Blockading Bastia

[spender]

“Besides, I need an extra pair of eye’s to keep an eye out for anything suspicious, like maybe a spy?”

Reisender thought this through with all the seriousness and sensibility he could muster. He scratched his chin, hummed, as he had seen grown-ups doing when deep in thought, and at last nodded.

"Okay," he said. He walked with Elle a few steps, craning his head around.

"Over dere," he pointed at a sailor across the deck—Seajack Farthing, a squirrel of nineteen years. Being so older than most of them, he thus didn't interact with the striplings very often, despite being the same rank. "Dat fuzzy-tail. Ve take him, together? You sit on him, I vill get his eyes for you. Den you have two pairs." The little marten grinned cheekily, and to much horror, produced a spoon from his pocket.

He was Keinruf Wright's son, all right.

---

Tally didn't quite see where Reisender had gone. There were so many hiding places on the upper gun deck, she didn't even think of going up to the main deck just yet. The mousemaid toddled along, doing a rather more thorough job than the trio of mustelids that were supposed to be on watch further down the deck.

He was nowhere. Frowning thoughtfully, Tally did the last thing she could think of. She positioned herself in front of one of the canons, took hold of the tompion, and with a desperate strength born of a life of labour, popped it off after only a few tugs. She tucked her snout into the nozzle and called softly:

"Reiseeeendeeerrrr?"

No answer. Tally pulled back, concerned. She saw a familiar creature out of the corner of her eye, and turned and called to him before he could skitter down to the lower gun deck.

"C-Carrow," she said, her voice cracking a little. On her own, she was fine. In charge of somebeast smaller, she was fine. With someone else, her spirit drained, and she dared not call too loudly, lest she upset them; but not too softly, lest they not hear her. It was a Conundrum. "C-carrow...?"

He didn't hear her. Tally stuck her head back toward the cannon.

"You are sleepink in dere tonight," she decided, and did her best to tuck the tompion back inside. She turned to head down after Carrow, more to go to sleep than because she wanted to see him, although that would have been nice as well, and paused.

Perhaps he was in the next cannon over? Hmmmm...

---

Willard heard his name, but did not reply. He stood frozen in the hold, paws deep in his pockets. His claws caressed the folded paper within, and the charcoal stick he had purchased from the ship's store on his way down. He knew what he needed to write, but...

He was on duty. Couldn't stop to compose a letter right now.

The weasel's ears were pricked, listening to the darkness. It was hard to concentrate, with his name echoing quietly. He did his best. Then he sighed, and stepped back into the glow of light coming from above. This wasn't like him. He shouldn't be ignoring whoever was looking for him. They would wake the sleeping crew up.

He tilted his head up. Willard was one of the few crewbeasts who didn't have to hunch very much in certain areas of the hold; standing straight, his ears just brushed the ceiling. The next shortest beast, Carrow, had possibly even more trouble with his ears getting scraped.

"I'm down here," he said simply, not raising his voice too much.

[Carrow]

Carrow had lost count of the number of times he had travelled the entire ship over the last few hours. One more trip wasn't going to do him any harm, or so he thought at least. He continued softly calling the least weasel's name, unaware Willard was currently in the hold, which, since Carrow's back had started giving him grief, had quickly become his least favourite place on the ship. It was tough even for the more diminutive creatures on the ship (such as himself) to get around certain parts of the hold without having to crouch or stoop, and the field mouse was quite wary of doing anything that might set him off again. This was why he mainly avoided the place unless absolutely necessary.

The rodent still had his package clutched in one paw. He needed to get settled and hopefully get a friend to be with him when he finally opened it. Getting things like this from Archie was something momentous after all, and he wanted to share it with a close friend or two if he could at all. He'd given up trying to guess what lay within, because he knew that his long-tailed weasel carer liked surprises and he wasn't going to spoil this one on himself by being too accurate. Whatever it was, it was quite soft. Soft and gentle in a way, much like the treatment he'd received from her for the previous nine or so years.

