They were not supposed to go there, of that James was certain. Captain Harris' warning had been clear, yet his colleagues were dragging him there with confidence, and surely, they had heard the same words. It had to be a different tavern, for he could not imagine five of the finest Midshipmen of His Majesty's Navy defying their Captain's explicit wishes.

Finest, perhaps, was a bit of a stretch, seeing that Mr. Pollard was an old man past thirty and had failed his Lieutenant's exam twice, and Mr. Ramsey with his twenty-nine years had never been admitted to the exam at all. Richard looked to be a promising officer, and even clumsy sixteen-year old Robert would eventually learn.

After all, James reminded himself, they were the Navy. Including selfsame James Norrington, with his scant twelve years. That he didn't look it helped. He was taller than Robert and Mr. Pollard, possibly together, and if his Midshipman's coat was a little large to provide for the inches he would certainly grow in the next months, he strove to wear it with the dignity that became it.

Even his voice, the little traitor, had begun to take on an air of command, deeper and louder, breaking into a squeak only occasionally. Squeaks were bad. Squeaks undermined his authority. As if a spanking new officer who was growing too fast needed anything more to lessen the crew's respect. Gargling with grog was a beastly endeavour, but his voice did sound rougher and lower when he did, so apparently old Cooks was right.

Many a foreign bird flew over Yarmouth, roosting among spars and wheeling with the bitter wind, but none was quite as uncomfortable as the Sparrow who peeked from under the eaves at the earliest procession of drunks. Jack wanted to swagger into the Coin and Bucket, dressed like a lord and tossing shillings to all and sundry. That, he imagined, was the proper way to celebrate his first return to England in a decade. Alas, he didn't have a coat or the shillings. What he did have was a pocket full of lint and a set of limbs half-frozen in the chill December wind.

He sniffed, lounging against the alley wall and cursed the English weather and bloody Cap'n Jenkins' accord with Dirty Dick Darellan, who controlled most of the southern coast's less legal trade. Shivering, he tucked his hands under his armpits and scowled. There was no point in freezing, not with a parade of opportunity wavering in and out of the tavern door.

After all, there was just so much a healthy, sixteen-year old pirate could tolerate. He needed cash and a coat, and a hat would be a great advantage with that pretty barmaid who had winked before she slapped him last night.

When one of the earlier arrivals staggered into the street, Jack saw his chance and followed, skirting the muddy tracks and running muck in the gutter.

Whoever had told James rum was merely tastier grog was a sodden liar and would better rot away in... somewhere distasteful. Ordering it had been the gravest mistake he'd made ever since he joined the Navy but what else was he to do with all the other Midshipmen eyeing him expectantly? He was no coward, certainly not before a mug... or three... of rum. He'd hid the choke well enough and relished the wide, admiring glances when he'd drank his down in one go, even faster than Robert.

Winning another mug in that contest quite possibly was his second worst mistake. He had excused himself "for relief", and swaggered his way out. Just a few steps, then he could... and they'd never know.

Both hands pressed against the wall, rock digging into his sore palms, he retched, narrowly missing his boots. He sank forward, forehead resting against the cold wall, panting for breath until he vomited again.

Jack slipped through the shadows, hardly more than one himself, his dark eyes gleaming as he watched his quarry fumble with his breeches to relieve himself against a wall. A small piece of firewood, lifted from a mouldering pile, made a perfectly acceptable belaying pin and, within minutes, he was enveloped in a third-hand wool coat, not overly clean.

He plucked the battered black tricorn from the mud, punched it back into shape and stuck it on his head, then shoved it back to keep it from falling over his eyes. The coat's pocket had a covenient purse and Jack weighed it in one hand. Certainly, there was enough to buy a few drinks and perhaps more interesting diversion. He grinned down at his insensible victim and dragged him by one leg to the livery stables next door, stashing him in heap of soggy hay next to a fat mare. He could sleep off his evening in relative comfort.

Whistling, Jack headed back toward the tavern, threading through the mews behind it when he heard the unmistakeable sounds of someone being very sick. That wasn't unusual at all, but what was unusual was the fine blue coat of a Navy man, who had twisted his spindly body around, puking with incredible effort.

Jack slipped back into shadows, anxious to save his boots and his skin: he certainly did not need to meet up with the law, spewing or no.

James shuddered, pressing his forehead against the chilly stone as he panted, swallowing hard. He pushed himself away from the wall, staggered a few steps until he crashed hard against the wall. He'd just need a few more minutes to clear his head, then everything would be fine.

A sense of alertness tingled faintly, and he remembered a brief flash in the corner of his eye, connecting it with the feeling of being watched. "Robert?" he called out, "This is not amusing in the least."

Jack froze and held his breath, the hat falling forward over his eyes again. He knew better than most that a turn on the treadmill or worse, was not a thing to be taken lightly: Old Stark, the bo'sun had regaled the crew with harrowing stories for weeks as they'd sped up the coast of France. The voice was young, though, and he couldn't resist peeking around the brick archway.

The face that appeared suddenly, making James jump back, seemed darker than Robert's'; more threatening, he thought, at least as far as he could tell in the guttering lanternlight. And younger too! The eyes certainly were strangely dark.

He straightened himself. "You're not Robert," he observed cleverly.

Jack grimaced, torn between the urge to simply bolt and the close walls around him. He grinned, the light catching a new gap in his teeth, thanks to a regrettable inability to duck every blow in last night's brawl. "Ha!"

He flushed crimson and the hat fell over his eyes again as he willed his voice to cease that embarrassing squawk. He cleared his throat. "Heard ya. Feelin' a mite better, lad?" He truly wished the muddy street would open to engulf him when the words emerged in a wobbling soprano.

James stared, dumbfounded, sluggishly weighing matters in his head. Long hair, but topped with a tricorn. Even one of the Lieutenant had long hair, if not as curly. A high voice, painted eyes. Breeches. A woman in breeches? Scandalous, certainly, but she seemed harmless enough, and he had little interest in any more attention. "Good evening, Miss. My apologies," he murmured, extraordinarily pleased when his voice came out rough, but low.

Jack experienced another moment of panicked outrage, but with no place to easily escape, he straightened and bit back a rush of denial. The lad in question was teetering like an unsteady colt on very long legs. Nothing to fear, Jack told himself. Just a boy, even though he had to look up into the flushed face. "Never mind me, luv. Just a passin' sailor, lookin' fer a drink." The hat fell over his eyes again. "Don't see much o' you lot round these parts."

