Come Wind, Come Salvation
by Andrea

"Of all the animals, man is the only one that is cruel. He is 
the only one that inflicts pain for the pleasure of doing it." ~ Mark 
Twain

Archie Kennedy stared at the deck, his eyes filled with tears 
that he dared not shed. If Simpson saw how affected he was...well, it 
would give the man more sickening pleasure than Kennedy ever intended 
to give. A cold wind was blowing, though there was not a cloud in the 
sky. To any other man the ship would have been beautiful, a living 
creature straining at her anchors to race over the water. To Kennedy, 
the ship was a prison, one from which he doubted he would ever 
escape...

        No, to think like that was death. For if he ever believed 
there could be no escape then he would commit the one sin he had thus 
far managed to avoid. If he took his own life it would deprive 
Simpson of his most beloved toy, but it would also deprive Kennedy of 
an honour that others believed was his due. His due... how could he 
ever believe that he had honour. No honourable man would allow 
Simpson to possess him as Kennedy had allowed.

He sighed deeply and raised his head, allowing the wind to 
caress his cheek, allowing the tears to fall, knowing they would be 
taken as a reaction to the biting wind rather than the bitterness 
flowing through him. Simpson was below, most likely picking on one of 
the other midshipman, deprived of his favorite thanks to the call of 
duty. The others would allow Simpson all kinds of freedom with their 
lives; he could cheat at cards, steal their food, their belongings, 
their joy. And they would know they had come out on the winning side 
of the equation, for they knew how much higher on the scale they were 
than poor Mr. Kennedy. Yes, little Archie, the third son of an 
uncaring lord, sent to sea to become a man. Oh, and he had become a 
man, hadn't he? Had his eyes opened to the truths of life and the 
navy. Oh hell yes, he knew all there was to know about the 
relationships between men and how people could close their eyes to 
cruelty and pain so they could avoid these things themselves. Kennedy 
had learned power was all that mattered in this world; power over 
those about you. So much power than no one dared contradict you, even 
the captain.

Well, that wasn't quite true. The captain would put Mr. 
Simpson down for incompetence, tell him that he was a lubber and that 
he would have him whipped. However, no lash or birch ever touched Mr. 
Simpson, for the man who wielded it, the ship's bosun, was under Mr. 
Simpson's spell. So, another midshipman would take his place. The 
captain, who did not wish to watch his punishments being meted out, 
never knew the difference. He heard the cries and that was enough for 
him. What did it matter to him if the correct midshipman got the 
beating or not? As long as someone suffered... Least that was one 
duty Archie had never been subjected to. Simpson would never want his 
prize bruised and battered before he got his own hands on it. No, any 
punishment directed at Archie would come only from Simpson's own 
hands.

A drop of rain pulled Kennedy from his thoughts. His gaze 
focused on the sky before him. What had only moments ago been a 
beautifully clear horizon was now a boiling cauldron of dark clouds 
and whipping gusts. Kennedy yelled at nearby deckhands to batten down 
the hatches, clean the deck of all movable equipment and to lash down 
the guns. Then he turned back to his vigil, watching the shore for 
the new midshipman. The poor bugger was due aboard within the hour 
and Kennedy, the midshipman of the watch, had been set out to great 
him. One of the men, it looked like Styles, brought him his slicker, 
a smirk written across his pocked features. Ah yes, there was another 
great thing about being Simpson's favorite; all the men in Simpson's 
watch knew exactly what was done to him...a few had even helped. 
Though not this one. Styles had kept clear of those shenanigans, 
preferring to wrestle with rats and those he did not like within the 
crew. Thank God for small miracles.

Thanking Styles, ignoring the lack of salute from the seaman, 
Kennedy shrugged his slicker over his already damp uniform, pulled 
his hat further down upon his head and hunched into the wind. Where 
the hell was this new fellow? Had he fallen overboard on the trip 
from shore? No, Kennedy would have seen that, no matter how far into 
a reverie he was. Perhaps the lad had gotten cold feet? He was coming 
aboard as a favor to his father from the captain. What a favor... The 
lad would be under Simpson's thumb within an hour, two if he was 
lucky... No, that was wrong. Simpson wouldn't be returning until 
tonight, he was at his lieutenant's exam. How was it that even when 
Simpson was gone Archie still imagined him to be just around the next 
corner? Of course, that was the safe thing to do, always be ready, 
even if you could do nothing to stop him. At least one could put up 
the mental defenses, tattered rags that they were. Some of the other 
midshipman believed this might be the last they had seen of Simpson, 
that he would finally pass his examination and be gone from them 
forever. But Kennedy held no such hope, though he smiled at the 
others as they dreamt such empty dreams. Simpson was not smart enough 
to pass those exams, his mind was too full of mean plots to ever hold 
any of the information that would make an officer of him. No, even if 
Simpson did have the brains to pass, he would not for he did not 
truly wish to become an officer. Yes, being an officer meant having 
power, but it would also mean a new ship, a new captain and new men. 
Simpson had become too comfortable on Justinian to leave. Too many of 
his favorite things would be lost if he were to be transfered. No, 
Simpson would be back, sooner rather than later. Least it would give 
the new fellow some time to adjust.

As Kennedy thought this last, his eyes caught a movement in 
the water near the docks. A small boat was fighting its way through 
the chop, avoiding other ships and lines, taking on a minimum of 
water. In the bow sat a hunched figure, looking more like death 
warmed over than a new sailor. This man...this boy...was odd looking. 
Even sitting he was tall and lanky, looking uncomfortable with his 
own body. One arm splayed out, trying to stop himself from going over 
the side. Kennedy frowned deeply. This fellow was truly green. As the 
launch pulled alongside the new fellow stood, rocking the vessel so 
much that the seasoned women at the oars winced. The new face, as 
green as the sea-legs, looked up and for some reason Kennedy smiled. 
There was so much in the fellow's expression: panic, excitement, 
nervousness, intelligence, and no small amount of curiosity...so many 
emotions which Kennedy had not felt in years that he could not help 
smiling. The smile grew wider, try as he did to hide it, as the 
fellow clambered awkwardly up the side.  God must have been smiling 
as well, for he made it over the side without falling into the sea. 
He stood shivering on the deck, peering all about himself as a large 
rain drop dripped off his prominent nose. So this was Horatio 
Hornblower...oddly the name fit. For this fellow the name wasn't 
ludicrus, it somehow conveyed his character perfectly. Kennedy 
frowned. He had known Hornblower for less than a minute and he 
thought he knew his character? But it was true, Hornblower had no 
falseness about him, one could sense it.

Was it possible that this one would not fall to Simpson? 
Could it be that finally someone had come who could take care of a 
threat that others did not dare acknowledge? Hell, even if he didn't 
become a savior, Archie felt something was going to change. Perhaps 
that's why his words were lightened as he saw Hornblower scan the 
deck, the lad's bright eyes darkening. Perhaps that was why, for 
once, he did not say "Welcome to Hell." Or mayhaps the rain had 
simply got to his brain. Whatever the reason, Archie Kennedy smiled 
for the second time that day and spoke words of truth.

"Welcome to purgatory."