Summary: Life brings many lessons. Some of them are pleasant; some of them are not.
Category: Romance, drama, angst
Pairing: Horatio/Archie
Rating: R
Spoilers/Warnings: "The Duel." Implied nastiness, but nothing graphic.
Notes
Disclaimer

'Tis education forms the common mind,
Just as the twig is bent, the tree's inclined.
-- Alexander Pope, Epistle to Cobham, l. 149-50 (1734).

After seven months of serving in Justinian, Archie had thought that there was little if anything left aboard that blighted ship that could surprise him.

Horatio's offer to tutor him in mathematics, however, had managed to do just that.

It wasn't just the unexpected kindness of the gesture, though that was rare enough in and of itself to startle him. Rather it was the sight of Horatio standing there, his face still bruised and swollen from the beating he had received at Jack's hand in retribution for excelling at his lessons where Jack had not.

Jack didn't like to be outshone by anyone.

Archie knew that all too well. It had been among the first lessons he had learned upon his arrival in Justinian and Jack was more than happy to repeat the lesson on occasion to insure that he didn't forget it. Although a poor student, Jack had proven to be a most capable teacher of that particular subject. Jack could wield pain and humiliation with the brute force of a club or the precision of a stiletto whichever best suited his needs. They had all become apt pupils under Jack's less than gentle tutelage. Then again, what other choice did they have? One by one they'd all fallen in line. All but Horatio.

Archie wished he had warned Horatio about Simpson. The man did not suffer rivals and that was exactly what Horatio had become by having the temerity to outshine Jack. But even after their relatively short acquaintance, Archie had begun to suspect that it would have made no difference. It wasn't in Horatio to be less than he was. Even when Jack had been beating him bloody and the other mids had urged Horatio to stay down, he had not done so. He'd dragged himself up off the floor, refusing to yield to Jack and to the inevitable, which, of course, had only incited the man to even greater violence. Horatio had faced Jack on his feet, unlike Archie, coward that he was. Archie had never stood up to Jack, not when he'd been the subject of Jack's instruction, nor when the man had turned his attentions to the newest mid in the berth. Instead, he'd fled the mess and had huddled outside the threshold, too terrified to intervene, but too heartsick to abandon Horatio entirely.

And now here Horatio stood, beaten but unbowed, offering to teach Archie mathematics so that he might excel as well. It was folly. Worse than that, it was insanity.

"I...well, the other day at lessons, I...happened to look at your slate," Horatio had explained in a halting voice as if nervous or embarrassed. "I couldn't help but notice that your calculations were very close to the correct answer. I thought, well...I thought perhaps, I could help you. That is, if you wished it." Horatio's gaze was strangely hopeful.

Archie had never been especially fond of mathematics, much to his tutor's dismay and his indifferent efforts had been greeted more often with sighs of frustration than with words of praise. Nevertheless, over time, he'd gained some small mastery of the subject. He'd thought it barely adequate; he'd soon learned that it was too much.

Jack didn't like to be bested.

Horatio had continued to stand there, watching him with one brown eye wide and bright, the other swollen half shut. He remained perfectly still, all except for his hands that he alternately clasped and unclasped in front of him as he awaited Archie's answer with that strange expectant expression writ across his distorted features. Archie had tried to beg off, warning Horatio that he was a very poor student and had no head for figures. Horatio, however, had remained undeterred. He'd begun to speak then of the purity of mathematics, of the spare beauty of numbers and logic, his face aglow and his dark eyes bright with wonder. It was the strangest thing, but as he spoke, his features almost seemed transformed, as if the light shining in his eyes somehow spilled out to soften the bruises that shadowed his cheeks and jaw and smoothed the swelling of lips and eyes. A trick of the light, or perhaps Archie's own fanciful imagination, but it was a compelling glamour nonetheless. He had found himself enthralled as he'd watched Horatio's battered visage transfigured into a thing of rare and brittle beauty. And then Horatio had smiled at him, a sweet, almost hesitant smile that lit his face anew and made Archie's heart flutter in his chest like a caged bird. Any further protest died unspoken.

"Well, Archie? What do you say?"

Archie couldn't stop the shy smile that broke forth any more than he could stop the words that bubbled to the surface unbidden.

"Yes, Horatio. I would be very happy if you would tutor me."

"Take him to Dr. Hepplewhite!"

Soft spoken by nature, it was a shock to hear such a note of authority in Clayton's voice, but they all knew an order when they heard one and obeyed without hesitation. Archie, Hether and Cleveland rushed forward and grabbed Horatio's limp, unconscious body and dragged him from the mess as if he were a sack of oats. The other midshipmen scurried away in their wake as they fled like rats from a sinking ship.

All of them but Archie. In spite of himself, Archie found himself wavering. Although good sense told him to flee along with the other mids, he found himself drawn back to the scene in the mess. He lingered near the threshold, shrinking back into the shadows to watch the confrontation unfolding before his eyes.

Clayton stood there with a cocked pistol pressed against Simpson's temple, while Simpson glared back at him with eyes that burned like ice. Archie could see the fine tremor in Clayton's hand and knew that Simpson could as well, but to his credit Clayton did not stand down, did not move, even with those pitiless eyes boring in to him with a malice so palpable it was like a living thing.

And as he watched the two men locked in this terrible tableau, one thought rose to the surface of Archie's mind.

*Do it.*

In his mind's eye, Archie could see Clayton's finger press down on the trigger with exquisite care. He could almost see the spark of the hammer striking flint and the flare of the powder as it ignited, then Simpson's brains as they spattered against the bulkhead like jelly from the force of the pistol ball. He could see Simpson's body fold in on itself and collapse to the floor, those cold, pitiless eyes wide with shock as his blood spilled out and stained the deck beneath him. Archie felt a sudden thrill of dark anticipation race through him at the thought. It would be so easy, just the faintest pressure upon the trigger and then it would be over and they would be free, all of them.

*And Clayton would swing for it.*

Archie knew that as well. It would be murder. Clayton would be tried and found guilty and no one would know, or even care, that Clayton had acted to save his shipmates from a monster bent upon their destruction. Simpson would be gone, but Clayton would pay dearly for their freedom.

That thought should have sobered him completely. Archie knew he should have been horrified by his own uncharacteristic bloodthirstiness, should have been shocked by his lack of concern for a man he considered a friend, but in that moment he wanted nothing more than for Clayton to pull the damned trigger and end their torment once and for all.

A low moan shocked him back to awareness like a bucket of cold water tipped over his head. Tearing his eyes away from the altercation in the mess, Archie saw his messmates huddled near the bulkhead, their faces white with fear. Hether and Cleveland still had Horatio slung between them and Archie reached forward and touched Horatio's face, his fingers ghosting across the battered flesh. Bruises were already blossoming on his pale face as red began to darken into uglier shades of blue and purple. A bit of blood trickled from one corner of his mouth.

"What should we do, Archie? Clayton said to take 'im to Hepplewhite, but..."

Archie stared at Cleveland to see his own fear reflected in the other man's round face. Even Hether was looking at him. They both normally went along with Simpson's amusements, having decided early on that it was far better to be a reluctant participant in Jack's little games than to wind up as their unfortunate victim. But the sheer viciousness of Horatio's beating had clearly terrified them both and had left them desperate for guidance. Archie could feel manic laughter bubbling up within him at the very notion that anyone would look to him for direction. And why should they, given Archie's own weakness? Both Hether and Cleveland were older and Cleveland, was senior to them all, after Clayton and Simpson, of course. Yet both of them turned to Archie now, frightened and out of their depth.

Another low moan galvanized Archie to action. When he spoke, he tried to adopt the same authoritative voice he'd heard Clayton use mere moments before.

"All right, here is what we shall do. Take him to the cable tier, quietly if you please; there's no point in letting the officers see."

They nodded. Neither man protested Archie's order, nor even bothered to argue that they should take Horatio to Hepplewhite as Clayton had suggested. They all knew from experience that there would be no point to it. The ship's surgeon had little patience and less sympathy for the mids' "high jinks." In all likelihood, he would deliver a scathing rebuke about witless boys brawling below decks before he reported them to Lieutenant Eccleston for punishment. No, there would be no help from that quarter. There never was.

As Hether and Cleveland began to shuffle towards the tier, Archie turned his attention to Brown, the youngest of the mids in the mess. His eyes were wide in his pale face and he practically trembled in terror. Archie felt a wave of sympathy for the boy. Thus far, he had managed to avoid Simpson's depredations, though Archie knew that the reprieve would not last. Archie would have liked to reassure him, but he could not allow himself to be distracted by the lad's fears, not when Horatio was in genuine need.

"Mr. Brown," he said, keeping his voice soft and calm, "I need you to get some water and take it to the tier. Can you do that for me?"

The boy nodded his head. "Y-yes sir," he stuttered.

"Good lad," Archie patted the boy lightly on the shoulder. He watched Brown scurry away but remained rooted to the spot, torn between going to Horatio and seeing to Clayton. He hovered, indecisive, and worried his lip between his teeth. The mess was very quiet now and Archie could not see inside, not unless he returned to the threshold where he would once again be visible to the room's occupants. In the end, his concern for Horatio and fear of Simpson won out. With one last regretful look over his shoulder and a silent prayer for Clayton, Archie followed in the direction of his departed messmates.

Archie didn't go directly to the tier, but instead went to the cockpit where Hepplewhite kept his surgery. Luck was with him for once; the surgeon was nowhere in sight. Careful so as not to disturb the few patients currently sleeping in hammocks at the rear, Archie grabbed a blanket from one of the empty hammocks along with a handful of clean clothes used for bandages and made his way to the tier.

Cleveland and Hether had settled Horatio against the bulkhead and stood off to the side along with Brown who looked as if he would bolt at any minute. Archie hurried over and knelt at his shipmate's side. Horatio was conscious, just barely, one eye half lidded, the other starting to swell shut. His good eye squinted up at Archie and his brow furrowed with a frown; it would have been an almost comical sight were it not for bruises that marred his fine features.

"Archie?" Horatio whispered through blood stained lips.

"Yes, Horatio, it's me," he replied, surprised at how calm his voice sounded to his own ears. He dipped one of the clothes in the pitcher of water that Brown had deposited nearby and began to tend to his friend. Horatio flinched as Archie moved the cloth over his bruised cheekbone.

"Sorry."

"S'all right, Archie," Horatio said, his voice slurred and indistinct like that of a drunkard.

Archie looked up to see his messmates standing nearby. They shuffled uncomfortably. "It's all right," he assured them, "I'll look after him."

Even in the relative dimness of the tier, Archie could read their relief. As badly as they felt for Horatio, none of them wanted to be anywhere near Simpson's current whipping boy. It didn't do to draw Jack's attention and right now, proximity to Horatio was akin to being a weather vane in a lightning storm. Strangely enough, rather than deterring Archie, that thought made him even more determined to remain at the other boy's side.

"Are you sure, Archie?" Hether asked nervously. Archie wondered what would happen if he said no and asked them to stay. He didn't though; he no more wanted to be in their company at the moment than they wanted to be in Horatio's.

Archie nodded. "Go on, we'll be all right."

They nodded and left without another glance back. It was quiet and dark in the cable tier and there was no sound other than the creaking of the ship, Horatio's harsh, rasping breath, and the sound of water dripping as Archie continued to bathe his shipmate's face.

Archie sat back on his heels to have a better look at his handiwork and sighed. The blood, at least was gone, but the bruises were all too vivid against the shocking pallor of Horatio's skin. There was no way to hide them, not even from the less than watchful eyes of the officers of His Majesty's Scow Justinian. At least Horatio was not on duty again until the forenoon watch. Perhaps the swelling would be down by then...Archie sighed again. There was no way to hide this.

"Archie?"

Archie gave the other boy a smile that he hoped looked more reassuring than it felt. "You should try and get some rest, Horatio."

He regretted that he had not pilfered a pillow along with the blanket, but there was nothing to be done for it now. Stripping off his jacket, Archie bundled it into a cushion and laid it on the deck before he coaxed Horatio to lie down on his side. He spread the blanket over his supine body and tucked it neatly around him.

Archie looked down, startled, when he felt a hand clasp his wrist. Horatio looked up at him; a small smile traced his lips and gratitude shone in his eyes.

"Thank you, Archie."

He swallowed, unaccountably flustered, then smiled back and placed a hand on Horatio's shoulder. "You're welcome, Horatio. Now rest, Mr. Hornblower. That is an order."

Horatio closed his eyes and sighed. "Aye, aye sir."

Archie watched as Horatio's body relaxed and his breathing evened out as slumber claimed him. He shifted around to lean against the bulkhead, his hand still resting on the other boy's shoulder and watched him sleep, oblivious to the creaking of the ship and the chill prickling his skin through the thin linen of his shirt. Horatio was safe...*they* were safe from Simpson, at least for the moment. Apart from that, nothing else really mattered. The rest would sort itself out in time, one way or another.

By mutual, unspoken agreement, they waited until Simpson was on watch to begin the lesson. Horatio succeeded in begging a slate and some chalk from Lieutenant Eccleston who appeared genuinely startled by the request. Archie, who had followed Horatio on deck and hovered just behind him, had seen the look of astonishment on the first lieutenant's face and had watched as it gave way to one of vague suspicion. The mids in Justinian never studied, at least not outside of the required lessons with Mister Bowles. No doubt, the officers attributed this sad state of affairs to sloth and the general idleness of youth, never imagining that other, less savoury motives were at work below decks. Eccleston gave Horatio a penetrating stare, but could see nothing but the young man's earnestness. He handed over the needed materials with a stern warning to return the slate in good repair or risk another spell in the rigging. Horatio smiled and saluted then scurried away with Archie on his heels.

They made their way below decks to the mess. The other mids were gathered around the table talking amongst themselves, enjoying the brief respite afforded by Jack's absence. The two of them didn't linger, however, but continued on to the berth, leaving their shipmates to their own diversions.

There were no seats, of course, but Horatio's sea chest was adequate for the task. It was a tight fit; though neither of them was especially big and Horatio at least had not yet come into his full growth, a sea chest was hardly designed to seat two comfortably. Archie sat down, trying to retain a suitable distance between them, only to find half his arse hanging over the side. A sudden imp of amusement struck and Archie shuffled over. His hip banged forcefully into Horatio's and knocked the other boy half off the chest.

Horatio shot him a look of reproach; Archie merely smiled back as demurely as possible, his hands folded primly in his lap. Horatio frowned for a moment before he caught on then proceeded to push against Archie, sliding him back off the other edge. They continued to bump and jostle one another a few more times and made a futile attempt to stifle their giggles and retain some semblance of manly dignity. They finally sobered sufficiently and settled themselves as best they could on their makeshift bench. They were pressed close together now and Archie could feel the sharp edge of Horatio's hipbone and the length of thigh that abutted Archie's own. Not the most comfortable of seating arrangements, but they were accustomed to close quarters by now. Besides, Archie found Horatio's proximity oddly soothing.

"All set, Archie?" Horatio asked with a fleeting smile. Archie nodded and smiled back.

"All right then. Now," he said as he scribbled rapidly, "The shortest distance between two points along the surface of a sphere can always be connected by what is called a great circle, which is to say a circle that has as its centre the centre of the sphere."

Archie furrowed his brow, and Horatio erased what he had written and began again.

"Here, I'll draw it for you." And he did so pointing to the centre of the clean, precise sphere he had drawn on the slate. "Do you see here? How the centre of the circle lies at the centre of the sphere? Such that the circle is the same diameter as the sphere itself?"

Archie nodded and wondered why Mr. Bowles had not simply said this during his lessons. It made many things much clearer than they had been.

"So..." Archie began, his voice hesitant, "the angle between the two points on the circle is the same as that between the two points on the sphere itself?"

"Yes!" Horatio looked very pleased at Archie's epiphany and Archie felt a sudden glow of pride suffuse him at the praise. "And simple trigonometry can give you the value of that angle, and then we have the tables to tell us the latitude and longitude at which we should arrive if we know where our vessel is setting out from." He wrote a few formulae on the slate, and then set down a set of starting coordinates for their vessel. "Here. If the vessel begins here, and we must travel two degrees north, that means... "

"That we'll be travelling between two points that are separated by two degrees, measuring from the centre of the Earth," Archie said, pleased with himself.

"Yes, Archie! That's exactly it. And you can see that for small distances and angles, the angle itself in radians and the tangent are roughly equal to one another, so you open the mathematical tables and search for the value in radians of a two degree angle, and you obtain ... "

Archie leafed through the little booklet and arrived at ... "Point oh three four ... nine," he finished, scratching a bit of dried burgoo off of the page to reveal the last digit.

"All right. Now, we multiply that by the distance from the centre of the Earth to our location on the globe, which is..." Horatio paused and waited for Archie to essay the answer.

"The same as its radius?" Archie said uncertainly.

"Quite." Horatio bent his head to the slate and multiplied the two numbers, and soon the correct answer was there before them both. "It works almost the same for any small angle," he said, "and is simple if you are only travelling north-south or east-west. It gets more complicated once you travel along both lines of latitude and lines of longitude, but with the tables, it all becomes quite simple."

Horatio cleared his throat.

"Now you try it, Archie," he instructed as he handed over the slate and the bit of chalk. "Assume that you wish to travel four degrees thirty minutes to the west."

Determined to make a go of it, Archie hunched over the slate and set himself to the task. Chewing at his lower lip, he scribbled figures with the bit of chalk, occasionally rubbing one out and replacing it with another. It was, he soon discovered, difficult to concentrate, not with Horatio sitting so close beside him, his long, slim leg pressed so tightly against his own so that Archie could feel the warmth of his body bleeding through two pairs of breeches. Horatio was close enough that Archie could feel his breath as it ghosted against his cheek, could smell the brine of sea salt that permeated his skin and his clothing to mix with other ineffable scents uniquely his own. And all the while, he could feel Horatio's eyes upon him, watching, assessing. It was a familiar sensation, one he'd become attuned to during his months in Justinian and had grown to dread since it invariably presaged the unwelcome appearance of Jack Simpson. This was different, though. Whereas Jack's gaze burned like a brand pressed against tender flesh, Horatio's felt...gentler, as warm and soothing as a caress. And indeed, Archie could feel warmth suffusing him, making his cheeks flame in spite of himself.

He worried his lip more vigorously between his teeth and tried to focus on his calculations once more. After a few minutes more, he put down the chalk and held out the slate for Horatio's inspection.

Horatio looked them over, his brow creased with a frown.

"This isn't quite right, Archie," he said, his voice faintly apologetic. Horatio erased the sum with the bit of cheesecloth, then picked up the chalk and tapped it on the slate. "See here? You should have multiplied by two-pi here instead of pi upon two."

Archie looked down at the slate; sure enough, he'd done precisely that. He could feel his cheeks warming anew. It was strange, but for some reason he felt more embarrassed here in the privacy of the midshipmen's berth than he had during the lesson above decks with Captain Keene gazing down at him disapprovingly. Perhaps it was because then he'd been just another bumbling mid among many, but more likely it was because he didn't want to disappoint Horatio, especially when he'd gone to such trouble on Archie's account. He gave Horatio a rueful smile.

"I'm sorry, Horatio, to be such a dunce."

Horatio blinked, apparently startled by his words. "You're not a dunce, Archie. That was an easy enough mistake to have made. Anyone could have done so."