James' eyes narrowed as he tried to get them to focus properly. "I'm no lad," he hissed, only now remembering the offense, ready to react now, because even if this strange creature was a woman, she certainly was no lady. That missing tooth looked distasteful. "I am a midshipman of the Royal Navy," he declared proudly, swaying a few steps.

Quickly, he straightened himself and shook his head. He could not present the ship in such an awkward, undignified manner, no matter to whom. "I apologise, but I must admit I have no idea of what you are speaking." He took a deep breath. "The matter is merely that my stomach did not agree with the dreadful spirits served here."

Jack blinked in surprise and considered the fine coat. He had no intention of robbing the lad and the boy's face was still strained and slightly green. "Bet they been waterin' it down an' that's—" The syllable jumped and sank to a satisfying baritone—"wot's makin' ya sick."

He grinned again and shoved his raw hands in the coat pockets. "You mus' be crewed on that great tub in th' harbour."

"That is no tub, but the HMS Defiant," James cried indignantly, his treacherous voice slipping into beastly heights just as he spoke the name of his ship to this... man. "A very fine ship of the line, and you had better not speak ill of her. She is keeping this port safe, after all." He pulled his hand away from the wall, and managed to stand upright. "Midshipman James Norrington of the HMS Defiant." He took his hat off but decided against the bow. "And you are?"

"Jack. Jus' Jack. So, Midshipman Norrin'ton, how came you down this side o' the docks? Ya look a bit green." The light caught at the gold replacement Bill had found for another missing tooth.

There was a sudden clatter and shouting from the far end of the narrow alley and Jack instinctively backed into the shadows as several horseman forced their way through the mud at breakneck pace, spattering the walls. "If ye'll excuse me, Master Norrin'ton, I should get t'me ship."

James's curiosity was piqued. The tiny hairs at the back of his neck couldn't stand up because they were sweat-glued to it, but the sensation was the same. "Why such a hurry now?" Wide green eyes widened even further, then narrowed dangerously. "You're afraid of them! You're a... a... pirate!"

That at least explained the more than outlandish appearance.

"Well, why don't ya jus' shout it!" Jack snapped, his eyes darting. He wasn't overly worried, for he usually landed on his feet, but he had not been anywhere near the Channel for nigh ten years and had no desire to make the acquaintance of a rope as a homecoming.

The horsemen wheeled and turned back into the mews, hooves squishing through the mud. Jack slipped around the pillar as one of them pointed a sword at the wavering boy.

"You! Who be you? Wot ya doin' here, you Navy rat?"

James very nearly growled his anger at that, but whatever boldness the rum granted him evaporated as he twisted his neck up to stare into a scowling, pockmarked face. He snapped to attention, his hand and voice shaking. "James Norrington of the Defiant, Sir. I was on shoreleave with other Midshipmen, but I seem to have lost track."

Why he didn't alert them to the pirate, he didn't know. Perhaps because they'd dared to use Navy and rat together, or because Jack couldn't be a real pirate. He didn't looked much older and he hadn't run James through, either. Giving him a fighting chance seemed only fair.

The ruffian in red laughed. "Well, looky here, lads! Fresh meat fer th' regiment or should we send 'im back to his cap'n fer a thrashin'?" The rest of the horsemen guffawed, and Jack peeked round the pillar to see one of them edging his horse closer, truncheon in hand. Without another thought, he reached out one dirty hand, grabbed the young Midshipman's collar and yanked him nearly off his feet.

"Run! Now!" he hissed, pulling the boy with him into the maze of muddy alleys as fast as he could move. "C'mon!"

They ran, down and around until Jack leaped up onto a low roof, dragging the young Middie with him, over the thatches and around chimney pots, higher and higher until they were above the sodden street, looking down at the guttering lamp. "Shhh. Quiet!" Jack's voice was low, the order sharp.

James stared at him, his face drenched, panting heavily. "What the..," he panted. "What are you doing? I have no reason to run away. I did nothing wrong. Now they'll look for me, and they even have my name," he hissed, keeping his voice low because he did not have breath for more. Certainly, it was not because he was afraid. He looked positively crestfallen, nibbling on his lip.

Jack stuck his head out over the eaves, one hand clapped to the over-large hat. He eased back and stared at the boy in surprise, sniffed and spat over the roof with admirable skill. "They won't come lookin' t'send ya back t'yer ship, mate. That's a local militia. They're always out t'get a bit o' bounty pullin' sailors into their foul army. You really are awful green, Master Norrin'ton. Wot'd ya think they'd do? Bring you back t' yer ship all nice an' tidy?"

From the clatter and splash of hooves and the shouts, the pressgang was still hot on their heels. "C'mon. Let's get down over there. The pieman's close by and he's not a bad feller." Jack shifted, knocking a broken tile loose and froze as it clattered down to the eaves, teetered for a moment and chose to tumble at the precise second one of the horsemen had paused beneath their hiding place.

It landed squarely on his head, provoking a shout and a curse. "The roof! Get 'em, boys!"

Jack gulped. "MOVE!"

James' angry retort turned into a gasp and he stumbled over slipping tiles, chasing after Jack, away from the angry shouts.

He crashed face-forward as Jack yanked him behind a chimney, lodged against another, barely enough space between for both of them. James chose to think that it was Jack's heart beating so loud and fast.

Jack struggled to stifle a sneeze as a thin thread of smoke belched into the night. He held his breath as two men fought their way past, hampered by their fine red coats and bellies. They shouted down to their commander and Jack nearly convulsed with laughter as one of them slid to hang precariously over the edge, his fellow scrabbling to hang on to him. His eyes were just even with the young Midshipman's and they stared at each other in breathless silence.

James swallowed hard against the acrid smoke that burned his eyes, making them water. Why were these men, part of His Majesty's Army, so threatening, much more than a real pirate? It made no sense. His fingers grasped for his sword and instead found Jack's coat sleeve, clenching it as one of the soldiers stared directly at the chimneys.

Jack, tensed and listening, saw the green eyes go pale and watery, and gnawed on his lip. His fingers touched the boy's hand rather gently until the disappointed muttering faded and the hoofbeats disappeared into the night. He cautiously poked his head out from behind the smoking chimney. "C'mon. There's a hatch in Carpin's attic. This way," he whispered.

James crawled after him woodenly, shoving his own limbs along the tiles, breaking through his dreadful paralysis. He climbed through the hatch, dangling there, then with a soft sigh, let go, flinching and ducking at the thump as he hit the floor.

