Red Sky at Morning, Part 8b
by Sarah B.

First Lieutenant Christopher Stephens hummed to himself as he climbed the stairs to the quarter-deck. True, the ship was pitching something terrible, and true, it sounded as if there would be a lot of damage to deal with later. But Stephens cared nothing for that, for his future was secure. And once Kennedy was found and he had time to deal with Lafferty, his past would be taken care of also. So, let a little storm come. He felt he could withstand a universe full of them.

Once on deck, however, his humming lessened a little. There was a riot of debris and chaos, and the roiling seas seemed worse when he could see them; the ship was rocking back and forth like a rearing horse. He smelled smoke, looked up and saw that the mainmast had been partially destroyed, probably by lightning. Damn! He looked around and saw the crew frantically trying to clear the huge splinters from the deck and keep the ship from foundering.

Stephens tried to see through the murk to spy the Indefatigable, and finally saw her, a grey blob thrashing in the water just like the Courageous was, her signal flags still bearing the message that had spurred him to action. There were more flags, telling them not to execute Kennedy, which was a disappointment to many of the men, but Stephens figured it was only a delay, and didn't much care as long as he got to see him die sometime. She's a fine ship, Stephens thought with a twinge of envy. Perhaps if Courageous no longer suits me, I'll see what I can do there. There must be a million opportunities...

But first things first. Here came the sailing master, teetering through the horrid rain, out of breath and it seemed close to panic. "Sir, thank God!" He sputtered, yelling over the driving rain and thunder, "The mast's down, and the wind's up awful fierce. Orders, sir?"

Oh that's right, Stephens thought in surprise, I'm in charge now. He blinked, for it never occurred to him that he would actually have to give commands as captain. He'd made lieutenant by way of a family debt, and certainly never studied seamanship afterward. Good Lord, what did one do in these situations?

There was a terrible crash, and lightning struck Courageous again, rending the fore topgallant sail into charred scraps of fabric that rained down on the deck. Stephens winced and let out a loud curse.

"Sir?!" The sailing master cried, and through the mist and rain Stephens saw other hands looking at him, coming toward him, and he suddenly wanted very much to run and not deal with this. And he would have, if the mist had been any thicker, but...

Suddenly he had an idea. "Abandon the ship."

The sailing master straightened up. "Sir?"

"You heard me. Don't worry, the Indefatigable will pick us all up. Don't you see the sails are gone? She's done for."

It was a rash decision, Stephens knew it, but it was the easiest solution. If everyone was off the ship, he wouldn't have to worry about commanding them. But he would still have his rank, and although he'd be court martialled for losing the ship there were a million excuses he could give, and who would argue with him? Yes, it would work. Feeling a wash of relief, Stephens nodded to himself and said, "Yes...yes, tell all hands, abandon the ship. Now!"

The sailing master looked puzzled, but said quietly, "Yes, sir." And went to make preparations.

Satisfied that he had delayed catastrophe for at least a little while, Stephens decided to go see if Morgan had anything worthwhile in his cabin before it was all dashed to pieces. He turned to go look when something on the side of the ship caught his eye. Someone was climbing aboard. Ah, Stephens thought, the marines from the Indefatigable to get Morgan. Well, dealing with them should be easy...

Only it wasn't just the marines. It was Hornblower.

Stephens stopped in his tracks, thrown. Hornblower brought himself over the side of the heaving ship with a visible fury, and as soon as both of his feet hit the deck he saw Stephens and moved swiftly towards him. Every inch of him seemed about to explode.

Oh, DAMN, Stephens thought in panic, and then Hornblower was right in front of him, his dark eyes blazing amber coals in the pouring rain.

"Where's Morgan?" Hornblower demanded hotly, one hand on his sword. Thunder boomed around them.

Stephens felt his composure slip, tried to hold onto it. "Now look here Hornblower, you don't just come aboard my ship and shout - "

"I said where's your captain!" Hornblower shouted, suddenly taking Stephens by his collar and burning him with the anger in his eyes.

"He's in the hold!" Stephens stammered, his confidence evaporating. "I - I had him placed under arrest as soon as we saw your flags. I...knew it was my duty, so I - "

"Where in the hold?" Hornblower's words were short, snapped at the ends like dry twigs.

"Um - down near the handling chambers, where we store the powder. I'll show you - "

Stephens tried to move away from Hornblower, but the other man caught him by the shoulder and held him fast. "I am not finished with you yet, Lieutenant Stephens. Where is Archie Kennedy?"
The ferocity of that question caused Stephens to momentarily lose his voice, and when he didn't answer right away Horatio's face grew dark and he yanked Stephens closer. "By God if he's come to harm I'll see you keel-hauled under every ship in the fleet - "

"No, no! He's all right!" Stephens squeaked, every cowardly instinct jumping to the fore in the face of Hornblower's wrath. "We had him down in the hold too, but - ah - I let him go. I don't know where he is. But he's not dead, I swear it!"

Horatio threw Stephens away from him, against the two Indefatigable marines standing there. Stephens stared at him for a moment, frightened by the frenzied man in front of him drenched in rain and haloed by lightning and thunder. Hornblower looked like he wanted to kill him.

Instead, though, he looked at the two marines behind Stephens and barked, "I am going to see Captain Morgan. Keep him here until I return, or remove him to the boats if it becomes dangerous."

It took Stephens a moment to realize that Hornblower was talking about him, and took a step forward, only to be held back by the marines. Outraged, he sputtered, "Hornblower, what is this?"

Hornblower leveled his gaze at Stephens, then took two steps forward and came almost nose-to-nose with him, those great dark eyes boring holes into what was left of Stephens' soul. Stephens cowered under that gaze; he couldn't help it.

"You," Hornblower seethed, "are also under arrest, and will stand trial for the beating of Terry Whitehall. And if I find so much as a misplaced hair on Mr. Kennedy's head, rest assured you will answer for that as well." He paused, and his eyes narrowed. "Your filthy kind has won for the last time."

Stephens' mind reeled; this was not at all what he expected. He took a step toward Hornblower, but was jerked backwards and clutched tight. "God dammit, Hornblower, this is my ship!" he cried, angrily struggling with the marine as Hornblower walked away amid the lightning and slicing rain, "I'm in command here, you can't just walk around on it without my permission! Hornblower!"

Hornblower did stop, for one brief moment, to give him the blackest, most hateful look Stephens had ever received, punctuated by another horribly close, deafening crack of thunder. Then he turned again, and disappeared quickly into the companionway.

"You're a dead man, Hornblower!" Stephens shrieked, vengeful pictures of the shattered, empty Courageous trapping Hornblower, Morgan, Kennedy, and Lafferty all to die together, while he sailed triumphantly away. Grinning at that thought, he shook his head and screamed again above the lightning, thunder and crashing winds, "You're a dead man! Count on it!"

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

The Indefatigable plunged and heaved in the roiling water, and Bracegirdle almost fell three times before he finally made it to Captain Pellew, who was standing at the railing peering through the brutal waves and punishing rain, trying to see Courageous.

"The storm is getting worse, sir!" Bracegirdle bellowed, noticing Pellew's pained look, "We must set ourselves farther from the Courageous, before we're both scuttled!"

Pellew nodded, although Bracegirdle could see it was reluctantly. "Very well, Mr. Bracegirdle!" He yelled back in reply, "Set what boats you can in the water, to pick up men from the Courageous!"

"Aye, sir!" Bracegirdle replied, and huddled himself against the storm to go do his duty, leaving his captain to gaze defiantly into the darkening winds.

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

It was dark in the hold.

Archie put his hand out in the blackness, keeping the other firmly clasped around Thomas' tinier one, and tried to find a way out of the hold and back into the daylight. But the ship was lurching and bucking, and every shift sent debris flying through the air. Archie could see none of it, only heard crashes and splintering wood, and so every time the ship yawed he crouched down over Thomas until the movement eased, then began the tortuous journey again.

He had no real idea where they were. The passageway that Morgan had come down was now dark and blocked by fallen goods, and they had had to feel their way to get around it. The hold went the length of the ship, and was very far down; just finding their way to a companionway would be difficult, even in good weather; in weather like this, it was almost a death sentence.

If I could find the carpenter's walk, Archie thought, we could get out of here. The carpenter's walk also ran the length of the ship, but was enclosed and did not pose the dangers creeping around the hold did. If they could just -

The ship pitched again, sending horrible noises through the hold as barrels and boxes tumbled together to the deck. Archie threw himself over Thomas again, grunting as something heavy struck his back. As soon as the rolling stopped, he felt for Thomas' shoulders and asked, "Are you all right?"

"Yes," Thomas answered, although Archie could tell he was frightened.

"Good," Archie responded into the dark, "Take my hand, we're going to find a way out of here."

"Is Lieutenant Lafferty going to kill the captain?"

Archie paused, tugged at Thomas' hand but could not move him. "I don't know."

"What if he doesn't, and the captain comes to find us?"

Archie heard the tremor in that young voice, the fear that was making itself known in the darkness that surrounded them. "If he does, I won't let anything happen to you, I promise."

"But you can't stop it."

Archie caught his breath.

"I know you want to, but you can't," There was an edge to Thomas' voice, born of fear and pain and all the raw hurts Archie was reliving at that very moment, "If you kill him, someone else might come, and if you tell they won't believe you. I don't want to go up there where everyone can see me. I want to stay down here, maybe he won't find us down here. I can hide down here."

"Thomas - " Archie began, then gasped as he felt a small tug on his hand, and then nothing. he reached out his hand desperately, but it was no use. There was nothing there.

Thomas had disappeared.

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

Horatio knew the storm was getting worse.

It was obvious; he could feel it in the frantic pitch and roll of the great ship, hear it in the shrieking, mournful winds that threatened to tear the vessel apart. It was as if God had finally passed judgment on Courageous, and was destroying it.

But He couldn't, not yet. Not yet -

Horatio was down in the hold now, a flickering lantern his only light. Everything swayed wildly, and anything not secured was tossed about the decks like a child's toys. Horatio turned the lantern this way and that, hoping to see a face that had so far eluded him in the blackness. "Archie!"

Nothing. But surely he could not be heard...

The hold was deep and long, and Horatio made his careful way toward the handling rooms, where Morgan was. He called out for Archie as he went, aching to tell him that all was forgiven, that he was acquitted, that he was free. But he shuddered as he looked into that all-consuming darkness, could almost feel Simpson's icy hands holding Archie back. Was Archie hiding somewhere, afraid of being found and handed over to the noose? Or had he tried to reach the daylight, only to be struck down as the ship pitched and rolled? Both images terrified Horatio, and he called out again, louder, "Archie!"

Nothing. Damn!

If only he could go look. But he must see to Morgan first, and by the violent swaying of the ship Horatio knew it must be quickly. Quickly -

Horatio's steps grew faster, and he clutched his sword as he thought of what he would say to Morgan, when they met. All of his youthful anger rose within him once again, at the thought of what they had all suffered, and countless others too, all for one man's callousness and ambition. All of the fury and helplessness he had felt at Simpson's hands came rushing forward, and Horatio almost ran. The hopeless anguish of Muzillac joined with it, and he felt his cheeks flushing with an unstoppable rage. All that anger, Morgan would feel. All of the pent-up agony that Horatio had been forced to keep inside would be spent on Morgan, and if there was a Being who was kind he would find Archie first, so he could witness it, and believe it at last. I promise you, Archie, Horatio swore as his friend's face came in to his memory, the powerful and cruel will NOT triumph this time, arrogance and evil will NOT go silently on while innocent souls are torn into Heaven. All of our sorrows and trials will be shown their purpose. And justice will finally be done for you.

Horatio was so focused on this thought that he reached the handling rooms before he knew it. He stopped, feeling the ship rock beneath his feet, and almost gasped at its intensity. He must be quick.

It was very dark in the hold, and Horatio knew he was very far down, almost at the bottom of the ship. "Hello!" He called out, knowing the marines guarding the hold room would answer.

The ship creaked and groaned its protest, but there was no other sound.

Blast this noise, Horatio thought, and came upon an open storeroom door with debris piled and scattered around it. "Hello!" he called out -

- and froze.

Two marines lay on the deck in front of him, half-buried in the detris, one with his throat cut and the other with a great bloody wound on the side of his head. An open purse with the initials JM stitched into the velvet was loosely clutched in the first one's hand; it told the silent story of how the door had come to be opened. And then -

Horatio ran forward and thrust the lantern into the storeroom, his mouth gone dry and his mind shrieking with the mounting wind that tore at the timbers around him.

