22 May, First dog Watch - later in the evening

"Well, yes, on of the problems was the bad food, and it's kinda solved since... '97."

He didn't want to mention Spithead and the Nore. Not to a Tar. Even officers seldom spoke about it. It was sort of like the Scottish play: never say it.

"And to the lash, they don't get it if they do nothing to deserve it... but they usually do enough."

Of course he noticed the "they". This boy had something to hide, that was sure.

"Not always sir. Tars....we." He corrected: "...aren't up to no good for the sakes of it and try to stay out of trouble , certainly." Which wasn't how he ended down there, but anyway.

" Nobody wants to feel t' lash sir. And even without t' threat..if it's a good crew.. yer doin' it fer t' cap'n n' fer t' other fellows aboard. Respect n' pride of it sir. That's how men are here. Proud ter be a Terpsy."

He hesitated. And forced another: "That's what we are sir. Us, Tars." The captain was fair enough, but he didn't want to compliment him too much, not untill he could dress on his lovely dark blue coat again.

"Very good, m'lad. Just remain like that - faithful to the King and your ship, and you might become an Admiral one day."

If this wasn't mocking, nothing was, but Claggart smiled on his predator-like way, and pulled his rattan back.

"I have to talk to Mr. Leat, he asked me to visit him; so goodnight for now."

"..Sir." He nodded, but flinched at the tone, which was nothing if not mocking. Had the man known, perhaps his spite might've hurt a deal more. Atleast there was relief in having the chance to depart and deal with the headache which had been a constant reminder of his fall that day and the explosion that caused it. The blood on the cut had dried, unruly strands of hair keeping it from view.

With all the injured he hadn't even considered crossing the distance towards the sickbay. He had his own sort of remedy and needed but to wait a little while before he could 'heal' himself. Last visits to the sickbay left him unwilling to go anyway.

He scampered across the deck, keeping his mind on the floordecks, his bare feet carrying some of the dirt from them on their soles. 'For now' he hoped to be for a long while. Though the man seemed kind and polite, there was an air about him that was unnerving. He considered talking with the marine about it. perhaps Thompson would know to evaluate the man properly. Yet even now the belowdecks were busy and he had an intention to head there, perhaps when his head would have been in less of a shambles.

When he returned from the iterview, he went to the gun deck. It was pretty dark here, but Claggart's strange violet eyes had something from a cat's. He could see the lines of the cannons.

He wore his usual dark blue tailcoat and white beeches with knee-length black boots. He had no hat on. He never liked hats, and only wore them when he was told to.

He thought he saw something moving between two guns...

Here he was safe. It was silent, it had no man or boy about and the ropes and the cannons shielded him from view. It wasn't a place for many to venture when not needing it. Nor was he easily spotted, at how dark the sky had become and what shadows were cast over him from the long black barrels of the guns.

Ever since he had taken few gulps of drink, he was feeling somewhat better. More and it felt as if he was doing himself a favour. He gazed at his bottle, ignorant of the world outside his little hiding place. He was again where once he had gotten into an argument with Drummer boy Oxley. Except that at this time he was neither sour faced, upset or hurt, nor was he expecting the boy to come again. Or were he to come, he would not have argued at all.

He took another gulp and leaned back. It was a day to celebrate. A battle , rather succesful, and most of them there, still living. Another gulp later he was staring curiously at the bottle as if seeing something new atop it. Ah, safe, free, it felt nice. And the breeze did too. Life was just splendid. It really was.

Something was certainly there. And he felt rum. Clearly rum.

Well, it was not unheard for sailors gone drunk after a victory, but they ususally celebrated in gruops and didn't hide. No, there was someone who musn't have been drinking.

He stepped closer, and asked "Who is there?" on a commanding voice.

"..Nobody's there..jus' a pair o' cannons n' rope!" There were some muffled giggles and silence. There was more shuffling heard which might've been the boy hiding whatever he had been holding in his hand.

"Jus' a wee pair o' black cannons n' rope!" He pressed his finger to his lips as if to warn whomever was asking that he ought to be quiet, for the cannons were sleeping and would not have wanted to be disturbed.

"You again, Flogging-Is-Bad-Boy?" He repressed a laugh. "What are you doing here, I mean, except being stoned?"

Don't try to fool an old fox. Besides, it smells really like rum.
Claggart felt his moment has been come.

"..Oh.." He was discovered. No use in pretending he were a rope of a cannon, though it looked rather tempting to do so. He could even stretch out and.. no, better not. He straightened a little and smiled, a grin that soon spread from ear to ear.

"Nothin' sir. Well 'njoin' t' evenin' sir. n' T' fresh breeze." He tried to keep himself steady, yet it seemed the ship was moving far more that evening than he would have hoped. Or perhaps it was him.

"...I.. I'um not ..uh.. wot' you said sir." He tried to keep the slurr from his voice, and the urge that he would giggle when he shouldn't. "Jus' in .. fine spirits, that I am. We've won after all!"

"Ye be pretty much drunk, ye worthless scum!"

This time, against his principles ("don't touch 'em, they aren't worth it"), he grabbed the boy's collar and pulled him up. So in the dim light he could observe the master-at-arms' piercing violet eyes from pretty close.

"Don't even try to deny it. And I'm sure the Captain wouldn't be happy with this. How old are you? Fourteen?"

The boy gasped as he was hauled to his feet, the stench of rum more distinct the closer he came to the master.

