OPORTO, 22nd May - Naval Landing Parties

Joyse bit his tongue and moved away to find something else to do, grinning slightly to himself. Stewards were worse than wives sometimes.

His steward was staring with unconcealed dismay at his heavily-stained shirt and trousers. "Lookit yer sleeve, half it's gone missin'. Where's yer coat, sir? An' yer hat?"

Cartwright looked down at his shoes, plainly embarrassed. "Well," he said slowly. "You won't have to worry about keeping either of them in good order anymore, I don't think. My coat is as good as burnt and my hat is somewhere in pieces in the sewer tunnel."

Foley sighed wearily and shook his head. "Lord, sir, there'll be no settin' you right!"

"I found your coat, sir!" cried Roberts, delivering it to the lieutenant with triumph.

Foley wrinkled his nose in disgust at the sight of the coat. He said nothing, but he did not have to. Cartwright's cheeks burned as he accepted the ruined coat.

"Thank you, Roberts."

"Help!" Came a cry from one of the windows, dust still rolling about as if stuck in the air. "Help! Somebody!" The voice sounded weak and coughing was heard every so often, even amidst the shout.

"Cob, lets go in there." Smith pointed to the direction of the sound. There was a door that lead to it not far to the left. Already it was obvious that a part of the ceiling was missing, and the call was coming right from the area.

They've already carried several wounded to the boats. There surgeons were sent to assist with the wounded, before they were to be taken to their ships. Just at that moment the surgeon from the Phoenix was seeing to one of his men, the Terpsy's own probably still at rest from his injuries gotten by the horse's kick.

As they entered the small space where the wounded lay, under a rubble of brick, De Guarde stood aside. He knew full well that he was not to touch anything that was a wound. Infecting it with whatever not was on him was the last thing a wounded needed. Which was sort of ironic, that he ought to participate in the rescue and aid of those that he could not really help. But those were the orders, and he had no choice but to follow them.

He felt dampness on the neck of his shirt, ignored it as the shirt itself having been pressed against the wall of the privy and the whole running about being exhausting, it might've gotten damp that way. Which wasn't exactly the case, not what with it being red.

He felt a little dizzy and had to sit down. It passed after a few moments and he stood to help lift a brick, and then pass it on to another man. Lift another or have it pushed into his hands. Turn, hand it onward. Lift, turn, pass. If only it wasn't making him feel more dizzy.

"Careful there!"

"Don't drop it, damn you!"

"We'll be with you soon, jus' hold on!"

"What's the matter with you De Guarde?" asked an irritated seaman. In his current state, De Guarde was more hindrance than help. "Not that way! Go and sit down. Joe, Tanner Joe, give us a hand here. No, just take De Guarde to wash off at the pump."

"Come on, lad," Tanner Joe said kindly. "You don't look so good yourself. Won't be much help to a wounded fellow like that."

"'right." The boy answered distractedly. He felt somewhat relieved and grateful.

"If'um.. yer think so." He didn't feel to argue about helping or staying there. He knew he could be in the way and it was easier just to follow what one told him. Less thinking. Better.

He stood and gave Tanner a short nod. "..could go b' m'self if.. if'um you needed t'..stay." Though it was just an offer, in favour of the man, not him.

"Never mind that. Come on now, lad," Joe replied, pulling at the boy's arm to guide him across the courtyard to the pump where Cartwright had just washed himself. If left on his own, the boy would probably get lost or fall down in a faint, judging by the state of him. "And then maybe you better go look at the surgeon, if that's your blood on your head. Lean your head down under the spigot. I seen bilge pumps cleaner than you."

He stumbled when he was pulled, and then followed as obediently as a well trained pup. He kept his eyes on the floor. The light was bright again, but the air was fresher than in the room.

"..Aye si...er, Joe." The youth replied leaning forward. Why he'd nearly said sir, he wasn't sure. "Do yer know ..where they'um are? Ours isn't yet up, is'e?" He hoped that Doctor Crozier had his well deserved rest. It wouldn't be any good if the man was pressed into service when he was barely standing himself. Could loose him that way even!

When he bent forward the motion nearly had him toppling over. His hand sprung out and caught onto something just soon enough. "'s nothin' worse than Frog's.....yer know." The boy managed a smile. "Not even our bilge."

"Move out of my way, bloody Tar!" A voice came from behind the two sailors, and a hand grasped for the boy shoving him to the side roughly.

The hand was somewhat dirty and had as the wind brought the smell that was the young Tar, withdrawn sharply to its owner. A dark blue coat with white patches on the collar, buttons who have lost some of their shine due to all the dust and dirt risen through the battle and the explosions. There were specks of blood, probably from French, at his sleeve and on his near white vest and shirt under it. A lighter patch of dirt at the pack indicated that he must once have fallen. Possibly during the search and rounding of the prisoners. Indeed, the later were seen being led to the marines by two sailors and three of the red coated men.

"You reek! Disgusting."

The boy froze.

++

Where Cartwright was standing the French prisoners were nudged forward. "...Here's another few, sir." The burly man from earlier had said. With the lieutenant it was all business, no vile faces, as happened before.

Thompson saw what was happening, but knew he couldn't do anything about it. He grabbed Oxley by the shoulder, nodding in the young sailor's direction. "Get him away from that... officer. I don't care how, but do it."

Oxley turned, frowned and crossed to them, saluting the officer. "S... sorry, sir. Only... Mister Cartwright needs Buckles for an errand, after he's rinsed hisself off a bit, sir."

He hoped the Marine officer wouldn't mind his name being used as an excuse.