Thinking of this made the mouse sniffle a little. Even though a reminder like this was one of the things that kept him going nowadays, there was a little sadness in his thoughts too. He couldn't wait to open it, of course, and read the letter undoubtedly contained within, but he was also slightly concerned about her. He hoped she was holding up alright and not too lonely without him. It was fast coming up on a year away from home, and the anniversary of their departure would be marked with a mixed reception on the field mouse's part. So much had happened since he'd left Muggidrear - things both good and bad - and whilst he wouldn't have swapped any of it for the world, there was still something inside him that longed to see her again. The letters were enough for him on their own, but oh, to SEE her!

He wondered briefly if their paths would cross sometime whilst he was serving in the Navy. He knew that such a thing was quite unlikely to happen, though it wasn't exactly impossible. He was snapped out of his reverie by the sight of Tally. He was pleased to see her (even from a distance) but knew he should not stop for anything until this business with Willard - whatever it was - had been seen to first. He didn't fancy carrying the letter around for any longer than he needed to, especially not as Willard would probably start asking questions about its whereabouts sooner rather than later. The mouse was quite sure that this sort of thing was the weasel's style. Such talk made him nervous - particularly because there was a chance that if was found with the letter on him after all THAT had happened, Willard would jump to the wrong conclusions. There was no 'might': he knew exactly what the weasel would do.

Unaware his name was being called (Tally's guess was in fact right: Carrow hadn't heard her. Just a little louder would have sufficed.), the mouse continued down to the lower gun deck. Once he reached it (still calling Willard's name, though less frequently at this stage) his pace quickened as he swiftly realised he'd have to at least revisit the orlop deck; in that case he knew he shouldn't tarry, because he wanted to see Selvis again soon if he could manage it at all. As far as he knew, his longtail friend was currently without company. He'd looked like he'd needed some time to think anyway, but the mouse didn't want him to be left alone for too long in case he ended up getting too depressed... and he knew all too well how quickly that could happen...

He reached the orlop deck, still calling, when he suddenly stopped. His large ears twitched, and he began jogging as he was quite sure he'd heard Willard respond. It was relatively quiet now, and the field mouse had good hearing, so he eventually picked up what he was sure was the sound of the weasel's voice. It was a little distant but unmistakable. He knew then that he'd almost certainly have to go into the hold, and this worried him a little because he was unsure whether or not his back would hold. Perhaps if he could ask Willard to come UP, instead of him actually having to come down there, he wouldn't have to worry as much? It was certainly worth a try. He reached the entrance to the hold and stood looking down at the weasel. "Er... could you come up here please? I'm not sure I'll fit in there without having to crouch, and my back, well, let's say I'm not sure what it'll do. I have something for you, here... think you must have dropped it earlier?" He held the letter out. Just then he noticed Willard seemed to have been distressed about something quite recently. His whiskers drooped a little. Aw, that was a shame. Maybe he could try and help him out somehow?

[spender]

Spender did his best to listen. It was hard. His mind kept wandering, and when he thought about his mind wandering, all that happened was he started to imagine the top of his head coming up and his brain getting out with a little haversack on a stick and walking away on stubby little stick-figure legs. No arms, though. Spender wondered how his brain could hold the stick. He wondered what was in the sack. Maybe his brain had a toy wagon? He missed his toy wagon... oh, right, Caden was talking...

Wait, what was that? Presents on his birthday?? Spender opened his mouth and squeaked in horror.

"My birthday," he whispered. It was always just a few days after Christmas. But this time... Well, Christmas had been over for a month now. It was February. Spender knew that much. His birthday had been in January, and he'd... he'd missed it. He didn't know what day it was, exactly—dates had never mattered to him. His parents would wake him up and tell him... It always came as a surprise, but now... now it hadn't come at all. Why hadn't anyone reminded him? No one had given him presents (Peskers didn't count)... not for Christmas, not for his birthday...

So Caden had been mean, once before? And Ladorak had... what? Cured him of that? So why couldn't Ladorak help him? If Caden was like him, then Caden must have broken rules as well...

Spender glanced down. Funny. He'd always seen them, and made little games out of them, but now that it was mentioned, there were lines he was stepping over. But so was Caden, and Peskers, and everyone who walked over the deck timbers... Spender closed his eyes, scrunching them up. No—things still weren't making much sense.