The room was empty.

Morgan was gone.

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

Captain Pellew closed his eyes against the whipping winds for a moment, cursing the thick clouds and slashing rain that were keeping the Courageous out of his sight. Daylight was almost full up now, but it seemed as dark as midnight; the storm continued its furious blast, shoving the Indefatigable from side to side and forcing many of the men to go below or tie themselves to their posts to avoid being washed overboard.

And still Hornblower had not returned with Captain Morgan.

The lookout yelled something, pointing frantically, but Pellew could not make it out. Bracegirdle had, though, and ran as fast as he could to the wheel to give harsh orders to the helmsman. Then he made his way to Pellew, his rain-soaked face white with worry.

"Rocks, sir!" He called out, and Pellew's eyes grew wide. "On our larboard side, I changed course so as not to hit them, but our time is running out, sir!"

Pellew nodded, looking at the drenched masses of humanity that were being brought over the sides of the ship, but none of them looked familiar. His eyes went back to the Courageous with a sudden, horrible thought, "Can she clear the rocks?"

Bracegirdle turned and squinted at the struggling ship barely visible in the howling winds and spray, and said, "They're deserting her like rats, sir! Likely there isn't even anyone to steer her!"

"Damn!" Pellew swore, "Where's Hornblower?"

Bracegirdle looked down, his hat and face dripping with cold and chilling rain, and was silent.

"Damn!" Pellew said again, wanting to scream out his fury and frustration. He would go to the Courageous himself - he would find Hornblower and Morgan, and Kennedy, and have his men safe with him again - he would -

Suddenly there was a tremendous crash, and Pellew saw the Courageous shudder and give a jagged lurch.

"She's hit the rocks!" someone yelled.

"Christ!" Bracegirdle breathed.

Oh, God, Pellew thought, not even minding the waves that were building, building, and plunging them all up and down like a tiger with a hare in its teeth. Oh, God, time is not running out.

Time is gone.

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

"Thomas!" Archie cried, straining to make his voice heard amid the rising shriek of the burgeoning storm. "Thomas!"

The ship lurched again, sending Archie crashing against what felt like stacks of coiled rope. He winced at the pain, but ignored it as he fell to the deck on all fours and cried out again, "Thomas!"

It was dark, so dark. The way the ship was pitching told Archie they were running out of time, that soon there would be water at their feet, then over their heads. He would drown rather than hang -

But he could not leave yet. "Thomas, please!"

He strained his hearing into the darkness and thought oh please, don't let him be lost, not like this. Not in a painful night, not hurting and alone, no -

Then he heard it. Very soft. Not very far away...

Crying again, but not like before. Not despair. Pain.

Archie sat still for a moment, focused on the sound. Then he moved along the deck, quickly and silently, and just when the weeping stopped put out his hand, and touched warm skin. Fingers, a hand. Thomas' hand.

"Oh, God!" Archie almost wept with relief, then quickly felt around, found the boy's arm, his face. "Thomas, are you all right?"

"I thought you'd leave," Thomas whispered, his voice wavering with disbelief.

Archie bit his lip and stroked the boy's hair in answer, then frowned when he felt warm wetness on the boy's shirt. "Are you hurt?"

There was a long pause, and Archie felt the small body shudder under his touch. "N-no..."

"Thomas!" Archie pleaded, "Please, I can feel it, you're bleeding. Where are you hurt?"

"My shoulder. Something fell on it, then on my leg. My leg hurts worse." Thomas was crying again.

"Oh - " Archie felt around, felt something large and round - a barrel, a heavy one. With a grunt he pushed it away from Thomas' leg, then said, "I'm going to have to carry you, can you be strong with the pain?"

Thomas' breath came in hitching sobs for a moment, then he said in a bewildered voice, "You're not going to leave me here?"

"Thomas, I'd never do that. Put your arms around me, now, as tight as you can."

Archie felt for Thomas' arms, leaned forward so the boy could lift himself up, putting both hands on his sides to help. He felt Thomas' arms around his neck and said, "There you go, that's - "

What came next completely surprised him. Thomas tightened his arms around Archie's neck with a tiny cry, clinging to him with such desperate strength that Archie sat back with a hard thud. The grip tightened further, and Thomas was truly crying now, but the tears Archie felt against his neck were not tears of pain or anguish. Archie recognized the song in those tears, the pure unbridled and exhausted joy of finding a touch that did not hurt, a hand that sought to heal instead of punish. He put his arms around Thomas and held him tightly, very tightly so the boy knew in that endless black and bottomless night someone was there and would not abandon him.

The tears continued, and Archie held on, his own cheeks dampened by the outpouring of a soul that seemed so very much his own. It was as if he had been found at last, a young boy hurting and alone in the shadows, and the child who drew strength from his embrace and courage from his words was himself and this boy both. He cradled that wounded soul, that frightened child, and felt some part of himself take the warmth and draw healing from it. Sighing deeply, Archie held the boy close to him and unashamedly wept.

Slowly, the world came back to Archie once again and he heard the screech of the timbers, and the rising gale outside those night-dark walls. Get the boy out of there, now.

"Hold on, Thomas," Archie whispered, carefully rising to his knees and wrapping his arms around the child so he would know there was no letting go. Thomas obeyed, and Archie smiled to himself. What had he ever feared? "Hold on, and trust in me. I'm going to get you out of here. We're going home."

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

Lafferty started awake and opened his eyes, and thought he had gone blind.

It was dark, he was in a dark place and the earth was jumping and shifting like a fractured top. What -

CRRUUNCCCHH!

Lafferty was thrown around the floor, felt himself struck by several small objects, and some point on the back of his head hurt like hell. As soon as the room stopped moving, he grabbed at some iron object and thought a moment. Where was he? What had happened?

Then he remembered. Morgan. Kennedy. And then -

Lafferty held his breath and realized he was holding onto an iron bar. An iron bar...

A cell. The brig. He was in the brig.

The ship lurched again, a huge shock that sent Lafferty's legs skidding out from under him. He tried to right himself, heard faraway voices crying out to abandon the ship. He realized the storm must have gotten worse, and wondered who had ordered him into the brig. Did Morgan escape? Was he scuttling the ship?

Damn, if only there was some light in here!

Lafferty made a mental note of where he was on the ship, and bit his lip as he used the iron bars to get himself into a standing position. The brig on the Courageous was down low, on the orlop deck, near the back of the ship and just inside the carpenter's walk. If Morgan had escaped, he had to be found, and quickly. But Lafferty had to get out of the brig first -

"Hey!" Lafferty shouted, knowing there would be a marine stationed outside the brig. "Hey!"

Nothing.

Damn! Lafferty shook the bars in frustration. Had Kennedy made it out? Wait a minute - he had someone with him - Lafferty strained to remember, it was one of the loblolly boys, wasn't it? Had they made it to Indefatigable and safety, or had Morgan gotten to them, had he -

Lafferty couldn't stand it. He shook the bars violently and screamed, "Heeey! Can anyone hear me? Hey!"

CRRRUUNNCCCHHHH!

Lafferty was once again thrown off his feet to the back of the cell, There was another thunderous crash, deafening, and something struck the door to the brig, smashing it into a thousand pieces. When Lafferty made it to his feet again, he felt that the floor was tilted badly, and righting itself with a sluggish reluctance.

Oh, no, he thought. Oh, no...

Then he looked up, and saw light. A weak, feeble light provided by a swinging lantern hanging from a hook over the brig door. The door itself was gone, shattered by a large piece of the bulkhead which had crashed into it. But the bars were still intact, and very locked.

Lafferty stared at that freedom, and yelled into it, "Hey! Is anyone out there?"

Wait - was that someone coming? Lafferty squinted into the dull light, saw an indistinct shape moving through the shadows.

"Hey!" he called out, his hopes leaping. "Hey! Help me!"

The figure paused, came closer. Lafferty grasped at the bars, almost in panic, opening his lips for one final call for help.

The words died on his lips.

It was Morgan.

Or was it? The light was so faint, and while the figure had Morgan's formidable size and shape, it moved not with Morgan's menacing grace but with a lurching, almost desperate stride, not like the man Lafferty knew at all.

Then the figure came closer, and Lafferty saw that it was indeed Morgan, but he was hunched over, one large hand grasping the other shoulder, and the anger on his face was mixed with pain. He's wounded, Lafferty realized, and wondered how that had come about. Then Morgan reached the shattered doorway of the brig, and Lafferty noticed two marines' pistols crossed on his belt.

Oh God, he's come to kill me, Lafferty thought with a gasp, and took an involuntary step away from the bars.

Morgan stopped at the doorway and leaned against it, breathing heavily. The ship lurched again, and he struggled to keep himself upright as he glared at Lafferty.

"Interesting." was all he said.

Lafferty took a deep breath and lifted his chin to look at Morgan defiantly.

But Morgan shook his head and shouted over the screaming of the timbers. "Help me escape and I'll get you out of there."

Lafferty blinked, shocked. He fully expected Morgan to kill him, but -

The ship rocked again, coupled with another hideous, grinding sound.

"The ship is done," Morgan said with a shake of his head, "It's holed, sinking! You'll be drowned in ten minutes. I can save your life. Consider that, lieutenant!"

Lafferty's blood rose at Morgan's words, and he grasped the bars in anger. "And be indebted to you? Never!"

Despite his obvious agony, Morgan sneered, "Don't be a martyr, Lafferty! France is close, I'll be there by day's end whether you help me or not. You might as well help me."

The storm was rising, becoming fiercer. Lafferty felt the ship heave and buckle beneath him, and the shrieking in his ears was almost deafening.

"You ever see a man drown, Lafferty?" Morgan panted, "The helplessness, the agony of your lungs exploding in your chest? You'd rather die like that than help your captain and live to be an old man?"

Lafferty could hear the water crashing into the ship, could almost feel it drenching him, filling his lungs, suffocating him. He took a deep breath, felt faint.

The key to the cell was still hanging on its hook, and Morgan used one hand to pick it off and dangle it in his bloodied fingers. "Hurry up, Lafferty, you're out of time! Be my first lieutenant again, and live in glory, or die like the turncoat rat I'll tell everyone you are."

The ship jumped, slammed down, jumped again. Lafferty lost his footing and fell against the far wall, and when he looked up Morgan was at the cell door, the key almost in the lock, his form a huge, black, looming silhouette in the cacophonous darkness.

"Life or death, Lafferty!" Morgan shouted.

Lafferty's eyes widened at the terrible spectre looming over him, and for a horrifying second the howling winds, the sinister blackness, and the awful helplessness he felt converged into another man's memory -

** Creps wasn't alone. Someone else came - **

- and more memories, years of selfish indulgence and blind ambition, tumbling forward into images of blood and suffering, and the hands that moved to prevent it. His hands -

And with all the strength he had, Lafferty grabbed the iron bars and hauled himself to his feet, staring into the bottomless abhorrence in Morgan's eyes, never wavering from them. When he was upright he took a deep breath and bearing his entire soul in his words said in a low and scornful voice, "I would rather die like a rat...than live like one."

And he spit in Morgan's face.

Morgan staggered backwards, his entire being shocked with rage. Gasping with fury, he jammed the key to Lafferty's salvation in his pocket and yanked one of the pistols from his belt, and aimed it straight at Lafferty's stomach.

Lafferty didn't flinch, only lowered his head a little and stared into Morgan's eyes. You won't see me cower, you bastard, he thought quickly, his last thought on this earth. I'll show you what it means to be an Englishman.

Suddenly the ship gave another gigantic lurch, and Lafferty grasped the bars just as the pistol went off. The shot went wide, burning a hole into the bulkhead behind him. The ship plunged the other way, and Lafferty heard the horrifying, protesting wails of a ship being torn painfully asunder. Oh God, it was breaking apart -

He raised his eyes to Morgan, thought the other pistol would now be used to finish him off. But Morgan was leaning against the wall, his face pale and glistening with pain. He looked behind him, grabbed the other pistol out of his belt, and gave Lafferty one final, deadly glare, marking him.

Then he staggered over the broken door, and disappeared into the shadows.

For a moment Lafferty stood there, hearing only the deafening rush of the winds, the wail of the straining timbers, and the sound of the waves slamming relentlessly against the ship mixing with the frantic beating of his heart. He listened to those sounds, and feared the painful death he was certain now was coming. Then he took a deep breath and said to himself, "The easy death be damned."

