service. If for some reason our hopes are not realized, please enter into the record that Mr. Marshall and Mr. Archer have conducted themselves with fortitude and valor as shining examples of England’s finest; and tell my wife and family that my thoughts were with them, as they are with you all.
I have the honour to be (Etc.)
Captain Sir Paul Andrew Smith, (Etc.)
Mr. Korthals is continuing to direct the search for the man who paid a boy to carry this letter to our crewmen. We do not hold much hope, as the child (age 6) is quite incoherent with excitement due to the effect his errand had on O’Reilly. (Mr. Bowles has succeeded in extricating O’Reilly from the constable’s clutches; O’Reilly’ vehemence in detaining a passerby who resembled the child’s description, who, as it transpired, was not the right man, had caused him to be taken into custody.)
~
“Stand away from the door.”
The order came almost as a relief to Archer, who had spent the past day and a half in continual anxiety. After yesterday morning’s dithering, he had done his best to hide his nervousness from Marshall, who of course had no way of knowing what the problem really was.
It helped that William had his own body’s distractions to contend with. He had slept a long time but seemed to be mending rapidly—so much so that he had already resumed wearing his uniform shirt and waistcoat, though he was not yet ready to button the latter. Only someone who knew him well would notice the slight delay and stiffness in his movements as he got to his feet.
The routine was a repeat of the one two days previous, with one startling difference: the guards, different ones this time, ordered Archer to stand back, and Marshall to come forward. He blinked, started to reach down for his jacket—and Archer scooped it up to conceal the fact that Will couldn’t move that quickly. He helped his friend into it, and brushed off clinging bits of straw. What was going on? They’d got it wrong, they shouldn’t be taking Will—
“To what do I owe the honor?” Marshall asked.
On cue—the allusion was unavoidable—Adrian stepped into the doorway. “You can thank your captain for this, Lieutenant. That stirring speech of his cannot go unrewarded.”
Even having to stand slightly stooped, Marshall, his face blank, somehow managed to look down at Adrian. “I’m not in proper dress for the occasion; if you’ll give me a moment—”
“Oh, I’m not letting you back on deck; we’ve had quite enough attempted rabblerousing, I don’t care to see if it’s a family trait. I also doubt you’re ready for another session with the bosun. Unless you insist.”
Apparently Marshall considered Smith’s order to restrain himself as ongoing. Without a flicker of expression, he said, “Not at all.”
“And your manners are improving. Excellent.”
Giving Archer a smile over his shoulder, Will stepped outside. “Until later, Mr. Archer.” The routine with the cloak was repeated on him, the only difference being that the door was not closed. Archer kept an encouraging smile pasted on his face until the hood blocked Will’s view, then he let numbness steal all expression. He had dreaded this moment for himself; he had not realized how much worse it would be to anticipate it happening to his friend. But why was Adrian doing this?
Three guards took Marshall away; Adrian had brought two more with him, who remained in the hall. “Well, Mr. Archer, are you ready to dine?”
What? Oh, thank God. So that wasn’t where he was taking Will. Archer let himself breathe again, but his stomach still felt like a lump of ice. “Unless you find it stimulating to watch a meal retrace its passage, I would rather not bother with food.”
“Such eagerness. I’m flattered.”
A dozen cutting replies crossed Archer’s mind; he bit them back. Despairing of an answer, he asked, “What are you going to do to him?”
“A rather ingenuous question, don’t you think?”
I have the honour to be (Etc.)
Captain Sir Paul Andrew Smith, (Etc.)
Mr. Korthals is continuing to direct the search for the man who paid a boy to carry this letter to our crewmen. We do not hold much hope, as the child (age 6) is quite incoherent with excitement due to the effect his errand had on O’Reilly. (Mr. Bowles has succeeded in extricating O’Reilly from the constable’s clutches; O’Reilly’ vehemence in detaining a passerby who resembled the child’s description, who, as it transpired, was not the right man, had caused him to be taken into custody.)
~
“Stand away from the door.”
The order came almost as a relief to Archer, who had spent the past day and a half in continual anxiety. After yesterday morning’s dithering, he had done his best to hide his nervousness from Marshall, who of course had no way of knowing what the problem really was.
It helped that William had his own body’s distractions to contend with. He had slept a long time but seemed to be mending rapidly—so much so that he had already resumed wearing his uniform shirt and waistcoat, though he was not yet ready to button the latter. Only someone who knew him well would notice the slight delay and stiffness in his movements as he got to his feet.
The routine was a repeat of the one two days previous, with one startling difference: the guards, different ones this time, ordered Archer to stand back, and Marshall to come forward. He blinked, started to reach down for his jacket—and Archer scooped it up to conceal the fact that Will couldn’t move that quickly. He helped his friend into it, and brushed off clinging bits of straw. What was going on? They’d got it wrong, they shouldn’t be taking Will—
“To what do I owe the honor?” Marshall asked.
On cue—the allusion was unavoidable—Adrian stepped into the doorway. “You can thank your captain for this, Lieutenant. That stirring speech of his cannot go unrewarded.”
Even having to stand slightly stooped, Marshall, his face blank, somehow managed to look down at Adrian. “I’m not in proper dress for the occasion; if you’ll give me a moment—”
“Oh, I’m not letting you back on deck; we’ve had quite enough attempted rabblerousing, I don’t care to see if it’s a family trait. I also doubt you’re ready for another session with the bosun. Unless you insist.”
Apparently Marshall considered Smith’s order to restrain himself as ongoing. Without a flicker of expression, he said, “Not at all.”
“And your manners are improving. Excellent.”
Giving Archer a smile over his shoulder, Will stepped outside. “Until later, Mr. Archer.” The routine with the cloak was repeated on him, the only difference being that the door was not closed. Archer kept an encouraging smile pasted on his face until the hood blocked Will’s view, then he let numbness steal all expression. He had dreaded this moment for himself; he had not realized how much worse it would be to anticipate it happening to his friend. But why was Adrian doing this?
Three guards took Marshall away; Adrian had brought two more with him, who remained in the hall. “Well, Mr. Archer, are you ready to dine?”
What? Oh, thank God. So that wasn’t where he was taking Will. Archer let himself breathe again, but his stomach still felt like a lump of ice. “Unless you find it stimulating to watch a meal retrace its passage, I would rather not bother with food.”
“Such eagerness. I’m flattered.”
A dozen cutting replies crossed Archer’s mind; he bit them back. Despairing of an answer, he asked, “What are you going to do to him?”
“A rather ingenuous question, don’t you think?”
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