He glanced at the Articles of War as they passed. So that's what that paper was... Why did the speech have to be so boring, though? It was all about things officers and whatnot were doing, or not supposed to be doing, wasn't it? He always zoned out at some point during all of it... He was aware, on some level, that there were actions that you did not do, such as steal or get into fights, and he did his best not to do those things. So what else was there, that he was missing? What was he doing that was getting Ladorak so upset at him?

Spender scratched his arms more, though his legs were starting to feel weird as well, little pins and needles all over. He had to keep checking that Peskers wasn't pinching his tail.

"Ummmm..."

Help. The idea was almost foreign to him. He could recall, distantly, a time when he was sat down with somebeast who asked him questions that he didn't want to answer. It hadn't been helpful at all. Nor had Peskers' attempt to help him with reading. No matter how hard he tried, it went over his head. He had given up long before she had. Somewhere in his bags was a tattered, abused little collection of jests, looking more like someone had crammed a pawful of maple leaves into a binder than a properly glued book. So the idea of being helped was not a very keen one.

"'s a good idea," he said slowly. He remembered Molly, and a sudden thought struck him: he remembered Molly, but not what she had talked to him about. Her lessons, her ideas to help him, none of it stuck with him. Only the drugs she had given him when she'd decided she didn't want to be bothered anymore. "But... 'm thinkin'..."

As he pondered, Peskers perked at something going on near the mainmast.

"Here," she said, pawing over Spender's picture for Caden to hold—knowing that it would only be a distraction for Spender at the moment. "I think I see that orange mouse doing something weird... gonna go check it out. Have fun, you two..."

Peskers headed off. Spender watched her go, then looked at his picture in Caden's paws. He dipped his nose to the floor with a sigh and continued scratching his arms. The skin was turning red where the tan-brown fur let it show.

"Wot good would it do. 'm too dumb. They were right, all of 'em kits at school. 'm stupid. A dumby like me... th'best I can hope for is gettin' put on shore before I get killed. Nothin's gonna help. I can't even remember my own birthday... Wot good would it do t'even bother? Waste o' time... I'd forget everythin' th'next day anyway, even if I did learn wot t'do t'be nice an' not break rules. I'm a dumb, mean, bullyin' boogerface," he finished; spit frothed as he growled these last words. "I wish I'd never been born..."

[Ladorak]

"No... that's not true." Caden said, realizing Spender had in fact forgot his own Birthday. Caden's wasn't until a few months from now. He'd be 14 years old. He sure didn't feel any older... or maybe he felt older since having been aboard this ship, but not since then. It was hard to say.

"Come on... we'll pick this up on the lower... I mean the orlop deck." he said, shaking his head as he remembered they couldn't talk on the lower gun deck... at least not without half the crew kicking their tails for having woken them up. "We'll pick this up down there. I want to help you Spender... but we'll talk about that later." He mounted the stairs, and began walking down to the lower gun deck. Snores immediately drifted up from down below, and ahead of them stretched dozens upon dozens of hammocks. 250, to be exact. They all swayed gently with the rocking of the ship, keeping the sleepers level in that quasi state of independent gravity.

Caden wasted no time on this deck. There was nothing to check for down here. The hammocks directly ahead of them were Marines. The Marines slept in between the gun room and the rest of the crew, and the Petty Officers slept around them along the hull of the ship. That way, if for some reason there was a disturbance, the crew could be quickly surrounded by the Petty Officers and the Marines would prevent the crew from reaching both the companionway, and officers quartered behind them in the gun room. The two Marine sentries on guard outside the gun room would raise the alarm if anything suspicious occurred. It was a pretty secure setup all in all.

Caden continued downward, down to the orlop deck. He saw Carrow almost immediately, and gave the mouse a small nod and a greeting as they moved past. "Hello there Carrow. Seems you have this deck covered, so we'll be on our way down to the hold." Caden touched his forehead in a bit of a wave, and moved past the mouse. It smelled a bit more down here thanks to them getting close to the bilge. Maybe they could pump the bilge out a bit... if they could manage that massive pump. It normally required about five beasts to make it work properly.

