The sick bay

De Guarde found a sure dislike in the surgeon again, but kept silent. A small smile played at his lips when he saw the other marine leave. At last, he learned that it wasn't his place in the sick bay if he wasn't injured or sick.

Which he was saying all along.

Once the other marine was gone, Crozier rounded on the boys with a fierce glare, but he spoke in a low voice to be certain of privacy. "Now what is this? You've been fighting. Haven't you?"

".. " De Guarde looked at Oxley and his black eye, then answered stiffly: "... I fell, sir." And thought that it wasn't the surgeon's business on what happened between them. Daring even to match the fierce glare with his own.

"Tripped over a ringbolt on me way to the head, sir."

At least de Guarde had enough sense not to go telling the officers he'd been fighting. Which was something in his favour, though it was a small enough 'something'.

Crozier looked at them with a frown on his face. "You fell, did you, De Guarde? You tripped on a ringbolt, Oxley? Where?"

"Yes, sir. Fell. Down the companionway 'meself. ..landed on me fist." He spoke simply and then grew quiet, looking at Oxley, so that he could explain his 'side of the story'.

(ooc - and with that.. it is darned too late... so good night)

"Goin' to the heads, sir. On the gundeck. Tried to headbutt a cannon. Sir."

He refused to look at the younger boy. If he ended up in trouble because of him, there'd be hell to pay.

Crozier turned and stared at De Guarde. "Landed on your fist? Your hand didn't fly out to try to break the fall? You didn't reach out to grab at the air? You landed on your fist?" He looked back at Oxley. "Which head - larboard or starboard?"

Ah. Bother.

"Larboard, sir."

Now, please stop digging, sir?

"You tripped on a ringbolt going to the larboard head. And De Guarde fell on his fist." Crozier looked first at one young man and then the other. "And do you have other injuries to show for these sudden attacks of clumsiness?"

Bridgens shuffled silently in, eying the two boys expressionlessly. He wasn't surprised that there had been fighting and assumed it had been a dispute over something that happened while ashore in Lisbon. Well. Either way, he would wait quietly for instructions. These two wouldn't be patients for long anyway.

While the young men composed their answers, Crozier turned and said, "Bridgens, there you are. Fetch my bleeding bowl and the large lancet."

Oxley considered. He didn't think his bruises were bad enough to warrant the surgeon's attention and his wrist wasn't sprained or broken, so it was all right. But if the surgeon wanted him to take his shirt off anyway... Would he, though?

"Sort of... took a tumble ag'in the cannon, like, sir," he said. "Ain't nothin' to worry about, though. Jist the eye that's bad."

There was certainly no reason to bleed him. None at all.

"Yes sir," Bridgens said, deftly concealing his amusement. A bleeding cured everything, it did. He moved toward the cabinet to retrieve the desired items and returned them a moment later.

Crozier grimaced at the young marine. "Perhaps you should familiarize yourself with the larboard head and its neighborhood. Next time you could lose an eye. Sit down." He examined the eye and held a lantern close next to it, watching the action as it dilated. "Your eye will be fine. I'll prepare a dressing and you'll have to keep it covered for the day, but it will feel better then. But you must wait while I see to De Guarde here."

He'd look like a ruddy pirate, with his eye covered all day. And wouldn't that bring Corporal Johnson down on him like a pile of bricks?

"Think I twisted my wrist a little, when I put me hand out, sir," he said, nervously. It seemed all right, but he was a drummer, and couldn't risk it not being all right.

He sent a vicious glance in de Guarde's direction. If that idiot had damaged his wrist for him, he'd beat seven bells out of him later on and damn the consequences.

"Let me see. Show me." The surgeon felt his wrist and manipulated his hand this way and that. "Very well, I'll prepare a dressing for it too. And for your eye, De Guarde. You both of you will wear dressings on your eyes. Other than that, I see no reason why you can't return to duty. I was afraid you might have had a problem of... incompatible tempers." He tapped his lancet on the bowl, listening to it ring. "And that is a dangerous thing to have on a ship under the Articles of War. The remedy almost always involves the loss of blood. Do I make myself clear?"