"Well, he'll just have to wait, won't he." The midshipman eyed the marine drummer. Stammering as if he were scared. It had Mr. Hollow smile a little, though not too obviously. "...could do with that filth elsewhere. He's soiling it for the rest of us!"

As of yet he hadn't taken a good look at the boy, but the later looked ready to bolt, even if he would remain filthy and dripping wet. He felt faint, his heart perhaps attempting a jump through his chest.

Oxley swallowed, glad for once of the stock that would hide that, and braced himself. "He said it was urgent, sir."

It would help if de Guarde could look rather less like a scared rabbit, of course. And... ah, crap. This was one of the Confidence's officers - de Guarde's old ship. No wonder he was looking like a scared rabbit.

"Are you suggesting that an officer ought to wait, for a Tar?" His voice was filled with disgust at the mere thought of it. He looked coldly at Oxley, but in that the quivering boy again avoided his gaze.

De Guarde bit at his lip:" I.. I... I c..can w..wait." He whispered, barely finding voice to do so. He was a Tar, the bloody worst time to meet him.

His quivering voice though had the midshipman turn to look at the youth. He hadn't expected such a reaction, obviously. Fear yes, but ..the voice sounded familiar.

"He won't be waitin' if we can get back to him, sir." He swallowed again, but he wasn't scared of this officer the way de Guarde seemed to be. It wasn't like he could do anything to one of Terpsy's Marines, after all.

And why did de Guarde have to speak up now, of all times?!

"What's your name, boy?" The midshipman asked, his voice dangerous and yet there was a trace of amusement in it.

"...." Mathew remained quiet, looking at Oxley. He had spoken out and he regretted it. He should've let the marine drummer speak. From the start. About it all. But he panicked.

"I asked you a question, boy." The midshipman spoke, took a step closer and was about to lean closer when the stench stopped him. He waved his hand infront of his face. Made any belly turn a little.

"I speak of myself, lobster." He turned to the marine. "Because I shan't wait for this Tar to clean 'imself behind his mangly ears."

"Wasn't askin' you to, sir. Only he's wanted elsewhere, quick-sharp, sir. If you don't mind."

Though of course he would mind. He was one of those sorts of officers, wasn't he? Oxley would like to be able to push him down the privy, head-first, and see how much he liked it. He hated bullies... they reminded him too much of his drunken sot of a father.

"Seems he's also lost his tongue." The man spoke with a smirk.

"Well now, you would know his name, wouldn't you?" Perhaps the midshipman knew already. The water hadn't seemed to interest him any longer, though he did spare a glance towards the marine lieutenant - who he supposed - was waiting for the boy to come. It didn't look like he was getting as much as impatient.

"You better not lie to me." He marked the look of Oxley's face.

Oh, help. He wasn't going to tell this officer his mate's name... it seemed Buckles knew him, if the way he was standing there was any indication. Knew him, and was scared of him. "Yes, sir. We call him Buckles, sir. Allus have done, sir." Which wasn't a lie at all... just not the whole truth. He looked the officer in the face as he said it, looking honest without the false appearance of innocence that would make the officer more suspicious than he was right now.

If they got out of this, he was going to teach de Guarde how to lie convincingly, if it was the last thing he did.

"Buckles." The midshipman turned to cast a look at Mathew. De Guarde wished he'd been even dirtier and had rubbed a sleeve over his cheek even if it made him feel sick just to think what was on it.

"How long ago since Buckles came to your ship..?"He paused as if ignorant. "Which is.. which again?" His eyes left the youth and De Guarde was inwardly thanking ever becoming friends with the drummer. Mr Hollow noticed the lack of urgency of Mr. Cartwright but made no indication of it.

"Terpsy, sir. And dunno, 'zackly, sir."

He knew him... he looked horribly like he knew him, but couldn't quite place him. He hoped like hell that Thompson could get someone higher up to come and help them out, here. Standing talking to this sort of officer was not really a healthy thing to end up doing.

"..Terpsy, Terpsichore, I assume." He looked as if the shortening of the name had bothered him. "Knew.. a boy, this tall, went for a ship of that name." He sounded kinder, almost as if remembering fondly a friend that had departed from his ship to another. But he was talking to a mere marine private.

" Wouldn't know him, would you? Went by the name of.." He turned to look at the boy this time. De Guarde must've been as pale as chalk, and the filth on him looked a lot darker in contrast.

"Mathew.." The boy flinched and looked away quickly, then back. Perhaps thinking that if he held the gaze the man would not recognise him. That he was just playing. "De Guarde."

The boy was certainly not breathing then. " Was.., Is a midshipman." He smiled at the marine as if hoping he might share the news of his long missed friend.

"I don't have much to do with the... young gentlemen, sir," Oxley said, shrugging. He gave a half-shrug. "'M a Marine, see, sir. There was a couple of 'em watchin' the skylarkin' we had the other day. Reckon your Mister de Guarde liked seein' it, sir. Can we get on with our errand now, sir, please?"

Oh, he'd like to shove this one overboard on a dark night, he really would. He prayed he'd never end up on a ship that had this bastard as an officer.

"That's just like him. Aye."

And then.

"Certainly. Your matter is indeed more pressing." Why the change of plan? De Guarde looked at the midshipman startled and so him step aside to give them space to use the water again.

"So, go ahead. Wash up." And he made no move to leave or turn. He sounded kind kind.

"Thank you, sir." He saluted, took de Guarde's arm and pulled him round the corner. "Who the hell was that?" he whispered, hoping they wouldn't be overheard, but not willing to risk speaking any louder, just in case.