"So as I was saying Spender, no, you're not too dumb for this. Everyone calls you dumb, but maybe that's because you let them get to you, and you started believing it because you heard it over and over again so much." He kept his voice down as they started to move around the central store rooms, which included the hanging magazines and the sail locker, among other things. It was pitch dark down here, but that's because they were now below the waterline, and there were no gun ports to the outside world down here. It was like a cave. A deep and dark cave after sunset. Even the Purser's lamp had been extinguished, as he was getting ready to close his shop up for the night.

They started moving forward, toward the bow. "I believe you can change, if of course you want to. It's all about you and the effort you make. Maybe you just haven't cared enough. Or maybe you haven't believed you could change. But if you want others to like you, and not push you away, you've got to care enough to want to change. Otherwise... you're right. Nothing will change."

He stopped outside, the cockpit, and poked his head in. The cockpit was a good sized room on the larboard side of the orlop deck where the Midshipjacks all slung their hammocks and slept. It was also where they took their mess. Though a bit crowded, and smelly, the space was free of any guns, and was private and away from the rest of everyone else on the ship. The downside was that their mess table was used as the Surgeon's operating table in battles, as the Surgeon shifted the sick berth down here in combat, to keep the sick and wounded away from gunfire.

More snores and dangling hammocks greeted him, and the albino quickly skirted around the doorway. "I'll be in there someday, when I make Midshipjack." he said, muttering low so only Spender could hear him. "But yeah." he glanced down at the painting still in his paws now as they passed the large sail locker. "I believe in you at least." he said softly. They were approaching the fore companionway now. Nothing ahead of them except another large sail locker, as well as the Boatswain's storage, which had lots of blocks, tackles, and lines; the Gunner's storage, which contained all the weapons and muskets, under Marine guard of course (and locked, the Master at Arms possessing the only key); the Carpenter's store, for all his equipment and that of the Armorer, and the Carpenter's and Boatswain's cabins. Caden definitely did not want to make noise up here, as the Boatswain was in charge of meting out discipline after all, and waking him up would be a bad idea.

He took the stairs down once more, heading into the hold, but the forward part of the hold, not the aft part where Willard was. He was plunged into even greater darkness as he moved onto a wooden platform that lay suspended above the hold itself. They stood on this platform now, above the actual dry storage space which was below them. The grand magazine was forward, at the bow, as was the filling room. The shot lockers were amidships, where the trunk of the mainmast met the keel. "There we go... nice and quiet down here. Can listen for leaks in peace." Because of the extremely low headroom, Caden opted to sit down on the platform, dangling his legs and long tail off the edge.

"So what do you say? I think you can do it Spender... but I want you to want this. I want you to think you can do it. I gotta be patient... I realize that. But I'll do my best if you do your best. Say... what is this a drawing of anyway? And oh!" he exclaimed, holding the paper out to the ferret, even though that wouldn't do much good as there was no light down here whatsoever, and the only other beasts in sight were the Marines on guard duty in front of the magazine, their dim outlines statue like and ominous in the darkness. And well, Henley, if you looked up the stairs to see him looking down at the two. Caden was tired, and honestly couldn't wait to curl up into his hammock soon. If only time would move a bit faster... but of course best to hear Spender out first.

"I just thought of something. Maybe I could tell Ladorak to get you a present on my Birthday too... since you know, you're like my cousin and all, and we could celebrate together." he suggested now, keeping his large ears up and alert, though the chances of springing a leak were slim. Ladorak ran a tight ship, even if she was oh so old, and the Caulker normally did a good job of staying on top of things, but even he could only do so much in a ship of this age, and constant refits were a must for Agamemnon these days.

[spender]

Unsticking his paws from his pockets, Willard glumly stepped forward, now bathing himself in the light. He took hold of the steps and began pulling himself up.

"I have something for you, here... think you must have dropped it earlier?"

"Oh," Willard said. He was halfway up now, and paused. It was only for a second or two, but his face betrayed him. He wanted nothing to do with that letter, and he'd rather just go back down and sulk in the pitch black than take it back again. He said as much when he hoisted himself up.