And began calling for help.

*****************************************************************
Horatio was frantic.

His heart beat a thousand times a second; his breath came in short, fast bursts and he felt dizzy. But he couldn't stop, couldn't rest, could not lay down his burden for one moment.

Morgan was escaping. And Archie was lost.

Oh, God, it was tearing his soul to pieces! Horatio ran through the dying ship, feeling it shudder and lurch from one angle to another, heard the tremendous whining and shattering that meant only one thing: she was holed, and would sink soon. God, soon! And Archie was still gone -

The way ahead was dark, treacherous. A few lamps were still lit, but not nearly enough, and fires were scattered throughout the Courageous' decks. She was burning, sinking, dismembering herself in some great pageant of self-immolation, and Horatio could not help but be fascinated by this opera of destruction, this tumultuous riot of death that was occurring under his feet.

But he could not think on it, or anything except he had to get out, had to reach Morgan, had to find Archie. There was no choice, and in a few minutes he would have lost all three. All of them.

Oh God.

The ship keeled over, righted itself. Horatio continued his journey topside, reasoning that Morgan's priority would be escape. He would count on the rough seas to hide himself, rig up a jollyboat and try for France. He might succeed too, and Horatio had to stop him or all hopes of avenging the wrongs that man had done would go to waste. But -

- but he did not know where Archie was.

Damn! Horatio's heart felt as if it would burst inside him. He had to find Archie, had to tell him it was all right, he had been cleared, he could come home. What despair might his friend be in, that he may prefer to die alone on the Courageous rather than be rescued only to hang as a criminal? Damn, he did not know! He did not know -

"Archie!" Horatio cried out into the lamenting air. But there was no reply.

Oh God, and he could not do both! He could not get to Morgan unless he did it quickly, and he could not search for Archie unless he stayed below. The Courageous would be kindling before the next half hour, and if Archie was not topside when Horatio reached the open air it might be too late for him. If he was not already dead, crushed or burned somewhere far below...

No, don't think on that. Don't! "Archie!"

Horatio kept running forward, almost in tears at the terrible choice he was forced to make. He ached and was exhausted, and to know that salvation was so close and yet missed filled him with a rage that his youthful inexperience could not express, except to haul himself closer to the light above him and scream at the same time, "ARCHIE!"

*bang!*

Horatio started, came to a stop. That was a gunshot - close? Not very, distant, but -

He began to run.

It seemed to take forever, but as he came closer to where he thought the shot might have come from Horatio thought he heard shouting.

"Hey! Heeey!"

Not Archie, someone else - a voice he knew. Horatio followed that voice, stumbled over the myriad debris that blocked his path.

Suddenly -

"Hey! Hornblower? Over here!"

Good Lord! Horatio peered through the darkness, and suddenly recognized the half-shattered passageway he was standing in.

He was in the brig.

"Hornblower? It's Lafferty! Hurry, I just saw Morgan!"

Horatio's heart started at that voice, and he ran to where the door once stood, now a battered wreck beneath a large barrel. He looked in, saw only shadows and within them, Lafferty's dim outline where Archie had once stood, gripping the bars as he had.

"He's to the companionway by now," Lafferty said urgently, "Hurry, Hornblower, he's going to escape!"

Horatio looked to where the key should have been. It was gone.

"Hornblower, are you listening to me?!" Lafferty's voice sounded desperate. "Christ, never mind me, Morgan's trying for France!"

Horatio pulled his pistol out and said, "Stand back from the bars."

"Hornblower - "

"DO IT!"

Lafferty jumped, and obeyed.

The ship was tilting so badly it was hard to get an aim, but in a moment Horatio had the pistol loaded and used both hands to steady himself as he aimed at the lock.

BOOOM!!

With a flash and smell of burnt powder the door swung open, and Horatio reached forward and pulled it the rest of the way.

"You're a fool, Hornblower!" Lafferty said as he hurried through, "Thank you, but we have to catch Morgan, he's - "

"No," Horatio said loudly, grabbing Lafferty's arm to spin him around. He could sense the other man's surprise, even in the dark. "No, listen to me, I will go after Morgan. I need you - Archie may still be down here, and he does not know he is free - "

Lafferty paused a moment, "Hornblower, if he's still down here the odds of him still being alive are - "

He looked into Horatio's eyes, and stopped. Then he said, "I'll find him."

"Thank you." Horatio said quickly, and grasped Lafferty's shoulder in gratitude.

Then he turned and ran back down the lurching corridor toward the companionway, as Lafferty's retreating footsteps tangled with the screechings winds that climbed around them, and was lost.

**************************************************************************************
The little jollyboat that bobbed in the waves next to Courageous was almost full, and still as he hauled men into the cramped space Matthews kept wiping his face and looking at the ship that was now staggering in the water like a blind man, his gray eyes wide with hope.

"In ya go, mate!" Styles grunted next to him, hauling a drenched sailor into the boat by the seat of his pants. As soon as the man was in, Styles shook the driving rain out of his shaggy hair and yelled, "We got to go, Matty! We'll be swamped if we stay!"

"Not without th' lieutenant!" Matthews insisted, "Captain'll skin us alive."

Styles peered at the Courageous, resentfulness and anger in his gaze. "Think 'e'll bring Mr. Kennedy with 'im?"

"Oh, I'm sure he will," Matthews answered confidently as the thunder broke overhead, "'e won't come back without 'im, you know that. Not Mr. Hornblower."

"Aye," Styles said, and there was a wealth of feeling in that simple word. He looked over his shoulder and said, "'ey, the Indy's on a different tack. She's gettin' further out."

"Don't worry, we'll find 'er," Matthews replied as he clung to the sides of the boat, "Everybody stay down now!"

The crew of the Courageous seemed cowed, confused, and obeyed Matthews' order without question. Styles noticed one man, a burly tar with a bandaged hand, was staring at him sullenly. Something about him compelled Styles to ask, "And 'o are you?"

The man didn't blink. "Havers. Bosun."

"What'd you do t'yer 'and?"

"Nothing," came the reply.

*****************************************************************************
Archie could not find the daylight.

He was struggling, and it was getting harder. Thomas was frightened, but his injuries were making him dazed and groggy, and Archie had to keep a strong grip on him so he wouldn't fall. But it made moving much harder.

The deck was tilting, first one way, then the other. They had reached the orlop deck, then the lowest gun deck, but so far it was treacherous going. Water was spilling in everywhere, through the gunports, down the companionways, from places Archie knew meant death for the ship. The constant thrashing of the ship tore guns loose from their places, and Archie could hear them crashing all over the deck. And oh God if one of them struck him - oh God -

Archie put black memories out of his mind, and kept climbing toward the topdeck.

Thomas shifted against him, made a small cry of pain, and Archie could feel the blood on his hand, where it had touched Thomas' leg. He did not pray to God; his faith had never been strong enough to ask favors of a god who seemed so capricious. He prayed to his mother instead.

I've got to get him out of here, Archie thought desperately as he strained to pull himself up the steepened deck. But it's dark and dangerous and the light is so far away. It hurts, everything hurts, but if I can just get him to the light it will be enough...help me. It hurts. Help me.

Thomas roused a little, and let out another cry.

"Are you all right, Thomas?" Archie asked softly.

Thomas nodded a little, a complete lie of course.

If I can get him to stay awake, Archie thought, I can get him home. "Thomas? Thomas?"

"Hm - aye sir?"

Archie grunted as he slipped on the deck, and righted himself. "Listen, I think - I think I should like some song, to go with our little journey. Do you - " Archie paused to grab onto a wooden joint, and pull himself forward, "Do you know any?"

"Songs?"

"Yes."

Thomas thought, tightening his grip on Archie's neck as he did so. That's it, Archie thought, that makes it easier. "Just Christmas songs."

"Splendid. Would you - oof! - would you sing one for me?"

"Hmmm..."

It was so dark, and there were terrible sounds all around them. The cold water at his ankles made Archie afraid, afraid that after all this he would fail, he would not be strong enough, and they would be lost. For a moment he rested, one hand against a rough wooden beam, and closed his eyes.

"Joy to the world, the lord is come...let earth receive her king..."

Archie opened his eyes. Over the gnashing winds and death throes of this terrible ship, that one tiny voice, hushed and aching, was absolutely clear.

"Let every heart prepare him..room...and heaven and nature sing, and heaven and natur sing..." Thomas faltered, then paused. "I don't remember all of it."

"That's fine, Thomas. Just as much as you can."

He felt Thomas nod against him. "No more let sin and sorrow grow, nor thorns infest the ground...He comes to make His blessings flow, far as the curse is found...far as, far as the curse is found."

Archie took a deep breath, and pressed forward, the small and wounded voice his beacon in the darkness.

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

Stephens cursed his rotten luck.

The storm was getting worse. Everyone else on the ship was gone, jumped overboard or dead. The marines who held him prisoner were hunching against the quarterdeck overhang, the rain and wind slicing at them from every angle. He was held fast between them, every nerve primed for escape, and it would be so easy! If only they would try for the boats, they'd be washed over in a minute. The waves were crashing over the Courageous' deck, and in another ten minutes she'd be under the water. But the stupid marines wouldn't budge.

Of course, Stephens sighed to himself, the real reason they weren't moving was that all of the rescue boats from the Indefatigable were full, and they had to wait for an empty one to come back. But why didn't they at least try to get to the railing? He could easily trip one, and once they were down it was a short journey to the railing and the afterlife. And the other would probably try to help them, that ship seemed to be lousy with loyalty...

God DAMN that Hornblower! Stephens wrung his tied hands in impotent anger. If he could just get his hands on him, for one minute! He hated Hornblower worse than he hated Lafferty, because he'd seen Lafferty drunk, knew at heart he was a coward and was just following what was popular. That's what Lafferty was, a follower. But Stephens knew *he* was a leader, and would have a brilliant career if he could just get free and go strangle Hornblower! But that self-righteous little prig would have him tried for beating up that little lawyer, and probably end his career for good. That Whitehall had asked for it didn't seem to cross anyone's mind. Stephens decided he wouldn't mind giving that little snot a couple more kicks, either.

Blast this storm! Stephens squinted into the gray air, saw a couple of little jollyboats making their careful way across the pounding seas and thought, if I just had one of those...just one to myself...

"'ere come the boats," one of the marines said breathlessly.

"'bout bloody time," the other replied, and took a step away from the overhang to hail them.

BANG!!!

Stephens started as the marine slumped to the deck, a red puddle forming beneath what was left of his head.

"What the - " the other marine lifted his musket and started out of the overhang.

BANG!!!

He flew backward, landing hard against Stephens and collapsing to the deck, a hideous gurgling noise coming from his throat and the terrible wound in his chest. Stephens took a few quick steps away, terrified, and as he tried to untie his hands looked up to see what had happened.

There, hunched over and clinging to the railing on the poop deck with a smoking pistol in his hand, his cape whipping around him, was Captain Morgan. Stephens saw blood running down his limp left arm and total pain and exhaustion on his face. But not defeat.

"Stephens," he screamed hoarsely above the thunder and the rain and the ceaseless winds, "You traitorous little piece of shit. How would you like to make a deal?"

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

"The last boats are away, sir!" Bracegirdle yelled to Pellew as he made his way up the quarter-deck stairs. "We'll see the last of the Courageous' crew soon!"

Pellew nodded, and Bracegirdle could see the tightness in his face. The sky could not be blacker, the winds more fierce, or the Indefatigable in more peril. Bracegirdle knew Pellew's eyes were fixed, as his were, on the great ship too close and too far away, wraking itself to pieces on the jagged rocks. In the rain and the haze it was hard to judge where she would turn next, and that was the danger; for while the Indefatigable could tack, without her crew the Courageous could not.

And the Courageous had no crew.

For the moment they were safe; the Courageous was facing broadside, and without her mainsails not moving much in the water. But if she turned, or if the waves and wind brought them closer together...

Bracegirdle followed Pellew's eyes to the deck of the Courageous, hoping to see Hornblower and Kennedy, along with the disgraced captain Pellew wanted to cut into little pieces. He saw rain and darkness, and boats full of the Courageous' crew coming aboard the Indy's windswept decks, and a large and dying ship that could tear loose any moment and lumber into them like a great wooden juggernaut -

- but he didn't see Hornblower. And Bracegirdle wondered what the hell was going on.

*******************************************************************************
Horatio struggled along the rapidly tilting passageway, and used his raw anger as a rope to guide him along.

