19th July; Bright, Sunshiney Day

The bright sun was particularly harsh on Barlee Lemon's bloodshot, sandpaper-dry eyes. He was forced to squint heavily in order to see anything like clearly. Which was not the best of things when hurrying to the lee braces to help trim sails. Or yards. Or something. Ordinarily, Lemon knew the broader points about what was going on, but that morning, he was just a shade too muddled from his pre-breakfast libation to be able to think clearly.

It was, therefore, sadly inevitable that he should collide with someone halfway across the deck. Being a sturdily-built man, he did no worse than backpedal a step, but his startled, "Oi! Watch it!" was perhaps ill-advised.

"Oof!" Sam had foreseen the collision, but had been unable to avoid being run into by the sturdier Tar.

"Watch it yourself, mate," he advised, slightly less shortly, shoving into place at the pinrail and tugging the belaying pin free to release the topyard brace.

"No harm done," he added, off-handedly, turning to look at the other man once he was ready to start hauling. "You feelin' all right?" he asked, thinking that he recognised the look on the other man's face.

Was he feeling all right indeed. He'd be better when Up Spirits was piped!

"Perfickly rosy, I am," he replied and managed to get up to the pinrail himself with a heartening minimum of fumbling. Once there, however, he quickly proved less than helpful by clapping on to the royal brace - which line did not presently require either heaving on or letting out and was in fact still securely belayed.

"Only, that ain't the right brace, that," Sam said, indicating the line the other Tar was preparing to haul on. "Ain't shiftin' royals," he added in explanation.

He was almost sure the other was either drunk or hungover, neither of them conditions that would endear him to the officer of the watch were he to be spotted by someone in authority.

For bloody pity's sake. Lemon scowled and let the rope go, not realising until after doing so that he could not immediately recall the orders which had been passed not three minutes past.

"Shit," he said.

"We's adjustin' the topsail an' t'gallant," Sam replied, hastily shoving the tail of the topyard brace into the other's hands; one of the bosun's mates was looking their way with an annoyed expression.

"You do know how to tail on a brace, don't you?" he added, hoping that the other man wouldn't suddenly discover he needed to find the leeward rail. Well, not just yet, anyway.

"Of course I flamin' well know," Lemon shot back, taking firm hold of the rope that had been shoved at him. It was completely irrelevant that he'd needed reminding what had to be done.

Scowling, he tugged backward on the rope. It was not the best effort he'd ever made but his arms felt like lead.

"Are you - a sailor - or a bleedin' - landsman?" Sam wanted to know, the question punctuated by the necessary motion of 'sweating' on the brace to bring it round to its new position.

At least, he supposed, the other man had enough sense to keep it taut round the lower end of the belaying pin so Sam could swig away properly.

Are you an idiot or are you blind? Thought Lemon in disgust. He heaved away with a tiny bit more will, giving all the effort he felt capable of - which was not all that much, considering his present condition. But at least he was bloody well trying.

"Norra's bad's some," he grunted after a moment.

"True," Sam allowed, squinting up at the tip of the yard silhouetted against the blue sky above them to see how much further it had to go before it was where it ought to be.

It was his opinion that the other ought to give up the drink so he could develop his skills that much better. Not the sort of thing you could say aloud though, especially up on deck where there were officers who might overhear and jump to conclusions.

"You there! You're to haul at that brace, not tickle it!" A gravelly voice bawled. It was, perhaps unsurprisingly, one of the boatswain's mates. Colburn or some other such fool.

Lemon scowled and made a token effort to pull a little harder, but the work seemed to be done anyway.

A couple more good swigs on it ought to do, Sam thought, reaching up the brace to seize it in a double-fisted grip and making use of the ship's roll as he pulled down.

Colburn, or whoever it was, could go hang, for all Sam cared; he knew what he was doing!