Crozier's Operation

"I was thinking - well, part of the time I was thinking... Do you think we should go to Figueira? They might be gone for ... some time. If they chase the other ship, or the wind is against them, or ..." Peter gestured, then stopped before the precious water was spilt, and continued: "You know all about that, of course, being used to being on ships."

"Er, yes," said Stephen, lifting his wig to scratch the back of his head. "I am unsure about the safety of Figueira; we must certainly go nowhere until Sergeant Quinn and his Marines return. It might be they have some intelligence for us."

"Oh, yes, Sergeant Quinn!" Peter said with some relief. Between the Sergeant and the Doctor he would be left with no decisions to make, just to look as if he were in charge. "I could ... No, we ought to wait for him to see what he has found out. I am not quite sure what we ought to do, you see. All they did was give me a signal flare to fire when we were finished - so they could save us having to row after them. But they were already out of sight by then, and there was no point... It's in the boat."

Stephen looked at the boat with concern. "Could it become wet at all?"

"Not as wet as if it had been in my pocket!" Peter grinned. "And I do not think we shall need it - when the Terpsichore comes back, they will come to find us straightaway - ready or not."

"But not if we go up into Figueria..." said Stephen, looking over his shoulder, just able to see the town.

"No-oo. Though they should think to look there, if we aren't here. What are you worried about?" Peter asked, as Dr Maturin looked almost nervously towards the town.

"Worried? Only for my patient." Stephen stood up, a plethora of sand clinging to his wet breeches and jacket hem. "We ought to return to the men, if you are ready?"

Peter rose carefully to his knees, then to his feet. His damp breeches stuck to him, and he tugged at them and then tried to brush the sand from his dark blue coat. He brushed at his face too, the now dry sand scratching and falling onto his coat. He raised slightly reddened eyes to Stephen's. "I think I'm ready. But..." He set his shoulders. "I'm ready, Sir."

Stephen looked down at the boy kindly. "Is there anything else you wish to talk about, Mister Yates?"

"No, Sir, thank you." His smile brightened. "Thank you. I'll be all right. I will."

"Are you sure?" Stephen shivered and dusted some of the sand from himself. The boy's smile looked more genuine now, but there had been too many failures in the past three weeks - too many people he had tried to help who had been... "If you wish to talk again I would be happy to listen."

"I would like that, if there is time, even if I don't need to. But I can't make any decisions until I know where they will set me ashore. They might think they have a duty to my father to take me back to England - or send me back like a bad consignment of salt-beef." The frown made creases in the freckled nose. "Going back as a passenger would cost money - but the Navy carries passengers, and might - do you think they would, if one of them was going direct to England..." He remembered the smells and the sounds and the warmth. To go home now, without ever really experiencing foreign parts, would be worse than confessing to running away - it would mean disappointing everyone at home who wanted to hear about dormice in aromatic bushes, and .... "Or I could stay on, with the Army: that would do, wouldn't it."

"If you dislike the floggings and harshness of the Navy you will find it far worse in the Army, I fear."

"It wasn't the flogging, though that was bad, and I wouldn't have wanted to see many - it was the unfairness. They have court martials in the army, dont' they? Where they have to prove the offence? " Peter shrugged. "It can't be worse, and there are so many more people to ...."

"They do, but wherever you find humans you will find injustice. I thank that largely the Navy is kinder than the Army, but I have been under the foot of it more than I have held its hand, I will admit," said Stephen, looking back towards Crozier.

Peter shaded his eyes looking up towards the top of the dunes in the hope of seeing Sergeant Quinn or one of the Marines. He was wondering just how unsafe it was round here. The men were singing - one of those strange songs where they would laugh uproariously at every other verse. Dr Crozier was probably used to that...

"Come now, let us go back to them," said Stephen, and began to walk up the beach with Yates, putting the piece of Crozier's skull beack into this pocket. The mouse moved against his hip; he would set it down near some grass, or it would be eaten immediately.

"Of course." Peter looked up towards the men. They would have seen, of course. It would be as well to leave the ship. He had been behaving like a baby, and that would not help him. But these men at least would not take advantage of his weakness, not at the moment anyway. But the story would get round, that he had cried when they had been abandoned. He could hardly explain that being abandoned by the Terpsichore had made him feel whole for the first time in weeks.

"Shall I go and look for Sergeant Quinn?" he asked, wondering if anything had happened to the Marines. There were only two left to guard them, which would be awkward if there really was anything to fear.

"Certainly not alone. He said that they would gather wood, in case we must spend the night here; to do that, they might have had to walk far up that way - I do not think we need to send a search party out yet. The Marines would probably return before they do."

"I didn't mean to run, again," Peter said. "It is only that I do not think the sailors are armed. I do have a pistol: it's in the boat with the flare."

Stephen stopped. "Run again?"

Peter swallowed. "I didn't - I came back, didn't I? And brought you the dormouse...."

"Thank the Dear that you did," said Stephen, remembering Jack's half-joking threat to have him flogged around the fleet if he deserted. "You did, Mister Yates, do not fear."

Peter shivered at the doctor's tone, and thought how close he had come to remaining in hiding when the Sergeant called. But they were back on the soft sand above the high water level, and he could direct his attention to his feet. "And now you'll let him go," he said softly, before they reached the awning.