Drowning Lessons: Pt IV

[sailorstkwrning]

PART III



**

"A stranger aboard a ship and unknown to the captain, no matter how harmless in appearance, puts the whole crew at risk," Gerard said, careful to keep his voice steady. "Were we at sea I would have to give you stripes."

Gerard fell silent, studying the three anxious faces in front of him. Mr. Smith and Mr. Ross were pale as death, but the newcomer - Brendon Urie was how he had been introduced - had two high spots of color in his cheeks. All three of them looked impossibly skinny and young, Urie more so than the others.

"However we are beached, and I recognize that you have committed an error of compassion, not an act born of malice," Gerard continued. "Even so, I cannot ignore it. I trust you understand the gravity of the mistake, but to fix it in your memory - Mr. Smith, you will report to Mr. Conrad in the stables for the next week, and Mr. Ross, you shall exclude the library from your daily activities for that same period of time."

Gerard glanced briefly at Mikey, who was leaning against the window, then back at the boys. "Mr. Ross and Mr. Smith, you are dismissed. Mr. Urie, you will remain."

"Thank you, sir," Smith said, and Ross echoed him. Urie remained silent; Gerard noted that while his color had faded, his shoulders had tensed significantly.

"Do you have your articles, Mr. Urie?" Gerard asked, when the other were safely out of doors, then took the rolled up parchment Urie held out.

"It says here you were apprenticed to a luthier," Gerard said, not looking up from the indenture. He vaguely recognized the name of the luthier as one belonging to an older, well-established family of middling-decent means and reputation.

"Yes, sir," Urie said. "He mainly used me as a companion for his elderly father - accompanying him to the theater and other entertainments. The old man was quite a fan of your work."

That made Gerard raise his head. "He was?"

"He was particularly fond of your account of your captivity," Urie said, a smile blooming on his face. "I had it all but memorized when he died."

"That was when you ran away?" Mikey asked from his place in the corner.

"No," Urie said, and his tone was surprisingly mild, elevating him a bit in Gerard's estimation. "I stayed on for some time, trying to find a new place in the household. "

"What was it that finally provoked you to desert?" Mikey asked between puffs of his cheroot.

"The master took a wife, and she brought her own people to the household," Brendon said. "They were rougher than us, and there were disagreements. I came out on the wrong end several times. I was not the only one, of course; there were several of us. Master wanted to be rid of us quickly, and there was only one man in the market willing to take on apprentices who were in need of . . . re-education."

"Korse," Gerard said, sitting back in his chair.

"Yes," Urie confirmed, shifting in the chair, his expression darkening. "The word in the market was that he was wicked and cruel. And his people weren't seen much in the streets, except for the - begging your pardon, sir - stone-faced bastard that drove his coach. Still, the others thought they would take their chances anyway, and make a fresh start in a new house. I chose to take the London road instead."

Gerard made a thoughtful noise and glanced at Mikey. He shrugged one shoulder, which Gerard took to mean In for a penny, in for a pound.

"Do you have family nearby?" Gerard asked, glancing back down at the parchment.

"No," Urie said, so softly Gerard almost couldn't hear him. "My parents moved north some years ago and my siblings have almost all emigrated to the colonies."

"All right," Gerard said, and made some notations on the parchment in front of him. "The terms of your apprenticeship have been fulfilled. You may leave, if you please, or you may remain here, if that would suit you, or if you would as soon join your brothers and sisters in the new world, there are likely to be berths on Black Parade on her next voyage."

Urie's mouth actually dropped open in surprise. It was quite comical, and Gerard had to work hard not to laugh at him.

"If you choose to remain here a place will be found for you among the crew, since we are currently short-handed. If you do leave, I must urge you to use caution in seeking your fortune on the public roads," Gerard said. "The press are keen to pounce on the unwary, and the careless often find themselves at sea and subject to His Majesty's will."

"I'll stay," Brendon said, then coughed and repeated himself in a more firm voice. "Thank you, sir."

"Smashing," Gerard said, finally permitting himself a smile. "You can report to Mr. Toro, he will know where your talents may be best applied. Good afternoon. Mr. Urie."

Urie stood up, his face still a little loose with shock, but he managed a competent bow before he left the room.

**
Things continue well here, Gerard wrote. Mr. Walker has coaxed another week out of the roses, and I am told we may expect a bumper crop of cabbage and carrots. I am also informed that there is a family of mice in the barn, though a cat has been dispatched to address the situation.

He paused and chewed briefly on the top of his quill. He really had no idea what one talked about when corresponding with ladies who were not pirates. He didn't want to offend Miss Ballato, but he didn't want to bore her to tears, either. He was still considering the possibilities when he heard a sharp knock on his door that could only be Mr. Toro.