Jack dropped down beside him, tossed the hat onto a keg and laughed, "Ain't no bloody militia gonna make me part o' their landlubbers!" He swiftly pulled his thick mane of hair back, his eyes gleaming in the dark like cat's. "Ladder's over here. Careful of that pile o' rubbish." He yanked at another trap door and slid down the ladder into the pieman's back room. "Hey, don't ferget me hat!"

James reached for the hat, touching the brim with shaking fingers, wondering how to climb without damaging it. Resolutely, he donned it. Surprisingly, it did not slip over his eyes as it did on Jack, and he smirked proudly, climbing down with feet that were sure once more.

Jack was already rifling through the cupboards and found a basket of yesterday's leftover buns in one. "Here. Bit stale, but not bad. Lemme see if Ned's got aught t'drink here." He tossed one of the buns at James and it hit his head with a faint clunk.

"Hey!" James ripped off two parts of the bread; one he wolfed down, the other he threw back at Jack with an expectant grin.

Jack grinned back as he caught it, gnawing at the hard, sweet brick. He paused to pick a bit of raisin from between his teeth and set to work at the locked cabinet with a pick until it sprang open and he muffled a cheer with one hand, pulling out a half-full bottle. "Here's riches!" He took a long swallow and handed it to James.

After a sniff, James quickly discarded the bottle, utter horror etched into his face. Jack was still rummaging around and James tip-toed next to him, his face flushed. Suddenly he found himself at eye-level with Jack's nose, and he froze. Despite what he'd thought in the crooked alley, Jack was taller than he. With an annoyed huff, James stretched onto his toes and reached higher into the cabinet where a large decanter wobbled precariously, only to find it empty, save for a lone fly that had died three-quarters of the way down its throat.

Disappointed that his exploration had not yielded more, Jack nursed the bottle and collapsed onto a sack of groats like a marionette with suddenly-severed strings. "We can wait 'em out here. Ned's a good sort an' Margery..." he grinned and winked at James. "She's a peach!"

James padded over and rejoiced in staring down at Jack, his eyebrows creasing. "Peach? You found fruit? You shouldn't lie on them, then."

Jack snorted inelegantly. "In December? Yer daft! Ned's girl. She's a great lass!" He raised an eyebrow and softened his mouthful of stale bun with another drink. "Very plummy! Must say it were a nice bit o' luck, knowin' about that trap door!"

He refrained from any explanation of exactly how he knew about the attic hatch, figuring that if Margery wanted to take anyone else up there for a bit of private cheer, they'd likely escape her formidable dam in the same fashion.

"And why'd you call her a peach? Is she red and round?" James blinked down at him, then at the bun in his own hands, and, with a tired shrug, eased himself to the floor, perched against Jack's sack, his eyes darting around curiously.

"Matey, when ya call a girl a peach, it ain't because she's built like one! Margery, now she's a right pretty girlie." Jack's hands moved expressively. "Soft in all the right places an' very agreeable. Don't you know anythin'?"

"I certainly know you're not making a lot of sense. Why call someone a peach if there's no actual similarity? Makes no sense at all." James nodded sharply, devouring the bun as though he were sacrificing to his own stomach to placate it.

He frowned as he licked the last crumbs from his palm. He should get back to the tavern and the other midshipmen, but what if Jack had been right about the militia? They'd likely still be lurking. Besides, if he'd just be gone for the night and then be back at the Defiant in the morning, surely he could pretend to have found more interesting occupation than his fellow Midshipmen. That would make them jealous rather than mock him for not holding his drink.

Jack shook his head and bounded to his feet again, prowling the small room and fiddling with the drawers of a battered Welsh cupboard. "Peaches are sweet, aye? Well, so's Margery. She's quite th' nicest girl I met this side of..." His black eyes grew enormous as the pounding on the door reverberated to the back walls.

"Hist! Back up there. Hurry!" he hissed, grabbing the lamp and shoving James towards the ladder. "Hurry up"

James had fumbled for the pistol hanging on his belt, desperately relieved at the sight of the ladder. He scrambled up, clutching at the pistol still. Shooting at a man of the army was treason, certainly. Future officers did not commit treason. Future officers were not chased by the army at all. There was more thumping and a crash: he flinched at each and crept away from the hatch into the darkness.

Jack eased the trap door down and tossed a stray pile of rags over it to hide the light. The voices were as loud as the heavy bootfalls out in the shop.

"We saw the buggers. Up on yer roof, Ned Carpin. Hand 'em over."

"Stokes, we're closed an' goin' t'bed like decent folk. Get outta my shop or I'll get Jenny!"

Jack had cocked his pistol and his eyes were hard as obsidian as he aimed at the trap.

James stared at him, tellng himself that his eyes only burned because he was staring directly into the small, blackened lamp. Why were they hunting them? He'd not done anything wrong at all, of that he was still convinced, so why was he hiding here?

Another crash made him shrink back into his corner. Was it a punishment for overindulging in the drink? Well, he wouldn't ever do that again. He shivered and pressed against the wooden wall, miserable and afraid.

"Fugitives from His Majesty's army. Answer, man. Where be they?"

A female voice, shrill and harsh, hollered back and the rest of the conversation was lost amid shouts and the sound of tables crashing to the floor. In the garret, silence stretched, broken only by the soft huff of Jack's exhale and James' muffled sniffling.

Jack's eyes slid sideways to where the boy was huddled beneath the sloping roof, his green gaze wet.

James swallowed hard, trying to breathe evenly. A future officer of the Navy faced a fight. He was brave. He certainly did not cry. Biting back another sniffle, he glared at Jack defiantly.

Out in the shop, Jenny was still shrieking as the militia took a swift leave to avoid her fists and rolling pin. Jack pushed the rags aside and listened for a long moment, then whispered. "All clear. C'mon. Think we're safe fer now." His voice was very low and not unkind. He tried to remember the last time he'd been that frightened, and his lips twisted. It wasn't so long ago that he would mention it.

He hauled the trap door open and headed back down the ladder, only his head visible as the lantern swung wildly, thowing huge and ominous shadows around the garret. "Comin'?"

James was still curled into the corner, shaking. He'd managed to dry his eyes but that damn hitch was still there in his voice. He hated it and forced himself to concentrate so that it would go away. That, and the dark certainly seemed a lot safer than the light below. "This is all your fault," he hissed, dabbing at his face with his handkerchief.