The Courageous did not have much time left; She was dying by degrees, her list becoming more an d more pronounced, her timbers bellowing in rage. She's going down by the starboard side, Horatio thought, and reasoned that Morgan would seek his escape there, where the closer waters would afford him easy escape. If Horatio was just in time -

He was at the middle deck now, dodging the careening cannon carriages that shifted and bounced around the deck as the ship shifted. In the dark this was a heart-stopping game, and Horatio kept thinking of Archie's friend, who had been killed when a gun carriage ran over his legs. But no, Horatio decided, I will not allow myself to die here, to haunt this wreckage of decency. I will drag myself to the Indy if I must wait for the water to carry me there...

This gloomy frame of mind was replaced by the much more immediate need to see and be free of the deck, and Horatio picked his way as quickly as he could among the piled-up wreckage and scattered tables and timbers that blocked his way. Everything was wet and jagged, and he cut himself more than a few times, but Horatio bit away the pain and kept on, trying not to hear the rampaging storm outside, or feel the deck sway and tremble beneath his feet.

And then, suddenly, he saw the companionway stairs.

Thank God! Horatio thought in a burst of unaccustomed spirituality. He paused for a moment and made a quick plan of apprehension. Then, with hands made only a little unsteady by his overwhelming desire to capture Morgan, he loaded his pistol, took a deep breath, and stepping over broken barrels, chairs, and discarded hammocks, he made his way to the stairs, and the raging daylight beyond.

*******************************************************************************
Archie began to fear that he could not make it.

He was close, he knew it; he had carried Thomas up a couple of decks, and knew the daylight could not be far away. But Thomas had drifted off again, the decks were so dark, and everywhere he tried Archie was met with unscalable debris and blocked paths. The way had been tortuous and slow; Archie could feel his strength fading out at the last.

But no. No! This child trusted him. If Archie could just get him to safety, see him to the Indy and a warm dry home, then he could collapse. There was nothing on this ship but pain and death and misery, and this child would not have those as his last memories, never! Oh God, there was so much he did not know, so much that his pleading eyes had told Archie he had been denied.

And he would have those things, if Archie had to die to give them to him.

Archie gritted his teeth and hoisted himself and Thomas over a jagged pile of fragmented lumber, wincing at the pain in every joint as he did so. He had protected Thomas from every danger he could sense, and had been cut and bruised all over his body, but fought the shock and overwhelming fatigue that threatened to engulf him. He clutched Thomas to him with first one arm then the other, but now both trembled with exhaustion and Archie knew soon he would simply collapse. But no, surely salvation was not far...

Just a little more...the ship suddenly tilted again, and Archie crouched against the nearest bulkhead, cupping himself over Thomas' unconscious form as another rain of loose objects fell against him. He was just about to get up when he heard another sound, a terrible shrieking rumbling noise that was coming right at them -

Oh my God a CANNON

CRASH!!!

The huge object embedded itself in the wall not six inches from where Archie was crouched, and with a sharp cry he jumped forward, wrapping Thomas in an instinctively protective embrace and did not move for several seconds. He trembled, almost wept, every nerve shredding into a thousand painful memories that rose up like hungry demons to clutch at him, his mother's face fading, empty rooms and cold endless days, his early friends lost to death and betrayal and then -

- Jack's missed you, boy -

- first you, then your friend, maybe we'll let you watch -

Oh God he was so tired. So tired and the daylight was so far...

Then, muffled against his chest, Thomas made a small sound of pain.

NO. With a monumental effort, Archie pushed those demons back, forced his cramping joints to move, to stand, to hold. He leaned against the bulkhead for a moment, tears in his eyes, and prayed to his mother with every ounce of strength he had left. He had to save this child. Had to -

Then, suddenly, someone was at his side, taking his arm. "Kennedy! This way!"

What? Archie felt someone pulling him, quickly, and staggered to keep up. He shifted Thomas in his arms, felt himself almost running.

"Come on! The ship's sinking!"

Archie obeyed, unsure whether this was really happening or if perhaps he was dreaming, or dead. Where were they -

Light. Archie saw light.

"Hurry!" The figure said, but Archie felt a rush of new strength at that sight and did not need prompting. He stumbled toward that bliss, felt those strong hands steady him, and miraculously saw the stairs, and the square of sky above them. It looked dark, windy and dangerous; but the sun might as well have been in full vigor, for the tears that filled Archie's eyes at the beauty of it.

His benefactor pushed him toward the steps, "You first, I'll help - "

Archie looked, thought he would see Horatio perhaps, but instead saw a youth with straight dark hair who he did not know. The youth looked at him for a quick second, then reached for Thomas. "Here, I'll - "

"No," Archie said softly, and with a newfound vitality held Thomas closely to him, and stubbornly climbed the stairs into the light, feeling the stranger's hands on his back, in case he should fall.

But he did not fall. And ten seconds later, Archie Kennedy felt the salt air on his face and knew that he had gotten Thomas home.

"I'm Philip Lafferty," The other youth said, springing up beside him. Archie was taking everything in, the roiling storm clouds overhead, the crashing thunder and lightning, the rain and wind that stung as it bit into their faces. And out in the churning waters, not far away -

"The Indy!" Archie cried, and his heart leapt at the sight. He staggered up those last few steps, and stumbled over the deck to the railing, still holding Thomas tightly.

"God, Kennedy!" Lafferty cried out, stripping his jacket off and putting it around Thomas, "Take it easy, God, look at you! What - "

"My crew - " Archie gasped, blinking rapidly, for he could see boats in the water, men in the boats who he knew, Styles, Matthews, Oldroyd - oh God, they were there, he could trust them, they would - they would -

He felt himself fading, cried over the howling winds, "Matthews! Matthews!"

The old seaman looked up, and Archie was surprised he should smile so at a condemned man. "Sir! Thank the Lord!"

Archie shook his head to clear the rain from it, was surprised when Lafferty appeared a moment later with a length of rope that he had fashioned into a sling to lower Thomas down in. Hastily fastening it around Thomas' waist, Archie held the boy in front of him and felt his heart lurch at how pale the child was. And his eyes were closed..."Thomas? Thomas!"

"Huh?" The boy struggled to open his eyes.

Archie took his face in both hands. "Thomas, I'm going to lower you to the care of my crew, they're good men and they'll take care of you. I'll follow shortly after, all right?"

"You're going?" Thomas roused a little, and took one of Archie's hands in his own.

"Not for long," Archie promised, and pressed his cheek to the boy's briefly before very gently setting him over the side.

"I have him," Lafferty said somberly, "Don't worry."

Archie nodded, looking at the waves and knowing that a rogue wash at the wrong moment could rip Thomas away from them, or if the ship should take a sudden, unexpected roll...

Matthews was standing in the boat, and Thomas seemed to know enough to put his hands and feet against the lurching ship, to steady himself. A few heart-stopping minutes later, the boy was nestled in Matthews' arms, and Archie knew he would be all right.

Breathing a tremendous sigh of relief, Archie slumped against the railing for a moment before turning his eyes to Lafferty and saying, "Thank you."

Lafferty just stared at him, his rain-soaked face pale and exhausted. "You look like hell."

Archie squinted at him. "Who are you?"

Just then all hell broke loose.

The ship gave a mighty heave, lifted with the howling winds to plunge itself back into the waves with a fearful vengeance. Gasping, Archie looked up at the sails, saw they were still fully unfurled except for the lightning-blackened mainmast.

"The ship's been abandoned!" Lafferty yelled above the winds, "There's no one to take in the sails!"

Archie looked around frantically. The small boat with his crew in it was rowing away, out of danger, but the ship was careening through the water like a blind bull, the savage winds and pounding waves driving it -

"God!" Archie cried out, "It's headed for the Indefatigable!"

Lafferty's eyes widened as he saw that the Courageous was indeed hurtling towards the other ship. "Shit!"

"The wheel!" Archie cried, and both men stumbled across the slippery, tilting deck toward the only means of turning the great ship from its destructive path.

With strength he didn't know he had, Archie scrambled up the quarterdeck steps toward the wheel, desperate to turn the Courageous aside and halt her murderous course toward the Indefatigable.

Lafferty was right behind him, hands steadying him, almost pushing him up the stairs. The rain was almost a wall of water now; it was hard to see, hard to move through. It was like being underwater.

Finally the wheel was reached, and Archie put both hands on it, looking at the Indefatigable through stinging, rain-blinded eyes. Oh God, she was dead ahead -

Archie wrenched the wheel over. It spun free in his hands and knocked him to the ground.

"Damn!" He cursed over the howling winds. "Her rudder's gone!"

Lafferty's face was white as he bent over Archie and looked at the Courageous' bow slicing through the water. "Shit!"

Archie took two deep breaths, then clasped Lafferty's shirt in one bloodied hand and gasped, "Club haul!"

Lafferty leaned closer. "What?"

"Club-haul, lieutenant! Drop the anchor and cut it when the Indy's out of danger! Hurry!"

Lafferty looked once again at the mist-shrouded ghost that was all too real, and knew there was no time to argue. As Archie braced himself against the wheel, Lafferty ran from the deck to do as he was told.

******************************************************************************
A short distance away, Pellew was already aware of his ship's peril. His eyes grew round at the sight of the Courageous breaking from her lethargy to lunge toward them like a stalking beast, and above the keening winds he could hear Bracegirdle giving anxious commands, to try and avoid a collision that would surely sink both of them.

Oh God, he prayed, Hornblower and Kennedy are still on that ship, I cannot bear to lose them like this. And my own ship -

He looked in fascinated horror at the unmanned behemoth pitching forward to destroy them, and prayed for a miracle.

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

At the same time, Horatio was poking his head through the companionway, wincing as the cold slashing wind stung his face. He quickly studied the list of the ship, looked out and saw the Indefatigable heaving up, down, closer, closer.

Oh, Christ. He thought. He had to find Morgan, now.

He heaved himself out of the companionway, both feet landing solidly on the rain-washed deck. The ship was listing to starboard; he reasoned that Morgan would head for the larboard side, hoping to find an empty boat to steal. He would not waste time -

Horatio gripped the pistol firmly in his hand, began making his way forward. All of the boats would be away now, so Morgan would have to count on finding a drifting one, or commandeering one of the Indy's. Horatio swallowed hard, remembering the blasted remains of the marines he had seen; Morgan would not hesitate to take over a boat and kill the occupants. Indeed he would not...

The ship heaved and tilted in its death throes, and Horatio cast an anxious eye to the Indy, saw it closer yet. A vision rose up, he was once on a fire ship, seeing the Indy loom too close as it was doing now. But he could not turn aside to prevent this - he had to -

Horatio turned his head and saw Julius Morgan.

It was difficult to see through the wind and rain, but far forward Horatio could see the great black cloaked man, bent over as if in pain, and another man -

- another man. God, it was Stephens! Horatio grabbed onto whatever he could, making an agonizingly slow progress forward. Stephens was going over the railing - now he was gone - Horatio cast himself to that side of the ship and saw a boat with two oars, and Stephens dropping into it - God -

Now Morgan was reaching for a rope that hung from the foremast, a with a gasp Horatio realized the end Morgan was lowering into his hand had a noose on it. Morgan was making sure the other end was secure, and moving to the railing. No -

With a straining effort Horatio pulled himself against the ship's demonic gravity, and with the last ounce of his energy reached the forecastle and pulled himself upright, drawing out his pistol as he did so. In a voice that cut through the rain and the wind and the deafening thunder he aimed the pistol and Morgan's head and shouted, "STOP!" -

- and an instant later was looking into the cold and corrupted eyes of Julius Morgan, and the marine's pistol aimed at his own head.

"Don't be a fool, lieutenant," Morgan growled, his voice harsh and rasping.

Undaunted, Horatio took a step forward. "You will return with me to Indefatigable," he said in his best commanding voice, screaming to be heard over the wind.

Morgan shook his head and glanced over his shoulder, "You won't shoot me, lieutenant. You want me alive, but I don't mind killing you. And in a minute you won't have any ship to take me to."

Horatio did not want to look. He knew Morgan was telling the truth; but he did not want to look.

Morgan turned to the boat below, with Stephens in it, and grinned wolfishly. "I'm sorry you had to find out life's truths the hard way, lieutenant. Just think, if you'd listened to me from the start you might have saved some lives. But I guess Muzillac gave you an appetite for waste, didn't it?"