"Come," he called out, and set the letter aside.

Toro stepped over the threshold with such a fierce expression that Gerard rose to his feet, his hand sliding uselessly over where his sword would be, were they at sea.

"Are we attacked?" Gerard asked, when Toro made no comment.

He hadn't heard horses, but then he had been quite distracted. And Korse was known for his stealth.

"No," Toro said. "Though the kitchen is ready for either battle or the Admiral, for Mr. Smith has prevailed upon Mr. Iero to instruct him in the art of holystoning the decks, and has been practicing it twice per day. And Mr. Conrad reports Mr. Ross has groomed all of the horses within an inch of their lives - even Party Poison has submitted to having ribbons braided into his mane - and that Mr. Smith has been meticulous there as well. The stalls are practically sparkling."

"Ribbons?" Gerard repeated weakly. Party Poison was a fine horse, but both stubborn and sneaky, and prone to using his teeth to settle disputes in his favor. "Does the boy still have all of his fingers?"

"Yes, unless he's since sliced them off whilst peeling the apples Mr. Smith gathered early this morning," Toro said, and then there was a long silence.

"Thank you for that intelligence, Mr. Toro," Gerard murmured. "I'll see them now, if they can be spared."

"Of course, sir," Toro said, then executed a brief bow before leaving the room.

Gerard sat down with a soft thump and retrieved his letter. What he really wanted to write was When can I see you again? but of course that was impossibly forward. He managed a few more lines about an especially fine pig he had lately seen in town before the faint jingling of Belle's harness in the corridor alerted him that visitors were imminent.

When he looked up Mr. Smith was in the doorway with Mr. Ross behind him, and they both looked pale and anxious. When they came in he noted Mr. Ross was limping more than usual, and there was a bandage on his bad hand.

"Sit down, gentlemen," he said, and they obeyed.

Belle flopped between them and emitted a pointed canine noise that caused Mr. Ross to become even paler. Gerard tapped his fingers on his desk, not quite sure where to begin. Sailors were not prone to self-mortification, even when justly chastened.

"Mr. Toro reports that you have completed your penance quite thoroughly," he finally said. "I am satisfied with your contrition, and would be pleased for you to return to your regular duties."

Gerard waited, watching their faces, to see if he would have to be more explicit. He was gratified when he saw comprehension dawn in Smith's eyes almost immediately.

"Thank you, sir," Smith said, and Gerard could see his shoulders loosening with relief, even while Ross seemed suspicious.

Gerard nodded. "That was all. You may return to your duties. Good evening, gentlemen."

They murmured additional thanks, then made their way out of his office. Gerard waited until he was sure they were snug in the kitchen before pulling his coat on, stuffing his pencils into his pockets and going out to the barn to inspect his horse. He had a suspicion Miss Ballato might enjoy a portrait of the animal rigged out in such a rare style.

**

"Good morning, brother," Mikey said, and stepped forward to peer over Gerard's shoulder at the engraving of the beribboned Party Poison that he was fitting into the press. "What are you - did I miss an order from the farrier?"

"No, it is a private commission," Gerard said, trying to sound as noncommittal as possible.

He could tell by Mikey's smirk that he had failed, and miserably so.

"I have decided I must invite Miss Ivarsson and the Cobras to Wolfhame," Gerard continued quickly, hoping to distract him. "It is only right that return her hospitality."

Mikey made a thoughtful noise. "And it will be easier to rehearse with all of you under one roof."

"The ball is only three weeks away," Gerard muttered. "I will send her a note this afternoon."

"Has she yet received an invitation?" Mikey asked, lowering himself onto a nearby stool.

"What do your little birds tell you?" Gerard asked, glancing briefly at the bundle of letters in Mikey's hand.

"They have not recently been to that part of the forest," Mikey said, a hint of steel under the mildness of his tone. "Though they do report that he - and it - are a topic of conversation among fashionable people."

"And what do the fashionable people have to say?" Gerard asked, abandoning the engraving for the moment.

"They find him quite dashing," Mikey said. "They are impressed by the quality of his household and the obedience of his servants."

Gerard hmmph'd softly, and Mikey stretched out his long legs. "Is there word from London?"

"Bryar reports that there are rumors of a fine gentleman that matches Korse's description taking rooms in Mayfair," Gerard said. "And the waterfront is a-stir at the possibility he may seek a ship, and a crew."

Mikey did not make any reply to that comment, and Gerard returned to the business of setting his engraving.

**

"Urie," Toro called out one night when Brendon was polishing silver in the kitchen after the others had retired for the evening. "Come here and take Mr. Way his tea."