"My fault!" Jack's voice rose indignantly, then dropped again. "Wot did I do, 'cept keep ya from gettin' nabbed by them—those—bastards! Come on, no sense stayin' up there in the dark."

James' chin thrust up and he uncurled, stalking towards the hatch. "Ladies first," he sniggered.

The lantern bobbled down the hatch along with the distinct sound of Jack blowing a raspberry. "Ladies! An' you thought a peach were a fruit!"

"Peaches are fruit," James drawled, easing himself down the ladder, his fingernails leaving tiny imprints as he hesitated before each step.

Jack made a face at him and went back to the cupboard. "Navy, sit yer arse down. Yer still lookin' peaky." The tall boy's face was just about the colour of the silver moonlight setting in the western sky. "Hey, lookit this! Tobacco!" He held up a twist of decent Virginia.

James settled down gingerly, the table, two chairs, and all of the sacks between him and the door. He curled tight to contain the shaking, his eyes darting around the room once more, hasty and uneasy this time.

Was he truly such a pathetic example of a sailor, unable to hold his rum, and in tears at the smallest threat? His eyes settled on Jack.

Jack's eyes were dry, mouth stretching into a laugh as he bit off a string of tobacco, his hands steady as he stuffed the pipe, not the slightest sign of fear, as casually as he had often watched his uncle do it. His uncle, who had then told him he was too young to try it himself. James scowled. "How old are you?" he challenged.

Jack climbed over the sacks to hand James the bottle. "Here now, try some o' that. Nothin' better fer the nerves. Me? I'm sixteen." He shook his head at his own words. Sixteen should not seem so old, but it did, compared to this Navy boy's stark terror. "We'll get ya back t'yer ship, James. It is James' innit?"

James looked up shyly, taking the bottle and just wrapping his fingers around it for some time. He seemed to calm and nodded quickly, several times. "James."

He took a sip and sputtered, his face very pale, and quickly handed it back. He worried the lace cuffs of his shirt, busying himself so he would not have to speak, but eventually he looked up again, challenging once more. "You are barely taller than I am. You can't be sixteen."

He looked down, scratched at the wooden floor, and when his eyes met Jack's, he seemed even younger, the annoyance and pride almost vanished. "What will I tell my Captain?"

Jack didn't answer for a moment as he puffed at the pipe, lighting it with the flint of his pistol to James' dismay. For a moment, he was lost in billows of smoke, then he passed it to James with a laugh. "You weren't supposed t'go to that tavern, were ya? An' I am too sixteen! I ain't—I'm not very big, but I'm fast!"

Jack's free hand patted the few wispy whiskers on his upper lip protectively.

The green-eyed boy stared at the pipe nervously. Oh, he'd seen one often enough. And he wasn't a child anymore. He was a member of the Navy. He drew a puff and coughed violently, eyes going very wide again until he composed himself. "The Captain said not to, but all the other Midshipmen insisted on going there, so I thought that I had misunderstood him. And you may talk fast, but you certainly didn't grow fast."

Jack pouted over the pipe stem. "They shoulda known better. Didn't anyone warn ya not to lag alone here'bouts?" He blew a smoke ring over James' fair head.

"Please. I am not a child."

Click picture to see full-size at Elessil's gallery

Jack puffed like an overactive young dragon. "It don't matter wot age y'are t'them lobsters. They'd nab yer gran'dad if he could walk upright. Nasty bunch o' rotters. Here, " he handed over the pipe in favour of more rum. "Besides, yer Cap'n won't know a thing. An' no one wants t'be told wot t'do anyhow." His face split into another grin. "It is the best tavern round here. Only one wot don't water its rum."

"That is supposed to be the best tavern? They serve awful brew." James sneered and toyed with the pipe, attempting to blow a ring, too, succeeding only in more coughs. "And why would he not know? My captain is not stupid."

Jack's eyes were sharp. "Y'mean you're not stupid enough t'tell 'em ya went there anyway. Don't blame ya. I hate bein' told where I can an' cannot go. Terrible thing t'do to a man. I'm sure ya don't like it any more n' any other. Been shipboard long, James?" He asked the question to make conversation: he'd known from the first that the boy was new but not completely green.

"No! I did not know we were not supposed to go there! I thought they'd all been aboard for so long and would know better." James was shocked at the implication he would do such a thing on purpose, shaking his head violently. "I've only been aboard for eight weeks. Signed up as soon as they let me." It was a strange mixture, the hurt pride mixing with the snuffle of his voice. His nostrils flared. "I still don't believe you are sixteen."

He crept closer to inspect Jack's face, lifting one hand, the tremors subsiding. "Robert's sixteen, and he looks a lot older than you. And he doesn't paint his eyes with some silly black paint."

"Well, Robert ain't been sailin' round Singapore, has he!" Jack retorted, then he shrugged. "They do it roundabout th' Barbary." He rather liked this tall boy. For all his pampered airs, he'd kept his chin up. "Yer lucky 'bout them lobsters, mate. Rotten buggers, all of 'em."

James' eyes shot very wide and the pipe drooped from between his lips until he grabbed it. He even ignored the insult to the army. "'Round Singapore? You?" To say that his tone was disbelieving was mild, but there was no little curiosity mixed into it.

Jack slugged back another draught and flashed him a gilt grin. "Been out ten year." He tried to remember that a man of his vast experience did not pout.

"Ten years!" James eyebrows, thin and light, drew together and he shook his head. "You're such a braggart! You mean to tell me you've been out there since the age of six? Not to forget that the voyage takes months." He was rather proud of his skills in the navigation classes, and shook his head vigorously to support that.

Jack's dark eyes crinkled as he laughed. "Got 'prenticed to a mapmaker when I were six. Left fer Africa an' never got back. Until now. Took us nigh on ten months t'get here from Macao." He wondered if the ruckus in the shop had left Jenny deaf to their conversation and hoped not, since her pies were excellent and one stale bun had done little to fill his empty stomach. "You gonna ship out soon? Where to?"

"Yes, we'll be heading south to-" James stopped mid-sentence, catching himself. "I don't think I should tell you that." He had no idea who this boy was, with his strange dark eyes, more like a lass, especially with that strange paint around them.

Jack laughed again. "Don't have to. A forty-gunner like that. You'll be headin' east to patrol the Dutch trade." His laugh became a rather high-pitched giggle. "Makes business dreadful difficult at times. Only got inta port a fortnight past. Damn, is it always this bleedin' cold?"

