Sunday 21st - afternoon or thereabouts

Peter frowned. "Because ... I thought about it when we were in Lisbon. It would have made sense then, but we were busy, and I thought I'd be able to cope. I know - I'm running away; if I were a seaman I'd have to stay with the ship, or be hanged. But I'm not a seaman, and I don't have to..." It was impossible to explain to Fletcher - he was too young, and Peter knew that much of what oppressed him was due more to his own imagination than fact. But not all, by any means.

"You know I wasn't happy, Simon. Well, since it's been agreed that I could go, I ... I don't feel so unhappy any more."

Fletcher nodded. Some of what Peter said he could understand; he himself was not entirely, but the other boy had been much more unhappy than he; and now that Peter had a choice it was best that he do what he wanted. Flecther wished he had such choices.

"Will you go into the Church, do you suppose?" He remembered Peter's father was a Reverend, and somehow he could imagine Yates would not do badly in ministry - he had been kind to him after all, even if he himself had been miserable.

Peter thought about it. "I don't suppose so - you need to have been to University, and my Latin isn't up to much: and Greek is ... all Greek to me. Charles means to, I know, and we don't want too many parsons in the family." He frowned. "I need to think about it, but then I thought about going to sea, and I was wrong..."

Fletcher thought of other alternatives to the Navy and Church. His knowledge was limited, but a few professions gave to mind.

"What about Law?" he suggested. "Father was a lawyer, I think, and he apparently did well. You have to know a bit of Latin and be good at arguing, but if you don't fancy the army either it is a gentleman's profession - that and stock broking."

Peter lifted one shoulder. "I have plenty of time to think about what to do when I'm grown up. It's what I should do now that worries me." His brow wrinkled. "Well, not actually worries me - it will all work out, and it will be better, even if I do have to go home and explain .... "

"Will your parents be angry?" Fletcher certainly knew his grandfather would be livid if he did such a thing - so much so that he would physically grab him by the scruff of his neck and put him back on the next boat out.

Peter thought about that. "No. My mother will be secretly pleased... at least, if I go straight home she will be. And my father will understand, when I explain. He might think I should have done more, or even tried harder, but he won't preach at me." He sighed. "I know that prize money would have helped, and they would have been grateful. But it isn't really a very Christian way to get rich."

"No, I suppose not." Fletcher replied. At least Peter would not suffer at home then, and most likely would be very happy with the rest of his life.

"Would you write to me?" he asked after a moment's hesitation. "When you get home, that is?"

Peter's surprise showed on his face. "I will, if you like - but if I go home, it won't be interesting... Except the ragging I'll get from Jack and Martin, and Dorothea... And then I'll probably go to school, and that won't be interesting at all." Hesitantly he added: "Do you want to write to me? I'd be interested to hear how things are..."

Fletcher nodded.

"If that will be alright. I do not have anyone to write to at home; anyone of my own age, that is. And you can tell me all about what you decide to do, and I can tell you about the ship."

His heart lightened at the prospect. He liked Peter, and he had hated the thought that he would lose contact with him altogether.

"It won't be a fair exchange," Peter grinned, relieved now that the difficult part of the conversation was over. Your side will be storms and battle and dolphins, and mine will be dividing Gaul into three parts."

Fletcher grinned in reply.

"I thought dividing Gaul was what we were meant to be doing anyway."

"It's been done before, and we can do it again!" His expression grew serious. "It is important, to stop Bonaparte - although papa says he wants an empire to rival the Romans, and ... well, that would include Britain. And we can't allow that."

"Not at all," Fletcher replied, becoming serious too. Though how one so small as himself could affectively aid the campaign against the Corsican Ogre he could not see. "And we will stop him; at sea at least. But I think you will have better success than I in dividing France."

"I hope the war will be over before I leave school. If it is not, and unless I become a much better scholar than I am now," and Peter grinned, "I doubt if there will be much of France left to divide. Or we will have given it back to the French King..."

"Probably the King," said Fletcher. He shrugged. "But that's still to be seen, and none of us knows what will happen."

He lifted his gaze to Yates again.

"I wish you luck with it," he said sincerely. "Whatever it is you will do. I think you will be diligent and make a success for yourself; I am sure of it."

"And you'll be a good officer..." Peter smiled. "You just have to remember that your grandfather was once the same age as you are now, and probably knew less about the sea than you do. " He looked up at the mast and the sails. "But there is an awful lot to know. Which means we will both be studying." The smile widened. "But my desk won't keep going up and down."

That prompted Fletcher to smile in return.

"And your desk shan't have rigging, and you won't have to climb up and down on top of it."

He wondered if what Yates said was true? Did he have the potential to be a good officer? He was uncertain himself, but the thought that the Admiral had once been his age did not so much console him as defy belief. It was impossible to imagine the crusty old gentleman as anything approaching his current age.

"I'd better go and pack - before Lieutenant Bush gives me something to do. He will have everyone prettying the ship, soon, so it is fit to be seen. And woe betide the sweeper who leaves the smallest piece of frayed rope to be seen. Or the topman whose ropes don't meet his standards." Peter glanced at the boys, who did not yet seem to have heard of the coming work, and grinned. "At least he won't be able to shout at me!"

Fletcher grinned.

"Nor will he, too. They'lkl be in for it soon."

For some abstract reason at Yates' mention of packing Fletcher suddenly remembered the hole in the planking behind his seachest. There were rats in there, he was sure, and he had meant to set Miss Emily onto them, but until now it had slipped his mind. Now was a good a time as ever he supposed; and once the cat was onto the scent he could leave her. After all, in the soon to be oncoming chaos he would probably forget again.

"I have to find Miss Emily, though. I'll meet you down there."