"I don't want it." Yet, he took it anyways. He needed it for the return address, to confirm with whoever it was that it was okay to manage his funds. "Thank you."

Willard had done a fair job cleaning himself up after his outburst. His cheeks were dry, though ruffled and the fur stuck up in parts as it was still moist. His eyes were red around the edges, however, and his glasses were smeared. His striped shirt was stained where he'd used it as a cloth. His voice, usually squeaky with excitement or boosted in the lower range by his ill temperament towards crewbeasts who were slacking, was dull and level. All in all, the normally neurotic and spastic little weasel was so still and solemn that it was, in a way, frightening to anyone who knew him very well at all.

He turned the letter over in his paws, as if taking an interest in it, but his eyes didn't move to scan the words across either side, and he stood there silently, awkwardly, unsure of what to do or think.

[Carrow]

Carrow had returned Caden's wave, making sure to get out a response before his pine marten friend moved past him. "Hi Caden! I'm looking forward to perhaps catching up with you later on if you fancy it. In fact, I'd like to show you something if you get the time!," he exclaimed, jiggling his package a tad. It rustled softly (this was in fact the sound of the letter scraping against something else Archie had thrown in) as he did so. He'd smiled, before transferring his gaze to Spender a moment. "Hello, Spendy. Er..." He coughed a bit. "I'm sorry about leaving you earlier, and I have to get going again, but it's only because I'm actually rather busy at the moment and need to take care of something first. If I can manage, I'll speak to you when I'm able to... that is, if you want me to," he added, unsure how his offer might be received.

Caden and Spender had carried on past the rodent after he'd finished speaking, and after the pair of mustelids had done so, the mouse had moved off. He didn't like being this far down. The quarterdeck and the upper and lower gun decks were his preferred places to be on the ship (particularly the gun decks as he had picked out a spot on each he could use to catch forty winks, whenever he could actually manage to sleep). Anything down past that and it felt rather oppressive for him. As had been seen in Naples, the field mouse wasn't good with either crowded places or areas that felt claustrophobic (as he had that particular phobia - it was only mild but it could take him at the most unexpected times), and the orlop deck seemed to him to definitely fall into the latter category... and he didn't even want to think about the holds. He hoped he wouldn't have to go into them too regularly, if at all.

His phobia was the real reason he was reluctant to enter the holds; it had far more to do with that particular decision than his intermittent back troubles (though they didn't exactly help matters). This was why he was particularly pleased when Willard adhered to his request and hoisted himself up onto the orlop deck. There was a relieved look on his face, though it was only slight; the relief came from the fact he didn't have to go any deeper down, but it was only fleeting, and it faded quite quickly when Willard refused the letter. Now he couldn't help but think that something was deinitely amiss. Then, Willard changed his mind and accepted the letter. This would have left a creature who wasn't at all used to dealing with the compulsive weasel quite confused, but the field mouse understood why he required it, to an extent... probably for some purpose only a creature like Willard would think worthwhile.

The least weasel may have cleaned himself up, but nevertheless the sight that greeted Carrow when he saw Willard emerge into the light wasn't a pretty one. He was in a state; the red-rimmed eyes were enough to betray this fact by themselves. Carrow didn't like to see others upset (because he knew well that he spent enough of his time in a similar condition). The mouse went from relief to clear concern within seconds. Willard was unusually quiet, too, and whilst the mouse didn't feel like he knew him all that well, he'd always had the weasel pegged as one of the more boisterous creatures on the ship. He was a pitiful sight, and the empathetic rodent's heart went out to him. He spoke softly, unsure whether his query would set Willard raging. He feared such an outcome. He was concerned, but he didn't want this concern to end up being a mistake. "Willard? You seem upset... what's wrong?," he asked, regarding the weasel with his large brown eyes, now full to the brim with compassion, just as they had been earlier in night (on more than one occasion) when he'd been trying his best to help Selvis.

[Ladorak]

Selvis, who had been left to his own devices after Carrow, Caden, Elliot, and Spender had departed, soon had a shadow pass over him, and if he looked up he would have seen Captain Fugate standing near him now. "Well good evening there, Jal Frenata. Not often do I see you alone, and even less often do I see you alone during the First Watch hours."