James' eyes narrowed warily. "If you knew that, why did you even ask?" He shrugged. "And it is not cold in the least. It will be a lot colder next month ." That he had thought he would freeze into a ball in his hammock a mere two days ago was of no concern.

The door banged open and Jenny made for Jack with surprising speed, hauling him up by one ear. "You! I shoulda known it were you." She gave him a shake. "An' if you've been sniffin' round my Margery again, I'll wallop the two o' ya with the big broom! Y'hear me! Hey, who's this, then?" Her eyes grew wide at the sight of James' Navy coat, then narrowed as she cuffed Jack. "Wot you been up to, ya scurvy bilgerat?"

James pushed himself up. The resolute woman was quite imposing, and seemed more frightening to Jack than the soldiers. Now he could prove his worth. He put himself between her and Jack, smiled pleasantly and bowed. "My apologies for our intrusion, Madam."

Jenny stopped in the midst of reaching for Jack, who was peering over James' shoulder. "Well, now! Yer quite the gentleman, ain't ya? One of the Navy boys! Why didn't ya say so?"

She glared at Jack. "Best comp'ny I've seen you keep in a week."

Her round face gentled and she bobbed a curtsy at James. "Pleased t'meet any one of our boys. Were you two wot Dick Stokes were after, then?"

Jack grinned at her. "Aye, James here was takin' a little walk outside th' Bucket an' he near run us both down. Ye'd think they'd have th' sense not t' mess about with the Navy, wouldn't ya?"

"Been bad fer business all 'round, that lot. So, wot this scallywag says be true, young Master Navy?"

James blushed and nodded. "I was barely outside when they wanted to drag me away." He sniffled, the held-back tears prickling his lids again. "I don't think I did anything wrong."

"There, there, laddie. Ya didn't do a thing wrong." Her voice softened. "Let me get you summat to eat and some good ale. NED!" She waddled out the door, grumbling about Margery and Stokes in the same breath.

Jack squinted after her, hoping she'd meant both of them. His belly hadn't been filled in nearly three days and the purse in his newly-acquired pocket would barely cover the past two weeks' debts.

James squinted at Jack. "What a kind woman! What did you do to give her have such a bad opinion of you?"

Jack's mouth opened to protest but was forestalled as Jenny bustled in with two of her pies, still warm, and two brimming tankards. "Here ya go. Yes, you too. G'wan, eat up. Can't have our Navy boys goin' hungry. An' it wouldn't hurt t'put a bit o' meat on your bones, you scarecrow."

She tweaked Jack's ear. "Ya both stay here now. Lamps is out an' it won't be safe till dawn." She smiled broadly at James and shook a finger at Jack. "Behave yerself!" she muttered, leaving them to their feast.

Jack didn't wait for a second invitation. There was little talk as they devoured the pies, washing down the flaky crust with ale. He remembered to breathe between bites, then stretched out atop the sacks with a contented groan.

James ate carefully at first, then, as his stomach settled, hastily, eager to rid himself of the bitter taste in his mouth. He peeked over at Jack. "Th... Thank you for helping me escape them," he offered hesitantly.

"Don't mention it. Ya kept Jen from knockin' me head off. I guess we're square." Jack grinned. "An' I don't like seein' proper sailors forced to labour on land. You don't sound like ya come from here'bouts. More inland, I'd say. Anywhere near Oxfordshire? I hear tell that's th' prettiest piece of country as England has."

"Sandford is as boring a place as there is in this world," James hissed, then blushed again, hiding in his mug. "Yet, it is a fine place." He put it aside and curled against one of the sacks. "You think I can go back to the dock soon?"

"You heard Jenny. Once the lamps are out, Stokes an' his gang will be prowlin' the streets. Best t'lay low here. We can get back to the dock afore dawn. I'll get ya out t'yer ship." He turned to face James, propping himself on one elbow. "Gotta be a longboat or two lyin' around."

James' eyes widened again. "I certainly can't row aboard with you in tow!" After all, what would Captain Harris think, to not only hear of his endeavours but also see him in such disreputable company. Unthinkable!

Jack's eyes darkened and his lower lip thrust out in an overdue pout. "Ain't gonna row ya aboard. Just t'where you can get to the gang. I'm not that daft, mate!" He tugged at his pet curl, then polished off the ale and relit the pipe. "Don't worry. Every so often ya gotta get away with somethin'. Yer Cap'n won't know nothing 'cept that ya were out all night. " His face sparkled into a wide grin. "They'll all think yer a clever lad an' found Black Moll's!" He laughed out a lungful of smoke.

"Black Moll's?" James had no idea what that could be, so he had yet to determine whether it was favourable for his crewmates to think he had discovered it. "The others will worry to where I disappeared, especially if they don't find me on the ship. They might alert the Captain."

Jack's black eyes grew round. "Y'don't know Moll's? Oh, James, they'll think yer one helluva smart feller t'find the best fancyhouse in town yer first night out!" He himself had first tasted of Moll's exactly nine nights earlier and had decided he much preferred the barmaid and Jenny's Margery, who had taught him how to sneak into the attic. "Think how jealous they'll all be!" He returned to nursing the rum bottle.

James blushed bright red, hiding his face. "I don't think the Captain would approve of that," he stuttered. He'd listened in fascination how the older officers and the men talked of those establishments; how the greatest part went there immediately after the ship docked; how they'd silence such talk and laugh when he asked, telling him he should wait a year or two. "Do you think they would believe it?"

Jack leaned forward, conspirator and comrade in the moment. "James, do y'ever think of girls? I mean, we all know there's girls, but think of 'em to touch?"

The colour on James' face deepened. He remembered his first and single kiss, and he was still glad he had been too startled to do so much as move. Touching was impossible to consider at this point. "Sometimes," he said vaguely.

"Well then, you know all 'bout it. You go to a place like Moll's and it's all settled. Except," Jack's brow wrinkled a little, "it ain't—isn't. It isn't much fun when it's all business. I dunno. Bill says I'm daft, but I think so." He lounged amid the sacks, as comfortable as a pasha on satin cushions, his dark eyes thoughtful.

James rolled over to peer at him curiously. So far, Jack hadn't laughed or told him to take his questions elsewhere, so perhaps he'd finally get to ask them. "What is it like then?" His brow creased. "Fun?"