Not you, Archie thought, then immediately felt ashamed for even thinking such an uncharitable thing about Horatio. He bowed his head so that Horatio couldn't see his embarrassment. When he looked up again, Horatio was looking at him with those warm brown eyes of his.

"Why don't you try it again, Archie?" Horatio said with an encouraging smile that sparked an answering one from Archie.

Horatio handed him the slate and the chalk and Archie set to the calculations once again. It wasn't easy as the combination of complex mathematics and Horatio's proximity conspired to distract him. Horatio leaned closer to peer over his shoulder, his chin almost resting in the curve between shoulder and neck. Archie's breath caught in his throat.

"Wait, Archie, there. Do you see? You've reversed those two digits?"

To underscore his point, Horatio pointed to the digits in question, his hand brushing against Archie's own as he did so. Archie swallowed.

When he turned to look at Horatio, their faces were very close, so close he could almost imagine he could feel the heat rising from his bruised flesh. Horatio's dark eyes almost seemed to glow against the pallor of his skin.

"Yes, of course. How silly of me." He turned away quickly, and erased the two digits and put them in their proper order, relieved that at least he hadn't stuttered out the words. It was bad enough that he was blushing like a schoolgirl again. Determined not to make any more of a fool of himself than he already had, Archie doubled his efforts. This time, he met with success.

Horatio scanned the slate, a broad smile breaking out across his face. "Well done, Archie!" Horatio praised. Archie smiled broadly as well, delighted.

"Ready to try another one?"

Archie nodded, still smiling.

Horatio took the slate from his hands and wiped it clean. "All right then, this time, imagine that you wish to travel six degrees thirty minutes north and three degrees east. That should make things a bit more challenging."

He handed the slate back to Archie and for just a moment, their hands touched. Archie looked up at Horatio startled, while Horatio's expression turned shy. Archie was relieved that for once he wasn't the only one blushing with embarrassment. Setting the slate on his lap, Archie picked up the bit of chalk and set himself to work.

It remained slow going, but he plodded along and began to make honest progress. By the sixth equation, Archie felt suffused with warmth that stemmed from pride in his own accomplishment but even more from Horatio's generous and clearly heartfelt praise. Little by little, everything else seemed to fall away: the chill of the berth, the voices echoing in the mess, the mood of foreboding and anxiety that seemed to permeate the ship along with the stench of men and beasts below decks until there was nothing but the two of them squeezed together on Horatio's sea chest. For the first time since he'd arrived in Justinian, Archie felt genuinely, unreservedly happy.

He should have known it could not last.

"Out of my way!"

The harsh voice cut through the pleasant haze surrounding Archie like a shot from a twenty-pounder through a ship's rigging. The warmth that only moments ago had suffused and buoyed him vanished entirely leaving him chilled and shivering, his heart pounding madly in his chest. Without even thinking, he shot to his feet, aware that Horatio had done the same. Archie looked over at him, wide eyed, and saw a look of alarm on the other boy's face that no doubt mirrored his own. But there was something else there as well, an edge of anger and sullen resentment that Horatio couldn't entirely hide, if he even tried.

Archie realized he still clutched the slate in his hands and he shoved it behind Horatio's sea chest, out of sight. He knew instinctively what would happen if Simpson saw it. Lieutenant Eccleston had warned Horatio that he'd be for the rigging if anything happened to it and Archie was damned if he'd let Horatio take another punishment for Simpson's mischief if he could help it.

Archie had barely righted himself when Simpson appeared.

"And what are you two up to?" Simpson's voice was surly, as it usually was when he came off duty, a thread of suspicion woven through it.

"N-n-nothing Jack," he said and cursed himself for stuttering. Jack watched him with a mixture of amusement and casual menace in those cold blue eyes of his, obviously pleased by Archie's reaction. When Simpson's gaze flicked to Horatio, however, all traces of amusement disappeared. Archie could feel Horatio stiffen beside him, his fists clenching at his side.

'No, Horatio', Archie thought furiously. 'For the love of God, don't antagonize him. That's exactly what he wants.' Archie couldn't say that, of course, so he did the only thing he could he reached over and gently placed his right hand on Horatio's forearm. He left it there until he felt some of the tension drain away beneath his fingertips as the fists unclenched once more.

Simpson's canny eyes narrowed and Archie had not doubt that the man had seen Archie's gesture and Horatio's response and had stored it away for future reference. Archie waited, breathless, for some further taunt or comment. Instead, Simpson scowled at them.

"Well, then get out of here, both of you. I'm going to sleep. And I expect quiet," he added in a louder voice as he cast a baleful glare in the direction of the mess. There would be no further conversation this evening, Archie knew. Simpson turned back to stare at him. "Well?"

Archie flinched. "Y-yes, Jack. W-we're leaving." Archie tugged at Horatio's sleeve and drew the other boy from the berth with him before Horatio could say or do anything to provoke Jack. He didn't stop in the mess, but continued past, Horatio a step behind until they'd crossed the threshold and were out of sight entirely.

Archie could feel Simpson's eyes searing into his back the entire time.

It wasn't until they had reached the steps leading above decks that Archie realized he was still holding on to Horatio's sleeve. He released it with an odd sense of regret. When he looked at Horatio, the other boy gazed back at him with an inscrutable expression. Horatio turned and mounted the steps to the main deck. Archie followed.

The night was cold enough that no one was above decks save those unfortunate enough to be on duty. Archie could make out a shadowy figure walking the quarterdeck and remembered that Lieutenant Chadd had first watch. The wind rose and Archie wrapped his arms tightly about himself and wished he'd thought to bring his coat with him. He could retrieve it, of course...but no; that would mean going back to the berth where his sea chest was stored. Given the choice between freezing above decks and being in Simpson's poisonous presence even briefly, he decided that the cold was the infinitely more agreeable option.

Horatio had walked over to lean against the rail. Archie wasn't surprised that he'd chosen the larboard side so that he might gaze out towards the Channel, rather than the starboard that faced Portsmouth. Archie moved to stand next to him and rested his own forearms on the rail as he watched the moonlight dance on the water.

"I'm sorry," Archie said after a time. Horatio looked at him and even in the darkness Archie could read his surprise.

"For heaven's sake, Archie, whatever for?"

Archie shrugged. In truth, he didn't know what he was apologizing for himself. It had become a habit around Simpson and he couldn't seem to break himself of it even when the man wasn't around.

"It's not your fault, Archie."

"I know. It's just..." he trailed off, unsure of what he would have said. They remained silent for a time.

"I need to return the slate to Lieutenant Eccleston." Horatio said.

"That can wait until tomorrow."

"I suppose so," Horatio agreed. He seemed to hesitate a moment before continuing. "Or, I could ask him if I could keep it for a few more days so that we might continue the lessons. That is, if you want to?"

Horatio's expression was so earnest and hopeful Archie could not have said no even had he wanted to. He gave Horatio a shy smile. "I would like that very much, Horatio."

Horatio returned his smile. "You really were making excellent progress, Archie. Mister Bowles would be most startled by your improvement."

Archie's smile faltered for a moment at that thought. It was not the ship's master's reaction that concerned Archie the most, but he didn't say as much. He would not burden Horatio with his worries, not when the other boy already had more than his share in that regard.

"Well," he said, trying to keep his tone light, "if that be the case, then I have you to thank for it, sir." He paused, then spoke in all sincerity. "Thank you, Horatio."

"You're most welcome, Archie."

Archie shivered once more and rubbed his hands briskly along his arms in a vain attempt to ward off the chill night air. "Let's get ourselves below decks and out of this cold. We'll have to be back here soon enough for the watch." He hesitated a moment, then rested his hand on Horatio's shoulder, feeling the cold wool under his hand and beneath it the warmth of the other boy's body. He removed his hand quickly, more shocked by the faint heat than the cold.

Horatio nodded and smiled at Archie once more before he descended below decks with Archie but a step behind.

Horatio had never paused to consider the life of the common fly, but he now felt an unanticipated sympathy for that humble insect. Hanging in the rigging, spread-eagle, he felt like nothing so much as a fly trapped in a spider's web, vulnerable, exposed and terribly helpless. It was an unpleasant comparison and one that he tried not to dwell upon, but it was difficult as there was nothing to do *but* think while suspended in mid air.

His stomach roiled at that thought and he squeezed his eyes shut and tried to block out the image of the deck far, far below. He gripped the ratlines even more tightly so he could feel the scratch of hemp against his palms. He would have a bad case of rope burn by the time he was released, but at the moment, he didn't care. As long as he could feel the roughness of the cordage biting into his skin, he knew he was safe.

He swallowed against the taste of bile in his throat and his face burned with shame at his weakness. A fear of heights might be no great misfortune in a landsman, but in a sailor, it was risible. It was a failing he must learn to overcome it or risk being undone by it. More galling still, his weakness had been exposed; Simpson had managed to learn that disgraceful secret at least.

Horatio's cheeks burned anew, but now it was with anger as well as shame. He had no doubt that Simpson was enjoying every minute of his punishment, and was probably congratulating himself on how neatly he'd managed things. Horatio was only now coming to understand exactly how gifted Simpson was at making the lives of his messmates a misery. He despised the man; and more than that, he despised himself for allowing Simpson to show him for the weakling he was. Even with his eyes closed, he could see Simpson watching him with a cold, nasty smile on his lips and smug satisfaction radiating from him like light from a signal beacon.

Simpson was hardly alone. He could feel all of them watching. Watching and mocking: the ratings who delighted in the sight of an officer disciplined publicly, the senior officers who observed with cool detachment and unmistakable censure, his messmates, who watched with varying degrees of pity, relief and perhaps even contempt.

Horatio had never felt so alone in all his life.

The rigging shivered in the wind and Horatio clung even more desperately to the ropes. He had lost track of time, uncertain if it was four bells that last sounded or five. The passage of time was a dim thing in comparison to the aches of his body. His muscles were stiff and screamed for relief, while his stomach roiled and the burn of the rope merely added to his discomfort. He tried to distract himself from his physical pains. He ran mathematical equations through his head, recited Greek, anything to divert his attention from his body and keep his thoughts from following other, less pleasant paths, but nothing seemed to work.

The rigging swayed again and his stomach heaved. Suddenly angry at his own body's betrayal, Horatio steeled himself and opened his eyes to stare, almost challengingly, at the deck below him.

The scene had not changed since last he'd looked upon it. Above he saw a sky dark with the promise of rain; below, an expanse of deck punctuated by three masts that rose skyward like trees in the forest. Figures moved below, but paid him little notice. Perhaps, he thought, the novelty of a mid hanging in the rigging had worn off. That thought provided at least a small degree of comfort.

Horatio suddenly felt eyes upon him and scanned the deck. He expected to meet Simpson's malevolent gaze, but instead found himself looking back at Archie who watched him from the waist. Archie's face was pale and even from such distance it appeared strained, but the small smile that lit his face when their eyes met was genuine. Horatio found, much to his surprise, that he could even dig up a smile to give in return. It must have been a fair facsimile because Archie's grin brightened at once and Horatio felt himself warm at the sight of it.

The moment, however, was brief. Even as he watched, Lieutenant Chadd came over to where Archie stood and spoke to him. Horatio could not hear the words, of course, but he knew from the way that Archie straightened that it must have been an order of some kind. He nodded gravely to the second lieutenant who turned on his heel and returned to the quarterdeck. Archie cast one last look in Horatio's direction, a kindly smile on his face, before he dutifully followed Chadd.

Horatio watched the other boy as he walked away, a wan smile still lingering on his own lips. It vanished an instant later when his travelling gaze encountered Simpson. Sure enough, the man was watching him, a cold, mocking smile stretched across his features. Horatio could feel his face tighten in response. He refused to close his eyes, but he would not look upon the monster. Instead, he raised his head to stare directly in front of him towards the wide, grey expanse of the Channel and the promise of the open sea.

The rain that had been threatening began to fall at last. At first it was no more than a sprinkle, but soon enough the heavens opened up and the rain fell heavily and soaked him through. It did not matter, he told himself; it was but one more discomfort to add to the growing list. It was not pleasant, but neither would it kill him.

He wondered what his father would make of all this and he realized at once that he could never tell him any of what had transpired. He would not add to his shame by making his current plight known to his father, would sooner die than recount such humiliation. In his mind, he constructed a glowing letter filled with the joys of life in the service. It provided a brief distraction.

As the rain continued to sheet down, Horatio's mind wandered, yet it returned again and again to the sensation of two pairs of blue eyes watching him, one as cold and biting as a Channel wind, the other as warm as a summer day. He clung to the latter like a talisman, a single bright spark to ward off the chill.

It was enough.

It was Archie who suggested the forward sail locker.

After their previous lesson had been cut short by the unexpected and thoroughly unwelcome arrival of Simpson into the midshipmen's berth, both Horatio and Archie had realized that it would be advantageous to find another place where they could study without fear of interruption. Unfortunately, on a ship housing some eight hundred souls, not to mention assorted livestock, there were precious few prospects below decks, and the cold, damp weather made above decks quite impractical as well.

The sail locker, however, seemed an ideal solution to the problem. The space itself was quite small and cramped and they needed to watch for vermin, but it was relatively warm and quiet and given the idleness of the men and the laxity of the officers, it seemed highly unlikely that they would be disturbed by anyone come hunting for fresh canvas.

Of course, 'fresh' was a relative term, Horatio thought as he wrinkled his nose and tried to ignore the smell of mildew that hung thickly in the air. Not surprisingly, the sail locker was as neglected as the other parts of the ship and the damp had seeped into the sails making them go mouldy. They left the door open, both to air out the space and to give them a bit of room to manoeuvre while they shifted sails about in order to free up enough space to accommodate them. He hadn't realized just how heavy the canvas was and he grunted as he and Archie, standing at opposite ends, lifted one of the rolls of canvas and moved it into place.

"That's a top gallant royal," Archie said quite sagely. "You can tell by the stitching. See?" he said, jutting his chin towards the thick threads woven through the edges.

Horatio nodded though he could hardly tell the difference, not when the sails were rolled up like this. He sighed inwardly. He still had so much to learn and few teachers willing to share their knowledge.

Archie, however, had proven quite willing to do just that. He'd claimed that it was only fair, what with Horatio trying to instruct a dunce like him in mathematics, though Horatio suspected that Archie was secretly pleased by the prospect. Archie declared his knowledge merely adequate, but he still knew far more than Horatio did and furthermore he proved remarkably patient in the face of Horatio's constant stream of queries. The previous day they'd had a rare spot of sunshine and Archie had taken the opportunity to lead him on a thorough tour of the ship. They'd walked her length from stem to stern as Archie pointed out the various parts of the ship in passing and offered a brief description of its function. Horatio had trailed behind Archie and tried to ignore the smirks and snickers of the ratings as they passed. He'd felt his annoyance flare, but had done his level best to ignore them. He reminded himself that everyone-even the most seasoned able seaman-had to learn these things at the start. There was no shame in ignorance, only in the refusal to move past it.

In spite of that awkwardness, Horatio had enjoyed himself immensely and it had appeared he was not alone in that regard. Archie had seemed almost another person above decks as his native good humour reasserted itself like the sun breaking through the clouds. It was a remarkable transformation and Horatio had found his eyes drawn with increasing frequency to his companion's animated face, riveted by the sight of cheeks flushed pink from the cold and eyes alight with the simple pleasure of breathing the sharp, salty air amidst the watery sunlight. Archie had turned back to look at him and had given him a dazzling smile that quite took Horatio's breath away. He had felt his face warm as he returned the smile, hoping that Archie didn't notice his embarrassment.

He glanced over at the other boy in the here and now. Archie's face was flushed from exertion, his cheeks as pink as they'd been on that day when Archie had given him a tour of the ship. Horatio could see the sweat that beaded his brow and the tendrils of hair that clung to his damp skin. Horatio knew he must look much the same. He could feel the sweat as it trickled down the back of his neck and plastered his shirt collar against his skin. He wished he had remembered to tuck a handkerchief in his sleeve. He was forever forgetting to carry one and when he did remember he invariably seemed to lose it. It was of no consequence; he could make do without.

At Archie's nod, Horatio released his end of the sail and it dropped to the deck with an agreeable thud and a cloud of dust that made them both sneeze and set his eyes to watering.

Archie mopped his brow with his own linen, pushing aside the sweat-darkened hair that clung there.

"Horatio?" Archie asked, his voice almost hesitant, as he held the handkerchief out towards him. Horatio flushed. He was embarrassed that Archie had noticed his lack, but was touched by the offer even more.

"Thank you." His fingers grazed Archie's as he took the bit of linen. It was damp and cool against his skin and it was with some reluctance that he returned it to its rightful owner.

Horatio turned to survey their handiwork with satisfaction. They'd arranged the sails to create a raised bench of sorts with one rolled sail on the floor upon which they could rest their feet-hopefully--out of the path of any vermin that infested this part of the ship. It wasn't much but it would do.

Horatio scooped up the chalk and the slate (as expected, Lieutenant Eccleston had been astonished by his request to keep a bit longer but had acceded with only the mildest of warnings) while Archie fussed with the lantern. Once it was lit, they retreated into their refuge to renew their studies and closed the door behind them.

It was an even tighter fit than Horatio had anticipated, but he wasn't particularly bothered by that. Archie hung the lantern from a peg on the wall above them so that warm light spilled out and illuminated the locker fully before he sat down on the rolled up sails at Horatio's side.

"Cosy," Archie observed as he dropped to sit beside Horatio.

Horatio nodded. "Yes. And the sails are certainly more comfortable than my sea chest."

"That's for sure," Archie agreed as he wriggled his arse a bit and settled himself more comfortably into the fabric beneath them. He gave Horatio an impish smile that Horatio returned quite easily.

"Ready, Archie?"

"Do your worst, Mr. Hornblower."

"Very well. Let's begin where we left off last time. Assume that you wish to travel five degrees to the south and three degrees thirty minutes to the west."

Horatio handed the slate and the chalk to Archie and studied him as he worked, admiring the way the lantern light gilded his profile and made his hair gleam like brass. Archie, he noticed, tended to bite his lip when lost in thought and Horatio watched, helplessly fascinated, as Archie trapped his lower lip between even, white teeth before he freed the soft, reddened flesh, only to worry it again moments later.

It was quiet in the sail locker, their breathing and the scrape of the chalk against the slate the only sounds. Horatio tried to watch Archie's calculations, but found himself watching the other boy's hands instead as they moved gracefully across the slate. His eyes tracked the movement as Archie raised one to scratch distractedly against his nose before he dropped back into his lap.

"How is this, Horatio?"

Horatio blinked and his gaze shifted between Archie's inquisitive face and the slate now covered with equations.

"Horatio?"

He could hear the concern in Archie's voice and wished to put him at his ease. "I beg your pardon, Archie. My mind must have wandered."

Archie watched him with a thoughtful expression but merely shrugged and let the matter drop. "That's quite all right, Horatio. Well?" He handed Horatio the slate then peered over his shoulder.

"Hmm..." Horatio's eyes scanned the calculations, pleased to see that Archie had not forgotten what he had learned in their previous lesson. "Well done, Archie."

Archie beamed at him, his smile contagious as well as distracting. "Let's try another one, shall we?"