Seven bells were being struck now on the ship's bell, indicating they had one more half an hour on this watch. It was almost midnight. 11:30... hard to believe it was already that time of night. But how time flew when you were working.

"You look a little contemplative, and perhaps a little on the perturbed side. Is something the matter?" the ermine asked, looking out to sea with the weasel for a moment or two. They were right near the foremast, starboard side of the ship on the forecastle. The bow was quite near them, only a few paces forward in fact. "I figured I would wander around before my watch ended, and speak to any available crew. I noticed you here by your lonesome self, and since I make it a habit to concern myself with the affairs of my crew, I thought I'd stop by, see how you were." the ermine told him, looking down at him now in profile, and turning his head slightly as he did so to better face him.

[spender]

"Nothing's wrong," Willard said, perhaps a little too quickly. Suddenly nervous again, he folded the letter into doubles and slipped it in his pocket, where it bulged menacingly. "My mother died in October." It just slipped out. He blinked at the mouse. "My sister, Frances, is in an asylum—St. Luke's. I'm going to be in debt for the next three or four years."

Willard looked up again, pushed his glasses up his nose better. His eyes grew large behind them, bulbous and distorted and searing.

"I'm fine."

It felt good to say it aloud, to remind himself, or perhaps convince himself, that it was true. It wasn't a lie. Physically, he was fine. Mentally, he had composed himself better now than he had over the past year. Emotionally...

Well, he'd never been very good with emotions. He buried them, stomped them out, whenever he could. This time he'd just had to dig deeper, stomp harder. But they were gone now. They wouldn't bother him or his job anymore.

"She's so old, isn't she?" he said, stroking the nearest door frame. "Such a grand old lady. She feels so young. She's a sprite, Carrow, a weasel in the water, our Ags. Fast and sleek. Isn't she? She'll last forever... won't she?"

This last was delivered with power, and a narrow glare at Carrow, as if daring the mouse to deny the longevity of his dearest.

[Carrow]

Selvis was indeed contemplative, so much so that he didn't notice the presence of the ermine Captain until he heard himself being addressed. He was startled out of his pensive mood by the sound of Ladorak's soft voice, something which sounded even more comforting to his ears on a night like this, after all he had been through and all the things he was visibly struggling to cope with. He felt the letter there in his pocket, seeming to burn a hole in his very self. He wanted to read it, to know how Briga was getting on (and possibly Trelio too if she even knew his current whereabouts and activities) and whether things were alright for her back home. At the same time, though, he really didn't want to open it out of fear of the torrent of emotions that were gradually... gradually... building up inside him. Selvis's spirit was the dam that had admirably held back the relentless flow of his anxiety and despair, but his defences were slowly starting to crumble no matter how he tried to shore them up.

He stood to attention and threw a smart salute, with all the enthusiasm a creature in his current state could muster. "Good evening, Captain Fugate sir! Yes, I've been here on my own for the last while. Carrow, Spender and Caden have all got things to attend to - and I still have absolutely no idea where Elliot's gotten to." his internal reaction to saying the beech marten's false name was the same as it had been for several months. He hated having to keep up this pretence, genuinely despised it, but knew he had to keep it up. Amongst his own friends it was one thing, but before Captain Fugate it was a different matter entirely. If he found out, it would be completely terrible and have almost irreparable consequences. If Carrow did, on the other paw, he would soon get over it, and probably soon become happy she had finally been revealed to him. He'd seen how pleased to see her he had been back in Naples after all. "I'm content to stay up here... and if I'm honest it suits me just fine."

He glanced up and looked into Ladorak's eyes. "I need some time to myself, you see. Time to be alone and time to think. I am in a contemplative mood, sir. Well spotted, I must say. I've been trying hard not to show it, see. I think it's better for everybeast that way. I know how Caden and the rest see me, sir. They know I'm supposed to be the optimistic one, the one who can cheer them up and so on. Hell, I know I'M supposed to be like that! Lately though, I haven't had much reason to be cheerful, and it's all because of certain thoughts that have been running through my head for the last two months." Thoughts that will overwhelm me someday, he didn't add. This all had to come to a head eventually, of that he was certain, and to that he had resigned himself quite some time ago. He'd known what he'd been getting himself into when he'd signed up at Crittenden, and he knew what he was leaving behind. He'd even had the risks he'd run by his participation in the Welkin Navy explained to him.

