A Day (or So) in the Life
by Sue N.

RATING: PG for some mild cursing
DISCLAIMER: I don't own these characters. They belong
to C.S. Forester and A&E, but I do like to take them
out and play with them from time to time!

All right, me beauties, here is my latest take on our
lads from Indefatigable. This is light-hearted fare
(for the most part), with, hopefully, a surprise or
two.
As we begin, our intrepid crew has returned to
Portsmouth after the disaster at Muzillac for orders
and refit. Let us now see whether our lads find
adventure and adversity at home, as well as abroad...

**A Day (or So) in the Life**
Chapter One: Liberty

Kennedy descended the companionway with a nimble
grace, hardly knowing whether he should feel relieved
at being off watch. True, the Indy rode easily at
anchor now, having made a smooth and uneventful entry
into Spithead, and, God knew, standing watch upon a
moored ship was deadly dull. But the end of his
quarter-deck duty signalled the beginning of another,
more tedious chore: a return to his studies of
Clarke's Seamanship and Norie's Navigation. So long
had he been immersed in the tomes that Horatio claimed
he was now reciting entire passages from both in his
sleep.

If only that guaranteed success in his eventual
examination...

As he entered the wardroom, he had to smile. Mr.
Bowles and Mr. Bracegirdle were seated at the table,
across from each other, engaged in their eternal game
of acey-deucey. Both were masters of the game, and
delighted in testing their considerable skills against
each other. Whenever the two were off watch at the
same time, they could be found facing each other
across the board, hurling friendly threats and
challenges and amazing all who watched with the
skillful level of their play.

Just as his father and eldest brother had so
entertained the family with theirs...

Lieutenant Bracegirdle made a particularly bold -- and
successful -- move, and loudly exulted in his finesse.
As he watched, though, Mr. Bowles launched an equally
dazzling counterstroke, the wily sailing master
reducing the lieutenant's triumph to naught.
Smothering a chuckle at Bracegirdle's stricken
expression, Kennedy moved past them and toward
Horatio's cabin for their daily session in
mathematics. As he reached the cabin, he heard the
spectators cheer Bowles' victory.

Doubtless another game would commence at once...

He knocked once, then opened the door and stepped
inside, startled to see Hornblower sitting
cross-legged on the floor, hunched over and brushing
furiously at his dress jacket. "Horatio!" he greeted
in surprise. "What on earth are you doing?"

Hornblower lifted his head, then held up the rather
battered jacket with a grimace. "Trying to get this
clean."

"Yes, I can see that," Kennedy said, coming further
into the small space and closing the door. "But why?"

"Because I simply cannot afford another, and I would
like at least to resemble a respectable officer of His
Majesty's Navy." He sighed and dropped the jacket into
his lap, shaking his head dejectedly. "Though it seems
a lost cause!"

Kennedy laughed lightly, his blue eyes sparkling with
humour. "Yes, well, I have every confidence in you as
a master of lost causes. After all, look what you've
done with me!"

A slow smile curved about Hornblower's full mouth, and
his brown eyes gleamed with mischief. "You're not so
hopeless, Archie," he allowed. "Your mathematics have
so improved that you've not navigated a ship into the
mountains in weeks. Why, a few days more, and we shall
even have you staying in the right ocean!"

"Right-- I'll show you navigation!" Kennedy yelped
indignantly, flinging his hat at Hornblower.
"Mountains, indeed-- Oh, no, you don't!" he laughed,
neatly dodging the hat as his friend sailed it back
across the berth at him.

Unfortunately, just as he jumped aside, the door
opened and the hat caught Bracegirdle full in the
face, startling him and horrifying the younger men.

"Oh, dear!" Hornblower muttered, rising hastily to his
feet and staring strickenly at the first lieutenant.
"Mr. Bracegirdle, sir, I- I- Oh, damn!" he breathed
with a deep wince.

Bracegirdle bent slowly and with exaggerated dignity
to retrieve the cocked hat, which was now sadly dented
by its travels about the berth. Straightening just as
slowly, his round face set along grim lines, he looked
down at the misshapen hat for long moments, as if
beholding something offensive. Before him, two young
officers -- a serious lieutenant and a lighthearted
acting-lieutenant -- stood at rigid, uncomfortable
attention in the taut and heavy silence.

At long last, still with ponderous gravity,
Bracegirdle extended the hat, holding it between thumb
and forefinger, and glanced at it almost with disgust.
"And will one of you young gentlemen claim this--
object?" he asked coldly.

Kennedy swallowed hard and made himself step forward,
clearing his throat weakly, his blue eyes wide. "I- it
is mine, sir," he admitted softly, reaching hesitantly
for it.

At the last moment, Bracegirdle removed the hat from
the young man's grasp. "A moment, Mr. Kennedy." He
noted with some satisfaction that the lad's eyes
widened even further, and that the attractive face
paled drastically under its tan. Hornblower, too, he
was pleased to see, was looking quite peaked. "While I
doubt the matter should arise in your examination," he
went on sternly, drawing himself up to his full height
and towering over the smaller Kennedy, "I feel I must
ask it. Do you, Mr. Kennedy, Mr. Hornblower, know what
this is?"

Kennedy blanched, able to envision himself being sent
back to the midshipmen's berth in disgrace. Hornblower
was contemplating spending his every watch for the
next three months in the fighting top.

"It is-- a hat, sir," Kennedy croaked, his pleasant
voice cracking from strain. A midshipman again. A
midshipman forever...

"A hat, yes," Bracegirdle said, his gaze boring into
Kennedy's. "And exactly when, sir, did the Navy begin
using hats as projectiles?"

"It's my fault, sir," Hornblower said quickly, forcing
strength into his voice and legs and stepping forward
to Archie's side. "I threw it."

"I see." Bracegirdle turned his gaze upon Hornblower,
then dropped it to the hat and, finally, returned it
to Hornblower. "And how, sir, did you come into
possession of Mr. Kennedy's hat?"