Jack's mouth opened, then snapped shut. He was old enough to be amused and much too young not to blush a little. "Yeah, fun. Kissin' and touchin'." His eyes narrowed shrewdly. "You've read 'bout lovers, aye? Antony an' Cleopatra? Ovid, maybe?"

James chewed on his lips. There had been a few Ovid passages his tutor wouldn't let him read, which meant that he'd redoubled his efforts to read them in private. "Yes, but what has the reading to do with the touching?" His eyebrows narrowed. "And I did kiss a girl before!"

Jack's smile was encouraging. "Oh good! Well, it's like that, but more of it. Tongues an' such. " He cleared his throat. Jack was quite sure that this tall gawk of a toff didn't have the slightest idea what a girl looked like without her shift but he wasn't sure why he was so hesitant to laugh. Perhaps it was the boy's pride. "Anyways, yer always hearin' priests an' ministers blather on about sins o' the flesh. Well, that's it." He blew out a puff of smoke and hitched the overlarge coat around his shoulders.

James' face took on a stubborn, even prouder cast. "I know what fucking is," he hissed, cheeks colouring at the word he'd never before used. "I may be young, but I am not daft. That wasn't my question." His tone and his headshake left little doubt that he thought Jack the daft one. "But what's it like? What's so wonderful about it that most spend their pay on it and commit a sin?"

Jack did laugh then. "Warm an' wonderful. I dunno. Squishy."

James looked at him doubtfully. "Warm and squishy?" That sounded like his grand-aunt Henrietta's embrace, and he would pay money to escape that. "Doesn't sound wonderful or fun."

Jack ducked under his mop of hair, his cheeks unaccountably hot. "It's more n' that, too. Like light'nin' goin' off in yer head." He winked at James. "An' a bit lower as well. Yer mates'll think ye've been very lucky!"

James grinned. That, indubitably, was good. Anything that made the other Midshipman treat him less like a child was good as far as he was concerned. "So you called the girl a peach because she's squishy?"

Jack chortled. "Soft and squishy in all the right places! I'll say! Kisses like honey and smooth as silk."

"Honey and silk?" His nose curled. "Kisses don't taste like honey." At least the one that Margaret had pressed to his lips the day he left had not. Margaret, with her proud thirteen, her blond locks and the warm laughter whenever he teased her; certainly, she should taste better than some baker's daughter. Ergo, Jack was lying.

Jack took another swallow and smiled. "The right kind do. Better, even. "

James sniffed haughtily and made a grab for the bottle, turning it idly in his fingers. Biting the inside of his cheek, he peered at Jack. "How... what is it like for the girl?"

The black eyes glinted wickedly. "If yer doin' it proper, she thinks yer a right man an' enjoys it just the same." He stifled a shiver and sniffed. "Must say th' friction'd be a help. I hate the cold." He thought of Margery and the warm, wonderful squishiness in the attic and grinned.

"But isn't it even colder when one's naked?" At least strange Jack didn't laugh too much. He only hoped that there wouldn't be any trouble when he returned to the Defiant in the morning. "Seems to me it would."

"Who says ya gotta get naked? I mean, it's nicer that way, but it innit necessary. How old're you, James? Seems t'me yer mates shoulda got you 'quainted with all this by now!" The 'man of the world' sat up and struggled to get his unruly mane into some sort of order. It was very long and the damp air had set it curling again. He cursed impressively, pulling at his ragged kerchief and dragging his fingers through a tangle.

James giggled. "Why do you keep it as long as a lass? Isn't that dreadfully unpractical shipboard?" He didn't want to give up his age. Most thought him older, if they did not know better. Still, it was impolite to avoid a direction question and wrong to lie. "Twelve," he muttered under his breath.

Jack nodded. "Awful t'be thought younger, innit?" He yanked at his mop under the faded scarf, tendrils escaping and curling into absurd ringlets. "Besides," he laughed, "the girls in port like it better long."

"If it's their own, probably. But on a boy? Mother always told me to keep it orderly and short." James' hair wasn't that short at all, hanging past his ear with just a hint of a curl, but then, he had been at sea for weeks, and already knew not to trust the ship's barber/surgeon.

"Ain't fashionable, 'cept fer them as wears wigs. Can't understand why folks would cut off their own hair an' stick a horse's tail on their heads. Don't make a bit o' sense t'me. Yer mum?" Jack's eyes matched James' in curiosity. He'd never talked for so long with any Navy man of any age. The boy's face was barely browned with a sprinkling of freckles on his nose. Jack was sure that, given the opportune moment, the young Middie would have himself a score of sweethearts. "Bet she's a grand lady."

James shrugged and bit his lip. "I miss her. And I think she misses me as well. She said she would, and she didn't want me to join the Navy at all." Suddenly, the pleased spark of his grin was quite gone and he worried his lip. Whatever his mother had said, he was a part of the Navy now, and proud of it.

Jack tucked his legs in so he was sitting, facing James, Indian fashion. "I thought all mothers wanted their boys t'become sailors. Women are damned funny. Guess they don't like it when yer off fer years at sea." He shrugged. In his vast experience of three whole years since Jenkins had sworn a blue streak and made sure that Jack had returned from a shore leave a man, women were pleasant enough company but he couldn't quite understand why anyone would want them around for long.

"They'd be no buggery use aboard, would they? " He glanced at James' long legs in their neat breeches, a bit mud-stained and twisted to one side. "You get them legs tangled in the riggin'?"

James' scowl was fearsome, filled with indignant pride. "It only happened on the first day! Now I'm one of the fastest." He stared at Jack and raised an eyebrow. "I bet I could do it faster than you."

The black eyes twinkled at him. "Beat me mates up t'the nest just a fortnight ago, before we made port. Told ya, I ain't—," he growled at himself. "I'm not too big, but I'm fast. Ya get to gunnery yet?" He wasn't about to be outdone by a twelve year old novice and this boy, with his serious eyes and wide smile was taller than he, which Jack thought terribly unfair.

He pulled off one boot and scratched the sole of a small, dirty foot. "My bad luck, not growin' enough. Jenks says it's cos I been on the 'Quator so long I got squashed. I think he's full o' horse shite."

"And he obviously loaded some of that off on you." James grinned shyly. "Of course I got to gunnery. I command one of the gun crews!" His face shone proudly and it was very clear that to him, nothing could outdo the splendor of a ship of the line. His smirk was split by a yawn, and he sleepily scanned the room for any signs of a bed or a hammock.