The longtail had agreed to everything, but the problem was that he had never expected the potential loss of contact with his family to hit him so hard. He wanted to write to them and fill them in on what was approaching eight months of service, and to let him know that he was still there, but he worried about what might happen to him if he picked up the pen and tried to write, and this was really the only thing that was putting him off doing so, though in reality it was a major deterrent. He reached into his pocket and withdrew the letter, holding it out so Ladorak could get a good look at it.

"You wanted to see how I was, sir? Truth be told, I'm not doing so great, and here's why. I received a letter from home tonight. I can't bring myself to read it because, well, I look at it and think of this alliance between your country and mine. It's strained at best, I know, and I can't keep thoughts of it breaking out of my mind. If it does, I'll never see home, or my parents, ever again. So I can scarcely bring myself to open this thing, much less read it, and even less think of trying to reply, because I have to write home as if it's the last letter I'll ever be able to send. I knew what I was getting involved in when I signed up last year... but I wasn't expecting anything like this...," he told the ermine forlornly, "and... and it's tearing me to bits..." I must not cry in front of Captain Fugate, I must not cry in front of Captain Fugate... The trouble was that every time Selvis told himself to be strong he could feel himself becoming steadily weaker. He was slipping away, and his stability, which had been undermined by his realisation in Florence after years of being almost completely unshakeable, was going to pieces. The more he tried to keep himself together, the more he realised, to his sheer dismay, he was falling apart.

--

It was Willard's own response that gave things away. Generally when a creature said 'I'm fine' in such a way as the weasel had, they really meant the exact opposite. Carrow knew this better than almost anybeast he could think of. In his dark times, back home, before he'd been coaxed by Archie into trying to show his feelings a little more as it would prove better for him in the long run (it had, relatively speaking), he would dismiss her queries (come to think, the queries of most anybeast) about how he was doing in the exact same manner. He was about to say something about how he knew that the least weasel was trying to cover it up when Willard spoke.

His response left the mouse completely lost for words for a moment. His mother had died? His sister was... in an asylum? He was going to be in debt for the next three or four years? Well, actually, now that he'd thought about it, to a creature like him, that last one wasn't so bad. In fiscal terms he'd barely been able to survive before he'd left home. Even still, Willard's admissions were troubling. He was suppressing his emotions, and the field mouse knew from experience that such things did not end well. No, you are not fine. Take it from me, you are most definitely not fine...

Then Willard changed the subject to what Carrow was certain was his most favourite thing in the entire world, ever: the HMS Agamemnon itself. The rodent found Willard's love for the ship to be just a little on the disturbing side, and there was something in particular about his voice on this particular occasion that suggested the weasel was not in full possession of his wits. Carrow was very worried at this stage, but he knew that he had to go along with Willard's rhapsodical ramblings no matter what - especially because he delivered the last line in a voice that suggested if he didn't agree with it he'd probably be going for a swim.

He regarded the weasel for a moment, and knew which one of them was the weaker creature - and it certainly wasn't the mustelid. He wasn't afraid of such a thing happening, he just really did want to avoid Willard becoming agitated and possibly (probably, he thought, certainly in this state) hostile. He replied to Willard's grand statements, but only he knew which of his words he meant and which of those he was throwing in simply to please him. "Oh aye, she's an impressive vessel. Fast and sleek, as you say. As for how long she'll last, well I have to say she'll be around for a jolly long time by my reckoning, if not forever." He smiled slightly at Willard, hoping he'd said what the mustelid had been expecting to hear.