He gave Archie another set of coordinates and Archie set himself to the task. Horatio tried not to look at the other boy, but it was difficult, particularly since there was nothing else to occupy his attention within the close confines of the sail locker. Horatio shifted nervously on the makeshift bench. The sailcloth did indeed make for a more comfortable seat, but it led to an unexpected complication; every time one of the other shifted, the rolled up cloth dipped and sent them sliding one into the other.

"Move your arse, Mr. Hornblower," Archie finally said with a nudge of his elbow and a sly, mischievous glance at Horatio.

"I could say the same to you, Mr. Kennedy." he retaliated with a nudge of his own.

"Well at least I'm not bony like you!"

Horatio gawped, outraged. "I protest, sir!"

"Protest all you like, Horatio, it will not change the truth of things," he replied with a laugh and a further application of his elbow.

Horatio elbowed him back, making Archie drop the bit of chalk. Horatio instinctively bent to retrieve it; unfortunately, so did Archie. And with the inevitability of the tide coming in, two heads collided with considerable force.

"Ow!"

"Ow!"

Horatio jerked back and rubbed at his forehead, not at all surprised to see Archie doing the same, his eyes wide and startled. They looked at one another for a long moment, twin expressions of surprise written across their faces before they dissolved into laughter.

"Lord above, Horatio we are quite the pair, aren't we?" Archie said between bouts of laughter.

"So it would seem." Horatio reached up to rub at his forehead again. He winced as his fingertips touched a sensitive spot.

"Did I hurt you, Horatio?" Archie asked as his mirth immediately gave away to concern.

"I'm fine, Archie, really."

"Let me see..."

"No, it's fine, really."

"Hush, Mr. Hornblower," Archie said in a soft voice lined with steel. Horatio acquiesced.

Archie reached up and pushed Horatio's hair away from his temple, his fingers cool, his touch amazingly gentle. Archie leaned close, so close Horatio could feel his breath warming his cheek.

"You've got the beginnings of a fine goose egg there, Horatio. I'm sorry."

Horatio saw the look of genuine regret on the other boy's face and sighed. "It's not your fault, Archie."

"I know, but..."

"It was an accident," he said, his own voice as firm as Archie's had been moments before.

Archie nodded. "I know. But I would not have added to your injuries for the world. You've got bruises enough already." He reached up to touch the bump on Horatio's temple once more, his fingers gliding back and forth in a gentle, soothing rhythm.

"It doesn't hurt, Archie." And indeed, with Archie's fingers moving back and forth across his brow, all pain seemed to have fled, replaced by a curious, but not unpleasant, warmth. Archie looked at him with eyes bluer than the sky on a summer day in Kent, his gaze soft with solicitude. Horatio felt his heart give a sudden, unexpected lurch. He coughed uncomfortably.

"Perhaps we should return to your lessons, Archie." He retrieved the chalk and handed it back to Archie. Archie blinked down at the piece of chalk then looked up at Horatio, bemused.

"Oh...yes, of course," Archie said slowly as he picked up the slate. He looked at Horatio again and for just a moment, Horatio thought he saw a flicker of regret in the other boy's eyes before he returned to his normal bright self. "Very well, Mr. Hornblower. Fire as you bear."

Horatio settled himself more comfortably on his seat and took a steadying breath. "Very well, sir. Imagine that you wish to plot a course eight degrees fifteen minutes north and four degrees east."

It was quiet in the sail locker once more, with their breathing and the scrape of the chalk against the slate the only sounds. But nothing could entirely silence the strange and unsettling thoughts that had begun to buzz in Horatio's mind.

Archie could hear the rain as it continued to sleet down above decks, but it did nothing to dampen Simpson's high spirits. His convivial mood, rather than putting everyone at ease, had quite the opposite effect. They sat around the table, tense and anxious, shooting wary looks in the Simpson's direction as they wondered when the wind would change and Simpson's temper would descend upon them like a squall.

Archie kept his eyes averted. He knew better than to draw Simpson's attention, especially when he was in such a mood. A violent Jack was frightening, but a whimsical Jack was even more terrifying in his unpredictability. If Archie had thought he could escape without drawing notice, he would have done so. Instead, he waited and kept his head down and counted off the endless minutes until Simpson took the watch.

A scraping sound pulled Archie from his reverie. He turned to the noise and was horrified to see Clayton half-guiding, half-carrying Horatio's sodden figure into the mess. He looked awful. His skin was deathly pale with a strange quality to it as if his features were formed of wax rather than flesh, his bruises all the more garish in contrast. His lips were tinged blue.

Without even thinking, Archie rose to his feet and went to help Clayton carry him into the berth past the table where their messmates sat and gawped. Archie desperately tried to ignore the way Simpson's eyes burned into his back like hot pokers.

"God, Horatio," Archie whispered as he and Clayton wrestled the boy out of his sodden clothing and into his nightshirt. Archie held Horatio more or less upright while Clayton retrieved a bit of sheeting with which to dry his hair and skin. Once they settled him in his hammock, they took turns using it to rub his icy limbs to return some warmth to them. Finally, there was naught to do but tuck Horatio in to his hammock.

Archie felt a hand on his shoulder. "I must go back on deck, Archie." Clayton cast a cautious glance in Simpson's direction then turned to lock gazes with Archie. "Look after him as best you can."

Archie nodded and watched as Clayton returned to the quarterdeck. He refused to look in Simpson's direction. If Simpson wanted to cause further mischief, he would happily do so, but Archie would do or say nothing to draw the other man's attention either to himself or to Horatio. It was a poor defence, but it was all he could do under the circumstances

Archie gathered up his own blanket and placed it across the slumbering boy. He hesitated a moment, but then reached down to brush damp tendrils of hair away from Horatio's forehead. He let his hand rest there. The skin was cool and slightly clammy to his touch at the moment, but that did not preclude the possibility of chills and fever later on.

He began to remove his hand when he realized that Horatio was looking up at him through slitted lids.

"Archie?"

Archie gave him a ghost of a smile but left his hand on the other boy's brow. "You should rest, Horatio."

Horatio gave him a small, pained smile. "You said that to me once before."

Archie nodded. "So I did. The advice remains as sound as ever. Go to sleep, Horatio. You'll feel better come morning."

Horatio gave him a faint nod as his lids slid closed and sleep claimed him. Archie stood there, his hand resting on Horatio's brow for a few moments more and watched him sleep. Archie took a shuddering breath, then a second before he turned to face his messmates once more. He was painfully conscious of the silence that hung heavily in the air and the eyes upon him. He kept his gaze lowered as he returned to his seat at the end of the table.

Archie risked a quick sideways glance at Simpson. Sure enough, the man was watching him. Simpson's expression was pleasant enough, but Archie saw a hint of something cold and calculating in those blue eyes and dropped his gaze at once.

"So, Kennedy, is Snotty tucked away like a babe in his swaddling clothes?"

Simpson's tone was light, his query almost innocent in its content. Archie felt the hair rising on his nape and he stiffened as he awaited the inevitable taunts. "Y-yes," he replied. He hadn't stuttered too badly that time.

"Good. We wouldn't want the lad to fall ill, now would, we?"

Archie frowned and wondered what Jack was playing at. Archie did not believe for an instant that his concern was sincere. This mock sympathy was part of a game, but what it was Archie didn't know and the rules remained undefined. Only Jack knew and he would not tip his hand before time.

"N-no, Jack."

Simpson nodded slowly, his manner almost gracious. "Hastings!" he called out suddenly to one of the other mids who looked startled and more than a little nervous to suddenly find himself the object of Simpson's attention. Simpson did not comment upon it, but instead smiled brightly. "Get the cards. I feel like a game. Hether, Cleveland, you're playing too."

The three mids snapped to at the order, for no one who knew the man would have mistaken it as anything else. Archie remained where he was, head down with a frown creasing his features as he wondered anew at Simpson's motives as the sounds of a game of whist carried through the mess.

Archie cast a glance at Horatio's hammock, held his breath and waited for eight bells to sound.

Archie closed the door to the sail locker firmly behind him before he lit the small lantern and returned it to its peg overhead. The candle flickered then steadied and Archie reminded himself that they would need to pilfer another soon. Once that resolve was made, Archie retrieved the slate and the chalk that they had taken to secreting there for the sake of convenience as well as discretion and settled in to await Horatio's arrival.

He heard a faint noise and held himself to stillness. There was a pause and then the sound of footsteps coming closer before they stopped directly in front of the sail locker. Archie held his breath for a moment then expelled it all at once when Horatio slipped into the locker and closed the door behind him.

Horatio smiled at him and Archie felt his heart flutter strangely in his chest. It took him a moment to calm its beating, but when he did, he smiled warmly at the other boy, pleased by the way Horatio's smile brightened even more in response.

"I am sorry that I am late, Archie. There was something I needed to retrieve from my sea chest."

"Oh?" he asked as Horatio dropped to sit next to him. As always, the sailcloth dipped and the two of them slid closer together. Neither one spoke a word of complaint.

"I thought we could try something different today," Horatio said as he handed Archie a small leather covered book. Archie turned it over in his hands and noted the worn binding. A well-used tome, he realized, and well cared for. He opened it with the greatest of care and let his eyes scan the open pages. Archie frowned then looked up at Horatio.

"Greek?"

Horatio nodded. "Yes. It's Euclid's Elements. It's one of the most important mathematical works ever written. It gathers together all the concepts and theorems that constitute the foundation of Greek mathematics. Euclid wasn't the first to do so, of course, but his treatise is widely recognized as the best by far. Think on it, Archie; he wrote it over two millennia ago and it remains the basis for geometry, algebra, everything. Isn't that extraordinary?"

Horatio's face fairly glowed as he spoke and there was a reverence in his voice that most men only used when speaking of their sweethearts. It might have seemed strange to some, this rapture over something as dry and dull as mathematics. Archie, however, thought it utterly charming, and he found himself admiring anew the way Horatio's dark eyes sparked and gleamed and his full mouth curved and melded itself fluidly around the words he spoke with such fervour.

"There are thirteen books in the treatise," Horatio continued in his most earnest voice, "though they all depend upon the axioms found in Book I. That is where Euclid laid out the principles upon which the other books are based and established the basic terms used for geometry: point, line, angle and the like."

Archie closed the book in his hands and opened it once again to a spot closer to the front. He studied the symbols before him and dug into his memory for half-forgotten lessons that his tutor had tried, with only moderate success, to impress upon him. He began to chew on his lower lip and frowned at the recalcitrant collection of signs and squiggles until at last they seemed to rearrange themselves into some recognizable form.

"`Parallel straight lines are straight lines which..." Archie began haltingly his frown deepening as he puzzled out the word, "...being produced endlessly...no, *infinitely*...in both directions, do not meet one another in either direction.''

Archie looked up from the book to see Horatio gazing at him with an expression of wonder. "You can read Greek!"

From other lips the observation would have seemed almost condescending, but Horatio's delight was so genuine, his enthusiasm so sincere, it was impossible to take it as anything but a compliment. Archie pulled a face and returned the book to Horatio. "Not terribly well, I'm afraid. I was a bit of a dunce at that as well. And do not even ask about Latin," he added with a small, apologetic grin. "I really was an abominable student. Quite the embarrassment, I'm afraid."

Horatio blinked at him, clearly surprised. "But you're so clever!" he blurted out.

It was Archie's turn to blink at the other boy. "Hardly. My old tutor used to pull his hair out by the handful over my appalling lack of aptitude. He took to wearing a wig in large part because I had driven him quite bald," Archie confided with a wry chuckle.

"But you know so much," Horatio protested. "You know all about the ship..."

"And now so do you," Archie pointed out quite reasonably.

"Thanks to you," Horatio replied in a firm tone. "But you know other things. You're very good at talking to people and you're terribly witty..."

"Oh that," Archie said a dismissive wave of his hand. "That is nothing at all. I'm talking about things of consequence, like...well, mathematics or being able to read Greek or Latin. You know those kinds of things, Horatio, while I always seemed to make a poor showing at them."

Horatio's expression turned sombre and there was a sadness in his eyes that took Archie completely by surprise. "I wish you would not speak so unkindly of yourself, Archie. You are far more clever than you credit yourself to be. You've made great progress with your maths. I'd wager anything that you are better at navigation than any of the other mids now, and most of them older and more senior than you."

As if expecting Archie to object, Horatio help up a finger to silence him. Archie's mouth opened and closed just as quickly before he uttered a sound. "And as for Greek and Latin, well, when I first came on board Justinian Captain Keene told me that I had little need of ablative absolutes. He's no doubt right."

Archie refrained from offering his own view of their captain and his dubious judgment since Horatio clearly thought well of the man. There was no point in disillusioning the other boy entirely. He'd come to his own conclusions in time.

Still, when Archie looked into those dark, sympathetic eyes, he could almost believe the truth of what Horatio was saying to him. Horatio, he knew, would never lie. He was far too serious, too honourable, to utter a falsehood, even a well-intentioned one. It was, he reflected, one of Horatio's most admirable traits and it endeared him to Archie far more than he could ever say. Letting the matter drop, Archie spoke once more.

"So, were you going to teach me more about Euclid and his mathematics, Horatio?"

Horatio's expression cleared at once. "If you'd like."

"I would like it very much, sir."

Horatio gave him a bright smile. "Very well." He scooted closer to Archie until they were seated together, hip-to-hip, the open book resting on their laps. "Now, Book I of Euclid's treatise is comprised of four parts," he began. "The first is a series of twenty-three definitions that establish the meaning of terms that will be used throughout. That quote you read, Archie, about parallel lines is a definition, the twenty-third to be precise.

"Next, there are axioms or common notions. They are assertions, the truth of which is taken for granted because they are blatantly obvious, and can be applied in all sciences. For example, the first axiom in the Elements states that things equal to the same thing are equal to each other. It is universally true."

Horatio looked at Archie again who gestured for him to continue.

"Then there are postulates. Now, like axioms, postulates are assumed without proof..."

Archie continued to listen as Horatio expounded further on the Propositions and postulates versus axioms, a lovely, animated light in his eyes that made his face glow from within. Horatio turned the page of the book in front of them and leaned across to point to a small, immaculate illustration. As he did so, his arm brushed against Archie's, its warmth palpable even through their jackets. Archie swallowed awkwardly, suddenly intensely aware of the other boy's proximity. With a start, he realized that Horatio was speaking once more.

"...Now, as you can see here in this diagram..."

As Horatio's discourse continued, Archie tried to concentrate on the text resting in their laps, but his gaze kept shifting away from the book towards his companion. Archie found himself increasingly distracted by that intense, earnest expression of his and by the timbre and cadence of his voice. Horatio had a very nice voice, Archie decided, and he could easily sit and listen to him talk for hours and never become bored.

And all the while, Archie was physically aware of Horatio in a way he had never been before, at least not to this degree. It was both terrifying and exhilarating. Every time Horatio turned the page of the book, his fingers would graze against Archie's own. The touch was light and wholly innocent, and yet...the more time that passed, the more the touches seemed to lengthen and linger. Horatio's fingertips ghosted along his thumb and once against the inside of his wrist in a way that set his heart to fluttering. When he looked up at Horatio, he saw the other boy smiling at him, his eyes demurely downcast like those of a girl. Archie told himself that it was nothing more than his imagination but when he smiled back at Horatio, the other boy's cheeks coloured and he swallowed sharply, his Adam's apple bobbing visibly above his stock.

Fascinated by this strange and dizzying turn of events, Archie decided to test his own proposition, though he doubted the methods he intended to employ would have met with the approval of Euclid or any other mathematician of note.

"Horatio...?"

"Hmm?"

"Could you go back a page, please? I didn't get a very good look at that last diagram."

Horatio blinked at him. "Oh...of course." Just as Horatio reached over to turn the page, Archie reached over as well and allowed his fingers to brush against the back of Horatio's hand. "Oh sorry, Horatio," Archie apologized and gave Horatio his most winsome smile and what he hoped was a rather flirtatious glance from beneath his lashes. His expression was the approximate twin of the one that Horatio had given him scant minutes ago and he was thrilled to see that it elicited a look of startled bemusement similar to the one that Archie himself must have worn.

Horatio cleared his throat and sat up very straight at Archie's side as if trying to compose himself. Archie turned his head away for a moment to hide his smile before he looked back down at the book.

"Hmmm...yes, that's very interesting. Thank you, Horatio. Please continue."

"Oh...um...yes, of course. Well..." Horatio stammered, still quite flustered. "Um..."

"I believe you were about to explain Proposition eight?" Archie prompted helpfully.

"Yes, thank you Archie. Well, yes, Proposition eight..." Horatio cleared his throat again and when he spoke, his voice was steady once more. "Proposition eight proposes that 'if in a triangle two angles equal one another, then the sides opposite the equal angles also equal one another.'"

"So..."Archie began as he leaned over to look more closely at the diagram and brushed against Horatio in a seemingly innocent way as he did so. "We have triangle ABC with an angle equal to ACB." Archie drew a fingertip along the lines as he spoke.

"Yes, that's correct."

"And side AB also equals side AC."

"Yes."

"Hmm...fascinating."

Horatio swallowed again, his cheeks stained pink once again. "Perhaps...perhaps that is enough Euclid for one day, Archie. We shouldn't ignore your navigation entirely."

"No, of course not, Horatio," Archie agreed quite magnanimously. He closed the book and handed it back to Horatio. "Your book, sir."

Horatio reached over and their hands met along the spine of the small tome. For the first time since Archie had set his proof in motion, Horatio gazed directly into Archie's eyes. There was warmth there, along with something else that Archie couldn't entirely identify but which made his own cheeks flame in response. He ducked his head, embarrassed.

Archie picked up the abandoned slate with an unexpectedly unsteady hand. He took a breath and released it, feeling calmer for it. When he looked at his companion, his smile was genuine. "I am ready when you are, Mr. Hornblower."

"Very well, Mr. Kennedy. Imagine that you wish to travel six degrees thirty minutes south and three degrees fifteen minutes west..."

Horatio stumbled in the darkness and threw an arm out to steady himself before he continued on his way through the cable tier. Lieutenant Eccleston had been sending him on errands from one end of the ship to the other all day long: a trip to the galley to borrow a flat iron from the cook, then to the purser's cabin to return an ink well, then on to Mister Bowles to retrieve a book. There had been other tasks as well: a mission to the orlop to count the casks of beef, then above decks to count the holystones (though Horatio had yet to see them put to use since arriving in Justinian), and now this, an excursion to the cable tier to fetch some cordage for the men who were splicing some of the desperately worn rigging.

Although the first lieutenant didn't say as much, Horatio suspected that this was further punishment for being caught fighting below decks. No doubt, Eccleston believed that if Horatio were kept busy he'd have little time for brawling. It was a sensible strategy, he recognized; pity that it was being applied to the wrong midshipman. He could almost imagine the looks of astonishment on the faces of his former schoolmates if they heard that the bookish, prudent Horatio Hornblower had developed a reputation for engaging in fisticuffs. He smiled at the irony, but stopped at once as bruised muscles protested the action.

Horatio finally found what he was looking for amidst the piles of supplies that cluttered the narrow confines of the tier in a haphazard fashion. He was about to turn and make his way back above decks when he heard a noise. He paused and held himself perfectly still as he listened for the source of the sound. For a moment he thought it had been nothing more than his own imagination, or perhaps the sound of scuttling vermin, but then he heard it again.

Voices.