IMG SRC="bad_company.jpg

"Now who's braggin'?" Jack tugged at the other boot and stretched out across the sacks, bunching a few more comfortably under him. The boots were new, at least to Jack, and they didn't fit quite right yet. Instinctively, he stashed them under his head: there was no sense in losing them after all the trouble he'd gone to steal them. "Lay y'self down, James. We should prob'ly get a bit of shuteye. There's a few hours before dawn."

James stared at him, wide-eyed again. "Here? Isn't there a cot or a hammock?" He'd only further soil his clothing, not to mention that the sacks looked more than uncomfortable. He bit his lip to stop from complaining and eased himself down, but the displeasure didn't quite leave his face. "I'm a midshipman. Midshipmen command guncrews," he muttered petulantly.

"That's wonnerful... guns to th'ready..." Jack murmured, half-asleep. He hadn't had a comfortable place to rest since he'd been kicked out of his lodgings and that broken window had not been his fault at all! Really, this boy had no idea of a good thing when it was in his lap. "Can't complain... long nines or eighteen pounders?" He could feel James' curious gaze boring through him. "Wot? Never kipped in th' street, have ya?"

"Twelve pounders," James muttered, then shook his head dejectedly. It was only a few weeks since he had exchanged a soft bed for a hammock, and now he was supposed to sleep on the floor? "You have?"

"Too much. Nasty. Lord, y've had it good, ain't ya?" Jack yawned and drifted. He was asleep within moments, his face gone slack and young as James', almost younger.

James watched in disbelief. Brilliant. Now he was alone again and who knew if Jack would keep his promise. He was, as James remembered, a pirate, if a strange one. At least he hadn't seemed intent on robbing or killing him. Strange.

He sat and stared for a few minutes, but everything swam before his eyes and he crawled onto the sacks, pushing around until he could lie somewhat comfortably. It was still hard and cold, and he was afraid. He crept a bit closer. After all, Jack was asleep. In the morning, he could always pretend he had just rolled over during the night. So he curled as close as he dared, and, finally, fell asleep.

Jack stirred and shifted, then sat bolt upright, one eye half-open as he pulled off the newly-pilfered coat and tossed it over them both. He sank back onto the lumpy sacks, one arm thrown over the nervous Navy boy, the other tucked beneath his cheek.

The storeroom was still pitch black when James woke. He dared not to disturb Jack's peaceful snoring, unaffected by the chase or the hard sacks digging into their backs. Sleep was dear to any sailor, so he lay very still, staring into the darkness, twitching uneasily. Finally, a dim ray of grey fell through the window, and he expectantly turned to Jack, who continued snoring.

With a scowl, James prodded him, shoving at the thin chest. "Hey, wake up."

He found himself face to face with a knife and a pair of startled dark eyes. Jack gulped, and managed a crooked grin, stowing the blade. "Sorry. Habit, y'know. It's still dark!" he complained.

James' eyes slowly shifted away from his own nose and he swallowed hard to hide his sudden fear. "It's not! It is dawning already, and that is late enough in winter! I do not want to sleep through my shoreleave. And you promised."

"I did? Oh, I did, didn't I?" Jack blinked and stretched, yawning as he reached for the bottle and pouted at its emptiness. "I ain't 'wake!" He rubbed one eye, leaving a black smudge on his hand, then stared at the lean man-child. "Get ya back t'yer ship. Course, mate."

How a little boy could ever manage to look so chastising, he didn't know. James was eyeing at him with a expression that would make any mother jealous. "You do know there was rum in that bottle, not coffee, yes?"

"There's no rum left in that bottle, more's th' pity!" Jack grumbled, trying again to coax a few drops, then tossing it aside petulantly. "Why's the rum always gone?"

"You drank it," James drawled. "Good riddance."

Jack heaved a dramatic sigh and shoved the tattered curtain over the small window to one side. The sky was still dark, a thin whisper of grey just beginning to make the masts in the harbour visible. "Been a long fortnight. Ain't used t'bein' in port so long," he mumbled.

James crept next to him, stretching to his full height. Jack constantly moved; ducking, swaying, crouching, and it was impossible to get him to stand still. "Hmph, " James muttered, then cleared his throat. "Long? Two weeks? And that after sailing from Singapore?"

The pirate boy peered at him with a grin. "Don't light anyplace long, mate. I'm usually only in port fer a few nights. An' with some scratch in me pocket." He dug his boots out from amid the sacks and pulled them on without any stockings. "Don't suppose we can find a bit o' grub, do ya?"

James scratched his head. "Don't sailors usually look forward to the shoreleave, and hope they're not at sea for so long?" He didn't rightly know himself, this was his first shoreleave, and somehow, the adventures shipboard had seemed much safer, bravery easier. "I'm hungry," he agreed.

"Let's raid th'galley, then" Jack bounded to his feet and tugged his cutlass out from between two crates, where he'd stashed it in case of a search. He retrieved his pistol and shoved it through his belt, slinging the baldric over his shoulder with enviable practise and standing at his full height, trying to assess the Navy boy's. It just didn't seem at all fair for a twelve-year old to top him.

James stood frozen, forgetting his plan to align his shoulder to Jack's. "Why all those weapons? And I won't take part in any raid!" His eyes were very wide and his lip quivered again.

"Don't be silly. You've got a pistol, doncha?" Reluctantly, Jack groped around in the coat pocket and pulled out a shilling. He flipped it in the air and left it on a shelf of the cupboard next to the tea caddy. "There! Maybe we can get a bit of ale. There's still those buns but they'll be worse n' hardtack by now."

James dipped his hand into his pocket, producing another shilling and put it down on top of Jack's. He nodded approvingly and padded after Jack, creeping next to him. His own legs seemed a little longer, but Jack was bent over, the long coat flapping about his legs. "With weevils?" His nose wrinkled.

Jack stifled a laugh. "We call 'em ship plums. An' ain't it a good thing ya can't see too good belowdecks?" He stalked to the big ale cask and pulled two tankards, then rummaged around the wooden bins and the pie safe, emerging a bit floury but with a small loaf of dark bread, only a little dry. He handed half of it to James and crouched down behind the counter to gnaw at it.

James was still staring, the digust fading only gradually. They had not precisely bought it, but likely the shopkeeper would be glad to receive so much money for the stale bread, so he took it, breaking bits off and chewing on them. "Peaches, plums. Do you compare everything to fruit?" His eyes widened. "Girls are not like weevils, are they?"