Horatio took a deep breath, another step forward, tried to hide the desperation he was beginning to feel. "You will surrender to me, Captain. You are under suspicion of treason and must - "

"Must be damned to you!" Morgan cried into the shrieking winds as he gripped the rope with both hands. "I must survive, lieutenant, and not rot in any cell or bow to any man. I offered you the world and you wouldn't take it, so take death and may your world go with you!"

He moved to lower himself into the boat, and Horatio fired off a shot, singeing the hair on Morgan's head. Morgan started, then gave Horatio a grisly smile and turned to leap from the railing, the rope tied around his waist, toward escape and freedom. Horatio stepped forward to do anything, anything to stop this -

Then, without warning, the Courageous gave a mighty, deafening lurch forward and Horatio was swept off his feet and skidded hard into the railing. Everything tilted at a hard, steep angle and Horatio saw the ocean veer toward him as the ship heeled right over and Morgan -

Morgan, still tethered to the rope, was jerked off the railing and cast cursing into the raging winds. Horatio watched in horrified fascination as he was thrown far from the side of the ship, and then snapped up tight like a fish on a hook. Then the ship jerked back, as if it were snagged on something, and with the loudest, most profane words Horatio had ever heard, Julius Morgan was catapulted back through the air and slammed with the force of a cannon blast against the side of the Courageous.

Horatio heard the sickening thud and winced at the impact, felt the breath rush from his body in response. The ship rocked again, and Morgan, still entangled in the noose, was thrown screaming away from the ship and smashed against it again, then a third time, the entire gruesome display framed in lightning and thunder and burned into Horatio's memory forever.

Then the abrupt movement of the ship eased, and Julius Morgan was dead.

For a few moments Horatio could not think, simply stared in numb shock at the grisly scene before him. The Courageous stopped her movement, and there was nothing but a huge gash of blood on the side of the ship and what was left dangling on the noose of the man who would have killed Archie. For a few moments Horatio could not breathe.

Morgan was dead. And he had died cursing God -

Dead - Archie - Indefatigable - the words pushed their way through Horatio's daze, and he tried to quell his trembling and staggered to his feet. They were caught on something, what? Horatio looked through the rainstorm to see the Indy was no longer looming too close, that something had stopped their destructive descent. He felt the Courageous tug and thought, the anchor. The anchor's down -

Horatio heard rough wooden sounds below him, saw Stephens frantically grabbing at the oars of the jollyboat, and with a low-throated growl reloaded his pistol and shot a hole in the bottom of the boat. Stephens shrieked and raised both hands in the air, looking up at Horatio with saucer-wide eyes before the boat began to sink. Horatio knew he would stay where he was until a boat could pick him up.

Morgan was dead. Horatio saw the taut rope still angling over the side of the ship, but it did not sink in, not quite yet. Morgan was dead.

And the Courageous was dying...

Horatio hurried to the other side of the ship, saw to his relief that Matthews' jollyboat was still there, down amidships. He began to make his way there, desperate to abandon this accursed vessel, but swore silently when he did not see Archie in the boat. Had Lafferty failed to find him? Oh God, he had to -

Without warning the Courageous pitched again, and before he could stop himself Horatio was pitched over the railing, and an eternity later struck the water painfully.

God! He thought, and struggled to swim, but the water was tearing at him, pulling him down, and it was only when he struck something hard and flat once, then twice, that Horatio realized that it was an oar, and grabbed it wildly.

"Thank the Lord, sir!" Matthews said as he hauled Horatio aboard. "Ye all right, sir?"

"Yes, thank you, Matthews," Horatio answered dazedly, vaguely noting the presence of Styles, and Oldroyd, who held a small child wrapped in a lieutenant's jacket. Was this all real?

Matthews looked around, then up.

Horatio guessed what he was thinking. "Morgan is dead."

Matthews' eyebrows came up, but he simply said, "Aye sir."

Horatio sat up, looked around desperately, "Mr. Kennedy?"

Matthews shook his head. "'e was along before, but 'e gave us the child and went back. Ain't seen him since, sir."

The Courageous was truly foundering now, rocking back and forth and disintegrating into the pounding seas. Horatio stood up, not heeding the howling winds or waves that threatened to smash into them at any moment, and yelled, "Archie! Archie!"

Someone's face popped over the side, and Horatio recognized it as Lafferty.

"Lafferty, jump!" Horatio called out, "Now!"

Lafferty swung himself over the side of the shuddering ship, and landed just next to the jollyboat.

"We've got ye, sir," Styles said as he hauled Lafferty aboard by his collar.

"Where's Kennedy?" Horatio screamed.

"He was at the wheel!" Lafferty sputtered, his eyes going to the shuddering hull of the Courageous in fright, "The rudder was gone, he ordered me to club-haul - I just cut the anchor line - damn!"

Horatio searched the tall, forbidding hull in distress. "ARCHIE!"

Then, miraculously, Archie appeared.

Horatio gasped when he saw him. Archie's face was cut, his torn white shirt bloodied and stained. Horatio waved to his friend frantically, saw Archie stand at the rail uncertainly, as if he was thinking salvation over.

"Archie, jump!" Horatio screamed, feeling his throat turning raw. "You'll be all right!"

Archie put both feet over the railing, but still stood at the lip, not jumping. The wind whipped his shirt, his long blond hair that half-covered his face. He looked terrified.

Then Horatio remembered what Archie did not know and shouted, "Archie, a witness was found! You won't hang, you've been acquitted!"

As soon as the words were out of Horatio's mouth he knew he had said the wrong thing. Archie knew what a witness meant, the secrets that had been revealed, and clung to the crumbling hulk of the Courageous as if suddenly terrified to let go. For a long, agonizing moment he did not move.

Then the child Oldroyd had been holding stirred in his lap, and looked up at Archie with eyes that struck Horatio with the age in them. They were like Archie's eyes.

Archie saw this too, and Horatio saw him hesitate. Saw him start to let go -

- then saw the wave, too late. "ARCHIE, WAIT!"

The wave hit.

It almost swamped the boat, and Styles and Matthews both grabbed buckets and began to quickly bail the water out. Oldroyd held the child well out of harm's way, but Horatio stared in agonized horror at the hull of Courageous, now halfway under water, and Archie was not there. He wasn't -

Horatio lurched toward the icy waves, Lafferty at his side. "ARCHIE!"

Matthews grabbed him, "Sir, don't!"

Horatio fought him off, stared mindlessly into the churning waters, unable to comprehend the pain of what he was seeing. "Oh, God! ARCHIE!"

Matthews' voice cracked as he said, "Come sir, we got to get away - we'll be sucked down if we don't - "

"No, damn you!" Horatio pushed him away and cried into the blackness, saw the souls of Mariette and Muzillac and another drifting, too-young soul, and railed against it. "ARCHIE!"

Styles grabbed his shoulder, so hard Horatio cried out, and twisted him around, "Sir, look!"

Horatio could not see through his tears. He blinked, wiped at his eyes frantically, saw nothing but the crashing waves and the deadly sea that he hated, hated, and could never love again -

- then, remarkably, he saw something else. A form moving slowly, agonizingly, along the jollyboat's towline.

Good God!

Horatio sprang forward with Styles close behind, and together they hauled the towline in, with Archie grasping the end of the rough hemp rope in bloodied fingers which had been burned raw. With a cry of joy, Horatio reached forward and wrapped his hands around Archie's shoulders, pulling him into the boat with a huge groan of effort. They hit the boat bottom together, painfully and with a pair of loud grunts, and as he struggled to his feet Horatio saw that the crew was already rowing them away, and Courageous was sinking quickly beneath the waves, covered in rain and darkness, taking her loathsome captain with her to rot at the bottom of the sea.

Horatio watched that spectacle for a moment only, then turned to the gasping, panting young man before him, who looked as bloody and exhausted as he felt himself. Meeting his eyes, Archie gave a shaky, lopsided salute and whispered, "Thank you, Mr. Hornblower."

Then he collapsed.

***************************************************************************
The storm passed, the rain cleared away, and that morning for the first time in a week, the sun shone gently over everything that been clothed in darkness. Later that day, as he dressed to go ashore, Horatio thought that it could not have been more fitting.

The Indefatigable returned to the safety of Plymouth harbor, carrying the survivors of the Courageous and one man who was immediately placed under arrest. Exhausted, aching and spent, Horatio nevertheless insisted that everyone elses' needs be seen to first, shrugging to Pellew's anxious expression that he was merely worn out, and in no immediate need for treatment. And the first person he put into the sick berth was Archie Kennedy.

Horatio silently praised his captain's foresight; knowing that their own surgeon lacked the professional touch, as soon as they made port Pellew had arranged for his own personal physician to see to Archie's hurts while Hepplewhite contented himself to look after everyone else. For his part, Archie had said nothing since they had all reboarded Indefatigable and were sent straight to the sick berth. And when he had put on a clean uniform shortly thereafter and gone ashore with Captain Pellew, the silence had not changed. He seemed dazed.

And no wonder! From the moment his feet hit the deck until the storm cleared and he made plans to go ashore, Horatio heard as much about Archie's heroism as he did about Morgan's death, and those two topics were all anyone talked about. The official report was in Pellew's cabin, and that reading was exciting enough; but it was hearing the men talk about it, seeing the animation in their eyes and hands as they recounted what they had seen and heard of, that gave Horatio the uneasy feeling this was all moving into legend. He was not sure he liked that; he would rather it were forgotten, and something like a normal life resumed.

But that was a vain hope, and would be for a long time to come. Everywhere he went, Horatio heard snatches of conversation - "the worst storm I've ever seen," "The ship deserted, and thrashing itself to pieces mind you," "Thrown out like a fish on a hook, then all six feet of him smashed against the hull!" "God! I wager he never thought he'd go out like that - "

No indeed. That was the only part of the tale that bothered Horatio, that Morgan would never stand trial for his crimes, never answer to the countless souls that had fallen before him. Despite Pellew's lavish praise and commendation, Horatio was still trying to think of some way he could have kept Morgan from being killed. It was divine retribution he supposed, if one believed in that sort of thing; he did not, and so felt some shame that he had not been able to achieve a truly satisfactory ending. But still -

But still! If there was anything to bring Horatio out of his melancholy, it was hearing Archie's name heralded on every man's lips as a hero. Horatio was not certain how the truth was first brought to light, but it seemed that once one man knew Archie had given the command to drop the anchor and thus saved the Indefatigable from being destroyed, they all knew. And Archie Kennedy, the one-time victim and shame of the entire British Navy, was now Archie Kennedy, the vindicated hero and complete triumph of English courage and strength over the hardest adversity.

Adversity...Horatio finished sweeping the dust from his clean lieutenant's uniform and sighed. Thank God only a few people knew what adversity Archie had truly undergone. His vindication depended on the revelation that someone had witnessed his beating at the hands of not only Creps but Captain Morgan as well - and it seemed great pains had been taken to ensure that it be known as a beating, and not the more violating and humiliating truth. It was guessed at, of course, but Pellew had told Horatio - and presumably Archie as well - that officially, to the world, there was no grounds to it. The crime was just as heinous - and Mr. Kennedy's redemption just as complete - no matter what the wording. Horatio was glad of that, for Archie's sake.

And now...with a last look at himself in the mirror, Horatio took up his hat and prepared to go ashore and see his good friends and new ones, for the Indefatigable had already gotten her orders, and it would soon be time to go. But still plenty of time left to say goodbye.

***********************************************************************************
The streets of Plymouth were bustling, vibrant; it seemed that every soul was out enjoying the rare sunshine, and talking ceaselessly of the morning's events. Horatio, in Mr. Bracegirdle's company, watched the pageant with an amused smile.

"I haven't seen this many people so happy since the death of King Louis," Horatio commented as he looked about him, "Can they really be so bloodthirsty?"

"Perhaps," Bracegirdle replied with a sideways smile, "But it is more than that, lieutenant. You've not known much oppression, and please God you never will. But from all this I've got a feeling that Morgan had his hands around more throats than one, and now that he's gone and the Courageous scattered to the winds, it's a relief. Until the next tyrant comes."

"Then we shall be ready for him," Horatio muttered, and did not know why his earnest rendition of that comment made Bracegirdle laugh.

They walked on, down the street toward the Dove, and were still half a block away when Horatio heard a familiar voice joyfully calling his name, and saw Terry Whitehall almost running down the street to meet him.

"Good God, Terry, your injuries!" Horatio laughed when Terry came close enough.

