The Passengers' Cabins

"Aye sir, he were an armourer's mate. He works in Dover now as a smith." Billy grinned as he knucked his forehead and concluded with the all-purpose "Thankee, sir."

"Ah, yes, I recall. Please remember me to him; I am very glad he is well. Thank you, Barrows, thank you very much," Stephen said in response.

"That I will sir, thankee." He grinned once more and then departed, leaving the door open as he had found it.

Stephen lifted his wig to scratch at the back of his head, Raoul's shirt crumpled in his hand. He went back to Padstowe's cabin, opening the door quietly, without knocking, in case he should be asleep.

Stephen having departed with Crozier to speak to the captain, Padstowe had firstly spent a few minutes gazing at the wooden ceiling moving above him. After a while, realising he was not in the mood to sleep, he had fished a piece of paper and a pencil out of coat pocket (just in reach from his cot), leaning on his notebook, and started to write another page.

Here we are at last aboard the Terpsichore, and I am safely bundled away below decks in a sickbay hammock (which Maturin assures me is called a 'cot'). Seeing me settled the doctor is now above decks paying his respects to Captain Bolitho, who has command of this frigate. I have yet to meet him, along with Stephen's young lieutenant friend of whom he speaks so highly. I forget his name; though that could be because it has not been mentioned to me. Apparently Stephen admires his cheerfulness and fortitude in the wake of so misfortunate a life, though I am also unclear as to what misfortune he refers to, as I am certain he does not mean the lieutenant's impressment of many years ago. Perhaps I shall ask him when he returns?

Meeting the officers aside, so far the experiance has been pleasant. I have of course travelled aboard ship before, but never as an invalid nor, as it seems by association with Dr. Maturin, as an honoured guest. I think I cannot recall being treated so kindly by sailors before and it strikes me so much the contrast between Maturin ashore and Maturin afloat. Ashore he is quiet, anonymous - one would almost say friendless; but here amongst sailors one would swear I were travelling with a man to equal Samual Johnson or Byron in...

He was so absorbed writing that he did not notice th door open and his companion enter.

"Jonathan." Stephen smiled apologetically, falling back to hang in the doorframe when he saw that Padstowe was both awake and occupied. "Are you feeling better?"

Padstowe started, seeing Stephen in the doorway and smiling, turning the paper over - which was rather pointless, seeing as what was written was all in code.

"Much thank you. It is very comfortable indeed."

Stephen smiled, taking the captain's repsonse as permission to step fully inside. "The wardroom dines in an hour or so - will you be well enough to join us?"

"I am... not too sure," Padstowe shifted in his cot slightly, making the whole thing sway alarmingloy for a second before he steadied it with his good arm. "Is it far?"

And will they take long? Was the question decency forbade him to ask.

"It will be just outside the door." The corner of his mouth quirked. "And as an invalid you would be entirely within your rights to leave early; if you are stoically pale enough it will be seen as a sign of gratitude for you to show your face at all, and retiring after a short time will be quite forgivable."

"Are you certain? I do not wish to seem..."

Though quite what he didn't wish to see was rather lost to him - 'churlish' was too strong a word - so he instead changed the subject.

"How is the capitaine? I hope he has settled in well enough."

"I gather he went down to commune with his horse; my conversation was obviously lacking. I am sorry that I was late in coming to you myself - I found myself quite lost in thought."

"Oh no, not in the slightest."

Padstowe paused for a while in thought.

"I should like to see Bethany again, poor girl. I hope they have treated her well. I don't expect them to have mistreated her - but sailors, if you'll pardon me - I expect to know much about horses. I mean, you don't usually get many horses at sea."

"I have the utmost confidence that she is thriving. Tomorrow, perhaps? You should start walking about again - a trip down to the hold will do you good, I am sure. If you continue eating," he finished pointedly.

Padstowe frowned.

"I can hardly be a guest at a dinner and refuse to touch anything on my plate," he said somewhat dryly; a shade of his old brittle humour returning. He shifted in the cot again. "How do you stand these beds? They're the devil to get in and out of - and it's not as if you have a bedside table to put things on either."

Stephen sat down in the cabin's chair. "I find them more comfortable than beds on land - the swinging is most relaxing; a gentle sway to ease one into oblivion. I am an old sea-hand, a quadrimane; the getting in and getting out is no issue to me now, but I understand that it will take some becoming used to. Still, I doubt you will have time to - it ought to be a short voyage."

Padstowe gazed up at the beams above.

"I will confess to you that I have not dared attempt it."

"Thus far I hope there has been no need, and I will stay to help you up when it is time to eat."

"Thank you."

He seemed to be saying that a lot these days. Padstowe carefully stretched his good shoulder, then tried to move the left and winced. It was still sore and painful.

"Was Captain Bolitho put out at all by my not being on deck? I hope he forgave my absence; but one can never tell."

"I am sure that was the case; we spoke for less than a minute, in only the broadest terms. A captain's duty is onerous at any time, but particularly when leaving port; so many things to consider, and the navigation..." Stephen waved a hand with a knowing air.

"I am sure of it," Padstowe replied dutifully - though whether Stephen really knew much of what a captain had to consider whilst setting sail he severely doubted.

"I hope you do not mind my asking, but were you able to get the journal and chocolate? I understand that you had many other more pressing issues to attend to, so I suspect you may not have had the time."

"Ah! No, I am afraid not." In truth, Stephen had not give it a second's thought since Padstowe had asked him for it, and all thought of Paix has driven the request firmly from his mind. He felt himself grow cold, and looked down to hide any accompanying pallidity at the thought of that man, and what he had done... "I am very sorry, Jonathan - if you are in need of paper, I can certainly give some to you. The coins will still be in my bag - here they are."

"Never mind then," Padstowe took the purse from Maturin and with a good aim dropped it into a boot below. "I expect I shall find some at Oporto."

Though the chances of finding any luxury, however small, in a place where the French had long been in residence in truth were remarkably slim. Which was a shame, as more than ever now what he seemed to fancy above all was a cup of chocolate.

"No doubt," said Stephen quietly. How he wished his mind had had room for things like journals and chocolate, instead of death, and Neves' room, and then the confessional, and blood, everywhere, in every thought. He felt a sudden flare of dislike for Padstowe.

Yet again Padstowe sensed he had said something wrong. He had only asked...

"I have not met your lieutenant friend yet either," Padstowe commented, hoping to change the subject. "And therefore not had an opportunity to thank him for offering us the lift. I forget his name..."