It was a little sore, stll, but nothing like Thompson's ankle. Still, the surgeon's manipulation of it made him catch his lip between his teeth.

"I can still play me drum, if needed, can't I sir?" he said, making absolutely sure he would not be missing his period on duty - he would not be popular with either of the Shepherd lads if he couldn't.

The tapping of the lancet on the bowl made him cringe a little. Please God, the doctor wasn't going to bleed him, was he? And the mention of the Articles made him look up again. He nodded. "Yes, sir, very clear, sir."

"Good." Crozier paused for a moment. "Yes, you may play your drum. Can you read, Oxley?"

"Read, sir? Me? No, sir."

Why in the world should he be able to read?!

"Hmm." Crozier did not voice an opinion, but he was pleased. He abruptly turned and crossed to his desk (now displaced from the dispensary) where he dashed off two notes, ignoring his patients for several moments. He folded each piece of paper into quarters and wrote the name of the recipient on the outside.

"Bridgens, go and heat the water, please. And while it is heating..." He handed the two notes to Oxley. "You and De Guarde will deliver these notes. And just to make sure nothing unfortunate happens..." he added, catching sight of a flash of red outside the sickbay. "Ah, Corporal Johnson! The very man! These two young men have need of your assistance. They have become rather clumsy in the night, but I have a rather important errand for them, messages that they must deliver to Lieutenant Cartwright and Lieutenant Leat! You'll see them safely on their way, won't you, corporal? I would hate for the messages, or the young men, to go astray."

De Guarde watched as the surgeon scribbled away at his paper, but as much as he could attempt to crane his neck, he couldn't see what he was writing. Why did he consider to ask whether Oxley could read? He certainly could, but couldn't do it if the damned corporal was around.

"t' fis' out was thought t' protest me head... " And ." I tumbled down t' companionway of course." Were the two replies he'd said earlier, inbetween the conversations.

Now he was silent. He didn't want to be bled and felt suspicious of the notes. What was in them that demanded them to be brought to Leat and ... who was Cartwright? Probably the new lieutenant of the marines! Both were given to Oxley too. So they weren't meant to be read by either of the boys. His interest was peaked, but Crozier had been a fine strategist at that.

He wanted to ask why the both of them needed to go deliever the letter, if Oxley was holding both any how, but held his tongue.

How much worse could this get?

And the doctor had given Oxley both notes, which meant he didn't want them read by anyone other than the two officers. Sneaky... very sneaky. And of course the drummer was burning with curiosity - but it could only be bad for the both of them.

And as if he wasn't in enough trouble already, Crozier had spotted Corporal Johnson waiting outside.

He'd be lucky to only pull extra duty.

If only that boy could read. He might've.. well he probably wouldn't have told him what was in the letters, but at least judging his reaction he would know what to expect once they were delievered. Already he was worried that what they indeed had written would do poorly for both of them.

He looked at Oxley's wrist and smirked at the boy. Injured atleast a little, eh? He would have it rather it was a twisted wrist. Would serve the drummer boy right! And have him in trouble with Johnson. He stiffened at the sight of that man. Curse it. Of all the people that could come along.

If those two notes had said something like "Hang both boys from the yardarm for fighting," Oxley wouldn't have been at all surprised. It was downright mean of the doctor to make him take his own execution order - or punishment order at the very least - to his officer.

And what would Cartwright think of him?! He knew, sure as eggs were eggs, that the lieutenant knew that he'd been fighting. He'd barely met the officer - certainly Cartwright didn't know his name. He'd know it well enough after this, though, Oxley knew that much.

And Corporal Johnson was going to give him what-for as well. Double duty, six-water grog, cleaning the heads for the next ten years... Oxley wouldn't put any of them past the Corporal's capabilities.