He frowned. He couldn't imagine what anyone would be doing is this gloomy place, but perhaps he wasn't the only one running errands this day. Curious, Horatio crept forward. There was a lantern burning some distance ahead and he could just make out the shapes of two bodies silhouetted against the dim light. He could hear the buzz of voices, but they were pitched low and were too distant for him to distinguish words.

As he moved closer, one of the figures grabbed the other by the shoulders and pushed him against the bulkhead with sufficient force to elicit a short, pained cry. The first man pressed closer and seemed to loom over the other one in a manner that could only be described as menacing.

Horatio could now see the first man, tall and whip thin with a head of lank, straw coloured hair escaping from a dishevelled queue that could not entirely obscure a sharp profile. Simpson. Horatio swallowed but was not truly surprised. Who else could the aggressor possibly have been? Horatio watched as Simpson leaned in and whispered something in the other man's ear. It was only then, as the other man turned his head away from Simpson, a look of revulsion writ clearly across his features, that Horatio could discern his identity at last.

Archie.

Horatio felt as if all the air had vacated his lungs at once, his eyes fixed on Archie's pale, stricken face and that of Simpson hovering so very near. Before he even realized it, Horatio had begun to move. There was no conscious thought, only a sudden sense of urgency. He took a step, then another, but on his third step, his foot collided with a box of tools that one of the carpenter's mates had apparently abandoned in the middle of the tier. They skittered noisily across the deck planks.

Simpson leapt back at the sound and whirled to face the interloper, features twisted into an ugly mask. His eyes narrowed as he caught sight of Horatio. "What are you doing here, Snotty?" Simpson said in a voice that fairly dripped with malice as he pinned him with an icy, implacable stare.

Horatio's eyes flickered from Simpson to Archie. Archie hadn't moved so much as an inch but remained where he was with his back pressed to the bulkhead, his face ashen and taut. Archie's eyes were squeezed shut and his lips were pressed into a tight, thin line as if he were in pain. Horatio had the distinct impression that Archie didn't even know he was there.

"Well?" Simpson prompted.

"Lieutenant Eccleston sent me down here to fetch some cordage," Horatio explained as he held up the coil of rope he held clutched tightly in both hands. Even as he stared back at Simpson, a strange sense of calm seemed to descend upon him. It felt almost as if he were floating outside of his own body watching events unfold before him like a play being performed on a stage. He didn't know if it were courage or madness, all he knew was that he needed to get Simpson away from Archie.

"Did he now?" Simpson said, his voice almost a purr.

"Yes, he did."

Horatio said no more. He half-expected Simpson to order him from the tier, but he knew he wouldn't go, even though it would surely earn him another thrashing. He wouldn't abandon Archie.

"Well, you had better be on your way then, shouldn't you?"

Horatio shook his head. "I still need to find some of the heavier rope," he lied with an ease that surprised him. "I haven't been able to find it yet, but perhaps I could ask Lieutenant Eccleston to come down and show me where it is..."

He let the sentence trail off, the threat implicit. Simpson studied him with those disquieting eyes of his, clearly trying to gauge how much of what Horatio had fed him was truth and how much was falsehood. He waited, holding his breath and wondered what he would do if Simpson called him on his bluff. Luck seemed to be with him this time, however. Simpson gave him a thin smile and spread his hands wide in a mock gesture of mock acquiescence.

"Very well, I shall leave you to your fetching and carrying, Snotty." Simpson walked over to Archie then leaned in close, his lips almost touching Archie's ears in a disturbingly intimate gesture. "We'll finish this conversation later, Kennedy," he murmured in a low, sibilant voice. Even from where he stood, Horatio could see a fine tremor race through Archie's frame. Simpson stepped away then walked towards the stairs that led above decks and made a point of ramming his shoulder into Horatio's in passing. Horatio stiffened, but otherwise did not respond to the obvious provocation. Instead, he turned to watch silently as the other man moved away at a leisurely pace and continued to do so until Simpson was swallowed up by the shadows entirely.

Once Simpson had vanished from view, Horatio rushed over to Archie's side.

"Archie," he said in a low, urgent voice but received no response. He said his name again and ghosted his fingertips against Archie's cheek. This time the reaction was immediate. Archie flinched at the touch and his head jerked back to bang against the bulkhead. His eyes flew wide and he drew a deep, shuddering breath, like a swimmer breaking the surface.

"Archie, it's all right," Horatio soothed and reached up to cradle his face in both hands as the other boy drew in great gulps of air. "It's all right."

It seemed forever before Archie came back to himself, though Horatio knew it had only been the space of a pair of heartbeats. Archie blinked rapidly and his eyes finally focused on Horatio's face. "H-horatio?"

"Yes, Archie, it's me."

"W-what...what are you doing here?" His eyes darted about and Horatio as sure he was looking for Simpson, as if expecting him to be hiding in the shadows just beyond Horatio's shadow.

"Lieutenant Eccleston sent me down here to find some rope," he explained evenly, not wishing to upset Archie further. A moment later, however, his resolve broke and he stared intently into the other boy's face. "Are you all right?" he asked. This time he made no effort to hide his concern.

Archie blinked again, startled and perhaps slightly wary. "Of course I am. Why wouldn't I be?"

"I saw you down here, with Simpson." Horatio didn't elaborate.

Archie paled then flushed and Horatio thought he saw panic flicker in the other boy's eyes before he regained control. "I'm fine, Horatio." Apparently, his suspicion was evident on Horatio's face, because Archie repeated the assertion, this time even more forcefully. "I'm fine. Really."

Horatio frowned, not wishing to pry, but unwilling to ignore what he had just witnessed. "Archie..." he began, hesitantly, "he didn't hurt you, did he?"

"No," Archie said, shaking his head. "He didn't. He just...he was just being Jack."

Archie didn't explain further but there really wasn't any need. Horatio was coming to learn what that meant. There had been a threat in Simpson's parting words, no mistake, but if Archie did not wish to speak of it further then Horatio would honour his wishes. For now.

"I suppose I'd better get this rope to Lieutenant Eccleston. Coming, Archie?"

Archie blinked again and when he smiled faintly Horatio could read the relief in his eyes.

As he followed Archie above decks, Horatio had a terrible and inexplicable suspicion that he had interrupted something worse than the beating he'd received just days before. It was a grim thought, but not nearly as grim as the one that followed:

'And perhaps next time I won't be there to intervene.'

Horatio had barely opened the door to the sail locker before a hand clamped around his forearm and pulled him inside. He over balanced and tumbled down to makeshift bench, his sudden forward motion managing to topple Archie as well sending the other boy to the floor.

"Archie!" Horatio chastised. His attempts to look severe, however, were undermined by the laughter that bubbled up in spite of himself. Archie joined him as he pulled himself up to drop heavily at Horatio's side, the movement inevitably sending Horatio sliding into Archie.

"You did that on purpose," Horatio accused.

"I did not," Archie protested rather primly. "Besides, you're late."

Horatio frowned. "What's that got to do with anything?"

"Nothing, save the fact that you are in the Navy, Mr. Hornblower and must learn punctuality." Archie pronounced that last word with great care, enunciating each syllable with an exaggerated movement of his lips. "If you arrived late for the watch you'd be punished, certain sure. So consider this a lesson of sorts."

Deciding that he'd lost the battle, Horatio acquiesced gracefully. "So, shall we begin, Archie?"

Archie gave him an assessing glance. "I thought that perhaps today we could try something else a little different."

"Oh?" Horatio asked and hoped he didn't sound as wary as he felt. Apparently, he was even less successful than he thought. Archie shook his head and gave him a patient look.

"It's nothing terrible, I assure you. I just thought that since you were kind enough to teach me about Euclid that it was only fair that I teach you something in return. Tit for tat as it were."

Horatio nodded. "Fair enough, Mr. Kennedy. What is it you have in mind?"

"This," Archie said as he handed Horatio a small leather bound book. He turned it over in his hands then opened it to read the title page.

"Shakespeare?"

Archie shrugged and suddenly appeared embarrassed. "Well, I don't have anything like Euclid tucked away in my sea chest, I'm afraid. This is the best I could do. You do have at least a passing familiarity with the Bard, don't you, Horatio?"

Horatio gave Archie a wry expression. "Passing, yes, but not much beyond that I'm afraid."

Archie shook his head. "That, sir, is nothing short of criminal. Shakespeare is our greatest playwright and his works are practically national treasures. I suppose that you aren't even acquainted with your namesake then."

"Namesake?"

"Horatio, the friend of Prince Hamlet, in 'The Tragedy of Hamlet, Prince of Denmark'."

"Would that make you Hamlet, Archie?" Horatio smiled, delighted by the unexpected flush that coloured Archie's cheeks at his observation.

"I hope not. Hamlet ends up dead at the end of the play, as does just about everyone else. Horatio, I can happily report, remains very much alive. So I suppose that makes yours an auspicious name."

"Well, I'd like to believe so. Certainly Admiral Nelson would agree."

"Quite true. Well?"

"Well what?"

"Shall we put aside navigation in favour of the Bard, Mr. Hornblower?"

Horatio nodded. "What will we read? Hamlet?"

Archie shook his head as he took the book from Horatio's hands. "Not this time, I think. The tragedies have the most beautiful language but they tend to be rather bleak. No, a comedy, I think. Something to lighten the spirits."

Archie returned his attention to the book and thumbed through the pages until he found what he sought. "Aha!" he proclaimed with a note of triumph in his voice.

Horatio peered over his shoulder. "'A Midsummer Night's Dream'?"

Archie nodded enthusiastically. "It's a wonderful story, filled with star crossed lovers, fairies, mischief and love charms gone awry. It's lovely. Besides, it's set in Greece. There is no Euclid or mathematics, I'm afraid, but Theseus does make an appearance." At Horatio's expression, Archie laid a hand on his forearm. "Trust me, Horatio, you will enjoy it, I promise."

Horatio looked down at the hand resting on his arm then up at Archie's face, his blue eyes wide with entreaty and his lips set in a soft pout. Horatio could no more have refused Archie in that moment than he could have commanded the sun not to set.

"All right, Archie."

Archie smiled brightly as he moved closer so that the book sat between them.

"The play begins in Athens in the palace of Theseus," Archie explained then cleared his throat and began to read:

"Now, fair Hippolyta, our nuptial hour
Draws on apace; four happy days bring in
Another moon: but, O, methinks, how slow
This old moon wanes! she lingers my desires,
Like to a step-dame or a dowager
Long withering out a young man revenue."

Horatio watched fascinated as Archie breathed life into one character after another. Horatio had called Archie clever and he'd known that it was an accurate assessment. His was a talent to which Horatio knew he could never aspire. Archie's face was aglow, transported by the beautiful words that danced across his tongue, and he pulled Horatio along with him like a ship on the tide. It was wondrous to behold.

The candle in the lantern above them suddenly flickered. Horatio frowned. "Wait, Archie, let me check the lantern."

Horatio stood and did just that then dropped back to Archie's side

"The candle is almost gone."

"Should I stop reading?"

"No, we'll be all right for a bit, I think." Horatio hesitated then spoke at last, letting his hand come to rest upon Archie's forearm. "You were right, Archie. This is a wonderful play."

Archie ducked his head shyly. He looked back at Horatio with a sweet smile on his lips, his cheeks stained a fetching shade of pink. Archie made no effort to remove his hand so Horatio let it remain.

"I knew you would like it, Horatio. Shakespeare's comedies are marvellous and they always have a happy ending. That's a rare thing in this life or any other."

"True enough." Horatio drew in a breath when Archie rested his hand lightly upon his own. He met Archie's gaze as boldly as he dared, and Archie's cheeks darkened further. Archie coughed nervously before he spoke once more.

"All right, where did I leave off?"

"Hermia and Lysander have just exited the stage."

"Oh, yes, of course...here we are:

"How happy some o'er other some can be!
Through Athens I am thought as fair as she.
But what of that? Demetrius thinks not so;
He will not know what all but he do know:
And as he errs, doting on Hermia's eyes,
So I, admiring of his qualities:
Things base and vile, folding no quantity,
Love can transpose to form and dignity:
Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind;
And therefore is wing'd Cupid painted blind"

The candle flickered again as the light vanished then sparked anew. When he looked over at Archie, Horatio saw that the other boy was chewing on his lower lip..

"Archie," he said, his voice oddly unsteady as Archie gazed at him intently, blue eyes boring into his own. He swallowed noisily but could not look away. Archie's eyes narrowed and his expression seemed to harden, as if he'd come to a decision of some import. But before Horatio could reflect upon the subject any further, Archie leaned in and kissed him.

In truth, it was barely a kiss. Archie's lips just brushed against his own before he retreated as if he'd been scalded. Startled, Horatio looked at the other boy and saw a look of utter horror etched upon his face. Archie opened his mouth, as if to speak and then closed it only to open it and close it once more. He looked like nothing more than a fish washed ashore. It would have made for a truly comical sight were it not for the look of misery in Archie's eyes.

Horatio could almost feel his heart break at the sight and before he could even formulate thought, he leaned forward to return the kiss. His own effort was not much better; their noses bumped sharply and their lips didn't match up properly but that hardly mattered. Archie stiffened, clearly taken by surprise, before he relaxed beside him and leaned in closer.

They pulled apart and Horatio looked at Archie from a distance of scant inches. The wretched expression was gone, replaced by one that Horatio could only describe as cautiously hopeful. When he smiled at Archie, the other boy fairly beamed at him, his smile as warm and bright as sunlight.

There was a question in Archie's eyes and Horatio nodded his permission. Archie leaned in once more, and paused, his lips a whisper away, before he completed the journey and kissed Horatio anew.

This kiss was different than those that had preceded it. While still tentative, it was less frantic, fuelled not by desperation but by mutual longing. Archie's lips were soft and very sweet and they melded against his with surprising ease. Had he ever given the subject any thought, Horatio would have expected it to feel strange to kiss another boy and yet now that he was engaged he found it to be remarkably uncomplicated and thoroughly pleasant exercise.

Archie shifted on the sailcloth moving closer and Horatio moved to accommodate him. His right arm slipped around Archie's back while his left remained on Archie's arm as their lips continued to meld and slip and press together.

They pulled apart reluctantly. Horatio looked at Archie, his face flushed, his eyes bright and Horatio disentangled his left hand and reached up to cradle his cheek. The skin was warm to the touch, his cheek soft and rounded, a last remnant of a boyhood that would inevitably give way to the angles and planes of manhood soon enough. He felt Archie's hand reach up to cradle his cheek in return with a touch that was gentle and a little hesitant. Archie's expression was one of wonder as his thumb stroked softly across Horatio's cheekbone and he let Archie explore his face with inquisitive fingertips, as shy touches grew bolder by the moment.

Horatio gave himself leave to explore as well as his fingers traced along the curve of Archie's cheek, the short, narrow bridge of his nose, the soft flesh of his lips. His hand stole up behind the Archie's head to slide into the thick mass of hair gathered at his nape in a ponytail. Archie's hair was straighter and finer than his own and Horatio's fingers slid through the soft strands as if they were molten brass.

Archie smiled sweetly at him and Horatio had a sudden impulse to taste his smile, so he did just that. The back of Archie's skull cupped in his hand, he pulled the other boy towards him into another kiss. Archie did not resist.

They fell into a rough sort of rhythm. Horatio was not entirely sure of what he was doing or whether he was even doing it properly, but it felt wonderful and if the occasional enthusiastic sounds that emanated from Archie's mouth were any indication, it would appear that he was not alone in that regard. He felt Archie shift next to him once more and then his arms slid around Horatio's waist, then up his back to pull them closer together. He could hear Archie's heart pounding in his chest in counterpoint to his own.

The candle guttered again as the flame faded, sparked then died completely leaving them enveloped in darkness. Enraptured by exquisite new sensations, neither of them gave it more than a passing notice. Alone, enfolded in the sheltering darkness, there was nothing but the press of hard flesh and the slip and slide of lips and the soft, moist sounds of their kisses and the echo of gasps and breathy moans in their ears.

Horatio felt the tip of Archie's tongue trace across his lips and he instinctively opened at the summons. He gasped and started at the feel of Archie's tongue in his mouth, but calmed at once, soothed and petted by Archie's gentle hands. Horatio hesitantly touched it with his own tongue, tasting the sensation. It was not unpleasant. Indeed, he felt his pulse suddenly quicken so he repeated the motion and mimicked Archie's own until they began a new dance even more ecstatic that the one that preceded it.

Horatio marvelled at how easy it seemed to be. He should be clumsier, more awkward. More terrified. Yet, he felt nothing but keen anticipation and a hunger that took him totally unawares. He had lived for so long within his own head that these sudden carnal impulses should have shocked him, shamed him even. They did not. Quite the opposite in fact; kissing Archie like this seemed to be the most natural thing in the world. It was, without a doubt the most effortless and most pleasant lesson he had learned since he'd arrived aboard Justinian.

The darkness made him brazen and he acted with a recklessness that he would never have considered in the harsh light of day, or even in the dimly lit confines of the sail locker, Horatio held Archie's face between his hands and kissed him with renewed fervour. Archie moaned low in his throat, and responded enthusiastically, so enthusiastically, in fact, that he over balanced them both. Horatio found himself tumbled back against the sailcloth with Archie's solid weight on top of his own. He heard Archie's soft laughter float through the air and Horatio could not help but join him.

They lost each other briefly in the darkness but that did not deter Archie in the slightest. Archie swarmed over him, kissing him everywhere he could: cheeks, neck, forehead, nose, until he found Horatio's mouth once more and took it in a giddy, giggling kiss that left them both breathless.

Horatio took advantage of Archie's distraction and let his hands roam over his body. They slid up beneath the woollen jacket, though Horatio regretted the waistcoat and shirt that deprived him of the privilege to touch bare skin. His hands slid lower only to encounter the swell of Archie's arse. His hands cupped the rounded flesh, hard and firm beneath his palms. Archie yelped, surprised, then wriggled against him in a way that made every nerve in Horatio's body take notice and which enflamed one part of his body in particular.

Horatio was grateful for the darkness that hid his blush. He tried to shift his body away but gasped when he felt Archie press against him with a heat and hardness that matched his own. He gave his hips an experimental twist to rub his body against Archie's. The response was everything he could have wished. Archie who had been jotting kisses along his jaw and neck hissed in surprise and his body shivered deliciously.

"Horatio."

And for perhaps the first time in memory, Horatio put aside conscious thought and surrendered to pure instinct. He was caught in a powerful tidal wave of sensation that swallowed him entirely. It pushed at him and pulled him along as he rose on the swell of pleasure. He raised his hips again, thrilled when Archie pressed against him in counterpoint. They had begun another dance, this one more frantic and desperate than the last. As their bodies rubbed together with more urgency than finesse, Horatio felt as if he were in the midst of a storm, his body buffeted by potent sensations he could not control, and could not even begin to understand. He was nothing but heat and need, his cock as hard and hot as a blade fresh from the forge as desire sizzled through his veins and throbbed in time with his furiously beating heart.

Archie buried his face in the crook of Horatio's neck and gasped softly. Horatio felt his body coiling with tension and then with a suddenness that took his breath away, he reached his peak. He hid his face against Archie's shoulder and sobbed out his release as his body trembled in the aftermath. He was dimly aware that Archie still thrust against him until he stilled with equal suddenness, a low strangled moan the only sound that issued from his mouth.

