The sick bay

Four drops? Four drops of what?

He looked from one to the other and decided a sigh right now would only get him in trouble. Messdeck, then. At least he knew how to use a crutch - you didn't get around very well without one with a broken ankle, after all.

He took a step, then swung the crutch, put his weight on it and hopped forwards. He'd be all right.

(Resumed Friday 19th, morning. Oxley and de Guarde came from here)

Oxley glanced at de Guarde. He couldn't be unlucky enough that they were both heading to the same place... was he?

Dammit. It looked as though he was. Bother it all.

De Guarde looked angrily at Oxley. The blasted lad had humiliated him by hanging his clothes where they weren't due to appear. And had him remain completely bare to be discovered so if his luck hadn't held. There was much he could loath about the marine and Oxley might've considered himself lucky that the boy held his tongue so far.

They wouldn't be alone for long, and once the surgeon came to see the both of them standing side by side. Well, he would probably know exactly what happened. Suspect at the very least.

"My slops.."He hissed at Oxley, teeth gritted, voice low, more quiet.

Oxley glanced down. "You'm a-wearin' of 'em," he replied. Though it was a relief that he had been able to get below and find a clean pair.

He hoped that someone had returned his other pair.

He shrugged. Could he apologise to this lad? Did he want to? It would be worth a shot, wouldn't it?

"I'm sorry," he said, awkwardly. Not that he was sorry for what he'd said, of course. But fighting... and what had come after it. Maybe they had gone a bit too far?

Despite barging shamelessly into the conversation between Lieutenant Cartwright and poor Oxley, Andrew Shepherd was feeling remarkably carefree. He followed the other drummer down the ladder, grinning broadly the entire way to the sick-berth.

"Yer slops?" Andrew asked, when the seaman spoke. The Tar was wearing slops now, that was certainly true. And just as well! "I sure 'ope they's yers, boyo."

His smirk shrank just a little when Oxley offered an apology to the Tar, though. What use was there in apologising to such a boy?

"'fer what?" De Guarde answered coldly. No amount of 'I'm sorry' could help. He was LUCKY he was found by one rather than the whole crew. Already he had suffered the amount of humiliation that would have sent many to be flogged a good deal of times, if he were a midshipman. And some that would hang.. for the 'assault'.

" Yer think a sorry will cut it'?" He asked, his voice in hushed whisper, but angry and sharp. "m' shirt, m' belt.. m' slops. don' ye play dumb." His hands were balled in fists, and it took every ounce of strength that he didn't jump at the marine, taking on his revenge right there.

His looked at the other marine, his glare still on his face. Right. He'd been so angry he near forgot that marine was there too. Was he involved in this, or was he just 'the backup' of the other marine. The smirk indicated something, but what, he wasn't sure.

"yer not injured, so yer not need in 'ere!"

Oxley shrugged. No, an apology was not going to cut it. Ah well.

"Someone's took 'em down. Best ask Cob Chase; I din't see where they went." He scowled. "An' just you stop tellin' folks where they can an' can't be." Or he'd get worse than what he'd already received, and probably from a full-grown sailor.

At least de Guarde had lashed out first, which was something in Oxley's defence if they were dragged up before their respective officers.

He what? Andrew lost his smirk entirely in favour of a scowl. "Ain't yer bi'ness what I am," he snarled. "Less yer lookin' t'take another knockin' about!"

"'nother knockin' about? " The boy snapped, his eyes now fully at Andrew. "Is that a threat, lobster?" He asked sharply then added angrily: "Ye ain't injured. 's none of yer business doin' 'ere n' neglectin' yer duty elsewhere!"

"He ain't an' you've no right to tell him he's slackin' off." Oxley was leaning on the bulkhead watching the younger boy. He had a real problem with his temper, this one did, and it was going to get him into trouble sooner or later. But did he know that, and if he knew it, did he care?

Andrew folded his arms across his chest, already settling in for the chance of an argument.

"What'd you know 'bout slackin' off, then? Proper Tars knows 'ow t'work, but you don't."

"He ain't slackin' off? Correct me if I'm wrong. .but I don' see t' need for him ter stand no guard here.. n' surely he ain' doin' no drill neither."

His temper boiled as it had in the night, when he and Oxley had fought till the fateful strike below his waist. How dare the marine tell him what he did not know. Thompson was a fine man, but these two were worse than the Tars. And they were two. But they knew that the surgeon would come at any moment, for he had been gone to be fetched by his 'assistant'.

"I know that yer doin' no good 'ere. I know that yer only wastin' t' space n' t' air in this room. Though I suspect now.. that it may jus' be what's t' only thing ye know how ter do. ..'fcourse it may be.. "His eyes were briefly on Oxley. " Yer need him up 'round , so that 'tleast one of ye is found thinkin'... as foul and poorly at that!"

His voice was laced with spite, venomous with its tone:" I know how ter work, n' unlike yeselves , who need only t' stand 'round lookin 'pretty in red,.. we'um actually doin' a job. A job that's keepin t' likes of you safe n' all warm n' pampered... n' while t' two of you would be tremblin' ye knees off, with fear..I can, and do know how ter do work where's high n' dangerous. Not stay like a chicken'.. down 'ere! Peckin' at t' grain dropped by ye officer."