Hornblower opened his mouth, but said nothing as panic
suddenly flared within him. He could not incriminate
Archie--

"I threw it at him. Sir," Kennedy answered firmly,
inclining his fair head and holding himself stiffly
erect, feeling his stomach sinking all the while. "I--
I started it, sir."

"Hm," Bracegirdle grunted, well acquainted with the
young man's vivacious nature. "I might have known." He
looked down at the hat again, and, all at once, he
seemed to be studiously avoiding those two wide and
terrified gazes. "In future, Mr. Kennedy, be pleased
to remember that, in His Majesty's Navy, hats do not
fly."

"N- no, sir. I m- I mean, yes. Yes, sir." Oh, God, now
he was stammering! A stammering permanent
midshipman...

"And, Mr. Hornblower," Bracegirdle went on, occupying
himself with smoothing one of the dents from the hat,
"if one should fly," he suddenly looked up, and his
blue eyes shone merrily as a broad grin spread across
his face, "make certain it does not do so into a
superior officer, hm?"

Hornblower felt as if he might fall to the deck, so
wobbly had his knees become. Relief flooded him in
great waves as he finally recognized the first
lieutenant's jesting. "Of course, sir!" he breathed
fervently.

"Yes, well, now that is done." Bracegirdle gave the
hat back to Kennedy with a satisfied grin. "The
captain's compliments, and he will see the two of you
in his cabin at your earliest convenience."

Kennedy's stomach plummeted again, and he sent his
mind back feverishly over the hours of his watch,
trying sickly to remember what grievous wrongs he had
committed. Hornblower, meanwhile, was trying to
imagine what offenses he had committed while off
watch.

"Come, come, gentlemen," Bracegirdle said briskly,
amused at how easily intimidated the two most
promising young officers aboard the Indy still were by
a summons from their god-like captain. "I believe we
are all agreed that when Captain Pellew says, ëat your
earliest convenience,' what he actually means is
ëNow!'"

The words had the desired effect, and he only barely
suppressed a laugh as the two scrambled with far more
haste than dignity out of the berth, Kennedy clutching
his hat to him as if he would never again let it go.

Oh, to be that young again!
*************

Pellew sat at his desk and stared grimly down at the
long list compiled by his officers of the repairs
Indefatigable would require before she could possibly
put to sea again. There were, of course, the usual
ones -- cordage, sails, spars; powder and shot; casks
of water, beef, biscuit and the other innumerable
provisions every ship of war required. And not a few
able seamen to replace the sick, injured and dead. A
very ordinary, if lengthy, list, indeed.

Quite out of the ordinary, however, and by far the
most vexing, were the three items that topped the list
-- a 24-pounder to replace the one hit dead-on by that
last, defiant broadside from the French frigate, a
12-pounder for the forecastle, lost through
carelessness by her crew, and, God damn the French to
hell, a new entire foremast. Since the frigate had so
near shot it away, the carpenter and his mate had
worked nobly to keep it standing, bracing it with all
the skill at their disposal. But that storm off Ushant
had sealed the maimed mast's doom, and poor McCready
had near wept at the cruel undoing of his heroic
labours.

So two big guns were needed, along with a new
foremast. And that last meant at least a day spent
arguing with the miserly master of the dockyard. The
man was infamous for his reluctance to allow so much
as an inch of cordage out of his stores, and any
captain who needed more was reduced either to begging
or outright theft. Indeed, it was rumoured that the
thoroughly insufferable Captain Foster had once sent
in a raiding party at night to procure his needed
provisions. Not at all supportable, of course, but
entirely understandable...

The knock at his door provided a welcome diversion
from thoughts of the odious task that awaited him, and
he laid aside the list with a sigh of relief. "Come!"
he barked, never realizing how imperious he made the
single word sound.

The door opened and two pale but otherwise composed
young officers entered, each looking as if he were
stepping onto holy ground and awaiting an audience
with God. Which was precisely how each lad felt.

Pellew glanced over his shoulder, then rose to his
feet with the spare economy of movement that was his
hallmark. A man who loathed extravagance or tawdry
display of any sort, he never wasted a single gesture.

"Ah, Mr. Hornblower, Mr. Kennedy, you are here. Good,"
he greeted briskly, clasping his hands behind his back
and resting a dark, appraising gaze upon them,
measuring each in turn.

They were different in every way, these two -- the one
dark, tall and gangly, who moved with the tight
control of a colt still trying to master its long
limbs, an introspective youth whose air of assurance
was assumed to mask the doubts and insecurities that
yet plagued him; and the other small, fair and
slender, with all the grace and refinement to be
expected of a lad from a wealthy aristocratic
background, yet whose good humour and easy wit could
melt so quickly into the diffidence and uncertainty
that showed how far he still had to go in recovering
the confidence stripped from him by almost three years
of imprisonment. Yet both possessed intelligence in
abundance, and an eagerness -- indeed, an insatiable
need -- to learn. Pellew, a shrewd judge of men who
valued intelligence almost above all, liked very much
the qualities in the two who stood before him.

"I trust, gentlemen, that when we begin repairs, your
men will be ready?" he asked, never doubting what the
answer must be.

Nor did they disappoint him. In unison they answered,
"Aye aye, sir," both surprised the question had even
been raised.

Pellew nodded tersely and began pacing about the
cabin, as was his habit when thinking. "This
afternoon," he began, already planning the dreaded
encounter, "Mr. Bracegirdle and I shall go to the
naval supply yard and deliver our request for
materials. Our priorities, of course, will be the new
mast and guns. And I pray," he murmured darkly, his
jaw tightening visibly, "that our needs shall be met
without resistance."

Kennedy and Hornblower exchanged questioning glances,
each unable to imagine anyone daring to offer even the
smallest resistance to their formidable captain.

"Mr. Kennedy!" Pellew barked, turning just in time to
see the badly startled young man flinch violently and
pale drastically, as if he had been shot. Pellew gave
Kennedy time to compose himself once more, then said,
"You shall oversee the placement of the new guns. Is
that understood?"

Kennedy blinked in surprise, but quickly answered,
"Yes, sir!" As he lifted an astonished blue gaze to
Hornblower, his friend smiled and gave a
congratulatory nod.