They lay there for a long time collapsed together as they drew ragged breaths. Archie nuzzled against his neck like a cat begging to be petted, so Horatio did just that; one hand stroked the disordered pigtail while the other moved rhythmically across his back. Archie snuggled against Horatio with a sigh of what could only be contentment.

Horatio's body still thrummed with the aftermath and the terrifying thrill of what they had just done. But as his nerves began to settle and his blood to cool, the doubts began to creep in and with them the dawning realization of what they-he-had done. Horatio stared wide-eyed at the ceiling he could not see as the full weight of it began to press in upon him. They had engaged in lewd, carnal acts proscribed by man and God. What they had done was both crime and sin and it could send them both to the gallows if it were ever known.

It had not been his intention to indulge in such immoral acts. He had never even permitted himself to consider such things. His upbringing had been strict and denial of the pleasures of the flesh, most especially the act of self-abuse, had been instilled upon him from an early age. Horatio had grown accustomed to holding himself in check, to denying his baser instincts. It was almost second nature now and he had never been tempted to act upon such urges.

Until now.

It had had all happened so quickly...no, that wasn't true, he realized with a sudden clarity. It had happened slowly, by degrees. He had indulged in any number of small intimacies, none of them especially shocking in and of themselves, but when taken as a whole they were quite damning. He almost groaned aloud as he recalled their last lesson here in this very locker. He had sat pressed against his fellow shipmate, as wanton as a tavern whore and had surrendered to his urge to touch. All those small, fleeting touches that seemed so innocuous but which he knew now had been anything but. He had been so blind. He should have put a stop to it then, he should not have allowed things to go so far. He should not have allowed himself to lose control.

But lose control he did and it was that which shamed him the most. True, Archie had kissed him first, but his kiss had been nothing more than a clumsy gesture of gratitude and affection. It was Horatio who had pushed things farther by returning the kiss and pulling the other boy along with him into other carnal acts, vile indorser that he was. Once he'd begun, Horatio found he could not stop, that he did not *want* to stop. And Lord help him, even now, knowing full well that what they did was terribly wrong, there was a reckless, rebellious part of his mind that shrieked defiance and refused to feel regret.

So he lay there on the rolled up sailcloth, staring into the oppressive darkness and wondered what he would do next.

Dear God, what have I done?

Archie was sprawled bonelessly against him and Horatio had the sneaking suspicion that he had drifted off to sleep. Horatio wished he could see his face. Did Archie regret what had passed between them as well? That thought was perhaps the most terrifying of all. He let him remain there for a time, a heavy, warm weight draped over his body like a blanket. The sensation was both comforting and alarming, suffusing him with a curious alloy of terror and tenderness. Horatio heard the bells sound and silently counted them one by one. Seven bells. Half an hour until the change of the watch. They needed to leave.

Horatio shifted and could feel the cool, stickiness against his thighs, the fabric of his breeches clinging to it. He made a face. It was an unpleasant sensation and an unwelcome reminder if what he had done. The evidence of his sin still clung to his body, its stain visible to all with eyes to see.

"Archie," Horatio said, giving the other boy's shoulder a quick shake.

"Hmmm," came the drowsy reply.

"Time we were away, Archie."

Horatio felt Archie rise. He missed his warmth immediately. "What time is it?"

"Seven bells."

"Oh. We'd better be quick then."

Horatio nodded, forgetting for a moment that Archie would not be able to see the motion.

It was tricky work trying to set one's appearance in the dark. Horatio untied and retied his pigtail and hoped that it would pass muster. He touched his hand to his throat; his stock seemed fine. His breeches, however, posed an entirely different problem. Even if they were not noticeably stained, surely anyone could smell the earthy odour that clung to both of them and which now permeated the sail locker along with the dank smell of mildew. There was time enough for the smell to fade from the locker; the same could not be said for him and Archie. A flash of inspiration struck. It wasn't much, but it would have to do.

"Ready, Archie?" he asked. His voice was calm enough but he could not look the other boy in the eye. He prayed Archie didn't notice.

"Yes."

Horatio cautiously opened the door to the sail locker and cast a furtive gaze in all directions, but there was no one there as expected. He slipped from the locker and Archie followed. They gave one another a quick inspection. He breathed a sigh of relief when Archie flashed him a small, but genuine smile. He nodded in response then straightened Archie's stock; in return, Archie retied Horatio's pigtail for him. Satisfied with the results, Horatio gestured for Archie to follow him.

"Where are we going?" he whispered urgently.

"Above decks. Hopefully it's still raining."

Archie looked puzzled for a moment then his expression cleared. "Oh, yes, of course." He paused at the bottom of the stairs leading to deck. "But won't it appear a bit odd if we show up in the berth sopping wet?"

"You prefer the alternative?"

Archie shook his head. "No, I suppose not. Lead on, MacDuff. Wait!" he said as he tucked his tome of Shakespeare inside his waistcoat to keep it dry. He nodded to Horatio and they climbed up the steps to the upper deck.

Luck was with them: it was still raining, thankfully not quite as forcefully as it had earlier in the day. They crossed the deck, as it was perfectly normal for a pair of mids to be strolling about above decks on a rainy January evening with neither greatcoat nor hat at their disposal. They didn't stay long, however, nor did they need to. Within scant moments they were wet enough that hopefully any evidence of their earlier activities was adequately washed away. Horatio caught Archie's eyes and they headed below decks once more.

As expected, their arrival in the berth was greeted with curious looks all around.

"What've you two been up to?" Hether asked as he looked up from a letter he was writing.

"Just a bit of fresh air," Horatio explained with surprising ease before he walked past as bold as brass. Archie followed without a word.

They dried themselves off as best they could and left their jackets hanging from hammock pegs to dry, Archie relieved that his beloved Shakespeare had sustained no damage. They returned to the mess to join their mates and took up their places at the end of the table, Archie opened his book and began to read; Horatio did likewise with his Euclid. Horatio made scant progress, however, as his eyes shifted time and again to the boy seated across from him, his thoughts in utter disarray. When caught, he gave Archie a shy, awkward smile that the other boy returned with unabashed warmth. Horatio drew comfort from the ease of the other boy's manner. They then went back to their reading, only to repeat the same manoeuvre shortly after. And all the while, their messmates remained oblivious to the charged exchange being carried out in their presence.

Perhaps, he thought, as his eyes flickered to Archie's face yet again; perhaps things were not as grim as he thought. If Archie could look at him clear-eyed and smiling with no hint of shame or disgust, then perhaps all was not lost. Perhaps everything would be all right after all.

By the time Simpson returned to the mess, soaking wet and in foul spirits, Horatio had succeeded to regaining some semblance of control. The memory of what had passed between him and Archie lingered though, his body alive with the sensory echoes of the touch of Archie's hands, the taste of his mouth, the sound of his soft, breathy moans. It terrified him still, but that small part of his mind that refused to feel regret was bolstered by the abiding warmth of Archie's gaze. When Horatio gazed across the table and saw the smile that lit Archie's eyes from within he knew he wasn't alone, not anymore. As long as he had Archie, Jack Simpson could not touch them.

Archie made his way to the forward sail locker and although he tried to keep his posture relaxed and his pace leisurely, he knew his eagerness was all too apparent. Taking a deep breath, Archie slowed his steps until he achieved a more measured stride. Unfortunately, he was having considerably less success at hiding the grin that kept slipping out despite his best efforts to look appropriately wretched.

Archie had to make an effort to look wretched these past days.

The sound of footsteps up ahead caught his attention and he adopted what he hoped was a sufficiently glum expression. Eyes forward, he continued on his path past a group of ratings heading below decks. They did not salute him, of course; discipline was such that the men never bothered to salute the mids-Simpson excluded, naturally-unless there was a senior officer present, but they did not snicker or sneer which was, he supposed the best he could hope for under the circumstances. Archie kept walking, his lips twitching faintly upwards in spite of himself once they were gone.

It did not require any effort on Archie's part to deduce the source of his current state of good cheer. He knew it was entirely due to one solemn, overly earnest junior midshipman with a fondness for mathematics and Greek and an unfortunate tendency towards seasickness. Archie's days now seemed to revolve around the maths lessons in the forward sail locker. For a brief time, tucked away in the crowded little closet, there was warmth and camaraderie and a sense of well being that the rank, poisonous atmosphere of the wretched ship could not entirely dispel.

Archie smiled to himself at the memory of the unexpected-and thoroughly pleasant--turn their lessons had recently taken. He recalled that his old tutor had always told him that the best way to learn was through repetition. Archie was quite keen to put that philosophy to a thorough test as soon as possible.

Archie turned the corner and the sail locker came into view. He glanced about quickly, but spotted no one else about. That was the chief virtue of their refuge. It was always quiet near the sail locker and its occupants were never interrupted.

With one last check, he slipped inside and closed the door quietly behind him. It was only then that Archie realized his mistake. He'd been so preoccupied with his encounter with Horatio was he that he had forgotten to pinch a fresh candle as he'd intended. He muttered a soft curse under his breath and reached for the latch, only to find a hand clamped over his mouth and an arm banded across his chest that pulled him backward until he collided forcefully with something else.

No, not something; someone.

Taken completely by surprise, Archie had only a moment to wonder what Horatio was playing at before the man behind him leaned in close to whisper in his ear.

"Hello, Archie. Jack's missed you, boy."

Archie felt as is every drop of blood flowing through his veins froze at the sound of that much hated voice.

"So this is where you and Snotty have been scurrying off to when I'm not about, is it? You didn't think I wouldn't know, did you, Archie?" Simpson's voice was as smooth as silk and Archie's heart began to pound wildly in his chest. Simpson leaned closer.

"The lads thought that the two of you were probably tucked away in the hold drinking, but I knew that wasn't likely. Snotty's too much of a self-righteous prig for that. Too good to be swilling gin like that drunken sod Clayton. No, I knew my dear, sweet Archie was up to something else.

"This is a lovely little spot you've got yourselves here for your maths lessons, that is if that's what the two of you have really been up to," Simpson said, letting his lewd insinuation hang in the air between them. "Yes, quite cosy and much nicer than the hold or the cable tier, but I'm sure I don't have to tell you that, do I, Archie?" Jack continued in a bland, almost conversational tone as if the two of them were mates having a chat over a tankard instead of crushed together in the inky blackness of a sail locker with Jack's sweaty palm pressed over Archie's mouth.

"Those sails look like they're awful comfortable and they're at just the right height, aren't they?"Archie tried to remain calm but his frantic mind was frantic spun wildly like an unmanned wheel in a storm. He felt frozen in place except for the tremors that raced through his body. He couldn't breathe, he realized, with a sudden sense of gibbering panic, he needed to breath, but he couldn't, not with Jack's hand covering his mouth and his body pressed tightly against his back.

Oh God...

"Aren't they?!" Simpson snarled into his ear. A muffled sob was Archie's only answer. He squeezed his eyes shut even though there was nothing to see in the dark confines of the sail locker. Robbed of sight, Archie felt oddly cut off from the world around him. He could hear nothing but Jack's breath as it rasped in his ear, could feel nothing but the dampness that trailed along his cheeks and the hands that held him with bruising strength. The air was thick with the odour of mildew now mingled with the smell of sweat and fear and the musky scent of unwelcome arousal. Archie thought he would choke on the stench of it.

"It was most considerate of you to find such a nice, out of the way place for us, Archie. But then, you always have been such an amenable lad." Simpson's lips brushed his ear and Archie flinched from the parody of intimacy. Undeterred, Simpson leaned in closer still and whispered, his words like the sting of the serpent that slay old King Hamlet. "I told you we had a conversation to finish, boy. And this time, we don't have to worry about Snotty interrupting us."

Above decks, two bells rang, signalling the end of the first hour of the first watch. Below decks, the men talked and drank and danced and brawled as the high, thready sound of a fiddle rose up above the din. But in the forward hold, there was no sound or at least no one to hear it. It was, as always, quiet near the sail locker and its occupants were never interrupted.

The entire day had been a trial of endurance for Horatio. The measure of calm he had regained in the wake of his transgression in the sail locker proved all too fleeting. Without Archie's soothing presence and the diversions of the mess to distract him, the enormity of what he had done came crashing in on him once again with even greater force and he had lain in his hammock staring sightlessly at the beams overhead throughout the night. A hundred doubts and fears had visited him in the darkness of the berth, each one more terrifying than the last. He had risen with the dawn, exhausted and bleary eyed, grim thoughts of death and dishonour continuing to stalk him the day through.

He was unnatural. He tried to deny it, to hide from this terrible revelation but he could not. He had engaged in depraved acts with another man, acts that should only be performed between a man and a woman within the sanctity of the marriage bed. Even more shameful, however, was the fact that he had enjoyed it. Even now, as guilt and mortification consumed his thoughts, his body was alive with half-remembered sensation, and the ghost of sweet, forbidden desire.

He had hoped that perhaps that what had transpired had been an aberration of sorts, a kind of temporary madness that once indulged might fade from memory. To his horror, however, he discovered that the opposite was true. Instead of burning itself out, his earlier hunger had renewed itself and continued to taunt him with the memory of the warmth of Archie's body and the sweetness of his mouth. It was as if his body had finally awakened after long slumber and was now more real, more animate than it had ever been. He knew he must purge himself of these impulses, not only for his own sake but for the safety of his shipmates. Horatio didn't know if he could be rid of these thoughts, nor, God have mercy on him, if he entirely wanted to be free of them.

Horatio felt a keen sense of relief when he heard eight bells sound at last, releasing him from the watch at last. It took every ounce of his discipline to resist the urge to bolt from the deck at the sound. Instead, he held himself to stillness and nodded a cool greeting to his relief. Simpson, he could not help but notice, seemed quite pleased with himself. His smile, like his greeting to Horatio, was almost sickly sweet and cloying.

He didn't know how Simpson had managed to inveigle Lieutenant Eccleston to change the watch schedule on such short notice, nor could he imagine any earthly reason why he would want to do so. Middle watch was by far the most tedious and there were times the quiet could seem quite suffocating, even to someone like Horatio who generally enjoyed solitude. No one ever asked for middle watch, yet remarkably, Simpson had.

There was no time to puzzle it out, however, at least not at the moment. There were tasks that needed to be fulfilled and proprieties to be upheld. He gave Simpson the report then they went aft to take the completely unnecessary sounding that they duly inscribed in the log. Those duties fulfilled, Horatio turned to the older man. "The ship is yours sir."

"Thank you, Mr. Hornblower," he replied in that same treacly voice that made Horatio feel suddenly and unaccountably wary.

Horatio nodded then carried himself below decks with as much speed as was seemly. Once out of sight, he quickened his step and practically ran in his haste to arrive at his destination. He needed to see Archie. He needed to speak with him and reassure himself that Archie did not despise him because of what had occurred between them. There had been no opportunity to speak with the other boy during the course of the day, not privately at least, and Horatio could not risk that their conversation might be overhead. In the end, it had seemed sensible to simply wait until their maths lesson, though that hadn't worked out quite as planned.

He regretted that he had not been able to warn Archie of the sudden change in plan. Horatio had been on his way to the sail locker, in advance this time, when he had encountered the first lieutenant and was informed of the change to the watch schedule. Horatio had opened his mouth to protest, but had closed it at once since he had no real grounds under which to protest. The schedule was at the officer's discretion and it he chose to alter it so precipitously he was well within his rights to do so. Somehow, Horatio did not think his rendezvous with Archie would qualify as a compelling reason to dispute it, even if he had dared to speak of it to a senior officer. No, he had no choice but to abide by the lieutenant's wishes and explain the situation to Archie later.

Nothing moved in the forward hold and there were no sounds, apart from the faintest of scratching noises from the vermin as they made their nocturnal rounds. With one last glance to make sure he was well alone, Horatio opened the door to the sail locker and peered inside. It was empty. He felt an unaccountable sense of disappointment though he knew he could hardly have expected Archie to sit there and patiently await his arrival for four hours. He squinted against the gloom and he could just make out the depressions in the sailcloth from where the other boy had presumably sat.

Horatio closed the door to the sail locker then made his way to the midshipmen's berth where he was greeted by a soft chorus of snores from his shipmates, as they swung gently in their hammocks, deeply asleep. He hesitated just beyond the doorway. If Archie were already asleep, Horatio would not wake him. As much as he loathed further delay once his mind was made up to act, their conversation could wait until morning.

"He's not here."

Startled at the soft voice, Horatio peered cautiously around the threshold. Clayton was seated in the corner nearest the door, his face illuminated softly by the glow of his clay pipe.

"I beg your pardon, Mr. Clayton. I did not see you there."

"He's not here," Clayton repeated as he gazed at Horatio with perceptive grey eyes. Horatio felt a vague sense of unease crawl along his spine.

"I...I'm sorry, sir but I don't take your meaning."

"Archie isn't here, Horatio. I've not seen him at all since supper."

Horatio's unease grew at Clayton's pronouncement. The other man was still watching him with those canny, discerning eyes, but there was no threat there. If anything, there was sympathy and even a little sadness reflected in their depths as he gazed up at Horatio from the shadows.

"Thank you, sir," he replied with an awkward bob of his head.

"You're welcome, lad."

Horatio retreated from the mess, concern hounding his every step, replacing his own earlier fears. Where had Archie got himself to? If he wasn't in the sail locker or in the mess, where else would he be at this hour? Horatio slowed his steps and tried to think logically but made no progress. Logically, Archie would be in his hammock snoring to wake the dead. Where else, then? Sudden inspiration struck and Horatio was moving before he'd even made a conscious decision to do so.

The cable tier was as dark and bleak as he remembered it to be. At least this time, he'd had the foresight to bring a lantern with him though it seemed barely to penetrate the Stygian darkness that surrounded him. He picked his path carefully, stepping over coils of rope and other detritus, anxiety mounting with each step he took.

Finally, he saw a figure huddled in the shadows and he knew that it had to be Archie. Archie sat with his back to the bulkhead and his knees drawn up to his chest. He didn't move as Horatio approached and gave no sign that he was even aware of his presence.

Horatio put down the lantern and crouched in front of him. Archie's gaze was distant, as if he was somehow looking through the hull of the ship to the wide expanse of sea beyond. Horatio reached up and cradled Archie's face in his hands, his thumbs lightly stroking skin that seemed far too cold to the touch.

"Archie," he said, his voice soft and even. "Archie," he repeated a shade more forcefully.

Archie blinked, once, twice, again, as if coming awake. His gaze seemed to collapse in on itself as it returned to the drab, nearly airless confines of the ship. His eyes met Horatio's and awareness seemed to return.

"Horatio," he breathed.

Horatio swallowed at the oddly broken sound of his name but he gave Archie the best smile he could manage. "Yes, Archie, it's me."

"Oh."

"Archie, what are you doing here?"

Archie blinked at him, his expression bemused. "I...I just wanted to go somewhere to think."

"Why didn't you just go to the sail locker?"

Archie suddenly went very still. "Archie?"

"It was too dark."

Horatio frowned as his eyes took in the shadowed confines of the cable tier. He let the remark pass without comment, however. "I'm sorry I was unable to make our lesson, Archie. Lieutenant Eccleston changed the watch schedule and I didn't have a chance to tell you."

Archie nodded but did not reply beyond that. Horatio's frown deepened. "If you like, we could go back to the sail locker..."

"No!"