Before a reply could be made, he spoke up, and the words he chose were carefully picked, so as to avoid uspetting himself moreso than Willard. Talking about death and things like that pained him, especially now it was Willard's mother that had died. Serina had always been just a little more close to Carrow than Jerris had been. Her loss had hit him harder than anything else in his life. It had given way to almost seven months of complete muteness... and the first sound that left his mouth after all that time had been one of the most harrowing noises he'd ever heard. It had come unbidden from his lips... and then he'd collapsed on the floor in a fit of sadness. He'd broken down completely soon afterwards...

"I'm sorry to hear about your losses, Willard. I truly am. You see, I also know what it's like to have lost a mother, so you and I have that in common. Don't think I don't know what you're going through, because believe me, I do. I lost my mother when I was four years old. My father too. See these bags underneath my eyes?" He pointed to them to emphasise his point. "These are from all the nights of sleep I've lost, unable to stop thinking about their deaths..." There were other things involved of course, but now was not the time. "I still hurt when I think of them, but I'm able to manage now..." Just about. "I've been there before, so... well, if you need someone to be there for you, I'm the mouse to ask. There's a lot of truth in that old saying, you know: 'A problem shared is a problem halved.' Whatever you think it's worth, I promise to help in any way I can."

[spender]

"It's a chicken," Spender said, taking the paper and folding it up to put back in his pocket again. "I din' draw th'head yet. Wos gonna do a cow next."

He stood on the platform uncertainly, not sure whether to sit next to Caden or wait for him, or go further along, or what.

"Um, maybe," he said, in regard to sharing a birthday. He really didn't know what else to think about that. It was too surprising of an offer; it had to sink in over time.

At last he sat down. He waggled his footpaws, as Caden did, and stared between them into the mess of barrels below. The silence stretched on for a time, both mustelids' ears pricking in different directions—although Caden's were rather better at this. Spender's ears weren't nearly as developed to twist about, and he had to settle for pointing his head in directions that might interest him.

He lifted his beret and, after scooping around in it for a second or two, unstuck a prize from his fur: a cricket on a stick, encased in a clear amber candy. He gave it a few licks, and glanced up above at the sudden movement.

"'s a lolly," he explained. Corporal Henley sheepishly withdrew.

After enough licks to remove the lint and fur from the amber, Spender slowly held it out to Caden. For whatever reason, the marten took it. Spender looked back at the darkness in the hold, not worried whether or not Caden would eat the candy or just hold it.

The darkness was a comfort. Just like the terrible blackness of the sea, it soothed Spender's soul, reminding him he was not alone. He couldn't help but think of the struggle between species, ferret and weasel against mouse and hare, fox and rat against squirrel and hedgehog. If he was evil, as the enemies of his species decreed, without chance or choice to change, he would not be alone. He clung to that idea as the only one that made sense. The Imperium—somewhere out there was a place where his kind belonged.

"Caden... wot am I good at?"

---

Willard smiled, but it was a distant sort of smile. His eyes crinkled with it, and it was clear that he was pleased. Which was all the more disturbing for somebeast who has informed another that their last parent passed away. It was too happy of a smile to be on the weasel's face.

"Yes, thank you, Seajack Apodemus. I, too, am sorry for your own losses. I told Seajacks Frenata and McNamee—I don't know if they passed it on to you—but my father died when I was three. He died at Gibraltar. He fought for Ferlusan. He was Ferlusan. We killed him, you know. Welkin."

He had come a long way from the trembling wreck that had to write letters to sort his thoughts ought in this manner.

By now his smile had faded away again.

"I don't have to think about how they died. I already know. My father was shot. My mother contracted syphilis. But Ags, now..." The smile returned, positively brighter than before. He gave the railing by the stairs a good pat.

"She'll be forever, she will. I'm not gonna leave her. I promised her that. We've got to keep our promises, Seajack Apodemus, from now on. We'll be there for her. Always. Don't you think... she is a bit like a mother to us? She keeps us so warm, holds us so close to her heart. She'll raise us orphans as her own kits. This is our home. And yet... she's a bit like a lover, as well. We fight for her, we protect her, we die for her. We have eyes for no other. We stay true to her, and she'll stay true to us. Is this not why ships are female, Seajack Apodemus? So that jacks will love them."

Glazed, Willard rubbed his cheek against the bulkhead.

"_{I love you, Ags...}"