As Pellew continued to study his acting-lieutenant,
searching the young man's face intently, his own stern
demeanor softened somewhat, and a faint smile tugged
at the corners of his fine mouth. "You have displayed
a true affinity for gunnery in our recent engagements
with the enemy, Mr. Kennedy," he complimented, "and I
intend to develop it. Indeed, I consider it very much
due to your handling of the guns that we were able to
bring that frigate to heel at last. It was very nicely
done, indeed."

A slow, almost childlike smile of sheer pleasure
spread over Kennedy's face and lit his eyes, making
him appear far younger than his twenty years. Such
rare praise from the captain banished entirely his
apprehension at the difficult task he had been given.
"Thank you, sir!"

"However," Pellew had never been one to foster a sense
of complacency in his officers and was not about to
start now, "your talents require honing." He nodded
tersely, his dark eyes never wavering from that young
face. "You are as yet, I judge, an instinctive gunner,
directing your crews by mere intuition. And that, sir,
is not enough. Gunnery is equal parts art AND science,
and it is imperative that you master both. Instinct
alone will not suffice when the lives of your comrades
are in your hands!"

The joyous smile faded and Kennedy sighed, his brief
exultation evaporating. "No, sir," he breathed
dejectedly, bowing his head and staring at the floor.

Pellew continued to stare at his acting-lieutenant
with the probing, penetrating eyes the crew swore
could see into and through a man's soul. "How are your
studies for the examination progressing?" he asked
suddenly.

"Studies--" The unexpected change of subject caught
Kennedy by surprise and knocked him off balance,
leaving his mind to grope clumsily for a sensible
answer. "Ah, I-- I am-- progressing-- satisfactorily,
sir," he managed to answer, casting a desperate glance
at Horatio as if to seek help. "I think." Even as the
last words left him, he winced deeply and bit his
lower lip, mentally kicking himself. The captain hated
slip-shod answers almost as much as he hated enemy
gunners.

"You THINK?" Pellew bellowed, causing Kennedy to jump
again. "Do you not KNOW, sir? Shall I be forced to
test you myself?"

Kennedy's heart turned cold and sank into his stomach
at that appalling prospect, and his blue eyes grew
impossibly round in his white face. He would rather be
flung overboard or back into that Spanish hole than be
tested on seamanship by Captain Pellew-God-Almighty.
At least he knew he could survive the hole...

"If I may, sir?" Hornblower put in quickly, taking
pity on his horror-stricken friend. "I have been
working with Ar-- with Mr. Kennedy, tutoring him in
mathematics, and I regard his progress as more than
satisfactory. And Mr. Bowles has expressed extreme
pleasure with his studies in navigation and
seamanship."

"Has he?" Pellew asked dryly. "Has he, indeed? Well."
He lifted his chin slightly and clasped his hands
behind his back, still impaling Kennedy with his dark
gaze. "If our sailing master is pleased with your
progress, I suppose I can forgo the pleasure of
testing you myself."

Relief surged through him in waves, and Kennedy
exhaled sharply, audibly, then blushed furiously as
Pellew's suddenly arched eyebrow told him the captain
had noticed that as he noticed everything else. Damn,
damn, damn...

Mercifully, Pellew turned his attention from
acting-lieutenant to commissioned lieutenant. "And
yourself, Mr. Hornblower? How are your studies
coming?"

Now it was Horatio's turn to be caught unprepared, and
he blinked and swallowed hard, his mind faltering
unforgivably. "My st-- my studies, sir?" he stammered
weakly, his stomach doing a long, slow, queasy roll.

Again, that expressive brow shot up and that strong
jaw tightened. "Yes, Mr. Hornblower," Pellew said with
deceptive softness, "your studies. Or do you imagine
that, having made lieutenant, your need for study, for
learning, is at an end?"

"Oh, no, sir!" Hornblower answered quickly, firmly
assuring himself he would NOT be sick. "I assure you,
sir, I would never presume--"

"Good." Abruptly Pellew relaxed, and his forbidding
gaze relented. "Never cease studying, gentlemen," he
advised quietly, assuming once more the fatherly
mantle that made him so revered by his junior
officers. "However high you rise, however far you
progress, you must never cease to learn. Knowledge is
far more important than any prize of war and far more
valuable than any honour the world may bestow.
Remember that."

"Yes, sir," they answered together, blue and brown
eyes fixed worshipfully upon him.

He looked at them for long moments and only barely
resisted the impulse to smile. How young they still
were! And how earnest! Still naive in so many ways,
unjaded despite the wrenching horrors each had already
experienced... He suddenly recalled another young man,
a boy, really, not so very different from these two,
who had been so unburdened by care and so intoxicated
by the excitement of merely being alive and at sea
that his greatest delight had been astounding his
shipmates by ascending to a yardarm and standing on
his head, high above heaving deck and fathomless
ocean.

God, where had that boy gone? Had he ever really
existed?

He abruptly banished such thoughts and drew himself up
to his full height, once more the imposing
personification of absolute authority. He could so
easily order them below, confine them to their books,
and have not the smallest doubt that they would
obey...

"Yes, well, tomorrow promises to be a long and
difficult day for us all," he said at last, "should
the yard master see fit to cooperate. Given what lies
before us, and the difficulties of battle and weather
just past, I do not believe a brief period of
relaxation would go amiss." Two genuinely startled
expressions -- eyes wide, mouths open -- greeted his
words, and again he found it difficult not to smile.
"Portsmouth awaits, gentlemen," he said gently. "Be
back aboard by midnight."

The silence stretched taut as two minds grappled with
the meaning of his words. Back aboard...?

This time, Pellew did smile, and revelled in the
luxury of it. "Put aside the books and let your minds
rest a while, lads," he said. "You are at liberty
until midnight."

Kennedy had to clamp his mouth tight against the
joyous whoop that threatened to erupt from him, and
Hornblower came perilously near laughing aloud. As it
was, they both grinned broadly, idiotically, like the
boys they still were.