Archie's response was as sharp and as sudden as a cutpurse's dagger and it took Horatio by surprise, and if the look on his face was any indication, Archie himself as well.

"I...I'm sorry, Horatio. It...it's late. Perhaps we should just retire to our hammocks."

Horatio nodded, disconcerted by Archie's wildly careening moods. "Very well." He rose to his feet and extended his hand to Archie who merely stared at it before he grasped it at last. Horatio pulled the other boy to his feet, privately disappointed when Archie extricated himself at once and began to walk towards the stairs without a backward glance. Horatio grabbed the lantern and hurried to catch up with him.

The trip to the berth was silent and awkward. Clayton, thankfully, had retired by the time they returned, and Horatio was grateful. He did not feel up to further scrutiny just now. He and Archie slung their hammocks and undressed in continuing silence. Archie kept his back turned resolutely towards Horatio, which effectively discouraged any further effort to engage him in conversation. Horatio decided to let it pass for now. Surely, they would both be in better humour come morning. He slid into his hammock and turned to look at Archie nestled in his own canvas cocoon.

"Good night, Archie."

Archie turned to look at him at last, his eyes shadowed in the darkness. "Good night, Horatio."

Horatio watched Archie's eyes flutter closed and he continued to watch him until his breathing evened out in slumber and then beyond. Finally, Horatio's own exhaustion overwhelmed him. His lids began to close and sleep claimed him entirely.

When the fit came, it took Horatio completely unawares. The only warning was a strangled moan followed by a loud thud as Archie fell heavily to the deck. Horatio sat up in his hammock and watched for a moment, horrified, as the other boy shuddered and writhed violently on the deck. He slipped from his hammock to kneel at Archie's side as he tried to calm him with soft words and soothing touches but to no avail. Desperate and utterly at a loss, he looked over at Clayton who crouched on the other side of Archie. Clayton met his gaze but had no help to offer. So they remained there and waited while the fit ran its course.

It went on for a very long time.

Finally, it was over. Archie's body stilled with surprising suddenness and it was only after he placed his hand against Archie's chest and felt the heart beating wildly beneath his palm that Horatio could draw breath once again. He and Clayton lifted Archie and arranged him carefully in his hammock, the blanket tucked snugly around him. Horatio stared down at the pale face, sheened with sweat and framed with damp tendrils of hair. He looked up at the touch of Clayton's hand on his shoulder, desperately grateful for the other man's assistance and his unspoken support, though perhaps he had it the wrong way about. After all, before his arrival Clayton had dealt with Archie's fits on his own. He wondered how he had managed.

Clayton gave him a sad smile then returned to his hammock. Horatio knew he should do the same. There was nothing more he could do; if past experience was any indication, Archie would sleep deeply for the remainder of the night. There would be time enough for other concerns tomorrow.

Reaching down, he gently brushed the damp hair away from Archie's brow then placed a light kiss upon his forehead.

"Good night, Archie. Sleep well."

As Horatio climbed the steps to the main deck, his gaze immediately turned towards the quarterdeck where Archie held the watch. It was another cold day and the sky was as grey and colourless as the sea beneath and heavy with the scent of rain. It was almost as if the weather itself had begun to reflect the mood below decks. A foolish notion, of course, but one that Horatio could not entirely shake as he gazed at Archie's melancholy profile.

Horatio had hoped to have a few moments to speak with Archie that morning, but Archie's hammock was already empty when Horatio awoke shortly after first light. Nor had any other opportunity presented itself over the course of the day. In contrast to the torpor of the crew as a whole, Archie had been quite industrious, moving about the ship with an uncommon alacrity. It seemed as if every time Horatio appeared, Archie vanished. Horatio hoped it was a coincidence, but there was a part of him that suspected that there was more to Archie's sudden occupation than an eagerness to impress his superiors.

He had hesitated to approach Archie while on watch. He did not wish to get the other boy in trouble, but the need to speak with Archie, if only for a moment, weighed heavily upon Horatio. Resolution made, he drew a deep breath then mounted the steps to the quarterdeck.

"Archie?"

His voice was soft, perhaps too soft, for Archie did not respond to the query. He cleared his throat and called Archie's name again.

Archie turned to look at him. His face was pale and his eyes were as dull and grey as the sea, his exhaustion evident. Horatio reminded himself that it might simply be the after effects of the fit he had suffered the previous night. He knew so little about Archie's affliction and there was no way to know for sure unless he posed the question directly. Horatio knew that such a query would surely humiliate the other boy needlessly, so he forced down his curiosity and adopted a calm demeanour.

"Horatio," Archie greeted with a faint smile. Even his voice seemed listless and faded to Horatio's ears. His concern rose a notch.

"You rose early this morning," Horatio observed in what he hoped was a neutral voice.

"I woke early and found I could not return to sleep as easily as I would have hoped, so I decided I might as well get up."

Horatio nodded. The explanation was reasonable enough, yet Horatio had the oddest sensation that Archie was not being entirely truthful.

"I haven't seen you all day."

"Oh, I've been running some errands for Lieutenant Eccleston," Archie explained with a faint shrug. "There's so much that needs to be done."

Horatio nodded again. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Lieutenant Chadd looking in their direction. He knew he should leave before the second lieutenant came over and chastised them both for lollygagging.

"Of course. I'll see you in the sail locker at eight bells, then. Perhaps we could read some more Shakespeare," Horatio suggested cautiously. In truth, what Horatio most wanted was to speak directly to the other boy, but some instinct warned him against stating that intention plainly.

Archie's expression froze then he dropped his head, as if embarrassed. When he looked up at Horatio again, he was chewing on his lower lip. "Horatio," he began, his voice soft, "would you mind terribly if I begged off today? I'm...I'm not feeling very well."

Horatio's disappointment immediately gave way to concern. "Are you all right, Archie? Do you need to see Dr. Hepplewhite?"

Archie shook his head. "No, no, I'm fine, really. It's just a touch of headache. I didn't get enough sleep last night. I...I just want to rest is all."

"Of course, Archie. I understand." And he did, but the disappointment lingered and along with it a thread of deep disquiet.

Horatio looked over and saw Lieutenant Chadd frowning at them. He knew he must leave. "I will see you later, Archie."

He reached across and placed his hand lightly on Archie's forearm and was startled when the other boy flinched from the touch. Archie's cheeks coloured and he apologized for his reaction, claiming lack of sleep made him jittery. Horatio accepted the apology, though it did little to assuage his worries. He bid Archie farewell then descended to the main deck, more troubled than he had been before their encounter.

The sensation of being watched made him pause at the stairs leading below. His eyes scanned the deck before coming to rest on Simpson who stood leaning against the larboard rail as he smoked a cheroot. The older man blew out a puff of smoke then dipped his head in acknowledgement and gave Horatio what could only be described as a mocking smile before he turned away to stroll fore. Horatio watched his back as it slowly moved away before he finally headed below decks, out of the cold.

The next few days fell into a pattern of mind-numbing tedium, disrupted only by the increasingly capricious exchanges with Jack Simpson. Simpson took considerable delight from the indignities both large and small that he inflicted upon his messmates. Not surprisingly, Horatio had become his favourite target and was forced to endure the worst of the man's sport. The injustice of it galled him, but he knew he could expect no assistance. Captain Keene paid no mind to his crew at all and the officers seemed to turn a blind eye to anything that went on below decks, provided they were not confronted directly with the evidence. And even then, Horatio doubted they would take the word of a green mid over that of a senior midshipman like Simpson, especially since he had already earned a reputation unruly behaviour. Nor could Horatio count on his shipmates, all of whom had endured this particular initiation before him. They were too cowed, and too relieved that Simpson had found a fresh prey, to dare to interfere. Even Archie, who had been so kind to him in the wake of Simpson's mischief, seemed to fold into himself almost entirely whenever Simpson entered the berth. But then Archie had been there longer than he had and had no doubt been on the receiving end of many of Simpson's favourite games.

And games they were. Simpson delighted in tormenting Horatio in any number of ways. He stole his food and drink regularly without the slightest qualm. Horatio was surprised that Simpson had not become as rotund as Mr. Bowles from the excess of victuals he consumed.

There were other depredations as well. Just days before, Horatio had had entered the midshipmen's berth only to find Simpson rifling through his sea chest and making free of Horatio's belongings. Horatio had watched, horrified, as Simpson plucked his beloved Euclid from the chest and turned it over in his filthy hands. He had opened the book, scanned a page and then wrinkled his in a manner that suggested he had caught whiff of an offensive odour before he tossed the cherished tome to the deck like so much rubbish. Horatio had flushed in anger at the treatment of his most prized possession, fearing the damage caused by Simpson's careless treatment. He had reminded himself that it was better this way. Since Simpson was far too ignorant to recognize its value, he would have no reason to confiscate for his own amusement. A bit of damage to the spine was far better than losing the book entirely.

Other items followed the book to the decking. Finally, Simpson had pulled a shirt-Horatio's one remaining clean shirt--from the chest and had turned to grace Horatio with an unctuous smile.

"You won't mind if I borrow this, will you Snotty?" he had asked, though it was clear from his tone that he was not asking permission. Horatio's resentment had raged and the urge to protest was strong, but then he had caught sight of Clayton's guarded expression and Archie's pleading gaze and he had clamped down on his anger. It had not been easy.

"Of course not." The words had stung like shards of broken glass spit out between bloody lips.

Simpson had smiled again. "Good boy," he'd praised, as he walked away with his prize draped across his arm.

Horatio had stiffened at the remark but did not respond further. When Simpson returned the shirt at last, Horatio was not surprised to find it stained and one of the cuffs torn. He would need to repair it next make and mend day.

At least there had been no further violence on Jack's part since the vicious beating he had received following the "inquisition," though Simpson's uncharacteristic restraint left Horatio confused and more than a little wary. He knew that it was not for his own benefit. Simpson acted with only one man's interests at heart: his own. Simpson had chosen to entertain himself with taunts and innuendo instead, no doubt in the hopes that he might goad Horatio into some rash act. Simpson addressed him dismissively, calling him "boy," or "puppy," or the loathsome "Snotty." Simpson seemed to recognize Horatio's hatred of that particular epithet and therefore made a point to use it often.

He also took great delight in mocking his family name. "I wonder how the family name came into being," he asked one day in a breezy tone that set Horatio's nerves on edge. "Hornblower is an unusual name, after all. Unusual and...quite descriptive, wouldn't you say? I'm sure your mother was intimately acquainted with all its meanings," Simpson concluded with a malicious smile.

Horatio had all but leapt up from the table at the lewd insinuation, but before he could move, he felt a sharp pain in his calf. He looked across the table at Archie who gave him a beseeching look, his eyes wide in his pale face. Understanding, Horatio did not respond and instead held on to the edge of the table in a white knuckled grip.

"No suggestions, Snotty? I would have thought you'd have an idea or two," Simpson drawled. "Oh well. Why don't you ask Kennedy to explain it to you? I'm sure he knows what I'm talking about."

Horatio looked over at the other boy whose face was as pale as before, save for twin spots of colour that burned bright in each cheek. Horatio felt his own cheeks flame as well. And still he held his tongue, though rage and bitter resentment bubbled inside him. Archie had been wrong when he had called Justinian Purgatory. It was nothing short of Hell and Jack Simpson ruled them all like an eager apprentice to Hades himself.

When he looked at Archie again, he met a gaze tinged with sympathy and despair. He was not the only soul helplessly trapped and awaiting deliverance, he reminded himself. He just wished he knew the means to escape before all hope was lost.

Horatio made his way slowly towards the quarterdeck. The rain had given way to snow and a fine powder dusted the deck. Horatio found that he had to tread carefully so as not to slip as he climbed to the quarterdeck to take his watch. He greeted Hastings who nodded in return, grateful to escape to the warmth below decks.

All was quiet above decks. Normally, Horatio enjoyed the relative peace of the first watch, which he found conducive to reflection. Tonight, however, his thoughts circled constantly around one subject: Archie.

He had hardly seen the other boy over the past few days and his suspicion that Archie was avoiding him had grown until it had become a certainty. Archie seemed to vanish whenever Horatio appeared and on the rare occasions when he didn't, Archie had seemed skittish and distant. The sudden change in Archie's demeanour was startling and more than a little alarming. It was as if a heavy cloudbank had rolled in to block out the sun, taking its light and its warmth and leaving nothing but chill, grey shadows.

Archie had also put a halt to their maths lessons. Every time Horatio mentioned a return to their routine, Archie had begged off with some excuse or another. There was only one explanation for this sudden change in behaviour: Archie had come to regret what they had done that afternoon in the sail locker. Horatio knew he should hardly be surprised by that and indeed, he could not blame the other boy for choosing to stay as far away from Horatio as possible. Archie was no fool; he knew as well as Horatio the risk they had taken and the consequences of such unnatural behaviour. Every Sunday Captain Keene shuffled on deck and read the Articles of War aloud in that wheezing voice of his and every Sunday they were reminded of the punishment for engaging in the unnatural and detestable sin of buggery and sodomy: death by the sentence of a court martial. The Articles allowed no room for mercy or reprieve, only a noose around the neck and an ignominious end. Surely, it was better this way. Better and far safer for them both.

But, a small voice piped up in the back of his mind, Archie was the one who initiated that first kiss, and he did respond most enthusiastically to Horatio's own advances. Perhaps he was not revolted by what had transpired. Maybe he was just as confused and frightened as Horatio himself was. Maybe, the voice whispered seductively, he was just scared because like Horatio, he had enjoyed it.

Horatio pushed that thought away immediately.

No, he was being foolish, trying to justify his own abhorrent behaviour by imagining that Archie shared his unnatural inclinations and even welcomed his attentions. Archie was too kind for his own good. He had merely accommodated Horatio out of friendship and perhaps pity. Bad enough that Horatio himself was unnatural, but how much worse was it to corrupt and pollute a shipmate who was surely innocent of such depraved inclinations prior to his arrival? He could not have wanted it, not the way Horatio had. Not the way he still did. Horatio would not blame Archie if the other boy had come to loathe him. Archie had every right to be disgusted and horrified and his repudiation was no less than Horatio deserved for his vile behaviour.

The worst part of it all, more painful even than the shame and the doubt and the terrible fear of exposure and dishonour that weighted him down like an anchor, was the loss of Archie's friendship. He felt that absence most keenly. It was like a gaping wound that continued to bleed despite all efforts to cauterize it. Horatio had not even realized how much he had come to value the other boy's friendship until he was suddenly bereft of it.

His father had been right when he had described Horatio as a solitary boy. He'd never had any real friends while growing up and he had never felt any sense of deprivation as a result. Truthfully, he had found most of his contemporaries to be too puerile, too ignorant and loutish. They did not understand his fascination with mathematics and other cerebral pursuits and so Horatio had not wasted time in their company. He had had his books and his lessons and his own mind to keep him entertained and that had always been enough. But now he'd had a friend and lost him all at once and Horatio found himself floundering. He didn't know how to regain Archie's friendship, or if such a thing were even possible.

Those unhappy thoughts kept him company until Cleveland appeared to relieve him of the watch. He made his way below decks with footsteps that echoed heavily in the darkness. He felt weary and the thought of curling up in the rough canvas of his narrow hammock had never looked so appealing.

He had almost reached the midshipmen's berth when he saw a dull orange light glowing in the darkness that he realized belatedly was the burning tip of a cheroot.

"Hello, Snotty."

Horatio's steps faltered momentarily before he regained control of himself and continued on his path. Simpson lounged against the bulkhead as he blew smoke up towards the ceiling. Horatio ignored him; he was simply too tired to care.

"Taking an evening stroll about decks, are we?" Simpson asked in an amiable voice.

"No, sir," he replied and bit down on that last word. "I have just completed my watch and now I'm returning to the berth to go to sleep."

"Ah. My mistake, then. I thought perhaps you had another destination in mind," Simpson said then paused for effect. "The forward sail locker, perhaps?"

Horatio felt his blood freeze at those words.

"You are mistaken, sir." Horatio said. He was surprised at how level his voice sounded.

Simpson studied him with a cold, calculating regard that made Horatio think of a predator lying in wait for some hapless prey. It was not an agreeable thought and one that he tried to push from his mind. He was not entirely successful.

"Truly? I thought that...well...it is of no moment. Tell me Mr. Hornblower, have you seen Mr. Kennedy of late?"

The sudden and disconcerting change in topic caught Horatio completely by surprise. He tried to maintain an implacable façade, but he knew that something of his turmoil had bled through the cracks. Simpson smiled at him, a nasty smile that made bile rise in his throat. Horatio swallowed thickly but did not reply.

Simpson's smile broadened. "I rather thought not. The lad's not entirely stupid." Simpson pushed himself off of the bulkhead and walked over to where Horatio stood. He circled around and came to stand behind Horatio, so close they were almost touching. Horatio clamped down on the impulse to move away or even flinch when Simpson leaned in and spoke into his ear.

"I don't like you, Snotty. You never seem to learn no matter how many lessons you receive. I could perhaps ignore your transgressions, shrug them off as youthful folly, but you're becoming a bad influence on your mates. They're starting to emulate your unfortunate behaviour and I can't allow that. Discipline is everything in the service, don't you agree?"

Horatio's hands curled into fists at his side. Although not violent by nature, the urge to turn and strike the other man was terrible and he struggled to contain it. He succeeded, barely.

Simpson leaned in even closer, his voice a low purr. "Take your friend Kennedy, for example...." Horatio stiffened. "He's always been a good lad, so well behaved, so...biddable. He knew his place. At least he did until you came along and led him astray."

Simpson clucked in disapproval. "The poor lad needed a bit of a reminder of how things stand. We had a little conversation, Archie and I, but it's all right now. He's learned his lesson. He won't misbehave any more."

Horatio could feel the blood drain from his face. He remembered the "conversation" that he's interrupted that day in the cable tier. The image of Simpson as he loomed over Archie was etched in Horatio's memory with crystal clarity, along with the look of utter loathing on Archie's face. While Horatio didn't know the particulars of what had or would have transpired, the threat in Simpson's manner was undeniable. It was with a growing sense of horror that the pieces began to fall into place in Horatio's mind: Archie's sudden change in demeanour and his aversion to the sail locker; Simpson's deft rearrangement of the watch schedule and later, his mocking smiles whenever he and Archie were present. It was all part of yet another of Simpson's lessons. Whatever he'd done to Archie was intended as punishment and warning for them both. Horatio felt ill.

A chuckle sounded in his ear. "Ah, I see you're finally beginning to understand how things stand, Snotty. You are a slow learner, aren't you boy?"

Horatio swallowed as revulsion and impotent rage boiled up within him. With a suddenness that Horatio could not have imagined possible, Simpson's hand shot out to clutch his throat, calloused fingers pressing down with inexorable pressure until Horatio could barely breathe. Simpson leaned in even closer to whisper in his ear.

"I warned you, boy. 'Render unto Caesar,' but you wouldn't listen," he hissed. The grip around Horatio's throat tightened further. "You belong to me, each and every one of you putrid, misbegotten whoresons. You're mine until you draw your last breath and they toss your rotting corpse into the sea. You'd do well to remember that, boy. If I have to instruct you again, you won't like the consequences."

With that, Simpson released him and Horatio stumbled forward, one hand reaching up to rub at his neck while he drew in great gasps of air. He turned to look at the other man. Simpson's lips twisted upwards in an ugly smile beneath eyes that were as hard as stone.

