Crozier's Operation

"There, now," said Stephen soothingly. He laid a hand on the boy's shoulder. It was a sensitivity that he shared, to injustice and hurt, but while it made Stephen angry and passionate and led him to do things like offer his services to the lesser evil, it had made Peter Yates buckle, and wish to escape. "The captain disrated him; he recognised that such a thing was intolerable."

"He should have put him off the ship, and sent him home. Don't you think that he must mean to re-rate him? Why else keep him on board?" Peter sighed. "I am sorry, Sir. It was intolerable. I don't understand..."

"Because he is needed. Most ships are in need of more crew, and the press-gang is in operation. Dis-rating him would mean that he is of some use to the country, and the suggestion of reinstatement might make him more useful yet."

"Yes, of course. That would be it." Peter turned to smile at the doctor, and moved to get up. His head no longer swam, and he thought he could stand, if he tried. "We have some pressed men on the ship, so I suppose it would be unfair. You are probably right, and I have been worrying about things for no reason." He managed to get one foot underneath him. The seat of his breeches, and the tail of his coat, were sopping wet.

"If you are trying to stand up there will be hell to pay, Mister Yates," said Stephen firmly. "Take another sip of water." His own breeches were wet, he realised; it did not matter. He was quite used to the sea antagonising him. "If you are sure you want to leave, I could speak to the captain on your behalf."

Peter sank back onto the wet sand. "I feel much better, honestly," he said, holding the canteen between his knees. "I have thought about it. I thought about it all the time in Lisbon, and ..." He thought about it again, and how he had gone on deck on the first night, when they had left the Tagus behind them. "Mr Leat said I should think about it too. About leaving, I mean. Not about the other thing."

"The other thing..." Stephen said thoughtfully. "Was it only having the knowledge - or the hypothesis, I should say - or do you fear retaliation also?"

"I did think... I could have got them into serious trouble. I wouldn't, of course." Dr Maturin had said he wouldn't tell anyone. "I don't think they have forgotten, but I don't have anything to do with them - de Guarde is not in my Division, and Thompson is a Marine." Peter dropped his voice. Dr Maturin had been very understanding, but just trying to say it made him sound like someone who had read too many novels about villainous noblemen. "Dr Crozier - I thought he might have seen something... " He glanced to where the men sat in the shade. "It all made sense at the time."

"I see, so..." Stephen took the piece of Crozier's skull out of his pocket, and showed it to Yates. "This was the break." He pointed out the deepest depression. "Can you see that slight curve there, if I press that splinter down?"

Peter stared at the thing in Dr Maturin's hand in horrified silence. His mouth filled and he swallowed, as the Doctor touched it and pressed. "I ... " He swallowed again. "I see it. It's the same shape as a hoof... "

"The edge of a hoof, just so. Mister Crozier was kicked in the head." Stephen did not think it was wise to say that he was kicked pushing De Guarde out of the way. "Thompson and De Guarde kept his head out of the muck, and called me down immediately. Does that put your mind at ease on that matter?"

Peter stared at the piece of bone. He hadn't really thought that ... Or had he? "I suppose... I didn't want to think it, not of Thompson. He was kind. That's was what he said - he was just being nice to de Guarde..." He bit on his lip.

"Thompson was a Marine in the last ship I served on, the Surprise. I can tell you that he - I will not venture to say exclusively - likes women. I have never thought him a paederast at all. But being kind to perhaps the wrong person? I could imagine that, so."

Peter closed his eyes, screwing them up tight. "Yes," he said, his mouth suddenly dry after being full of saliva. "I was wrong, I suppose. I ... I'm glad I didn't say anything. People would think I had a nasty mind."

Stephen smiled. "I am sure I would have come to the same conclusion, or at least suspected such a thing, had I come across two people..." His smile faded, remembering Canning, and his fury upon finding him and Diana together.

"But I let it..." Peter scrubbed his hand across his face, leaving a smear of sand against the freckles. His skin felt hot, compared with how cold he felt inside. He tried to think. Even if he was wrong... Even though he was wrong, he would be unhappy, staying on the ship. He liked the land. The fact that you could run along a road - whatever the reason. That if there was a hill in the way, you could climb it, and look beyond. That you could that, on your own, without bumping into other people all the time ...

He thought the doctor was waiting for him to speak, and was perhaps annoyed with him for making a mountain out of a molehill. A molehill with no mole. "Thank you. It was good of you to take the time..."

"Hmm?" Stephen forced his mind from the duel, back to the present. "Not at all, my dear; you are quite welcome. I hope I was of some help. Do you still wish to be off the Terpsichore?"

"I think so," Peter said, his brows drawn together. "It is difficult. Sometimes I stick to an argument just because I'm stubborn." He smiled more easily. "It's easier to stick to being wrong than back down." He drew in his breath. "But I think I would be miserable, if I had to stay on the Terpsichore. Even though that wouldn't matter, if I was any use. But I'm not yet - they haven't wasted much time on me."

"When we return to the ship, would you like me to speak to the Captain? Or at least to one of the Lieutenants?"

"I would ... What would you say?" He felt his voice rising in pitch, and he fell silent. Officers - even if they were still only midshipmen and not likely to be that for much longer - did not screech. He couldn't manage a low growl like Mr Bush, but he could at least speak calmly and clearly. "How much would you have to tell him?"

"I would say that you are unhappy, and it is beginning to take a physical toll." Stephen gestured to indicate their current damp state. "I would not specify further, for I am a physician and have sworn an oath to keep my patients' confidences. I would then ask that you be set down on land as soon as it is convenient for the benefit of your health. How does that sound?"

"I suppose..." Peter thought, but he had done too much thinking, and he knew that the doctor was right. He had felt terrified running along the road, but so much more free. "That would be very good of you, Sir." And that was it, because this was Dr Maturin, who could cut open a man's skull and even Captain Bolitho would listen to him. So it would happen. He drew in another deep breath, and said: "I wish I could have spoken with you earlier, Sir."

"Could you not have spoken to Mister Crozier? I suppose he might have felt obliged to say..." Stephen smiled at the midshipman. "I am glad to have helped someone."

"I did think of it, when I first - but there was the battle and all the wounded for him to care for... Then I thought I couldn't tell anyone, ever. And I couldn't, on the ship." He returned the smile. "You will have helped me, and Dr Crozier. You've saved his life..." And mine, he thought, but he was not going to remember the bad times, and to hide his expression he drank some more of the water, this time wiping the top and offering it to the Doctor.

"If he wakes, and even if he does... I am as confident as I may be." Stephen waved the canteen away. "I am fine for the moment, thank you."