Jack choked on a mouthful of dry bread. "I suppose they could be! They do have a habit o' turnin' up where one doesn't want 'em." He washed his breakfast down with the ale. "One fella on board had a filly turn up as part o' the crew. Got himself an' her tossed off at the nearest port. Silly bugger." Jack refilled his tankard and hopped to sit on the counter, swinging his legs.

"So," he polished off the rest of the bread. "You really on a gunnery crew?" Jack knew that Navy crews were some of the best, and he was a trifle surprised that one as young as James would command one.

James huffed and leaned against the counter. He didn't like having to look up at all, so he climbed to sit next to Jack. He forgot his indignation for a second, assessing the height of Jack's neck. "I said I was, didn't I? I don't lie."

"Yer Defiant got a load o' guns! Hold must be full o' ammunition." Jack's eyes were gleaming as he sat up straight, staring at the top of James' head. "She looks brand-spankin' new, too! How deep's her keel?" He warmed to the subject, his eyes sparkling.

"Deep enough. I haven't tried to be keelhauled just to take a look." James grinned and brushed the crumbs from his coat, rubbing at flour stains. "Depends how low she's lying in the water. With our current load, she has a draft of thirteen feet." He beamed, praising what he already considered his ship, and certainly, it was only be a matter of time until he had his first command. "And which one is your ship?"

"The Daphne. Sixteen guns. She be a fast one, but I'm lookin' t'get back to the Orient. Or the Caribe."

"Why don't you want to stay here?" James eyed him curiously. "Why'd you want to go to all the savages?" He shook his head. "I mean, getting to see it, yes, but staying there?" He sniffed a breath through his stuffed nose.

"Don't wanna stay there! Jus' sail 'round an' pop in when I need t'empty me holds. I'm gonna have me own ship someday an' sail her all round the world, I will." Jack slumped to lay full-length on the counter, his great, dark eyes drifting between the Navy boy's face and the dreamship in his head.

James saw his chance and took it: he eased himself on the counter, stretching out next to Jack. But no matter how he strained, the dark head was barely an inch further away on the wood, and whenever he reached it, his soles were up to Jack's ankles. With a displeased sound, he turned to his side, face as lofty as he could manage, laughing demonstratively. "You, a ship? And how do you think you'll do that? Will you distract the whole crew with tall tales until they give it to you?" Not that the thought wasn't a fine one. "If you'll have a pirate ship, I'll chase you," he declared.

Jack sat up, his lower lip pushing out into a pout. "I will, y'know. She's out there, somewhere, waitin' fer me. Mebbe she's a wreck, languishin' in some terrible little port. Mebbe she's a prize needin' a captain. But she's there. I can feel her in me bones." He grinned suddenly. "If you chase me, I'll sail so far an' so fast ye'll never catch me. Me an' her." His eyes had gone soft and distant as he spoke of that ship; the one he could see in his mind's eyes, lost in shadow and fog. "Why shouldn't I get me own ship? I'm pilot now!"

James' laughter turned real. "A pilot? You? Now that is priceless. Besides, everyone knows a pilot is no officer." He continued to laugh as he hoisted himself to sit upright. "I, on the other hand, will command a fine first rate in a few years."

"Am too the pilot!" Jack sulked. "Set the whole bloody course from Calecutt! An' ye'd have t'be the ambitious type t'get a command so soon! Besides, the pilot may not be an officer in yer Navy but where would ya be without 'im, eh?" He didn't much like being laughed at by anyone so much his junior, but Jack's head was still full of his vision and her sails, black as night and billowing beneath the Jolly Roger.

"So that's why you have to stay in port so long now, to do all the necessary repairs after running aground." James chuckled, but something about the words stuck: the importance of the pilot, and, really, of any man of the crew. They wouldn't be aboard if they weren't needed, after all. He had to think about that, and began chewing at the inside of his cheek. "And I never said I wasn't ambitious," he declared, slipping off the counter and tugging at Jack's sleeve. "Let's go!"

"Right!" Jack leaped off the counter and ran back to the storeroom for his coat. He glanced around but no rum bottles had materialised while they slept, alas. He did, however, drift close enough to the cupboard to snatch up those two shillings without James' noticing at all. He straightened himself and his 'effects', checking one last time and congratulating himself that he did top the Navy boy by a scant half-inch. "C'mon."

He led young James out the back door into the bone-chill of the morning. The sky lowered like molten steel and a few stray snowflakes drifted past them as they stumbled over half-frozen puddles that crackled and sloshed beneath their boots, through the twisting alleys down towards the fisherman's docks.

The small boats were already setting sail and many were on the horizon, white will o' the wisps floating away with the morning fog.

James' steps faltered more and more the closer they came to their destination. Despite Jack's words, he still doubted that all was well. After all, they had gone to a tavern they weren't supposed to, and he had left his fellow Midshipmen. One wasn't supposed to do that, leave fellow men behind. He only hoped Captain Harris wouldn't be too angry. "I can take one of the boats over there," he pointed towards the military part of the docks, shuffling his feet. "Thank you."

"It's a long haul. I'll give ya a hand." Jack's eyes were inky pools, almost honest. "Here's a nice l'il rig." He pointed to a small dingy, beached and awaiting the first catch of the day. "I'll bring it back here. C'mon, James. You wanna get back or not?"

James blinked, almost shook his head, then nodded. "All right. Thank you." They climbed in and each took up an oar, pulling the small boat towards the Defiant.

Their breath frosted in the cold and Jack looked up at her impressive bulk as the pulled 'round her stern. "Cor, she's a big 'un!" His eyes were button-round. "Yer a lucky man, James. Wot a beauty!"

James beamed from one ear to the other. "I told you she was!"

They passed round the bow and bobbed next to the gang, close enough for James to hop up with a bit of help. Jack pulled in his oar and laced his fingers. "Right. Thanks fer dinner, James. And try t'remember not t'wander off again."

James smiled at him, shuffling his feet again, gulping. After a quick look up along her hull, he hugged Jack, and, swift as an unbelayed line, bounced away. "Thank you for the help. And good luck with your ship." This time, he didn't laugh, only hauled himself up on Jack's grip and climbed aboard. Shoreleave defintiely was more exciting than adventures shipboard.

Jack raised one hand, then took the oars and turned the little boat, the rhythmic sound of their dip fading with the screech of the gulls. Snow flurried around the whitecaps, settling on the stolen coat and hat as the sun fought to break through the clouds, icy pale against a silvered sky.

FIN