"..Sir." He began in a soothing tone. Though he seemed still not too worried, his voice took on a more serious sound. At the mention of captain the youth gasped again and his eyes widened. "Sir." More urgent he sounded now, attempting to squirm out of the man's grip.

"..Aye. .aye, Fourteen." He tried to smile, but the angry words and the sole mention of the captain had the boy looking queasy and worried. "I.. I didn't drink lots.. jus'.. a little... t'.. t' ration's lot... that's allowed. Sir. Ration's lot!"

"Then why are ye hiding in here?"

He was still holding him like a bag. Despite his slimness and small hands, he was quite strong.

"There are three things the Navy will never get rid off: flogging, rum, and believe me, you don't want to know the third."

"I ... I wanted peace..." His feet were dangling in mid air while a hand was at his collar trying to ease some of the pressure, for it was tightened around his neck.

" Sir. Please.. dun' talk ter t' cap'n." He looked pleading, the mention of flogging might've sobbered him up enough that all want for a giggle was gone.

"I only drank a lil'..."

"I fear it is my duty to report this. Or, better to bring you right there..."

There was something in his voice that hinted: "But I won't do it, if..."
His smile was sadist ever by his ususal standards. He looked around, and saw a bucket of water. Maybe the deck was washed with it already, but it will do...
And he wanted to talk.

"..No, sir. Is.. I'um a Tar now..won't do. Terribly won't do good!" He blinked and pulled at the collar, yet his drunkness was indeed distracting him again, for he began to tug at the sleeve. The longer he tugged at Claggart's sleeve, the more mesmerized and distracted he was by it.

He lifted his head up abruptly, looked at the man and reached out with his hand towards his face, like a child thinking to touch it. The hestitant motion showed clearly that his mind was trying to hold him back, but the spirits, were insistant.

"Don't. EVER! Touch. Me!"

He hissed, his eyes glowing with hate and disgust, and showing the boy away, he grabbed the bucket and yeah, he did it. Maybe water will wake him.

He coughed, choked, hissed in surprise and yelped at the cold water dousing him thoroughly. He shook his head and backed against the cannon, wiping away at the water that still trickled down his face. His breaths were beginning to even out and at last he turned to focus on Claggart.

His eyes had gone wider, then he he hugged his shoulders and rubbed them, spraying more water about. "S..sir." He stammered miserably. He was sober enough now. The cold water stirring the poor boy into awareness.

"..I.. I'm sorry sir." He apologised before he knew what for. " Please sir." He began not forgetting that he had drunk - and that a lot - before and it was perhaps that, which had this man present here.

"Say a good reason why should I save you from at least two dozen lashes. You know you've been gone too far, and touched me - that can be interpreted as "striking an officer"."

He looked down at the creature on the ground, and he didn't smile now, although he knew he was on the best way to reach his goal.

"Not a wise thing to drink when you can't bear it."

"...No.. n. .. no." Striking an officer? That would've been even worse than the lash, that could be death. Death for something he didn't mean to do. Something he'd done drunk and that he had.. he'd just touched the man.

"No.." He said miserably. "I.. I... " He stammered for he did not know what to say.

" Please, sir. I didn't mean to. I didn't .. I wouldn't get dr.. drunk like that, I didn't mean to touch you, sir. Please. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. " His lip trembled. He was frightened, he didn't know how the captain would react if he had heard any of this. He had struck a corporal once. Would he believe he had done it this time. And if they didn't, would that even matter? He was just sober enough to understand he was in a terribly predicament but not enough that he would know how to get out of it. If there were even a chance.

A sadist smile appeared on his face, slowly, and he put his rattan under the boy's chin. Again.

"You are a miserable coward and a liar, but I can probably be generous this time... if...

Oh, that if. That tone meant clearly "sell thy soul to me".

He didn't want to die, or be flogged, what else could he do. He gulped, his lips trembling, but he stood still, not moving a muscle when he felt the cool surface of the rattan against his skin. He just let it be there, holding his chin at the height that it allowed.

"..I..if, sir?" He asked, hopeful, like a drowning man reaching out for the last cord of rope dangling infront of his hand, perhaps in reach or out of it.

He leant closer and hissed directly to the boy's face.

"I need to keep order amongst this bunch of bastards. And to keep order, I need to know everything. Everything... what they whisper to each other. Every little rumor. Every sign of disrespect. HMS Hermione won't be happen again. And you, my little rat, you will sing 'bout 'em. Sing if you don't want to dance the Hempen Jig."

The boy flinched. He would be betraying his friends, some of them atleast if they happened to speak ill. If they happened to say something that could be so interpreted and even if he did not, if they learned of this...

"They.. they are good men sir." He spoke hastly. Perhaps even being called a rat didn't matter now. "They wouldn't speak ill.." But why was he saying that, he could just agree and then,... but what if somebody did in jest say something of the sort? Or even just complain that Mr. Leat was being a sore face that day?

"..What.... what do you want to.. to know..?" Was he agreeing to it? Or just playing ignorant?

"Everything you think may be dangerous, or a sign of a conspiracy against the officers or the captain... and yes, I want to know if someone calls us names, though it might mean nothing... but what if it does? One can't be careful enough. Impressed men dream with murder. It's an old proverb."

Actually, he just made it. But it sounded cool.

"And be sure I'll know if you lie to me. You are not the only one I have..."

Or at least, he'll have more spies in the future. One isn't enough.

"Be a good rat and I'll protect you."