Brendon stowed his rag and moved to obey. The door was open when he got to the Captain's study, and he could hear the familiar noise of a pen scratching over paper. He coughed loudly to announce himself and was soon called inside. Brendon set the tray down, noting as he did so that even with the fire that was burning merrily in the fireplace Captain Way was hunched in his dressing gown looking cold and miserable.

"Mr. Toro sent up some fresh biscuits," Brendon said, moving the plate to the captain's desk.

"Give him my compliments," the captain said, scrubbing at his face with one hand. "Thank you, Mr. Urie."

Brendon paused at the top of the stairs, then walked down the corridor to the captain's bedroom. The fire, lit several hours earlier, had burned down to nothing and the bed was cold. When he had the fire going, he got a hot water bottle from the kitchen and wrapped up in his warmest things, then went and lay down in the captain's bed.

The first night Brendon slipped away as soon as he judged the sheets suitably prepared, but he returned the following evening, and the one after, until it became a part of his regular duties. One night, Brendon grew too comfortable at his post and fell asleep curled up under the Captain's covers.

**

"Miss Ivarsson's codes are devilishly difficult," Gerard said, then stopped to frown at the door when he realized it was already ajar.

"Have you tried using Pamela as a cipher?" Mikey asked from behind him. "She did threaten me with that one time."

"No," Gerard said, absently; most of his attention was on his bed, specifically, the person-shaped lump in the center of it.

Mikey ducked around him and walked around the bed, his wary expression giving way to one of both amusement and concern.

"It's Mr. Urie," Mikey whispered, and Gerard suppressed a groan.

Mikey leaned forward and peeled back the edge of the coverlet gingerly, though once he had gotten a look his expression turned puzzled.

"What is it?" Gerard hissed.

"He's fully dressed," Mikey replied. "And clutching a hot water bottle."

Gerard blinked a couple of times, and finally sat down in a nearby chair.

"Perhaps he mistook it for his own?" Gerard offered, when the silence grew loud.

"If that is the case I'll send for McCoy now, because he would have to be raving to do so," Mikey said, sitting down on the edge of the mattress. "He looks well enough."

Urie sighed and shifted in his sleep, and Mikey hastily got to his feet, straightening his jacket just as Urie opened his eyes. The transformation from sleepy contentment to horrified embarrassment was so fast it would have been humorous under other circumstances.

"Are you all right, Mr. Urie?" Mikey asked.

"I'm fine, sir," Urie replied, a tide of red moving slowly up his neck and face. "I - I have been neglectful of my duties, I do apologize."

"It is long past time for your watch to be over, Mr. Urie," Gerard said quickly. "But what brings you to my bed?"

"I -" Urie paused to press his fingers against his eyes, then continued in a wry, shamefaced tone. "The wind has been very cold these last few weeks, and since you have barred dogs from the room I thought a bit of extra warmth would be welcome."

"Mr. Urie," Gerard said, a terrible suspicion dawning. "How long have you been warming my bed in this unorthodox manner?"

Urie sighed and wriggled off the bed, wincing a little as his bare feet touched the cold floor.

"A week or two, sir. Not longer than a fortnight." His shoulders tightened a fraction.

Gerard glanced at Mikey, who was regarding Brendon with undisguised astonishment.

"I thought it was a dog," Gerard explained, when Mikey looked at him. "Belle, perhaps, or Susan, taking liberties."

"I do apologize, sir," Brendon said, studying his toes. "I shall be more attentive to the time in future."

"Mr. Urie," Gerard began, then paused briefly to collect his thoughts. "You will confine yourself to preparing a hot water bottle, please. Or two, if you judge it appropriate."

Urie raised his head, and Gerard saw immediately that his embarrassment had been replaced with anxiety, and perhaps a little bit of hurt.

"I admire the sentiment, Mr. Urie, and I have appreciated the extra warmth," Gerard said. "I am not angry with you. But I find that kind of service deeply unsettling, and there are other tasks which would benefit from your attention."

"Yes, sir," Urie murmured, though he didn't sound entirely convinced.

Gerard made a mental note to have a word with Toro, to see if he could explain, and perhaps smooth over any remaining troubles.

**

"Mr. Urie, I must ask you to leave the family portraits unmolested from now on," Toro said, his voice pitched loud to be heard over the muted clanging of the evening meal. "We let the dust settle on Aloysious Way on purpose, for his phiz gives us all the horrors."

Brendon stared at him for a minute - he had found Wolfhame to be quite an irregular household, and himself often on the wrong foot - then took a cue from Mr. Iero's amused expression and ventured a smile. "Of course, sir."

"Though you have done very well restoring the carpets to their full glory," Toro continued, his mock-stern expression softening.

"Thank you, sir," Brendon said, hiding a smile in his cup of beer, the knot of anxiety in his stomach easing slightly.

