to attention. He had let Johnson take the lead, as the senior Corporal, but this situation had mostly come about due to his involvement.

"I was up on deck t'other day, sir, when one o' the ship's boys give me this here parcel o' bits. It's all there as it was given me, 'ceptin' only there was an officer's button mixed in with it which I've since give your steward. And he told me as it'd come from the sea-chest o' these two lads here. So I did a bit more investigatin', and found it belonged to Thomas Shepherd - he's the one with the bruise, sir - an' his brother didn't know anythin' about it."

He took a breath. "So Corp'ral Johnson an' I bin questionin' 'em both, an' found Thomas'd bin gamblin' with one of the sailors. This here packet's to pay the sailor's winnin's. The packet's got three shillin's ha'pence, sir, an' Thomas lost two shillin's to the sailor."

"So a sailor has been gambling as well?"

Sewell frowned.

"How did a ship's boy get to have the parcel if it was in a sea chest? That's comming quite close to stealing."

"Yes, sir." Thompson did not shrug; twelve years' service in the Corps meant he was quite disciplined enough not to do that when standing to attention. "I ain't quite sure o' that, sir, though it is - which is why I took the liberty o' confiscatin' it from him soon's I knew he had it, sir."

"Keep an eye on him."

Sewell looked at the two Shepherds, his glance calculated to make them uneasy.

"Alright, what do you have to say for yourself? Anything to add to the corporal's report?"

He'd have to ask Thompson - later! - which of the nippers it was. If the ship's boys were feeling bold enough that they saw fit to help themselves to Marines' sea-chests, Johnson was determined to set them right.

"No, sir," was Andrew Shepherd's prompt, curt response.

There was a hesitation from Thomas before he too answered in the negative.

Sewell gave him a sharp look.

"How did you get that bruise? And with whom did you gamble?"

When Johnson had said that one was on charges for fighting, he had assumed it was the one with the bruise, but from Thompson's statement, it seemed that he had assumed incorrectly. So where did that injury come from and was it connected to the gambling? And what had happend at the actually reported fight?