"Oh, who cares!" Terry exulted, and moved to embrace Horatio before stopping himself. "I suppose you naval types don't encourage open displays of affection."

Horatio grinned and said in mock-seriousness. "A proper salute, Mr. Whitehall, if you don't mind."

Terry obliged, with the most exaggerated and disrespectful salute Horatio had ever seen. "I knew there was a reason I never wanted to join the navy!"

Horatio laughed and put a hand on Terry's shoulder as Bracegirdle said, "Then I take it you've heard."

"God, are you kidding? It's all over Plymouth - probably all over England by now! Horatio, you are one incredible human being."

"It comes from having the right friends," Horatio returned with a warm smile, "Thank you, Terry, for helping Archie and drafting the letters that set him free."

"Like he needed my help!" Terry responded with admiration. "I heard he stopped the Courageous from running into the Indefatigable - "

Horatio nodded, "With Mr. Lafferty's assistance."

Terry grinned broadly. "Really! I always suspected Lafferty had some decency hidden under all that fear. Good for him!"

"And it seems Archie rescued a young boy he found down in the hold while he was imprisoned, one who had been beaten, it is said. From what Lafferty told me, getting the child abovedecks nearly killed him."

Terry's expression changed, and the joviality turned more serious. "You don't say. Well...that's something commendable indeed."

Sensing that Terry was moved more than he was letting on, Horatio decided to change the subject. "Where is Dr. St. John?"

"Oh - he's at Hood's still, under guard. He's been withdrawn as you might expect, and although I should be furious at him for not speaking up further, I confess I mostly pity him. He was under that yoke for an awfully long time."

Horatio thought a moment. "Do you think Hood would mind if I spoke to him?"

"I don't see why not. Perhaps he'll talk to you."

Horatio took a step backward, and said, "I'll be back in a bit, then."

Terry's grin came back. "All right, you know where I am. Perhaps Mr. Bracegirdle would like to raise a tankard with me and I can hear what it's like to be on a ship during a storm."

Bracegirdle grinned. "Are you so eager to know?"

"Of course. With my height and disposition, it's as close to being in the navy as I'm ever likely to get!"

**************************************************************************************
Horatio took a long leisurely walk to the admiralty, and to his surprise was shown not to Dr. St. John at first, but to Lord Admiral Hood. Despite his clean appearance, Horatio was certain he would make a slovenly and unkempt impression.

"Ah, my boy," Hood sputtered as soon as Horatio walked into his office, "Delightful to see you, congratulations. Well done!"

Horatio came before that ornate, imposing, paper-strewn desk, and was at a loss for words. Suddenly feeling like a failure he said, "Thank you sir, but I regret that Morgan could not be brought to justice - "

"Indeed sir!" Hood snorted, "And what do you call what happened to him? What is justice if that is not? My office has been flooded all morning, people coming from all over to give evidence against the man, you've no idea. I am tired of it already! And along the wind comes and saves the crown the trouble and expense of a court- martial, when the verdict would have been set from the beginning. No justice? Ha!"

Horatio digested this, was uncertain how to respond. "I - trust your lordship's judgment, but I did not do it alone - "

"So I hear!" Hood yelped happily, "That Kennedy has proven himself a marvel, eh? First heroism at Muzillac, and now heroism right at home. It's a good thing we didn't accidentally stretch his neck, or England would have lost a very promising young officer!"

Horatio did not argue was this, but was frankly astonished to hear Hood praise Archie so lavishly. He filed it away, to tell his friend about later.

"Indeed, my lord, and I must thank you for your intervention on that matter. It was most kind of you."

"Most kind? Nonsense! If there's one thing the Crown is interested in, it's justice for all who serve on His Majesty's ships. And it is you I should thank, young man, along with your captain and fellow officers, for ridding the navy of such a terrible and potentially expensive threat to the crown."

"Um - you're most entirely welcome, my lord."

"Of course. Now off with you. I've got to clean up this mess!"

*******************************************************************************
At the same time, some distance down the street, Archie was being attended to by Captain Pellew's personal physician, Dr. Harry Wilcombe. Pellew accompanied him, and when after a suitable length of time the door the the doctor's office opened and Archie emerged, he stood anxiously and looked his doctor in the face.

Wilcombe waited until Archie, still absentmindedly knotting his kerchief, wandered some distance away before saying, "Good lord, Edward. What's that boy been through?"

"More than either of us cares to admit, I'm afraid," Pellew answered in a low voice. "How is he?"

"Well," Dr. Wilcombe replied, "He's got no major injuries, mostly he's exhausted. The cuts and bruises will heal of course, but it's the other scars I found that I'm worried about. They're years old and he seems very sensitive about them - "

Pellew raised one hand for silence and looking toward Archie said, "Mr. Kennedy, you may wait for me outside if you wish, out of this stuffy physician's office air. I trust Dr. Wilcombe's assistance has been satisfactory?"

Archie turned and regarded both men with quiet, withdrawn eyes. "Aye sir, very much so. Thank you, doctor."

"Anytime, Mr. Kennedy," Dr. Wilcombe replied with a reassuring smile, and Archie turned and opened the door to the street, finding his way outside.

As soon as the door was closed again Pellew said, "My apologies, doctor, but there are elements of Mr. Kennedy's past that I would not have him hear us discussing."

Dr. Wilcombe's eyebrows went up. "Anything you wish to tell me?"

"No sir, for I would not care to repeat gossip and Mr. Kennedy has told me nothing himself. Nor will I ask him to divulge anything of that nature that he is not willing to share unbidden."

"I understand. But you - suspect?"

Pellew pursed his lips, and nodded. "I have seen enough of all manner of human nature to know fair and foul when I see it, sir. And sadly Mr. Kennedy seems to have been subjected to the foulest of them all."

"Well, if what you suspect is true," Dr. Wilcombe said, looking toward the door, "Then he's a very remarkable young man. Get him back to Indefatigable, he must have total rest for at least a day."

"Yes, doctor."

Dr. Wilcombe began rolling down his sleeves. "I do feel better knowing you'll watch out for him until *all* his bruises heal. After that, I suspect he'll be watching out for the rest of us."

"It will be my privilege to guard him, sir," Pellew said as he replaced his hat, "And you do not have to tell me what I have already been so amply shown."

**************************************************************************
As soon as Archie closed the door to the doctor's office, he fought with the instinctive urge to run and hide.

He couldn't, of course - he was in the middle of a busy street, the early afternoon sunlight full on him, and there was really no reason for him to be afraid. But that was the way he felt. Afraid and naked.

There was a small alley next to the office, where he could be out of sight and still snap to when Pellew arrived, and Archie headed for it, grateful to be off the street and away from all those eyes. The bustle - the noise - the people startled him, after a week of solitude and captivity, and as soon as he could Archie settled himself on the ground with his back against the wall, and hid his face in his hands.

What had happened? What would happen now? Why had he not died? Archie knew the facts, but still his heart had not accepted them; the little comfort he derived from knowing that the witness to Morgan's brutality had glossed over certain details was thwarted by the fear that someday those details would be known. It would have been easier to die with that knowledge than live with that fear, and Archie was prepared to do the first. He had reconciled himself to it, planned on it.

And now it was not going to happen.

Oh God, that entire morning seemed like a dream! He could barely speak of it to Pellew, and only then when forced. He had not said a word about it to anyone else, and had not spoken to Horatio at all. Horatio, who had fought so hard for him and who should have been the first person Archie confided in, he had not said one word to since their return to the ship. And he was not sure why.

Or maybe he was. Horatio had seen the worst of him, had seen him panicked and failing, imprisoned and condemned to die, had battered the very doors of Hell for him, and Archie was ashamed that his only repayment had been to lie to Horatio and withhold the terrible things Morgan was capable of. But then, Archie thought as he hugged himself, Horatio did not know Simpson's evil either...

And he never would. Perhaps that was why Archie felt so frightened; this new freedom would mean questions, curiosity, and Archie was not used to that kind of attention. He knew that many on the ship hailed him as a hero, and while he was grateful that he was not being shunned Archie had no idea how to take such lavish praise. If only he had Horatio's poise...Horatio always knew how to take a compliment. Well, Archie amended with a tiny smile, not really...

Archie sighed and leaned his head against the wall. He would have to go back to the Indefatigable sometime, and he could not avoid talking to Horatio forever. He could stall it - Thomas had been adopted into the Indy's crew, so he could always go for a visit, and surely if he pleaded a headache or fatigue Horatio wouldn't argue with him. But that was just delaying the inevitable...Archie closed his eyes and began to doze.

Suddenly he was on the Indy, on a bright and sunny day. They were at sea, not far out, and he was standing at the forecastle, the wind in his face. He heard footsteps behind him, and turned, and smiled to see Horatio there.

But Horatio did not smile back, instead looked uncertain, nervous. He looked back over his shoulder, and Archie suddenly realized they were on Justinian, not Indefatigable. He felt a cold thrill of fear.

"I'm sorry, Archie," Horatio said quietly, "But you understand, one has to think about one's self. After what happened to Danny Fredericks..."

Archie started, felt his mouth go dry as he thought, that's what Pierson said to me after Simpson killed Danny, oh God that's *just* what he said. "Horatio - "

"It could have been *me*, Archie," Horatio hissed, coming close so no one else could hear, "You understand that, don't you? It could have been *me*!"

Archie just stared at him, Pierson's words again, from Horatio's lips. No...

"I'm sorry, Archie," Horatio said, his eyes large and sad as he backed away with a shake of his head, "I can't be your friend anymore. I know you understand."

Then he turned around and walked away, the Justinian melting into nothingness around him.

Archie threw himself awake with a gasp, and started when he felt a cool hand on his forehead. He looked up and saw who it was. "Oh! Miss Rose!"

"'ello, Archie," the prostitute said with a kind smile as she knelt opposite to him, "Don't worry, no one will see us talkin'."

"I'm not - I don't care - they let you out?"

"Course," Rose answered with the same smile, "They never bother holdin' the likes of me longer than a night. I was eaten up with worry for you, though." She put one hand on his arm, and Archie saw tears in her eyes. "I'm so glad you're all right."

"Thank you," Archie whispered, looking into those generous eyes and finding himself after a moment, and put his hand on hers. "I mean...thank you, ma'am, for helping me. For letting me talk, I...I don't do that kind of talking much."

"You should," Rose said softly, putting one hand on Archie's cheek, "You're not alone, love. You must remember that, and let people help you."

"You give people too much credit," Archie replied, and drew his knees up to lock his arms around them. "You know how they treat you."

"Not everyone," Rose responded lightly, "That Mr. Hornblower, for instance, 'e's a real gentleman to me. And you - "

Archie's head snapped around quickly. "You know Horatio?"

Rose nodded. "I've met him a few times. All he cared about was seeing you got treated decent."

Archie's gaze dropped to the street. "I can't ever repay him. Or you."

"You think you haven't already? I heard about that child you took up, and how you saved your ship. If I was your own mother I couldn't be prouder."

Archie thought of his mother, and bit his lip to stop the tears. "But Horatio doesn't know what you do, and now..."

"Now you're afraid he'll find out, and it'll change how he thinks of you."

Archie kept his eyes to the ground, thought of the nightmare and those haunting words *you understand, don't you?*. He nodded, closing his eyes.

He felt Rose's hand again, stroking his hair gently, just as his mother used to. He leaned into that feeling, heard her say quietly, "Now you listen to me, Archie Kennedy. You have a life and a future ahead of you that is full of greatness, I can see it in your eyes and in your heart. And Mr. Hornblower, he sees it too. And I got a feelin' he'll keep seein' it, through storms and winds and the blackest night anybody can dream up. And I know he'll be standin' right there beside you, like you'd be for him, right till your dying day. See if he doesn't."

Archie opened his eyes again, sought that pleasant face that had seen him through so many trials, and took her hand in his, squeezing it warmly. "Thank you."

Rose returned his smile with one of her own. "Thank *you*, gallant knight. That boy owes you his life."

Archie got to his feet, and as he did so said, "Oh, I have something of yours - " He reached into his boot, and pulled out the small pick lock she had left for him, so long ago. "I don't need it any more."

"I think you never did," Rose said as she took the instrument back and gazed into Archie's eyes, "You always had the key to unlock your chains, Mr. Kennedy. Believe that."

Archie blushed, and nodded.

Rose turned to go, then looked back over her shoulder and asked, "Mr. Kennedy?"
"Ma'am?"

"Do you have a sweetheart?"