And Pellew, watching their undisguised, unabashed
glee, wondered briefly if he might still be able to
stand on his head.
*************

Portsmouth was certainly not the most exotic of
places, but for two young officers who had not yet
been paid after long, long months at sea and whose
last venture ashore had been at a small and rather
run-down village in France, it was exciting enough.
Kennedy and Hornblower took High Street past the quay,
leaving behind the harbour where His Majesty's
impressive ships of war lay at anchor, and made their
way eagerly into the town itself, beholding with
amazement and delight the sprawl and bustle that so
contrasted with the compact world of their ship.

Carriages and coaches of every sort and size drove up
and down the street, while a constant stream of people
wandered lazily or pushed brusquely past. Public
houses sent miraculous aromas of food wafting through
their doors, while more shops than could be counted
offered goods of every description. With all the
spirit of schoolboys on holiday, Kennedy and
Hornblower gleefully ducked into and explored each
establishment that caught their interest. And, time
and again, one had patiently to talk the other out of
some extravagant purchase, although, in the end, the
quite sensible argument that "if you buy this, there's
no money for supper" usually served to quell the
buying impulse.

A chanced-upon book shop, however, proved their
undoing. Both were avid readers -- Hornblower of
politics, the sciences and mathematics; and Kennedy of
histories, poetry and plays -- and, meandering through
the stacks and lovingly fingering alluring volumes,
were perilously near forgoing food for the sake of
such treasure. To his delight, Hornblower discovered a
new treatise on naval tactics and snatched it up, and
Kennedy found a long-desired volume of sonnets by
Shakespeare and Donne. Soon, both were devouring the
words like starving men loosed upon a banquet. As they
read, they dutifully recited to themselves the
arguments against such a purchase, though entirely
without conviction. Supper was beginning to look more
and more like a lost cause...

The proprietor watched the two young men, his only
patrons at the moment, with keen interest. He noted
their expressions as they seized upon find after find,
overheard their joyous exclamations, saw their faces
fall as they considered prices. Nor did he miss the
reverence with which they now held their respective
books, like priests touching sacred relics.

It was, however, much more than their obvious love of
books that kept his attention fixed upon them. In
their youth and uniforms he saw something dearly, and
painfully, familiar, and was seized at once by a
strong desire to help them in whatever manner he
could.

Resolved upon his course, he made his way toward the
fairer of the two, catching the eye of the tall, dark
youth and beckoning the lad to join them. When at last
the blond boy looked up from his book and noticed him,
the shopkeeper felt a hard jolt go through him, for
this boy's eyes were just as blue as another's once
had been. The thought only strengthened his
determination to assist them.

"Excuse me, young sirs," he said amiably when the
darker lad had joined them, "but I could not help
seeing your interest in these works. Do I take it
correctly that you are of a mind to buy them?"

The blond boy was cradling the book of sonnets to him
as he might a lover, while the dark lad caressed the
cover of his book as if trying to memorize it by
touch. At his words, though, both faces grew somber
and two pairs of eyes turned bleak.

"They are-- wonderful books, sir," Kennedy said softly
in his light, clear voice, already feeling the pain of
letting go. "And if we had more money--" He broke off
and sighed disconsolately, his gaze falling helplessly
to the gold-embossed cover. "But we have not yet been
paid, and must also eat--" He swallowed hard and
slowly extended the book to the shopkeeper.

Hornblower gave his book a last, lingering caress,
then held it out as well. "We have been thoughtless,
sir," he said quietly, his dark brown eyes sorrowful.
"You, of course, had every reason to expect that we
should purchase these, while we should never have come
in here knowing we could not. We have done you a grave
disservice. Please, accept our apologies, and our
regrets."

"Now, now, young sirs, let us not be hasty," the man
said kindly, refusing to take either book. "Perhaps we
might come to an-- arrangement. I know you young
officers are often at sea for months on end, and must
have some diversion for your minds. And I am equally
aware," he smiled slightly, "of the rather limited
financial resources of-- lieutenants, are you not?"

"Acting-lieutenant, in my case, sir," Kennedy
murmured, blushing faintly.

"Ah, acting-lieutenant! So you do, indeed, lack for
funds. Hm." He took the books then and studied them
carefully, turning them over to inspect covers and
bindings, opening them to view the pages, frowning
deeply all the while. "Alas, it as I feared," he
sighed. "You see," he held out the volume of sonnets
and grimaced, "the cover is lovely, yes, but deucedly
misleading. Why, look at this!" He opened it and
riffled through the pages. "'Tis printed on inferior
stock, y'see? A much cheaper paper than is acceptable,
and the ink-- Ah, no, lad, let me not get into the
quality of this ink lest I forget me manners." He
snapped the book shut and thrust it contemptuously
toward the startled Kennedy with a scowl. "A
thoroughly revolting bit of publishing, if you ask me.
The house responsible should be mortified to have its
name associated with such an abomination! And this--"
He opened Hornblower's book with the same disdain and
shook his head ruefully. "Another botched job. Why,
just look at these endpapers-- appalling! And the
shoddy workmanship of the binding-- You will be
fortunate, indeed, sir, if all the pages are not out
in a month! You are a gentleman, truly, to have said
nothing of such reprehensible quality, and I am most
grateful for your discretion."

Kennedy and Hornblower were staring at each other, and
at the book-seller, as if their wits had left them.
The books, in their eyes, were magnificent, quite the
finest either had seen since leaving home. To hear
them so degraded--

"No," the man said firmly, "I could never make a
profit off either, and, in conscience, would not even
try. Believe me, young sirs, if I thought ëtwould not
give offense I should merely give them to you and
count myself well rid of them. But--" He held up a
hand to forestall their protests. "Never fear, lads, I
shall not so presume. What I will -- nay, must -- do
is this: I shall let you have the two for," he frowned
a moment in thought, his eyes narrowed in calculation,
"two-thirds the price of the most expensive one."