"Goodnight, Snotty," he said before he turned and walked down the corridor into the bowels of the ship.

Horatio stood frozen to the spot as his hand massaged his bruised throat and he watched the other man disappear in to the shadows. He had no idea how long he stood there, unable to breath or move, a sense of sick, cold dread sitting like a lump of ice in his belly. Finally, he stumbled into the berth.

Horatio undressed mechanically and climbed into his hammock, but sleep was now utterly beyond his reach. He looked over at Archie's hammock. In the dim rush light, he could see the other boy's features pulled into a frown even in his sleep. Horatio wondered if he would have another fit tonight; he suspected he would.

Horatio turned to lie on his back and stared at the beams overhead. He could almost feel them press downwards to crush him, like Simpson's fingers as they squeezed his fragile windpipe. The other man could have killed him so easily and Horatio would have been unable to stop him. And for one horrifying moment, he thought he would almost have welcomed it because at least he would have been free of Simpson and his torments at last.

And he knew then, that only death-his or Simpson's-would bring an end to the ordeal. That thought terrified him, but not as much as the realization of how very seductive it appeared to him at that moment.

Horatio did not sleep at all that night and he rose from his hammock before first light. He stood on deck and watched a sunrise that he could not see from behind a dense curtain of grey clouds. His sombre thoughts hounded his steps and clawed mercilessly at his fragile peace of mind.

Horatio passed the day in a haze, only dimly aware of his surroundings. He looked up once to find Archie watching him with sombre eyes, his face taut with worry. Horatio turned away, unable to bear his gaze. When it was his turn, Horatio took the watch but found he could not concentrate on his duties. His thoughts strayed again and again to the events of the previous night. He could still feel Simpson's hand about his throat, followed by the stark terror as tried to breathe but could not and darkness rose up and beckoned him like a lover...

"Horatio?"

The sound of his name tore Horatio away from his thoughts, but they hovered there still, and waited to claim him with greedy, grasping hands. He did not turn his head; he could feel Clayton at his shoulder looking at him with sympathetic grey eyes. Horatio kept his gaze focused on the grey abyss that stretched before him.

"Death." Horatio blurted. "I was thinking on death."

"Whose?"

"Mine."

The silence stretched between them. It was Clayton who broke it at last.

"Damned unsporting of the everlasting to fix His canon against self-slaughter, if you ask me." Clayton paused before he spoke again, this time in a painfully gentle voice. "You could always desert."

"I'd never be free of him then," Horatio replied. "He'd have won. And that should be worse than death." It was the truth and that realization bolstered him.

Horatio took a shuddering breath before he continued. "Someone should stand against him." For the first time, Horatio turned to look at the other man, his gaze steady, determined.

Clayton studied him for a moment before he spoke. "The beating he gave you, that was nothing," he said, his expression suddenly intense, warning evident in every line of his body. "Believe me, you don't know half what he's capable of."

For a moment, he thought Clayton might say more, but he went silent. Horatio knew he was right. His young life had not prepared him for the brutality, the sheer depravity of someone like Simpson. Even now, his mind shied away from the thoughts of what exactly it was that Simpson was capable of, what unspeakable acts he had performed and the violence he had visited upon his unfortunate messmates.

Clayton's eyes skittered to the side in warning just as footsteps sounded from behind Horatio. The two men fell silent as Lieutenant Eccleston appeared, accompanied by none other than Simpson himself.

"The East India convoy is expected today," Eccleston announced without preamble. "Mr. Simpson will take a party of men ashore and report to Lieutenant Chalk of the Goliath who is in charge of the press gangs. Mr. Hornblower, you will accompany him."

Under other circumstances, Horatio would have welcomed the opportunity to go ashore and escape the fetid mood of Justinian, even for a few hours. Now, he'd give anything to stay behind and as far away from Simpson's venomous presence as possible. With no choice in the matter, Horatio nodded and accepted his orders even though he dreaded them with every fibre of his being.

Simpson had not hesitated to take full advantage of his seniority and had informed Horatio that he would keep watch outside, while Simpson himself retired to the relative luxury of The Lamb. Horatio could see him now through the thick panes of leaded glass, seated by the hearth with a tankard beside him, his cheeks flushed from drink and the warmth of the fire. It was bitter cold outside and the snow lay thick upon the ground. Still, Horatio found it preferable to spending time in Simpson's company.

Horatio gazed towards the dock and blew of his fingers to warm them. There was still no sign of the convoy and he knew it could be hours before they arrived. Unable to endure the cold any longer, Horatio had finally taken refuge in The Lamb.

He felt Simpson's eyes on him the moment he stepped foot inside.

"Why aren't you on watch where I left you?"

"The convoy's not yet signalled," Horatio said.

"Then all is well in the world. Here's to the East India convoy," Simpson said as he raised his tankard in a mocking toast. "Long may it be delayed."

Horatio walked to the hearth, hands stretched out towards the flames as he tried to ignore the malignant presence of Simpson behind him.

"C'mon, Hornblower, give us a toast. C'mon!" he bellowed. Simpson glared at him, almost daring Horatio to defy him. Horatio would not give him the pleasure.

"Confusion to Robespierre," he said with only the barest hint of exasperation in his voice. Simpson, however, took no note of it and smiled broadly, reassured that his authority still held. Before he could respond further, however, Lieutenant Chalk returned and with his arrival came the inevitable reappearance of Simpson's good manners.

The suggestion of a friendly game of cards to pass the time had seemed harmless enough. They all knew they had a long wait ahead of them and it made better sense to occupy themselves inside then to return to the chill outside. Simpson played cards in much the same manner in which he comported himself in all things: aggressively, ruthlessly and with an absolute certainty as to his own superiority. Unfortunately, his arrogance far outstripped his talent, or perhaps he had grown too accustomed to playing against terrified shipmates who always let him win. With each losing hand, Simpson's façade of affability slipped a little bit more, leaving his true nature exposed for all to see.

Simpson threw down his cards, which Horatio retrieved from the table. "And the rest are mine," he announced unable to entirely hide his satisfaction.

Simpson looked baffled. "What do you mean the rest are yours?"

"Five tricks," Chalk explained. "Game and rubber."

"I might take another," Simpson said.

"Well, I'll trump either hearts or diamonds and make three more clubs," Horatio explained easily, privately pleased at Simpson's bemusement. He might pay for it later, but for the moment, he relished the opportunity to disabuse Simpson of his undeserved sense of superiority.

"You're very sure."

"Well, it's a mathematical certainty," Horatio smiled inwardly.

"You know too much about this game," Simpson said petulantly. "He seems to know the backs of the cards as well as the fronts."

Horatio felt a flare of indignation boil up inside him at that insult. It was a grave accusation and a man of a more passionate and reckless nature would surely demand satisfaction for it. Even as that thought passed through his mind, Horatio saw the opportunity and grasped it tightly.

"That is an insulting remark, Mr. Simpson," he said, his voice firm, his resolution unwavering. He turned to look directly at the other man. "For that I shall have to ask satisfaction."

Horatio's declaration was met with stunned silence. Not surprisingly, it was the congenial Lieutenant Chalk who intervened and tried to ease matters, but Horatio would have none of it. Nor, it seemed, would Simpson.

"Apologize to you? Never this side of Hell."

That was no less than Horatio had expected. He squared his shoulders and spoke once more. "You hear that, gentlemen? I have been insulted. Mr. Simpson refuses to apologize while insulting me further. There is only one way now that satisfaction can be given."

Horatio looked directly at Simpson. Simpson's eyes narrowed then he smiled a toothsome grin. "If it's satisfaction you want, Hornblower, than you shall have it. You shall have it indeed."

Horatio sat back in his seat and nodded his acceptance.

It is done.

A duel.

The words echoed through Archie's mind as if force of repetition could somehow relieve them of their unreality.

He stared at Horatio dumbfounded as the other boy explained his reckless plan with a composure that was well beyond Archie's own grasp at the moment. The bruises that he had received at Simpson's hands had faded, but the memory of Horatio's pale face, mottled with ugly splotches of blue and purple remained close to the surface. It seemed more real in Archie's mind than the unblemished visage before him now.

Horatio's voice was calm, his tone vexingly, infuriatingly reasonable, as if he were planning a brief jaunt ashore rather than an act of utter madness that would almost certainly get him killed.

"Tomorrow sees an end to it, Archie. One way or another, I will be rid of him."

Archie sucked in his breath at those words. Wasn't that what he wanted above all else? To be free of Simpson? He glanced over at Clayton. The older man's expression was grave and Archie could read misgivings in his grey eyes that matched Archie's own. It seemed like a lifetime ago that he had watched as Clayton had aimed a cocked pistol at Simpson's temple and had wished for the other man to pull the trigger, even though it would have meant his death. Later, as he had watched Horatio curled up asleep in the cable tier, Archie had been ashamed by those thoughts, but he knew in his heart that his disappointment had exceeded his guilt. Archie would have-reluctantly--given Clayton's life to be free of Simpson, but he found that he could not bear the thought of sacrificing Horatio to that same end. Horatio's life was a price that Archie was unwilling to pay.

Horatio looked at them both, his jaw set, dark eyes burning fiercely. He looked older than his years, implacable and eerily beautiful in his determination. He knew Horatio was looking to them for support, but Archie could not give it. He could not condone a course of action that would surely lead to Horatio's death.

Horatio gave them a tight nod and stalked from the gunroom, heels striking sharply against the decking like a drum beating to quarters. Archie looked over to Clayton. The other man leaned against a gun carriage, arms clasped against his chest, lost in thought.

"Clayton, we must do something!"

"He's made his decision, Archie."

Archie frowned at Clayton's words. "But he doesn't understand. He doesn't know Simpson like we do. He has no idea what he is capable of."

Clayton nodded. "I know. I tried to tell him as much, but...he's a stubborn lad. And too brave for his own good."

"He's a fool!" Archie replied then flushed with a mixture of anger and shame at his own words. It was an unworthy remark, he knew, but he could not help but think it true on this occasion.

"Perhaps. But he sees no other choice. He isn't like us, Archie," Clayton said, his voice painfully gentle. "Horatio can't bend so instead he'll end up breaking. This is the only solution he can see."

"What are we going to do, Henry?" he asked. He felt bereft, almost as if he'd already lost Horatio, knowing that the passage of each minute brought them closer to the almost inevitable outcome.

Clayton rested a hand on his shoulder. "Don't worry, Archie. I'm not going to stand by and let Jack kill him. I promise."

Archie studied Clayton's face. "What are you going to do?"

He gave Archie a thin smile. "You'll have to trust me, Archie. You do, don't you?"

Archie nodded.

"Good lad. Meet me on deck tomorrow morning at one bell. I'll explain then."

Archie hesitated, the urge to press the other man strong, but Clayton had promised him that Horatio would be safe and Clayton had never lied to him before. Archie nodded then gave him his farewells before leaving Clayton alone with his thoughts in the gloaming light of the gunroom.

Archie blew on his hands as he paced the deck near the entry port in an effort to stay warm. The temperature had dropped once more and a fresh layer of snow now coated the deck. He paused as the ship's bell tolled and waited for Clayton's arrival. Sure enough, only moments later the other man appeared on deck and walked over to Archie's side.

"We should be going, Archie."

Archie blinked, confused, and glanced over Clayton's shoulder, expecting a second figure. "Where's Horatio?"

"Horatio won't be coming."

Archie felt a wave of relief wash through him. "He's decided not to go through with it?"

Clayton's face was shuttered. "Not exactly."

Archie's eyes narrowed with suspicion at Clayton's evasion. He reached out and placed his hand on the man's arm. "Henry? What is it you aren't telling me?"

"Horatio won't be fighting this duel, Archie. I will."

Archie stared at Clayton, speechless. "Henry, you can't! It's...it's..."

"Necessary," Clayton said.

"Insane," Archie countered. "Henry, Jack will kill you!"

"Perhaps," Clayton smiled sadly. "Perhaps not. But it's time I stood up for myself. I'm tired of being a coward, Archie. I'm tired of cowering before the man all the while wishing he were dead. Horatio was right; someone does need to stand up to him. But this is a man's fight, not a boy's."

"Henry..." Archie wanted to say more, but the words died in his throat. He didn't want Clayton to do this any more than he had wanted Horatio to, but once again, he found himself at a loss. He felt shame well up again, thick and choking. He was glad that Horatio was safe, that he would be spared this fate. Deep in his heart, he had already decided that while perhaps Clayton's life was not an acceptable price to pay to be freed from Simpson's tyranny, it was more than sufficient to save Horatio's life. Archie felt wretched at the very idea yet he could not entirely deny the truth of it.

When he looked at Clayton, he wondered if the other man had somehow divined his thoughts. Clayton placed his hand lightly on Archie's where it rested upon his arm and gave Archie a sad, heartrending smile.

"This is for the best, Archie. You'll see. Everything will work out all right."

Archie nodded, but his doubts did not leave him.

Clayton let his hand drop then gestured to the entry port. "Let's be gone then."

He followed Clayton down the ladder to the shore boat that awaited them, his thoughts as bleak as the sky above.

Later, Archie would remember very little from that afternoon. The trip in the post chaise passed in a blur of jostling motion and the sound of creaking wheels and pounding hooves. They didn't speak but Archie kept glancing at Clayton's profile. Archie wished to speak to him, but he didn't know what to say, so he left the other man to his thoughts.

They descended from the carriage to find that they were the last to arrive at their destination. Archie remembered five figures standing amidst the snow, silhouetted against the pale grey sky. He recognized Hepplewhite, who had agreed to officiate, and Hether, Cleveland and Hastings. Archie had wondered idly which one of them had accepted to be Simpson's second. Archie resolutely refused to look at the fifth man.

There was a strange, unreal quality to it all and it reminded Archie of some of the more tawdry melodramas that he'd seen staged at Drury Lane. Only then, the protagonists would be duelling to defend the honour of maiden fair rather than that of a wilful, desperate midshipman. And if this were truly a play, then the resolution would be assured. The villain would die at the hands of the virtuous hero, order would be restored and a happy ending would be had by one and all.

But this was no play and reality was far crueller than any piece staged in the playhouses of London. At the end of this scene, the villain was clutching his shoulder and howling in rage and indignation while the virtuous hero lay dying, his blood staining the pristine snow crimson.

The trip back to The Lamb was both terrifyingly long and shockingly brief in its duration. At Hepplewhite's direction, Archie held a wadded up cloth against Clayton's wound in an effort to staunch the bleeding. It was red and sticky within moments. Still, Archie held it in place. It was all that he could do for his friend. His dying friend.

The carriage tilted as the wheels hit a rut. Clayton moaned softly at the movement and Archie braced his body with both hands to hold Clayton steady against the jostling.

"Archie." Clayton's voice was soft, barely more than a whisper. He leaned closer. Clayton gazed up at him with half lidded eyes, his face taut with pain. "I'm sorry."

Archie blinked, surprised. "You have nothing to be sorry for, Henry."

"I...I wanted to kill him. I failed. I'm...I'm sorry."

"Ssshh. Just rest, Henry. Everything will be all right."

Clayton clutched at his forearm, his grip surprisingly strong. "I'm sorry...Archie. Tell him, I'm sorry." Clayton coughed and blood bubbled up from his lips. Archie watched, horrified, then averted his eyes and swallowed against the bile rising in his throat.

"You can tell Horatio yourself, Henry. You're going to be fine. Just fine."

It was a lie and they both knew it. Clayton had already lost so much blood and the pistol ball was still lodged in his chest. Archie had no idea whether or not it could be removed and even if it could, whether Clayton would be strong enough to survive the operation.

Clayton was going to die and Simpson was going to live to tell the tale.

They trundled Clayton upstairs, Hether and Cleveland pressed into service to carry his body while Archie continued to press the blood soaked cloth to the gaping wound. Hepplewhite dismissed Hether and Cleveland with a wave and the two mids scuttled back downstairs where a no doubt irate Simpson awaited them. Archie hovered at the foot of the bed and watched thin lipped as Hepplewhite tended to Clayton's wound. He bound his chest and within moments, the bandages were dark with blood. Clayton looked ghostly pale, as faded as the linens that covered the narrow cot. Archie did not ask for Clayton's prognosis; the look on Hepplewhite's face when he gazed up spoke the truth of things all too clearly.

The sound of footfalls pounding on the stairs broke through Archie's grim thoughts. He turned to see Horatio standing in the doorway, pale and stricken. His horrified gaze flickered from the bed to Archie and back again. He walked slowly towards Clayton's side and when he passed Archie, their gazes met. Archie gave a small shake of his head. Horatio paled even further.

Archie watched as Horatio settled himself on the edge of the bed and leaned in to speak with Clayton. He turned away, to give them at least that little bit of privacy as they spoke. A sudden ruckus coming from the street below startled them all. He hesitated only a moment when Horatio asked him to see what the noise was about; he and Clayton had made their peace and had said their farewells. Archie would leave them alone. Perhaps they could find the absolution that they both so desperately needed for their imagined sins.

He descended the stairs and crossed the common room, eyes forward. He refused to look towards the hearth where Hether and Cleveland attended to Simpson. He flinched only a little when Simpson's voice called out "Is he dead yet?" And then he was out the door, breathing relief along with cold, bitter air.

The scene outside The Lamb was one of chaos as people rushed by, their voices raised in a gibbering, nonsensical chorus. The church bells began to chime and for one brief moment, Archie stood there dumbly and wondered how they'd known about Henry's death. A man rushed past and collided with Archie in his haste.

They both staggered and Archie grabbed at the man's shoulder for balance. He was startled by the look of mad glee that etched his features in stark contrast to the grief that Archie knew must line his own.

"What is it? What's going on?"

The man gave him a fierce grin. "The Frenchies went an' killed their king! It's war, certain sure!"

The man ran off and left Archie to stare after him in bemusement. It couldn't be. How could they kill their king? Then his final words sunk in: war.

And in that moment Archie's grief abated and was replaced by desperate, impossible hope. He stood there for some time as the tide of humanity hurried past, swirling around him like eddies against an outcropping of rock, lost in his thoughts. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Horatio exit the inn to stand just beyond the threshold. Heart pounding in his chest, Archie rushed over to Horatio's side.

"He's dead."

Horatio looked at him, his distress apparent. "Yes."

"No, you fool, not Clayton," Archie said. His own disordered emotions made him uncharacteristically curt, but still he could not help himself as impatience bubbled to the surface. "Louis. The Frogs have murdered their king. Tried and executed for crimes against the people. It means, war, Horatio. You understand? It means war."

Horatio stared at him, clearly not comprehending what Archie was saying. Archie felt a wave of sympathy for the other boy's grief. Archie refused to think on Clayton, not now. Later, in the small hours when he had the darkness to shelter him, he would allow himself the luxury of grief, but for now, he needed to be strong for the both of them.

"Come along, Horatio. It's time we returned to the ship." Placing a hand on Horatio's shoulder, Archie steered him towards dock. Horatio hesitated for a moment and glanced back towards the room where Clayton had drawn his final breaths, before he allowed Archie to lead him away, the tolling of the bells and the raucous cries of the crowd ringing mockingly in their ears.

News of King Louis' death had spread like wildfire aboard Justinian and with it, speculation as to the disposition of her crew now that war was almost certain. Keene had been closeted in his cabin with the senior officers for the better part of the afternoon, and the ship's company held its collective breath as they awaited news of their future.