Archie blushed again, and when he looked back down at the ground his expression was sad and wistful. "No ma'am, not at present. I don't..." he swallowed heavily and his voice cracked as he said, "I don't think they'd understand."

Rose paused, then she walked back to Archie and caressed his cheek. Then, slowly, she took his face in her hands and kissed him, slowly, softly, until Archie felt it coursing through every nerve in his tired, aching body. It was a miraculous feeling, sweet and hot, an eternity and a second, all at the same time. Archie was breathless.

Then, just as slowly, Rose drew herself back, and when Archie opened his eyes it was to stare at her in stupefied awe.

She was flushed too, and looked up at him with appreciation and knowledge glistening in her eyes. "You find the right girl, Archie Kennedy," she whispered, "And she'll understand gladly, mark my words. It ain't fair to the ladies to keep all that sweetness locked inside forever."

Archie stared at her open-mouthed. But for some reason he felt nothing but joy.

"Now just in case someone saw us," Rose said, the same naughty glint in her eye, "Mr. future lieutenant, use that big voice of yours to order me away."

"Ahem," Archie said with his wickedest smile, "Away with you, vile strumpet! Can you not see I am about the king's work?"

Rose groaned as she passed him to go back into the alley. "I should have guessed you've seen acting!"

"God bless you, Rose," Archie said just before she was out of hearing.

"You too, love," she replied, and Archie thought he heard tears in her voice. Then she was gone.

******************************************************************************************
Horatio was shown the room where Dr. St. John was being held, and his heart sank when he saw the two marines posted at the door. Summoning his courage, however, he walked past them, knocked on the door, and heard a quiet voice inside say, "Come in."

He opened the door, and went inside.

The room seemed dark, although it was daylight. It was an abandoned office Horatio guessed, there was nothing in it but an empty desk and a few chairs. Dr. St. John was sitting in one of them, in front of a window that overlooked the street, lost in thought. He didn't move when Horatio entered, but said very softly, "He's dead."

Horatio felt those words sink into the silence, and nodded although St. John could not see it. "Yes, he is."

St. John moved then, looked at Horatio with ancient eyes. "Tell me."

Horatio hesitated; then he drew up the other chair, sat in it and looked at the hat he turned in his hands. "He - was trying to escape, to France. He was letting himself over the side when the ship heeled over, and he was thrown against it." He paused, then whispered, "More than once."

St. John looked back out the window again, and said very softly, "Thank God."

Horatio swallowed, did not know what to say to the man.

"What about Mr. Kennedy?"

"Mr. Kennedy is well, he's back on the Indy. Some bruises, but...he will recover."

"And Mr. Lafferty?"

Horatio smiled. "Ah, you would be proud of Mr. Lafferty, sir. He helped save the Indefatigable, and assisted Mr. Kennedy in rescuing a small child from certain death. He is a true Englishman."

St. John slumped a little in his chair, his shoulders sagging as if a great burden had been removed from them. "They all got away. Thank God. Thank God."

Horatio wondered at the doctor's relief; it was almost palpable. "Yes...yes, sir. We are all very happy to finally have this over."

St. John was quiet for a long time, staring out of the window. Then he said quietly, "Lieutenant, I want you to hate me."

Horatio's eyes opened wide. "Hate you? Why?"

"Because of what I did," St. John answered bitterly, "Because I had so many chances to help your friend, and I didn't take them. Because I lack the simple courage that put those bruises on your body and his. Because I've seen evil defile innocence for I don't know how many years, and have never spoken out."

Horatio blinked at this, heard so much self-hatred in those words that he was momentarily taken aback. Finally he said, "I cannot judge you for any action other than the most recent one, and that one saved Mr. Kennedy's life. For that, I shall always be in your debt."

St. John sighed, closed his eyes and covered his face with one bony hand. "Damn your decency, lieutenant. Maybe you don't know what my silence has cost this world, but I do. There are men who are crippled in mind and body because of me, wounds that should have been closed that were left to bleed. I was a blind and stupid man - "

"You were in thrall to a tyrant," Horatio interjected, the cold dim outline of St. John's form against the window painting such a scene of loneliness that he could hardly bear it, "And well I know what that is! I have known men - fine men, good men whose souls cried for the unleashing, who lived as you did, and thought themselves cowards. One of those self-proclaimed cowards gave his life for me, and I can promise you that word will never pass my lips in conjunction with his."

St. John turned to him, his face cast into darkness. "But if I had kept silent, your friend would be dead."

"But you did not," Horatio insisted, his gaze hot and burning, "You came forward, not knowing the end, not knowing there would be no punishing master to come and render in your life a living hell afterward. Do you think I don't know what courage that took? Tell me, if I were to say that Morgan was alive, and coming to claim you for the wrong you did him, would you do the same as you did?"

For a moment St. John's face went pale in the darkness, then he took a deep breath and said, "I couldn't have lived with myself if I didn't. The running, it...oh, it makes your soul so weary! You'd never understand."

"Don't say those words to me," Horatio said with a gentle smile, "But you see, I have known you from the first, Dr. St. John. I have seen you treat Archie with kindness, you bound up his wounds and made the hell he was cast into more bearable. You gave my book to him, when you knew what punishment awaited you if Morgan found out. Even under the direst circumstances, you crept out of the shell of your own fears to render what aid you could. And when the good heart could stand the oppression no longer, you were the bravest of any of us. I would have lost a friend had it not been for you, and I will always be grateful."

St. John looked back out the window, and Horatio winced at the despair he saw there. "Your friend is worth a hundred of the likes of me. I accept your forgiveness, lieutenant, but the way ahead is dark for me and I can't see any light. So you'll forgive my downcast spirit."

Horatio did not know what else to say, and stood, silent for a moment. Then, struck with an idea, he asked, "What will happen to you now?"

St. John shrugged. "Your friend Mr. Whitehall said he would help me, but I want nothing now except to pay for the crime I committed, for killing that boy. Prison, for the rest of my life."

"And what will you do there?"

St. John looked at Horatio. "What?"

Horatio hesitated, then plunged ahead. "Doctor, those men you spoke of, the unhealed wounds you claim responsibility for...do you remember them?"

St. John's shoulders slumped. "Every one."

"And if a way was discovered to find them, to tell them what you know and that it is not hopeless, would you do that for them? Would you help them, now that you have the freedom to do so?"

St. John's eyes widened. "Can that be done?"

Horatio nodded, smiling at the dawning hope he saw in the other man's eyes. "Give me their names, and I will do what I can. Even a letter from you, an acknowledgement that they are not alone and may yet be made whole, will help. I am sure of it."

St. John sat upright, some life coming back into him, "I'll have little else to do in prison, I suppose..."

Horatio shook his head. "Sadly, I think not, doctor. How many poor wretches confined within those walls will have need of an excellent physician, and have so far been denied? You know medicines, cures, helps for sickness. Now that you are free of Morgan you may exercise your talents to their fullest, and never fear the consequences of helping another human being. Prison need not be the end for you, doctor, but a new beginning full of opportunity. I am sure of it."

St. John's expression changed, a little, to one of incredulous hope. Then it dimmed again and he turned back toward the window. "You have more faith than I do, lieutenant. I doubt they would even let me near to help."

"It is not faith, sir," Horatio said firmly, "It is a statement of fact. That your touch cures can be proven, and if there are those who doubt it let them challenge Captain Pellew, and Acting Lieutenant Kennedy, and myself. For that matter, Terry Whitehall will also attest to your abilities. Do not doubt that he will see you placed where you can do the most good, doctor, and once there I can promise you there will be no question of your skill, no matter what your past. Only let the arguments be written and I promise you, you will be given a second chance wherever you are. And I know you will make the most of it."

The doubt in St. John's eyes began to melt away, and what was behind there was satisfying to behold. It was as if a ray of sunlight had entered the room, and he almost looked happy.

"You see, doctor," Horatio said with an answering smile, "There is a reason men like Captain Morgan ultimately fail, and men such as you are left behind on this earth. And it takes no faith, or flowery discussion, to tell you what I believe: you are here because you are needed. That you must pay for your crimes is inevitable; that your talents be allowed to rot while you do it, would be a far greater tragedy."

Dr. St. John did not move for a few moments. When he did, he raised grateful eyes to Horatio and simply said, "Thank you, lieutenant."

Horatio smiled at him and replied, "I have my orders and we will be setting sail soon, but I would be remiss not to convey my gratitude, and that of Mr. Kennedy, for everything you have done. You are a good man, doctor, but you've had to hide it; and now the chains have been taken from your wrists. What you have done for my friend, you may now do for everyone who needs you."

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

"Ugh!"

Styles winced with distaste as he wrung the water out of the huge length of sail that he and Matthews and Oldroyd were handling. The severe rains and recent damp weather had rendered all of the stored sails moldy and foul-smelling, and now that the sun had broken the orders were given that they all be aired out.

And Styles was hating it, "Oof, I'd almost rather the rain came back!"

"Oh, quit gripin'," Matthews said as they hoisted the small sail above their heads to unfold it, "Beats shiverin' in the damp."

Together the men pulled the sail open, letting the sun's warmth into the folds where it bounced off and made a brilliant patch where it touched.

As they worked with the sail, Styles looked at Oldroyd and said, "So are y' back then?"

"Who, me?" Oldroyd blinked, and gave a cockeyed grin, "Did I go someplace?"

"You could say that," Styles rejoined, giving the sail a hefty flap.

"We', I'm glad ev'ryting's back to normal, if 'at's what you mean," Oldroyd said, helping his mates lay the sail on the deck where they could inspect it for mold and rot. "I mean - 'at was a close shave, wunnit?"

"Too close," Matthews said darkly, getting onto all fours and running his hand over the bleached canvas. "Never thought we'd end up tangling with the ghost of Jack Simpson."

"Don't say that name, mate," Styles said in grim agreement, removing his knife to cut some coiled rope that lay nearby, "Brings 'im back. And 'e has friends."

Matthews grunted, his eyes on the canvas. Nothing more needed to be said.

Suddenly there was a heavy weight on Matthews' back, and without looking he said, "Now who the hell is *that*?"

"Thomas, sir," came the reply, from just above Matthews' head.

"Ah, well! Off my back with you, Thomas, and we can have a proper conversation."

The weight lifted, and Matthews sat up, taking care not to look at Styles' barely-concealed grin. He looked at Thomas, who was dressed in better clothes and chewing on a biscuit, and said, "Well, now, young sir, I see they got you outfitted proper. And fed too?"

Thomas nodded happily, "I'm to report to you as soon as I'm done eating. And - I'm almost done."

"Are you!" Matthews exclaimed, "Well, then, let's put you to work. Now - what's your age, son?"

"Um - ten. Eleven next month."

"Oh, my goodness! You been at sea longer than me almost! Well, master Thomas," Matthews pointed at the sail, "I need you to find one of the sailmaker's mates, tell 'im we got a sail that needs mending, and we're on th' quarterdeck. Think you can do it?"

Thomas had just finished cramming the last of the biscuit into his mouth, and smiled widely. "Yeff fir!"

"Oo, and mind your manners, lad!" Matthews said, and reached out to tap the boy lightly on the head.

Thomas flinched, ducking away from Matthews' touch as if instinctively, and Matthews withdrew his hand with an apologetic look.

"Sorry," Thomas muttered, obviously embarrassed.

Matthews stammered, "No harm, son. About your work now."

Thomas nodded, not noticing the looks Matthews and Styles exchanged. The day might have continued a little dimmer but for the sudden appearance of another child, a towheaded youngster who ran straight to Oldroyd and threw his arms around his neck.

"Well, hello there, young fella!" Oldroyd said brightly, but Styles shook his head.

"They're comin' out of the woodwork," he muttered.

Thomas turned his head, and as soon as he saw the other boy gasped happily and said, "Jenkins!"

The other boy, who was obviously Jenkins, raised his head and gave a sideways smile, "Toms!"

Matthews leaned back on his knees and raised his eyebrows. "You from the Courageous too, son?"

"Uh-huh," Jenkins said as Thomas came close and slung an easy arm over him, "We look...look out for each other."

"But how do you know Oldroyd?" Styles asked, barely able to contain his humor.

"Oy, Jenkins and me, we're pals!" Oldroyd replied, trading sunny smiles with the boy, " 'e came up to me on deck right after we came on board, ain't that right, mate?"

"Oy!" Jenkins responded joyfully, and put his arms around Oldroyd's neck again.

"Well, they're cut from the same cloth, *that's* for sure," Styles muttered, but only Matthews caught it.