"Oh, no, sir, no!" Hornblower protested in shocked
outrage, his eyes wide; even so, he clutched the book
tightly to his heart. "We could never allow such--
such-- It would be like stealing--"

"Stealing? These? And what thief would have them? No,
sir. I tell you, I would be embarrassed to keep them
in me shop! I assure you, young sirs, you would be
doing me the greatest of favours by taking them off me
hands."

The two exchanged stunned glances, scarcely able to
believe such miraculous good fortune. At the price
quoted, they would be able to buy both books and still
have money to eat, provided they were careful where
they did so.

"Sir, we-- we accept," Hornblower stammered eagerly,
his young face alight, "and most gratefully so! We
certainly have done nothing to warrant such
generosity--"

"My dear boy," the man said with a slight, sad smile,
"in putting on that uniform and taking upon yourselves
the responsibilities and risks that go with it, you
have both done more than enough. I should know." He
glanced again at Kennedy's blue eyes, but saw another
face, instead. "Me own son once wore the self-same
uniform. He was buried at sea in it."

"Our deepest condolences, sir," Kennedy breathed. "And
our very great thanks."

"Nonsense!" he said roughly. "As I said, the books are
shamefully inferior. No one but impoverished young
lieutenants -- commissioned or acting -- would have
them." He lifted his head inquisitively. "Are we
agreed?"

"Oh, yes, sir!" they answered in unison, immediately
reaching for their money.

As he watched them counting out their shares, he was
struck by just how little they did have. "If I may
make a suggestion, young sirs?" he asked gently. "You
mentioned a meal earlier. I would recommend the
Salutation Inn not far from here. The food is rather
plain, but quite good, and the beer is excellent. You
will be kindly received and fairly treated, and the
proprietor is no purse-pick." He smiled. "He, too,
understands the circumstances of young officers. His
son is a lieutenant in the Channel Fleet."

"Thank you, sir," Hornblower said solemnly, handing
over the money. "You have been most kind--"

"Stuff and nonsense! Repay me, if you must, by taking
the lessons of that book to heart and returning here
one day a captain. Then," he winked broadly, "I shall
overcharge you as I do the others."

Hornblower smiled broadly and nodded. "I will, sir, I
promise! And thank you again. Come along, Archie. You
read me sonnets and I'll teach you tactics, and
together we can serenade the Frogs and the Dons as we
send ëem to the Devil!"

The shopkeeper watched the two depart, seeing in each
of them something of his own fallen son. After that
horrific loss, the letting go of two superbly-crafted
books was but a trifling matter...
*************
Bracegirdle began to fear his captain might actually
have a fit. The dockyard master was proving every bit
as difficult as Pellew had anticipated, and the two
had been arguing over materials needed for the Indy's
refit for the better part of half an hour. Pellew's
dark eyes were flashing and smouldering now like
cannon muzzles in the heat of battle, and his face was
set hard as granite and flushed with fury. The last
time Bracegirdle had seen that expression, a defiant
Spanish frigate had been blown to bits.

"How dare you, sir!" Pellew growled between tightly
clenched teeth, his hands just as tightly clenched at
his sides. His flaming gaze impaled Beadle, the
offensive dockyard master, as if set to sear the man
to ash. "How dare you imply--"

"I imply nothing!" Beadle stated flatly in his thin,
reedy voice; he was now beginning to feel the heat
from the captain's wrath. "I say it straight out. You
frigate captains play far too loosely with your ships,
risking them in whatever tomfoolery captures your
fancy, playing merry hob out on the water and then
limping into port, your sails and spars shot to rags
and splinters, and expect me to hand over the keys to
the kingdom that you may go out and do it all again!
Well, it will not serve, sir!" he declared, facing
Pellew and the two captains behind him who were on the
same beggar's errand. "The Admiralty have entrusted me
with the care and keeping of these stores--"

"These stores are meant to keep His Majesty's ships
afloat!" Pellew roared, smacking a hand furiously --
and loudly -- down upon a desk littered with supply
requests. "Good God, sir--"

"I will tolerate no blasphemy--"

"Blasphemy?" Pellew spluttered, taking a menacing step
forward, his face as dark as a full-gale sky. "You
sanctimonious little--"

Bracegirdle cleared his throat loudly, warningly, only
barely resisting the urge to reach out and grab his
captain's arm before he struck Beadle. Behind them,
Captain Forester of the Artemis was enjoying himself
immensely, grinning broadly, while Captain Ramsay of
Defiant was staring with rapt fascination at the
floor. The midshipman who had come in with Ramsay had
eyes round as saucers, and his mouth hung foolishly
open.

"Look at this list, sir!" Beadle screeched, waving
Pellew's requisition wildly, his thin face pinched
with outrage. "An entire foremast, enough sails and
yards to fit out a new ship of the line, cordage
sufficient to reach to Spain, guns-- GUNS, sir! Well,
Ordnance shall have to decide about that, though if it
were in my hands-- Do not think, sir," he hissed, his
small grey eyes narrowing to slits, "that I have
forgotten how you came crawling into port last year
after that wretched foolishness with the Droits de
l'Homme, your ship half shot away! I tell you,
Captain, such recklessness--"

"RECKLESSNESS?!" Pellew thundered, again striking the
desk. Behind him, Bracegirdle winced and bit his lip,
while Ramsay's midshipman jumped violently and went
white. Another captain, Gerard of the Swallow, entered
the office, heard that enraged bellow, and crept back
out again, having no desire to be an eyewitness to
murder.

"Aye, recklessness," Beadle repeated primly, his
disdainful stare raking all three captains before him.
"Consider yourselves princes of the sea, do you? A lot
of junior Nelsons, tossing ships this way and that and
never reckoning with the cost. Well, I do!" He turned
his scathing glare back upon Pellew, who was now near
purple with rage. "So you need a foremast, do you? Why
did you not take more care with the one you had?"

Pellew gave a strangled, wordless bellow, and
Bracegirdle hung his head and covered his eyes with a
hand. The captain had done all but offer a human
sacrifice to keep that mast standing, and Bracegirdle
feared the man might now have the perfect one within
reach.