Archie, who had been coming off the watch, was among the first to hear the news and it was better than he'd dared to imagine. A frigate, and not just any frigate: Indefatigable, under the command of Captain Sir Edward Pellew, one of the most successful captains in the fleet. Finally he and Horatio would have the opportunity to serve together on a *real* ship with a real captain, not a broken down scow like Justinian with her frayed rigging and chipped, faded paint whose captain was more preoccupied with his creaking joints than the welfare of his crew. And there was more good news; Archie had overheard Lieutenant Eccleston as he spoke with Mister Bowles. Simpson's injury rendered him unfit for immediate duty so he would be amongst those who remained behind in Justinian. At long last, they were to be free of Simpson.

Archie raced to the mess to share the news with his mates. As expected, they were overjoyed, all but Horatio who remained sullen, his face wan and pinched with pain. Archie realized belatedly that the other boy was wracked with guilt over Clayton's death and he felt a pang of shame at his own selfishness. He'd been so elated at the promised liberation from Simpson's depredations that he had briefly forgotten how deeply Horatio must be affected by Clayton's loss.

"I must speak with the captain," Horatio said as he rose from the table, leaving his bewildered messmates behind. Archie did not know what passed between Horatio and the captain, but when he returned his face was a stony mask of resolve.

Archie flicked a glance at Hether and Cleveland who both watched Horatio with varying degrees of discomfort and nervousness. Archie tilted his head discreetly towards the door and was relieved that for once at least, the pair understood the unspoken message and retreated quietly from the mess.

"Why don't you sit down, Horatio?" Archie suggested once they were alone.

Horatio did as he was bid and dropped heavily to the bench. He sat there, shoulders hunched, head bowed, the very picture of dejection. Archie felt another pang of sympathy well up in him at the sight.

He had not been a very good friend to Horatio of late, he knew. It had not been his intention to abandon the other boy entirely, for surely it must have seemed that way to Horatio. Horatio was too perceptive not to have noticed Archie's continuing evasions and excuses and to have drawn his own conclusions. But how could Archie explain to him how very afraid he'd been? Afraid and deeply ashamed by his own helplessness in the face of Simpson's depredations. Horatio was so brave, so resolute; surely, he would have been appalled by Archie's weakness. And after what Simpson had done to him...he felt as if the taint of it clung to him, like the stench of sweat and tobacco. The only thing that made the current situation even remotely bearable was the fact that Horatio remained ignorant of how Jack had used him. If Horatio knew, he could not help but be disgusted and would come to loathe Archie just as he himself had come to do.

Archie could not bear the thought of Horatio hating him so he remained silent and did what he could to protect the other boy. He drew a strange comfort from the thought that Horatio was spared similar degradation at the hands of Simpson. Simpson, vile beast that he was, had already alluded to that sickening possibility. Archie had begged him to leave the other boy alone, his voice thick with desperation and growing horror. Simpson had patted a tear stained cheek and had assured Archie that he wasn't done with him, not yet. 'You belong to me, boy, and no one else' Simpson had said. 'You would do well to remember that.' Archie had nodded, eyes squeezed shut. He didn't open them again until he heard the sound of the sail locker door opening and closing softly, and the echo of footfalls moving ever farther away.

Archie didn't know if Simpson truly intended to carry out his threat or had simply made it to insure Archie's silence and continued compliance. It hardly mattered. He was already tainted, but Horatio was innocent of such debasement. Archie would do whatever he could to insure that it remained so. Horatio was his friend, his only friend now that Clayton was gone, and his kindness was the only warmth on an otherwise bleak world. He would protect Horatio. For now, however, he knew the best thing he could do for the other boy was to be his friend and offer what comfort he could in the face of his grief.

Archie sat down at the table facing Horatio. Very carefully, he reached across the table and let his hand rest lightly on the other boy's forearm. Horatio did not look up, but he did not pull away either.

"Clayton would not blame you, Horatio."

Horatio looked up sharply at those words. "He should."

Archie shook his head. "It's not your fault."

"It was my fault, Archie. I'm the one that challenged Simpson to a duel, not Clayton. If he had not interfered, he would still be alive."

"But he did interfere, Horatio," Archie explained in a gentle, patient voice. "Clayton made the decision to take your place. He knew the risks, better that you did, I suspect. Are you truly so eager to embrace death?"

"Of course not," Horatio snapped in response. "But the fact remains that he would still be alive if not for me."

"Horatio..." he sighed.

"No, Archie! Don't you see? His blood is on my hands."

"You didn't shoot Clayton, Horatio. Simpson did."

Horatio shook his head. "I may not have pulled the trigger, but I was the one who put the gun in his hand in the first place. My actions, Archie. And now poor Clayton is dead because of it."

Patience had never been Archie's greatest virtue and what little store he had had already worn thin. "For pity's sake, Horatio, you're being unreasonable. Grieve for Clayton if you must, but you do him no credit if you scorn the choice that he made and the sacrifice he offered."

"And you do him no credit, by pretending that his death doesn't matter!"

"What does that mean?" Archie asked warily.

"For God's sake, Archie, Clayton was your friend, yet you act almost as if his death is of no consequence! He's not even cold, yet here you are crowing about our transfer to another ship. Did you not care at all for him?"

Archie flinched back as if slapped. "How can you even ask such a thing? Of course, I cared for him! Yes, Clayton was my friend and I do grieve him. But I will not apologize for being glad to be gone from this wretched, godforsaken ship. Clayton of all people would have understood. I had thought you would as well."

Horatio's face, which had been flushed with anger, paled all at once, as if the emotion had drained from him like water from a pitcher. "Archie...I'm sorry. I...It was most unjust of me to accuse you of not caring for Clayton. Will you forgive me?"

Archie studied the other boy. He knew Horatio's contrition was genuine, but still the accusation had stung. Of all of them, he had thought Horatio would sympathize and it hurt Archie to think that Horatio understood him so little. Archie did not wish to quarrel, nor did he want to dwell on grim thoughts now that freedom was finally in his grasp. He mustered a small smile for Horatio.

"Of course."

Apologies tendered and accepted, they faced one another across the table, and though they sat close enough to touch, Archie felt a sudden, mournful distance open up between them. It was a most painful sensation. How had they come to this place? Just days before they had lain together as lovers in the darkness of the sail locker. It had been wonderful. Horatio had touched him with a tenderness the like of which he had known once, a seeming lifetime ago, but had despaired of ever knowing again. And though his kisses bespoke his inexperience, Horatio had been so terribly generous, giving and taking with equal fervor until pleasure had ripped through them and had left them gasping for breath. He had lain there in the aftermath, Horatio's body warm and hard beneath him as he drifted along in a haze of contentment, completely and utterly at peace. What he had shared with Horatio had been a world away from the degradation he had suffered at Simpson's hands, and it had felt like a balm to his battered, weary soul But now? Now they were as strangers to one another. Archie's heart ached with the loss.

It was this accursed ship, Archie knew. It tainted everything. Even as the promise of a new future hovered tantalizingly nearby, Archie could still feel the shadow of the Justinian weighing him down like a drag anchor. He began to wonder if he'd ever be free of it.

No, he told himself sharply. He would move past this and leave the Justinian and Simpson and all the rest of it behind him. But as he looked over at Horatio's brooding countenance, Archie could only hope that Horatio wasn't another of the things that he would be forced to consign to the past.

Horatio climbed the stairs to the main deck and smiled at the sight of blue sky overhead and waves dancing along the sides of the Indefatigable as she ran before the wind. At present they were heading southward with the intent of prowling the French shipping lanes to harry their supply lines. An army-or navy-ran on its collective stomachs so anything they did to thwart the provisioning of the French forces was beneficial to their cause. Moreover, any ships and cargo that they captured would be declared as prizes and would fatten the purses of the ship's company. And if they should encounter any French man o' wars in the process, well, he had no doubt that they would tech the Frogs what it meant to stand against the might of the British Navy.

He'd been on the Indefatigable for five days now and already his time in Justinian seemed to belong to another life. The dark mood of Justinian had given way to a palpable air of expectation that leavened all their spirits. Even the ship herself felt and looked different to Horatio. There was no sagging rigging or half-coiled ropes lying underfoot on the Indefatigable, no chipped paint or fittings dull from lack of polish. Horatio turned back to watch the ratings as they vigorously holystoned the deck larboard, blanching the planks to perfect smoothness. It was a ritual that he'd never once seen performed during his entire service aboard Justinian but it was one that Captain Pellew apparently demanded be performed with near religious regularity. If it were true that the ship was a reflection of her captain's mind, then Captain Pellew had a rigorous and orderly mind indeed.

At that thought, Horatio to look at the quarterdeck where her captain prowled like a tiger he'd once seen in a menagerie, sharp eyes assessing everything within his purview. Captain Keene, Horatio recalled, had rarely spent more than a few minutes on deck at a time due to the aching of his rheumy joints. Pellew, however, was a different sort of captain entirely. Younger and far more vigourous to be sure, but also more in control of his ship and her company. "Aboard his ship, sir, there is nothing that is outside a captain's control," Pellew had told him during their brief interview and Horatio was beginning to understand the truth of that now.

Horatio squirmed inwardly at the memory of that meeting. It had not gone well. He remembered how the captain had turned his implacable, probing gaze upon him, his entire frame seeming to radiate power. Captain Sir Edward Pellew had a presence, the like of which Horatio had never encountered and he found it both daunting and inspiring. This was the kind of commander, the kind of *man* he wished to be and he knew that he could learn much from him. From what Horatio had already gathered, Pellew was strict, but fair. He ran a tight ship and had little patience for foolishness, but he was not a flogging captain. An aspiring officer could do far worse than follow such a captain.

Horatio worried that he had once again-most erroneously--been branded a troublemaker. Still, Captain Pellew had made it clear that he would give Horatio the opportunity to prove himself and Horatio promised himself that the captain would not have cause to regret that decision. Horatio would not disappoint him a second time.

A breeze ruffled his hair and Horatio smiled again. The weather was still cool, but they were finally free of the grey, leaden skies that hung over Spithead like a pall. The clear blue sky felt almost like a balm that eased the dark, unpleasant memories of his time in Purgatory. All in all, things seemed perfect, Horatio thought, as his gaze drifted over the deck of the well-run ship. He paused as he caught the sight of Archie standing at the rail and gazing out to sea. Horatio sighed.

Almost perfect.

He and Archie had been ill at ease in one another's company ever since they'd arrived on the Indefatigable. No, that wasn't entirely true; there had already been awkwardness between them well before then. The memory of what had occurred between them in the sail locker and the emotions and sensations it had unleashed had been too potent to touch let alone discuss. Add to that Simpson's machinations and Clayton's tragic demise, it was hardly surprising that they had been uncomfortable in one another's presence. Once they had transferred to the Indefatigable and had left the Justinian and Simpson in their wake, Horatio had hoped that some degree of peace would have been restored and yet it had not.

Horatio knew that he was partly to blame for the distance that had grown between them, beginning with his own reluctance to come to terms with his own unnatural inclinations and his lingering desire for his best friend. That had been a deplorable situation in its own right, even before things had taken another grievous turn. Immersed in his guilt over Clayton's death, Horatio had been bewildered and even offended in the face of what he perceived to be Archie's indifference at the death of his friend. Horatio realized now how unfair he had been to the other boy. Archie had lived under Simpson's tyranny far longer than he himself had; perhaps it was only reasonable to expect that his relief at escaping from the other man's influence would be so great that it might, at least for a time, dominate all other sentiments.

Horatio didn't know what had passed between Archie and Simpson in those final days in Justinian. They had never spoken on it. He told himself it was to spare Archie from revisiting unpleasant events, but if he were honest with himself, he did not truly wish to know. He had a terrible suspicion that the reality was far worse than anything his own limited imagination might conjure. And Archie at least seemed to be moving beyond past events. Since they had arrived on the Indefatigable, Archie's native good humour had returned. Horatio was gladdened to see Archie happy and smiling once more.

He wanted his friend to be happy, truly, he did, even if Archie's high spirits only served to underscore Horatio's own desperate loneliness. He missed Archie fiercely. He missed his friendship and his affection and his irreverent, exuberant wit. He missed their earnest conversations and companionable silences. He missed Archie's comforting presence across the table in the mess or at his side during their lessons with Mister Bowles. But more than anything, he missed the time they spent together in the sail locker enjoying an intimacy more complete and more perfect than any Horatio had ever known before. He missed the warmth of Archie's touch and the heat of his strong, young body. He missed the flare of desire more intoxicating than spirits and more soothing than laudanum. He might be damned as a sinner and swing from the yardarm for even contemplating such impure notions, but it was the truth and Horatio could no longer deny it. The denial had torn him apart and left him lost and tormented. Perhaps, he decided, it was time to accept this part of himself try to carry on.

The sense of relief that Horatio felt at that resolution was startling. He knew it would be no easy task, but he had taken the first step and surely, that was an accomplishment in and of itself. Now if only he could repair the rift between them. As he continued to watch Archie, he made up his mind to rectify the situation. After all, it could hardly prove to be more painful than the resolution he had just made for himself, could it?

Horatio drifted over the where Archie stood gazing out at sea. The other boy did not turn to look at him though Horatio was sure he was aware of his arrival. He cleared his throat.

"Good morning, Archie."

Archie looked at him then. "Good morning, Horatio." Although his manner seemed diffident, the small smile Archie gave Horatio was heartening. Horatio took a deep breath to steady himself before he spoke.

"Archie..."

"Mr. Hornblower, Mr. Kennedy."

Startled, they turned to find Mr. Bowles standing behind them, hands clasped behind his back.

"Mr. Bowles, sir!" they both replied as they snapped to attention. It was surprising how quickly they had adapted to the more formal behaviour that Captain Pellew expected of his officers. This, Horatio knew, was how things should be in the service and consequently it came almost naturally.

"The bosun has informed me that he needs to repair the top gallant royal. Would you gentlemen please be so good as to go to the forward sail locker and bring up a replacement?"

Out of the corner of his eye, Horatio saw Archie stiffen at the request and Horatio found himself frowning at the odd request. Surely, such a task would normally be given to the ratings rather than a pair of mids?

"You do know what a top gallant looks like, don't you?" Bowles asked, his lips twitching with the barest hint of a smile.

'Ah, so that's what this is about,' Horatio thought. This was a test to see what they knew. Not so long ago he would have been at a loss, but this was one of the things Archie had taught him back in Justinian. He nodded to the ship's master.

"Aye, sir."

"Well, off with you then."

"Yes, sir."

Horatio went below decks and Archie followed just a step behind. It was a short trek and within minutes, they were standing just outside the Indefatigable's forward sail locker. Horatio opened the door and peered inside.

Not surprisingly, the sail locker was as tidy and well ordered as the rest of the ship. Rolls of canvas were neatly stacked one upon the other and arranged by size. The walls were dry and the fetid smell of mildew that clung to the sail locker in Justinian was noticeably absent. He looked at the sails and frowned as he tried to divine which roll of canvas corresponded to a top gallant royal.

"Archie?" he called out, then popped his head out of the locker. Archie stood a few feet away, his teeth worrying at his lower lip as he eyed the entrance warily. Understanding began to dawn, and in its wake, sympathy. Apparently, he was not the only one grappling with the weight of his memories.

"Archie?" he repeated in a gentle voice. "I need your help."

Archie seemed to come back to himself. "Oh yes, of course." He crossed the threshold and then they were both inside standing side by side in the cramped confines of the sail locker. Their proximity engendered another tide of powerful memories. This time Horatio didn't try to resist, but simply let them wash over him. He shot a quick glance over at Archie to see that the other boy's gaze had grown distant as well.

Archie sniffed the air tentatively. "No mildew," he observed at last.

"No, and no sails threatening to topple over on top of us, either. It's nothing like the sail locker in Justinian."

He was watching Archie carefully so he saw the way he stilled and his eyes narrowed.

"No," Archie agreed, his voice tight. He turned away from Horatio and made a show of studying the piles of sail. "This is a top gallant royal, Horatio," he said as he pointed to one of the sails near the top of the pile. "See the stitching?"

Horatio nodded. He recognized the stitching from that first afternoon in the sail locker in Justinian when Archie had identified the sails for him. "I remember, Archie," he said. When Archie looked at him, he spoke again in a softer voice. "I remember everything."

Archie watched him with guarded eyes as he began to chew on his lower lip again. Horatio took a breath before he spoke again.

"The Indefatigable is nothing like Justinian, nothing like it at all. We get a new start, Archie. We can put the past behind us."

Archie studied him intently. "Do you wish to put everything in the past behind you, Horatio?"

Horatio knew what he was asking. A few days earlier, he might have feigned ignorance, or dissembled in the face of such a question. But now he would not. He could not. Taking a deep breath, he leapt into the abyss.

With great deliberation, and more than a little trepidation, Horatio reached out and lightly touched Archie's cheek, cradling it in his palm. "Only the bad memories. The rest...well..." he trailed off suddenly shy and uncertain of how to continue. He swallowed and licked lips that were far too dry, all the while aware that Archie was watching him closely.

"I was thinking...well... we could continue the maths lessons. You were making wonderful progress and it would be unfortunate to let it go to waste. That is if you want to?" He prayed that he sounded hopeful rather than desperate. He looked at Archie whose expression was suddenly difficult to read in the half-light of the sail locker.

"I'd...I'd like that. Very much."

Horatio released the breath he'd been holding. Archie's expression softened and all at once, the distance that had existed between them was gone. Horatio nodded, dizzy with relief.

"Good, good," Horatio said. He could feel warmth spreading through him and he melted, like frost at the onset of a spring thaw. "I was also thinking that, if you like, perhaps later we could read some more Shakespeare. I enjoyed Midsummer Night's Dream very much. Besides," he said with a faint shrug of his shoulders, a smile teasing his lips, "we still haven't read Hamlet and I'd like to see how my namesake comports himself."

That won him a sweet smile from Archie that warmed him even more. "I think you will like it very much, Horatio."

"I'm sure I will." They stood there for a long moment, looking at one another, their easy camaraderie restored and with it a profound tenderness that had always been there, barely acknowledged and less understood.

"Let's get this sail for Mr. Bowles, shall we?"

Archie nodded. He took up one end of the sail while Horatio positioned himself at the other end.

"Ready, Archie?"

"Ready."

They heaved as one and lifted the sail from its fellows then carefully manoeuvred their way out of the sail locker, the roll of canvas cradled between them. Horatio looked at Archie across the length of pristine canvas and smiled. Archie smiled back without hesitation.

"These are new days, Archie."

Archie nodded, a gentle smile still tracing his lips. "Well, the sooner we get this sail to Mr. Bowles, the sooner we can begin to enjoy them."

"I couldn't agree more, Mr. Kennedy."

"Well, then move your arse, Mr. Hornblower," Archie said with a wicked gleam in his eyes.

"Aye, aye, sir!" Horatio replied with mock seriousness before his laughter bubbled to the surface to mingle with Archie's own laughter.

With the sail still slung between them, Horatio and Archie made their way to the main deck and to blue sky above, the sound of their laughter trailing behind them.

Finis

Notes: Big thanks to Janis for the beta, judiciously applied kicks in the posterior and the remedial course in mathematics.