Sunny morning

Ahead at the 'Heads' the young Tar was hard at work. Feeling sourer than before, when he had to clean after the horses the second 'dirty' duty in such a short time was visibly testing his nerve. If he could he'd have best thrown the mop or broom or what not he was holding right over board and watch it swim or sink.

But he couldn't do so without risking someone to see it, and loosing any of ship's property, even the most banal, was a bad idea. He wrinkled his nose. The cloth over his eye was beginning to itch and loosen and so it was slipping further down every so often. He reached up each time to adjust it again, then bend down to continue with his work.

He could only hope that Leat at last ran out of ideas. He wiped his forehead again with the back of his head and gave the heads a fine, strong scrubbing.

He hadn't meant to suggest there was any inconvenience- though of course there would be- when he asked. It was more a question to throw out there.

"If that's what yer'd prefer, sir." he agreed, starting back towards the companion way.

And getting off the deck would stop him having to watch de Guarde muttering and cursing to himself as he cleaned the heads. Or being drawn into a discussion which he knew would involve laughing at the boy. He doubted that was the right way to go, either, not that he wasn't funny, with an eye patch and a brush, and that look on his face.

He resolutely turned away, keeping his pace even with Padstowe.

"Thank you, Westdale," Padstowe said, turning and walking back the other way. Twice the length of the deck; Stephen would be pleased...

"What is that boy with the eyepatch doing?" He asked once they were a little further away and out of the boy's hearing.

"He's cleaning t'heads, sir." Westdale paused, then added, "I'm not sure what he did ter deserve it, but he's serving punishment, sir. Hence the eyepatch."

He didn't turn back to look, but could well imagine the fury in de Guarde's eyes.

"A what," Padstowe ventured. "If I might ask, are the heads?"

Westdale paused, "the heads, sir? Tis where we go when we...nned ter go, sir."

And how long had this man been on board, now? mind you, there were certainly different words for any such arrangement in the army.

"Oh. I see."

Punishment duty indeed then. Though Padstowe thought it best not to enquire as to what the boy had done - discipline and punishment was a touchy area of conversation between services, and often different commanding officers.

That settled, there was one more thing on his mind. Would Padstowe prefer to be caught by the collar if he started to fall, and lowered gradually, or to have a soft landing by virtue of landing on Westdale?

"May I ask how ye got up here, sir?"

Padstowe gave Westdale a very perplexed stare.

"By the ladders of course," he replied. "How else is there to do it?"

"But yer was helped, sir." he paused, "Was just wondering if yer'd prefer me alongside, or above yer, or what."

"If you would not mind... going down in front?" Padstowe requested. "I am not so concerned about falling backwards, but falling forwards I am not certain that I could stop myself."

WEstdale blinked, "Going down afore yer, sir?"

he added, lightly, "Ye'll not be falling, no matter where I am, you know."

Padstowe smiled.

"I am sure of it; but in front of me, if you could?"

Westdale nodded, running down the first few steps as he added, "There you go, sir. Easy, now."

Padstowe obeyed his keeper, and took hold of the rope bannister and decended the steps carefully one at a time. The ship was not pitching too much, which helped him to keep a steadier step than his descent from the poop deck.

He kept just a few steps behind, stepping back when he reached the end to keep a close eye on the balance of the man in front of him.
"Nice and steady sir, thats it." No sign of trouble, really, though he could well imagine that a combination of increased movement and unsettled feet would easily cause Padstowe to fall.

Padstowe raised an amused eyebrow at Westdale coxing him down the stairs as if he were an uneasy dog; but being considered an invalid there was no chance of avoiding it.

He made it down the stairs without mishap, and beamed at Westdale triumphantly.

"There!" he said. "Not a problem."

At which point the ship pitched forward suddenly, yet he managed to steady himself enough against the stairs to not barrell forward into Westdale.

at the jerked movement, Westdale's hands were in front of him, one going for the man's uninjured arm, the other steadying himself. Although it seemed as though his caution was unneeded.
"No sir. Well done."

"Rather ruined the effect, though," Padstowe said, grimacing. "Though I supose I should not have been so cocksure. Shall we?"

Westdale shrugged. "Yer'd not have fallen, sir, if I may say so."

he reclaimed his hand and waited for Padstowe to make a move, "Aye, sir. Off we go, then."

Padstowe nodded, readjusting his stance.

"Yes. Yes, a moment please."

Back on balance again he started walking again, he steps a little longer.

Again, Westdale fell into step, feeling not unlike a particularly well trained dog. He made sure to walk on the poor arms side, knowing that would be where any steadying would have to be done. The other arm could quite happily grasp anything within reach without his help, should the need arise.

It was not long before they were outside the wardroom, and Padstowe turned and smiled at Westdale.

"Thank you for your help. As I have said, if you could return at nine that would be satisfactory."

wEstdale nodded, "Yessir. I'll be here, don't yer worry."
he suddenly grinned, "Except if there's a blow coming up, of course."
he never got over the abrupt change in people's faces as those magic words were offered, and he was still grinning as he turned to find his own food.

"Haha," Padstowe murmured softly, before turning and going into the wardroom, and thence to his cabin where he entered and shut the door behind him, seating himself amongst his papers as before.