Ramsay took a step nearer Forester and murmured, "I
believe I shall return to my ship, Jacob. Let me know
if there is to be a court-martial." As Forester
grinned again and nodded, Ramsay grabbed his gawking
midshipman and dragged the boy outside.

Pellew leaned upon the desk with both hands, his face
mere inches from Beadle's, his dark eyes pits of
smouldering pitch. "Now, see here!" he ground out
harshly through gritted teeth. "I will have those
stores, and I will have them today, do you understand
me? One more argument from you, and I shall have my
entire crew down here helping themselves to whatever
takes my fancy!"

Beadle stiffened and inhaled sharply, his eyes
widening in sudden apprehension. "You would not
dare--"

"Think you not?" Pellew spat. "Or perhaps we should
let the Admiral settle this? I understand you and he
are -- acquainted."

Beadle's eyes narrowed again, and his face twisted
into a bitter scowl. He and Admiral Clifton were,
indeed, acquainted, much as England and France were.
And with the same enmity. The Admiral would side
against him in any argument on principle alone. But in
an argument involving one of his own captains--

"Mr. Bracegirdle." Pellew straightened, but never took
his gaze from Beadle. "Return to the quay and bring
the supply detail, enough men to take back to
Indefatigable every item on that list. And," he added
coldly as Beadle spluttered indignantly, "send
Lieutenant Clarke and his Marines with the party.
Should there be any-- trouble."

"Aye aye, sir," Bracegirdle answered with a slight
smile. As he turned, he saw Forester rubbing his hands
gleefully together, and felt his smile broaden. Poor
Beadle, the man had stood no more chance under
Pellew's guns than a Frenchman!

Pellew clasped his hands behind his back and lifted
his head, knowing victory was his. "I shall expect a
sheer hulk alongside Indefatigable at first light
tomorrow," he said calmly, eliminating any further
resistance by sheer force of will. "The new mast will
be laid in, and we shall hang new sails from her with
our new cordage. Am I understood?"

"You dare--"

"I should warn you, sir," Pellew interrupted with the
quiet tone that any of his men would have recognized
as a shot across the bow, best surrendered to at once,
"my men have proved themselves experts at night
engagements. Should we not get what we need today, we
shall certainly have it by tomorrow morning."

Beadle's mouth opened and closed, but no sound came
from it. He would have liked to say a raid on his
stores was impossible, but he remembered all too well
the underhanded tactics of Dreadnought Foster, and
knew it was not.

"Good day, then, sir," Pellew said with that same cold
hauteur. "My first lieutenant, Mr. Bracegirdle, will
oversee the work here." He turned, and arched a dark
brow at Forester, who saluted him broadly. Then,
without a single backward glance, he strode out of the
office.

Forester, still grinning, walked up to the desk and
slapped his list down upon it. "Now, then, Mr.
Beadle," he said quite cheerfully, "as long as you are
doling out masts..."
****************

"Listen to this, Horatio," Archie said, grabbing his
friend's arm and stopping him short, his gaze fixed
upon his open book.
"ëYet in these thoughts myself almost despising
Haply I think on thee, and then my state,
Like to the lark at break of day arising
From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven's gate;
For thy sweet love remembered such wealth brings
That then I scorn to change my state with kings.'
"Beautiful, isn't it?" he breathed. "Can you imagine
sitting with a pretty girl and reciting such lines to
her?"

Horatio laughed ruefully and shook his dark head.
"I've never been good at reciting, Archie, and
certainly not to pretty girls. All one has to do is to
look at me, and my tongue ties itself into knots and
everything I meant to say flies right out of my head.
I shall leave the reciting to you-- God!"

A scream rang out abruptly, cutting into his words, a
sound of sheer terror coming from somewhere ahead. It
galvanized the two young men into immediate action,
and, driven by instincts honed in battle, they set off
at a full run toward it, pushing their way roughly
through the crowded thoroughfare. Rounding a corner,
they heard the scream again, then saw before them two
young women valiantly fending off an assault by a gang
of toughs while appalled by-standers looked on without
lending aid.

"You men, there, hold off!" Horatio shouted in tones
of stern command mastered on the quarter-deck.

One of the assailants spun around, saw the two
officers racing toward them, and called a warning to
his comrades. The men took off, splitting into two
groups, and ran away in opposite directions, carrying
with them the women's belongings.

"Archie, to starboard!" Horatio ordered. "I've got the
ones to larboard!"

"Aye aye, sir!" Kennedy answered instinctively,
veering off as directed.

With his long legs and sure stride, Horatio quickly
overtook his men, hurling himself the last few yards
and crashing into them, knocking all three down and
one senseless. One scrambled to his feet and fled,
while the third put up a fight, landing a savage blow
to Hornblower's chin and momentarily stunning him.

Before the man could do much more, though, Horatio
grabbed him and dealt a number of good blows of his
own. His opponent's fist connected solidly with his
left cheekbone, but the momentum of the blow carried
the man forward, and Horatio delivered two brutal jabs
to his diaphragm, driving the air from him and
dropping him to his knees.

At that moment, the watch came running up, pistols at
the ready, only to see their work already done for
them. Hornblower spun about, ready to defend himself
against another assault, his fighting blood at a boil.

"Easy, sir, easy!" the sergeant of the watch soothed,
raising his hands in a gesture of peace. "We're ëere
to ëelp."

Horatio, panting and trembling from battle-fury,
stared at the man through blazing eyes. "Help?" he
spat harshly, raising a shaking hand to his bleeding
lip. "A bit late for that, are you not? What of the
ladies these brutes attacked? And Acting-Lieutenant
Kennedy? Is anyone ëhelping' them, as well?"

The sergeant had the good grace to blush, and to look
abashed. "We came as quick as we could, sir," he
mumbled. "An' we don't know about no ladies, nor about
no actin'-leftenant--"

"Oh, good God!" Horatio rasped, quickly getting
himself under control. "You men," he pointed out two
of the watchmen, "see to these curs! They robbed and
assaulted two women near the milliner's shop back
there. You others, come with me. Mr. Kennedy, no
doubt, could use our assistance!"
**********

Kennedy could, indeed, have used some help, though he
would never admit it. He was fighting two men, both
considerably bigger than himself, and was still dazed
from a wicked blow to the head that had caught him
wholly by surprise. Simply to keep from going down --
at which point he knew he would be lost -- he had to
call upon every means of hand-to-hand fighting learned
aboard ship and during his days in prison, all the
while trying to clear his foggy head.