"You got work, Jenkins?" Thomas asked his friend.

Jenkins nodded, "Fetch the holystones. We're going to s...swab the deck."

"I have to go find one of the sailmaker's mates. Come on, I'll look out for you."

Jenkins nodded again, and they both ran away, two bobbing minnows in the sea of work on deck.

Matthews watched them go and shook his head with a smile. "Well, old Jack may have friends, and that's a fact. But good news is, 'e ain't the only one."

"That's damn philosophical, mate," Styles said as the three men resumed tending to the sail, and this time his smile was not in the least sarcastic.

******************************************************************************
By the time Horatio made it back to the Dove, it was time to head back to the Indefatigable, and his duties. The ship was damaged and needed assessment to see if she was seaworthy for the morrow's sail ; there were inspections to be made, supplies to procure, and his men to look after, and Horatio found himself in the rare sort of mood where he did not want to do any of it. But it needed to be done.

Of course, Terry had to be promised one tankard of ale and stories before Horatio's departure, and that was gladly given. Then it was back onto the cobblestoned streets towards the docks, and Horatio still could not fathom why people looked at him so strangely, or smiled at him as if he had done something spectacular. The attention made him uncomfortable; he could not wait to get back home.

But what a pleasure it was to walk on sunny streets! To see the sky blue and golden above him, and know that everyone he cared for was out of danger. Horatio realized that the brooding he had been doing since Muzillac was not burdening him any longer, and wondered where his melancholy had gone. He thought of it as they made their way homeward, conjured up the images that had filled him with so much shame and guilt, but he saw Mariette's face in his memory and it was at peace. It was the same with the dead men, the martyred French citizens, all of the roiling, painful insanity of that hopeless mission. Horatio realized he could recall it, and not feel totally mortified. Why?

They neared the docks, and Horatio gazed up at the masts of the Indy, glinting in the sunshine. He smiled involuntarily at that sight, the great ship beaten but unbowed, splintered here and there but with her fine fighting soul intact. She had been through the worst and survived, no, thrived on it. See what the world can give me, the ship seemed to say in every gleaming timber and spar, it can batter and assault me but I will not be swallowed by the tumult or corrupted by craven design. I will oppose it, and thus grow ever stronger, until at last I will be unassailable. And live forever.

Horatio stood for a moment on the docks and watched the Indefatigable with tears in his eyes. She was home, she was his life, and they had both seen the storm together, as Archie had. They had all been in the thick of it, felt every nerve and fiber tested, and still they did not yield. And by not yielding, had grown stronger. And unassailable.

"Mr. Hornblower?" Bracegirdle said quietly as he came up beside the young man. "Are you quite all right?"

"Yes, Mr. Bracegirdle," Horatio replied with a covert sniff, "I was just, um...dazzled by the sun."

"Oh, hm. Well, we don't see it too often I don't suppose! Well, back aboard we go then."

"Indeed sir. I was hoping to talk to Mr. Kennedy before I began my duties - "

"Ah! Well, you'll be disappointed I'm afraid. The captain told me this morning that Mr. Kennedy is to rest, and I'm certain he's deep in the arms of Somnus by now."

"Oh. Well, then, would it be possible to talk to the captain? I fear the report I gave him this morning was rather shoddy."

"I'm certain you'll be summoned to his presence soon enough, my boy, but it won't be this afternoon. After seeing to Mr. Kennedy he informed me he was going to pay his respects to Captain Morgan's wife. It seems the proper thing to do, after all."

"Of course."

*******************************************************************************
The ride out to the Morgan estate did not take nearly as long as it seemed to the night before, and Pellew reached the great house of pale brick and ivy long before he was ready. He did not have any idea what he was going to say to Elise. And he had been so exhausted that he had slept most of the way.

She had to know, of course, that her husband was dead. The courier had been dispatched as soon as Morgan's demise was confirmed, and Pellew's duties had kept him in Plymouth for most of the morning and part of the afternoon; so it was near four o'clock when his carriage clattered into the great courtyard of the house, and as he felt the vehicle rumble to a stop Pellew silently prayed that the right words would find him. It would not be an easy conversation.

The house looked so different in the daylight, and in the sunlight in particular. Everything gleamed warm and fresh and new; it did not seem at all the same house dark with suspicion and fear that he had visited last night. But then, perhaps it was not the same house after all.

The great double front door opened, and one of the servants appeared at the door. The servant nodded at Pellew and motioned for him to enter, as if he had been expected. Adjusting his cape and uniform, Pellew followed the man into the house.

And how the house sparkled! None of the shadows of the night before, the closed draperies and cowering beauty. Every shutter was thrown open, every curtain drawn aside, and the house was flooded with light. Pellew marveled at it; it was not a house of mourning at all.

He was shown into a small parlor, and told to wait. Pellew accepted this, took a small glass of sherry from the proffered tray and sipped it, looking around at the pale green walls that caught the light and spread it throughout the room, the fine-cut crystal that splintered it into a thousand tiny rainbows. There were vases for flowers, all empty, and a painted table with a pair of gardener's scissors setting on it, long unused. And Elise had always loved flowers...

There were light footsteps outside, and just as every thought Edward was having flew out of his brain entirely the door opened, and Elise walked into the room. She was dressed simply, in a gray dress with no lace or other finery on it. Her hair was hastily pinned back, and Pellew could see she was wearing no jewelry or adornment. She looked tired and dazed.

"Captain Pellew," She said somberly, motioning to one of the small sofas, "How - how kind of you to visit me. Please sit down."

"My apologies for my rudeness, madam," Pellew responded as they sat, "Both for leaving you so hastily last night, and arriving unannounced this afternoon. But I felt you should know as completely as possible the manner and circumstances of your husband's death."

Elise's eyes came up to him, slowly. "He is dead."

"Yes, ma'am."

She leaned forward. "There is no mistake? No possibility that you are wrong?"

Pellew swallowed. "No, ma'am, none. My lieutenant Hornblower witnessed his demise, there can be no doubt. Your husband, Captain Morgan, is dead."

Elise seemed suspended in time for a moment, her shoulders forward and her face frozen in an expression of stunned realization. Then she closed her eyes, brought her hands up to her face, and wept.

Pellew brought his eyes down, wishing to respect her privacy, but then he thought of the previous evening and cursed his thickheadedness. Those were not tears of grief or sorrow, they could not possibly be. They could only be tears of release and joy.

After a few moments Elise seemed to remember herself, sat up and drew one graceful hand across her glistening cheeks. She took a deep breath, gazing out of the nearby open window to the gardens beyond, and said, "I'm sorry Edward, I just - I did not believe it when they came and told me, I suppose I knew it was true but to hear it from your lips...and your officer was freed as well?"

"Yes, ma'am. A witness came forward in his defense." Pellew saw no need to elaborate any further.

Elise's drowsy smile conveyed her relief and happiness. "Do you know, I was sleeping when you came. I did not mean to, there are so many things to attend to, but oh, how wonderful it felt! To sleep without fearing the sudden movement beside you, without having to be just awake enough to hear the hand on the door. I have not slept that well in years."

Pellew looked down at the bright sunlit pattern on the floor. "I am...glad, madam."

Elise cast her eyes down also. "I apologize, I know such talk is inappropriate. Decorum and fashion dictate that I be sad and downcast, but I am no such actress. I am happy, Edward, happy! It's so...I had forgotten what it felt like."

Pellew raised sorrowful eyes to her. "I am sorry it was so terrible for you."

Elise closed her eyes briefly and took a deep breath, raising one hand to her face as if to shelter it from painful memories. "No more. Those days no longer exist for me, Edward, please. I - I want to talk only of the future from now on. The future." She opened her eyes and cast her gaze out the window again, shaking her head in tired wonder. "It sounds strange even to say it."

Pellew nodded and said quietly, "All right then, madam, as you wish. What will you do now?"

Elise leaned back, her dress rustling as she stared out the window again. "I don't know. Sleep. I would like to sleep. But not while you're here."

Pellew returned the fragile smile she gave him. "And after that?"

Elise sighed, and pursed her lips together in thought before replying, "I...I think I should like to sell this house and every stick of furniture in it. The Admiralty may take whatever it wants. I will take only my clothes and my embroidery, and the weeds may have the rest."

"And where will you go?"

"My sister's," Elise said, leaning her head against the back of the sofa with a dreamy smile, "...he...did not let me write to her, but as soon as she knew she sent a letter begging me to stay at her home. She doesn't even live that far from here." Her gaze softened, and her voice quivered a little as she whispered, "It will be very good to see her again. And then...and then I don't know."

Pellew looked at her face, saw how drawn and confused it looked, the sleepwalker just awakened, the captive newly set free, with a wonderful new world that is frightening in its scope and opportunity. He had seen that expression before, on Kennedy. But until that moment he did not realize how very much they were alike.

"It's very strange, Edward," Elise said, her voice almost a whisper, "Even now, it doesn't seem real. I half-expect him to come pounding in through the door at any moment, wanting his dinner or..." She sat up, studied her hands with a tight expression. "I feel free, but I feel lost, and I confess I do not know what to do. Can you help me?"

Pellew smiled. "Gladly, madam. I think the first thing you should do, is precisely what you want to do. I think you need to take some rest."

Elise looked out the window again, and nodded.

"And then," Pellew put his hand on hers, gently, and looked into her violet eyes, "I think you should take a slow, careful stock of the world, and find your place in it. You have been far away from the world, and it has missed you. I am certain it will welcome you back."

"But what if I have no place in it?" Elise rose from the couch, her dress dappling into watercolors as she moved through the room to stand at the window. "I am the widow of a traitor, the former wife of an enemy to the crown. I have nothing to offer but a dowry that not even the most destitute gentleman would want. I am afraid of that, Edward. I am afraid of looking inside myself and seeing that after all I am - nothing."

Pellew stood quickly and came beside her, and heedless of the impropriety took her hands in his. "Such nonsense! Listen to me, madam, if you are ever afeared that you hold no value, if you ever doubt that yours is a life that is only now beginning to bloom into its own beauty, then remember that there sails on His Majesty's seas a heart that has always believed - *will* always believe - that once your song is found it will be the sweetest and most beautiful melody in all the world."

Elise blushed, and did not meet Pellew's eyes. He saw tears slipping down her cheeks as she looked out into the gardens, and for a long time she did not speak. When she did it was in a wavering voice edged with tears. "You always did have the poetic heart."

"I speak the truth, madam," Pellew said softly, taking her hands tighter, "Do you remember the bird you used to speak of, the one you set free because you could no longer bear to see it caged?"

Elise nodded, and turned her face to Pellew. "I - I always wondered what became of it. I am certain by now it is dead."

"Oh, not by my reckoning, my lady," Pellew answered, "For I am certain that now, if you listen, you can hear its song through the notes its children sing, and the ones that come after. It sings because it is free, Elise, and praises you for making it so. I know you will hear it one day, and give the song back for all to hear. Promise me that you will."

Elise looked in his eyes for a moment, then tenderly laid a hand upon his cheek. "I promise. I promise because I know I must lose you, and I will keep you bound to me any way I can. And I promise because I have heard the song you have given me. And it is beautiful."

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

Horatio was exhausted.

The excitement of the morning and activity of the early afternoon turned into an all-consuming lethargy around three that afternoon, and fearing that he would fall unconscious on his feet, and mindful that Archie was sleeping in their cabin, Horatio found himself asking to borrow Mr. Bracegirdle's cabin for some much-needed slumber. Bracegirdle was happy to oblige, but even with that respite Horatio still found himself utterly worn out by the time the ship's bell tolled the time - ten o'clock - and Horatio decided it was time to go to bed.

It feels like it's been years, Horatio thought as he trudged toward his cabin, and wondered at everything that had happened since the last time he had closed his eyes in the night. It seemed like another life, another Horatio who had done those things, offered himself to Morgan, lay in a filthy cell and listened to a litany of brutality, watched a captain die. No, that was not himself, certainly. It must have happened to someone else...

At last, his door, his cabin. Horatio quietly pushed the door open and went inside, and in his sleepy half-awake state thought, oh! I left the lantern burning!

Then his eye fell on Archie, asleep in his bunk, and Horatio felt a jolt of realization. Archie was home.

For a few moments Horatio stood in the dim light provided by the one hanging lantern, and looked at his friend lying on the bunk which had been vacant for too many nights. Archie was curled on one side, his blankets drawn up to his chin, his newly-washed