*Fifth of November*

His watch had ended half an hour ago, but Archie Kennedy was reluctant to go below decks. For one thing it had finally stopped raining, and the break in the bad weather that seemed to have been almost constant since he had come back on board at Gibralter was so welcome he did not want to miss it. The past ten days had not been pleasant. In addition to the weather, Indefatigable was on convoy duty, which Captain Pellew disliked. Not that he’d told Midshipman Kennedy that, but he didn’t have to. The whole ship knew and Pellew’s bad mood had inevitably spread itself downwards. Horatio seemed to be of the opinion that a fulsome account of Captain Foster’s latest exploits in the latest Naval Gazette had had something to do with it also, although Archie was not entirely sure why.

He and Horatio hadn’t talked very much since rejoining, but that had been no more than he had expected. He supposed he’d better get used to thinking of ‘Lt Hornblower’. It would have been silly to suppose they could stay on the same terms now Horatio was treading the quarter-deck and he was back in the midshipman’s berth, and Archie had had more sense than to think it.

Wistfully he reflected that if Horatio had still been a midshipman then he could have mentioned that today was his birthday. Not even an ordinary birthday, for he had turned twenty-one today, making himself an adult in the eyes of the world and the law. He could do whatever he liked now with his life now, and no-one could stop him. Except his father wouldn’t have stopped him anyway, and there was nothing he knew how to do except struggle on here, so it was an utterly meaningless milestone. But it would have been nice to have it marked, if only in words.

He shouldn’t grudge Horatio his promotion. But he missed having a friend.

The more important reason for staying on deck was to avoid returning to the midshipman’s berth. The living in enforced proximity to so many others had never troubled him before, but months of solitary confinement seemed to have left their mark and the crowded atmosphere now grated horribly. Worst of all were the eyes on him, and the certainty that the whole berth knew how he had been taken and just how low he had sunk before Horatio arrived to add yet one more to his long string of resounding triumphs. Actually he was sure the whole damn ship knew, except maybe for Pellew and the wardroom officers.

Don’t you want to get back? Stand on the deck of the Indy. Hear the wind in the rigging?

And hear how Horatio Hornblower rescued his shipmate from prison.

It was quite as bad as he had thought it would be, and at times he was close to hating Horatio for dragging him back to face it. Truth was he had agreed to go only because, on clearer reflection, he’d felt certain Pellew wouldn’t keep him. What kind of captain would want a midshipman like him aboard? He’d overlooked the possibility that Pellew wouldn’t know, but was now fairly sure Horatio had not given him a full account of either the Papillon raid or their time in prison. He was vaguely surprised that dutiful Horatio should have concealed the truth so, but no doubt he’d meant well.

The captain, in his remote way, hadn’t been unkind. He’d had Archie up to dinner once, the food had been good at least. Mr Bracegirdle, the new first, had been definitely kind. But none of it really helped. None of it made up for the eyes, and the half-overheard comments, and the whispers which ceased abruptly and the certainty that he was an object of pity at best, contempt as absolute as Hunter’s from most. The weakness in his body wasn’t helping, he had hardly the strength to do his duties on an ordinary day, and was certain he would collapse if the Indy faced storm or battle. But that at least should pass.

And there were times when he thought on how easy it would be to just slip overboard one night. But that would be singularly ungrateful to Horatio, wouldn’t it? Even if he doubted his presence on board was making any difference to Lt Hornblower, still he owed him more than to persevere with suicide now. He supposed he could survive. But there were times when he wished both himself and Horatio back in that damned cell: those last weeks, with his health recovering and Hunter gone, had been a good deal easier than being here.

At least the weather had improved. On a clear evening he could reflect that the air was better aboard ship.

He was aware of someone coming up alongside, where he stood near the rail – not leaning on it, for Pellew didn’t approve, but standing straight and watching the sea. He didn’t look round. If the other person wanted anything they’d speak.

“Archie.”

Archie looked round. “Sir,” he said formally. He wished Horatio hadn’t used his first name

“The weather’s faired up nicely,” Horatio said awkwardly.

“Indeed.” If Horatio asked him how he was, he’d say something rude and be damned to rank. He could feel the words forming.

“Not too bad a day for you, then,” Horatio was fumbling with words. “Archie, I er, I just wanted to wish you returns of the day and to, er, here.” He was holding out a small object. Archie blinked back, too surprised for the moment to take it.

“How did you know?”

“You told me, don’t you remember? Before…” Before the Papillon raid, but for once Archie felt no twinge of pain at the reminder.

“You remembered? All this time?”

“Of course I remembered, Archie,” Horatio said gently. With one of his rare, delightful smiles he added, “You said yourself it’s an easy date to bear in mind.”

“When I was small,” Archie told him, “I used to pretend the bonfires and the fireworks were all for me.” He realized Horatio was still holding the small object and reached out to take it. “What- oh.”

It was a small scrimshaw plaque with a carving on it picked out in blue, a ship, surely the Indefatigable herself, under sail, looking as though she was running easily before the wind. “Where did you-?”

“I bought it from Oldroyd,” Horatio told him. “He carves things like that a lot. I’m sorry it’s nothing better, there just hasn’t been a chance…”

“No, that’s all right.” Archie turned the little plaque carefully in his hands. “It’s beautiful. Thank you. And thank you for remembering.” It was the fact of remembrance that touched him most.

Horatio ducked his head a little, acknowledging the gratitude. Archie, ashamed of the sharp thoughts he had been having a few moments earlier, said, “And it really is a beautiful evening.” In just the short while they had been talking the sky had flamed red-gold. He realized now that he had missed the sunsets.

“Let’s hope it means better weather ahead,” said Horatio, in a rueful tone that caused Archie to wonder if he still got sea-sick. Perhaps, after so long on land. He remembered suddenly how miserable Horatio had been the first time they put to sea on the Indy and wished that he could take back having laughed at him that first day in Spithead. At least he’d done his best to help, once he’d realized that to be sick for days on end was no laughing matter.

Looking down again at the little plaque he felt a slight stirring of the pride he had once felt to be part of such a splendid ship. He’d shied away from remembering those few months for so long, finding the happiness of that time too painful to recall.

Still, he hadn’t made a bad job of his duties before the Papillon raid, had he? Maybe there was still a place for him here, with no Simpson to come back to haunt him this time. He could be a part of this ship again, and maybe that would be worth living through the looks and the unheard talk for. Even if he had to let go of some boyish dreams. Even if he couldn’t expect Horatio to spend much time playing the friend. Horatio still seemed to have belief in him at least. That had to be something.

He looked out at the golden sunset again, then back at Horatio, still beside him, and for the first time felt quite glad he had taken that cup of water.

**End**

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