Oxley sucked his teeth. "You should learn to mind your manners," he said. "Or mebbe they never learnt you nothin' useful where you come from."

And Heaven help de Guarde if he tried anything down here - the surgeon was going to come out any minute now.

Though he'd been well on his mouth, De Guarde was no fool to strike now. He knew that the surgeon would be there soon. he knew that Mr. Leat would find it most obscure if the boy with one black eye returned with another later. Especially once he and Oxley had gone down the same companionway together.

He even kept his tone down as much as he could. " They did teach me not to steal." He eyed Oxley meaninfully. The two boys - of what he'd known only about one - stole his belongings and hung them up. Though he had intentions that may cause him to sound like a hypocrate, he thought it right to accuse Oxley of theft and no manners at all, or the ability to know what was right and wrong. Perhaps they have again, taken to stand.. on the very wrong foot, with hostilies running wild between them.

This Tar was a rare one, wasn't he? Didn't know the first thing about what he was talking about but thought he did. Seemed to think he was fit to give orders on top of it.

Andrew scoffed, his expression disdainful. "Like t'know whatcha'd do if us Marines wasn't 'ere. Ain't a Tar I knows that'd stand sentry fer 'ours, an' be reliable in it!" He shook his head. "La-de-da, lissen ta 'im. 'E were taught not t'steal. Din't teach 'im not t'insult 'is betters, though, did they?"

"'Parently not, mate," Oxley said. "An' steal... didn't keep his stuff. Who'd want it, arter all? Needed a good airin' it did, get rid o' the smell!" He looked de Guarde up and down. "Know for a fact 'e wouldn't keep sentry proper. Hoppin' about like all that."

"When I meet some betters, I'll be sure not ter insult them." He glared at the marine that came with Oxley, and whom he was beginning to dislike about as much as the private with whom he had fought.

His eyes narrowed on the said boy, and still with his voice well down, he hissed:".. If you took a wift of yeself.. you might've realised that t' stench was comin' from you, not me."

And then more coldly, yet more contained:"...I bet.. I know I'd have stood sentry better than the both of you together.... Nae.. that it'd be a hard thing ter do."

"Aye," Andrew said, agreeing with Oxley. "Smellin' like a coward, an' all."

He ignored most of what the Tar said, except for the remark about betters. "You've met betters, boy. Them what's like Cob Chase an' Chicken Dyer. An' George Thompson too." The drummer paused, his eyes narrowing. " 'Less you think yer better even than the officers. Ain't insultin' them, are you?"

Keeping his temper in check and not lashing out at either of the marines was proving more difficult than the former midshipman had earlier imagined. With each insult thrown in his direction, he was an inch closer that his spite would not come with words, but that a fist would come forth to strike the face of the sneering.

Being accused of being a cowards, demanded satisfaction. If he were a midshipman, both marines would already be reported and would be soon on their way to the gratings. Even without a direct line of command he'd have ensured that somehow.

But he was a Tar and he could only wound with his own fists and words.

The said fists had turned white with the pressure that he was giving them. "I am NO coward." He hissed out, barely sustaining the control not to shout at Andrew. He did not feel that he needed to emphasize that neither did he insult the officers. One more step, that either of the boys dared. Just one more. And he knew he would have lost his temper. Lost it again as he had during the night.

" You yourselves are! ..beatin' a drum? what sort of duty is that at all.... for jesters perhaps! n' those too afraid ter do some actual work!" He knew what drums were for, and what their tact meant, still at that moment he'd been happiest to ram a stick right through one.

"What is this?" Mister Crozier the surgeon was standing at the entrance to the sickbay, his arms folded. He looked as if he may have been standing there some time, though perhaps he had only arrived at that very moment. He looked displeased. De Guarde had a bruise on his eye, and so did Oxley. "What happened? Shepherd? Are you hurt or sick?"

"Course not, sar," Andrew replied easily, offering a quick salute. " 'Tenant Cartwright sent me down wi' ol' Tom 'ere."

"He's neither. ..nothin' a sur...."He bit at his lip, of what he wanted to say. Nothing a surgeon could fix. Sick places untreatable. Instead he looked at the surgeon again: "..Was sent to have this checked.."

Crozier pointedly ignored De Guarde and continued speaking to the marine. "Well he's here now, so you may go, Shepherd."

And hark at who he was calling 'nothing'. Andrew Shepherd was worth three of de Guarde, easily, and probably more. God knew why Cob Chase and George Thompson were wasting their time with him - well, Chase had probably been ordered to - but Thompson?

he scowled at de Guarde and waited his own turn.

Try as he might, he couldn't think of a way to twist Cartwright's order so it could help keep him in the sick berth. Damn!

"Aye sar," Andrew said and saluted again. "Be waitin' fer you up top again, boyo!" He said to Oxley, before hurrying out. Once he was far enough away, however, he stopped and looked around for a place to stand quietly. He wasn't going to get too far away, lest that idiot Tar try anything stupid.