But it was easier said than done. He ducked just in
time to avoid a blow from one quarter, then
straightened and turned into another. A hard fist
caught him just above the left eye and he fell back,
dizzy and barely able to see, with the once-solid
ground now turning to vapour beneath his feet. At a
harsh curse, however, instinct stirred and he lashed
out and up with one foot, catching his assailant
square in the groin with a savage kick. The man went
down with an anguished cry, clutching at himself and
writhing in agony upon the ground, out of the fight
for good.

That left the bigger of the two, who was coming at him
with a leering, vicious grin that, for a moment, froze
his blood. He had seen that grin before, too many
times, upon another, hated face, and knew at once what
it portended. Badly disoriented, and gripped by a
sudden, blinding panic, he retreated desperately, only
to collide with a solid wall.

The big man saw the stark terror in the wide blue
eyes, watched the colour draining from the bruised and
bleeding face, and laughed aloud. "Now, boy," he spat,
"ye're mine!"

"NO!" The panic exploded into raw, red rage, tearing
the harsh cry from Kennedy and launching him into
furious action. With another cry, he hurled himself at
the hulking brute, fighting with skill, discipline,
and not a little desperation. In his frenzy, he
scarcely felt the heavy blows that pummelled him,
while managing to land more than a few of his own. He
would never be taken like that again.

Soon his discipline -- and smaller size -- began to
work to his advantage. The big man was fighting
wildly, much like a wounded and enraged bull, relying
on strength rather than skill, and was having to lug
around a considerable burden of weight. He was tiring,
his attack slowing. Kennedy watched and waited,
darting under and out of his reach while delivering
well-placed, stinging blows. And, all at once, he
began to laugh from sheer exhilaration.

The laughter further enraged his opponent, who loosed
a throaty bellow and rushed at Kennedy, grappling onto
and locking with him in a fierce skirmish. With his
greater weight, he easily bore the smaller man to the
ground, and prepared to crush him with massive hands.
But Kennedy, made frantic by another rush of hideous
memories, managed to tear himself out from under the
cursing brute and pounced on top of him. Grabbing two
hands full of lank, greasy hair, he uttered a harsh,
wordless cry and slammed the fellow's head mercilessly
into the ground with a sickening thud. The big man
went limp, and the fight was over.

Or so he thought. Suddenly he felt strong hands
gripping his shoulders and hauling him to his feet.
Gasping out a breathless curse, he swung around and
brought back a fist to strike.

"Easy, Archie!" Hornblower called, grabbing Kennedy's
fist just before it landed. "It's over! It's over." He
felt Kennedy shudder violently and nearly stumble, and
tightly gripped his friend's upper arms to steady him.
"It's all right, Archie," he soothed quietly. "It's
over."

Kennedy swallowed and blinked rapidly, his fighting
daze only now beginning to clear. "Horatio?" he
rasped, his chest heaving as he panted. His eyes were
focusing now and, when Hornblower released him, he
could stand on his own. "Are-- are you all right?"

Horatio smiled, and started his lip bleeding again.
"About the same as you, I should think."

"Oh." He was beginning to feel his various hurts.
"Sorry to hear that." He glanced down at the big man
lying unconscious at his feet. "What do we do with
them now?"

"I believe they are my responsibility, sir," answered
the sergeant, stepping forward and staring at the
battered young men. He hated to be indebted to naval
officers, but knew he could not ignore that debt. "I--
thankee, sirs, for your assistance. I shall put your
efforts into my report."

"Damned sporting of him," Horatio muttered under his
breath, drawing a chuckle from Archie.

The sergeant seemed not to have heard. "Do either of
ëee require a surgeon?"

Hornblower thought a moment, and winced at his various
aches, but shook his head. "No, I think not. Archie?"

Kennedy hurt everywhere, but managed to smile. In the
center of the dark and swollen bruise above his left
eye a cut oozed blood, and his right cheek and jaw
were also magnificently bruised. His lower lip was
split and bleeding, and both his head and right hand
ached miserably, while his ribs painfully protested
every breath.

"No, I'm all right," he lied.

"Very well, then," the sergeant said as his men took
Kennedy's victims into rough custody. "Perhaps ye'll
be kind enough to take us to the ladies you was
protectin'. Acquaintances o' yours, I take it?"

"No," Kennedy murmured, gingerly holding his throbbing
right hand in his left. "We have no idea who they are.
We simply heard them screaming, and went to help."

The sergeant blinked in astonishment. "Jus' like ëat?"
he marvelled. "What if the buggars had fired on ye?"

The two young men stared at each other, then shrugged.
The possibility had not occurred to either of them.

"Amazin'!" the sergeant breathed, shaking his grizzled
head slightly. "Bloody damned amazin'! All right,
then, sirs, let's us all go meet your damsels in
distress."
**************

The women were not difficult to find, for a crowd
still gathered about them, with on-lookers now seeking
to soothe the distraught pair. At the approach of the
watch, however, the crowd parted and, in the battered
persons of the naval officers, the ladies recognized
their saviours.

"There!" cried the tallest of the two, her lovely face
still pale, her fine dress showing evidence of her
rough handling. "There are the two gallant men who
came to our rescue, while the rest of you hung back in
fear!"

Horatio and Archie stopped abruptly, both keenly aware
of numerous glances shifting toward them. Archie
blushed beneath his bruises and dropped his gaze to
his feet, while Horatio clasped his hands tightly
behind his back and forced himself to stare straight
ahead.

The two ladies -- girls, really, younger even than
their rescuers -- rushed forward impetuously, stopping
just before the young men. Both girls were
exceptionally pretty, the taller with rich red-brown
hair and deep green eyes, the smaller with a wealth of
chestnut curls, soft brown eyes and dimples.
Immediately, she reached out to touch Kennedy's cheek,
her lovely eyes widening in distress.

"You're hurt!" she breathed, taking out her kerchief
and dabbing gently at his bleeding mouth. "Oh, dear,
it is not very bad, is it?"

"N- no, miss," he stammered, his heart hammering
wildly against his ribs. In his panic at her nearness,
he never felt the pain of her touch at his broken lip.

"And your eye-- your hands-- All of this for us?" she
asked softly, absently laying a small hand against his
chest.

"We h--" He swallowed hard, his mouth and throat gone
suddenly dry. "We heard-- your screams--" He could not
help breathing in the fragrance of her perfume, and
began to feel a bit drunk. "When we saw-- those men--"
He swallowed again, and finished lamely, "We had to
help."

"Even at the expense of your own safety?" the taller
girl asked, her green eyes taking in the damage done
to Hornblower's face. "At the risk of your lives? You
might have been killed!"

Horatio cleared his throat uncomfortably, utterly at a
loss. Against enemy cannon, he knew what to do; before
those luminous eyes, he was helpless. "We-- that is to
say--" He cleared his throat again and glanced at
Archie for assistance, but saw that his friend had
forgotten his existence entirely. "It seemed-- our
duty to assist you."

"Elisabeth, Lucy, what is going on here?" demanded a
deep, stern voice from the edge of the crowd. "What--
Out of my way! You, there, stand aside! What--" At
last, an elegantly dressed older man emerged from the
crowd, his fierce gaze going at once to the two girls,
and the battered naval officers. "Good God!" he cried
harshly, glaring at Kennedy and Hornblower and raising
his cane threateningly. "What is the meaning of this?"

"Oh, Papa, these two have saved us from a wretched
fate!" the smaller girl cried, taking Kennedy's arm as
she faced her father. "A band of men attacked us, here
in street, with all these people watching, and these
gallant officers came running to our rescue!" Again,
her deep brown eyes sought Kennedy's bruised and
bleeding face. "And look how they have suffered for
us!" she murmured.

The gentleman stiffened and went white, his heart
threatening to stop. "Attacked?" he rasped, his anger
evaporating into anxiety. "What d'you mean,
ëattacked'? By whom? Are you all right?"

"We are fine, Papa," the taller girl hastened to
assure her father, going to him and laying a shapely
hand against his chest to calm him. "Before the
ruffians could harm us, these fine gentleman came to
our rescue and chased them down. But not, as you can
see, without some injury to themselves."

The old man's fierce gaze softened as it took in
Kennedy and Hornblower's soiled uniforms and vast
collection of bruises, and his stern demeanor melted
into an expression of intense gratitude.

"My dear young sirs," he said quietly and with
profound emotion, "please accept my deepest thanks for
what you have done! You obviously risked a great deal
on behalf of my daughters--" All at once, his voice
faltered, and he seemed very much at a loss. "I fear
I-- have not words to adequately express my
gratitude-- I am obliged to you--"

"The obligation was ours, sir, I assure you," Horatio
said earnestly. "It was our duty to help. Any other
man would have done the same--"

"Ha!" the taller girl laughed derisively, raking a
scornful green glare over the crowd. "No other man
here did half as much!" she declared loudly, tossing
her shining head in contempt. "You two alone came to
our defense, while these sheep stood here gawking!"
She turned a sweet smile upon Hornblower. "We are
forever in your debt."

"Oh, no, miss, there is no debt," Kennedy breathed,
finding his voice at last. Try as he might, he could
not stop staring at the lovely girl who still held his
arm. Her soft brown eyes shimmered with light, and,
when she smiled up at him, he felt his heart pounding
in his throat. "We-- are only glad-- to have been of
service--" God, it was difficult to breathe!

"And what of the blackguards who dared assault two
women in the street?" the old man demanded, rounding
upon the sergeant of the watch. "I trust they shall be
dealt with fittingly?"

The sergeant fell back a step before those blazing
eyes. "They're-- they're on their way to the justice
o' the peace now, yer honour, and will likely go
before the magistrate tomorrow. They'll not get off
lightly, sir, I assure you."

"They had best not!" he growled, sending the sergeant
retreating still further. Satisfied that his point had
been made, he turned once again to the young officers
and bowed. "I am Sir Robert Addington, and these are
my daughters, Elisabeth," the taller girl curtseyed
gracefully, "and Lucy." The smaller girl released
Kennedy's arm only long enough to curtsey, then
immediately reclaimed it.

Horatio bowed, and hoped he appeared less awkward than
he felt. "I am Lieutenant Horatio Hornblower, and this
is Acting-Lieutenant Archie Kennedy, of His Majesty's
frigate Indefatigable. It is our pleasure to have been
of service to you."

"Yes, well," the slightest hint of a smile played
about Addington's mouth, "I believe, Lieutenant, that
you had rather more hardship from it than pleasure!"
He studied the two carefully, noted how they held
themselves, and could well imagine how they must be
hurting. And that blond boy's hand was broken, or he
badly missed his guess. "My dear sirs, you must permit
my family now to be of service to you. Come with us to
our home, and I shall summon a physician to tend your
injuries."

"Oh, no, sir," Horatio protested, "we could never
impose-- "

"Impose?" Addington barked. "Good Lord, sirs, 'tis the
very least we can do! God alone knows what injuries
you have sustained on behalf of my daughters, and I
shall not rest until I am certain all is well with
you! No, I shall hear no further argument. You will
come with us, and you will do us the very great honour
of joining us for dinner. I must insist."

Horatio still felt he should decline, feared presuming
too far upon the good graces of the Addingtons, and
glanced wildly at Archie for help. To his dismay,
however, he realized that his friend could see nothing
but the pretty girl smiling so sweetly up at him, had
forgotten everyone's existence but hers. And as
Elisabeth smiled at him and took his arm, her green
eyes shining in the sunlight, whatever argument he
would have made slipped clean out of his mind.

"It would, Sir Robert," he breathed at last, "be our
very great pleasure."

****************