For while Wolfhame was an irregular household, it was also a pleasant one, and Brendon had no desire to leave it. He was, however, periodically at a loss regarding his place in it. Both the captain and his brother were young and vital, and had no particular need for a companion. Mr. Ross, on the other hand, nervous as a soldier fresh from the front, almost certainly did, but all of Brendon's overtures in that department thus far had been unsubtly rebuffed.

After the Bed Incident, as Brendon thought of it, he had confined himself to the kitchen, where Mr. Toro had received him amiably. But after a fortnight Brendon grew weary of the daily tedium of peeling and slicing and scrubbing pots, and often found himself underfoot and in the way. On Iero's advice he had spoken to Toro and begged leave to declare himself the butler, and to his pleased surprise Toro had readily agreed.

Brendon had immediately set himself the task of restoring order to the public areas of the house. He had scrubbed ancient coal out of fireplaces, dusted an astonishing variety of nick-nacks, wiped down walls coated with what looked like decades of grime, and a dozen other domestic tasks that had been left to fall by the wayside.

"The Captain will be entertaining again in no time," Iero said, snagging a piece of corn bread with one hand.

"Does he do that often?" Spencer inquired, pausing in the middle of slicing his meat to regard Iero with alarm. Ryan, sitting next to him, first went very still, and then set his mug down carefully.

"Not since the Lady passed," Toro said. "Though he does mention it in passing, now and again."

"Usually at Christmas," Iero supplied. "But only as a fancy, nothing more."

Brendon made a thoughtful noise, and then Toro asked Walker about the state of the summer roses, and the conversation moved on.

**

"Ahoy the house!" someone called out, and it was not a familiar voice. Ryan crept to his window and peered out at the rear courtyard.

Iero's dark head and narrow shoulders were already extended out a lower window; he was speaking to a tall, slender man dressed in brilliantly colored pantaloons, a heavy brocade coat, and a large hat embellished with a dramatic white feather.

There was a large carriage behind them, and as they spoke the door opened, and three more people emerged. One lady, dark haired, wearing a low cut and richly embroidered blue brocade gown, two fair gentlemen in sober black frock coats. A third fair gentleman - a boy, really - was perched on top of the carriage, holding the horses in check. After a moment a fourth person emerged: a blonde lady, but dressed in pantaloons and a trim frock coat.

Ryan pulled back and climbed on to the bed, anxious at the prospect of more people in the house, and doubly so as they were clearly pirates. Law abiding persons did not go about in public in those sorts of outfits. Meanwhile he could hear footsteps in the corridor, both heavy (possibly Toro) and light (almost certainly Brendon), and the muffled sounds of voices and slamming doors. Ryan slid off the bed long enough to lock the door, then beat a hasty retreat under the covers, where he stayed until Spencer came up and insisted he come down and meet their guests.

**

"Urie!" Saporta bellowed, opening the kitchen door with a tremendous bang. "Is there any more grog? We have emptied our last barrel."

"Yes, sir," Brendon said. "In the scullery. I'll bring one out directly."

"Good man," Saporta said, this time at a slightly lower volume. "We could do with some additional provisions as well, this business of speechifying is hungry work."

Before Brendon could comment, Saporta stalked forward, shook a dagger out of his sleeve and stuck it into a nearby hunk of cheese. On the other side of the table, Spencer's already wide eyes grew impossibly larger, and Ryan seemed on the verge of vanishing under the table. Then there was a thud, and behind Saporta, the door to the kitchen swung wide but didn't open all the way and the dull roar of raised voices and laughter spilled in from the parlor.

"Of course, Captain Saporta," Brendon said. "I'll bring a tray through with the grog."

Saporta grinned hugely, took a bite of the cheese, and strode out again. The door closed behind him with another almighty bang, and Ryan twitched so violently he knocked an apple off the table.

Brendon scooped it up and added it to the pile stacked between them on the table. When he turned to go to the scullery he heard a chair scrape back, and saw Spencer rising to follow him out of the corner of his eye.

"They are a thirsty crew," Brendon observed, as the silence between them grew heavy.

Spencer hummed his agreement but made no further comment as they rolled the barrel out and closer to the door. Brendon made up a tray of bread, meats and cheeses as he had promised, and then the two of them ventured into the parlor.

The scene that greeted them there was quite spectacular: Captain Way was standing on the piano bench, one arm in the air, declaiming something about the weakest among us deserve better than torment, while Captain Saporta and Miss Ivarsson were engaged in a fast-moving swordfight. The rest of the Cobras were practicing their dance steps, while Mr. Way and Mr. Iero were industriously sewing while also trading lines with each other.

Brendon set the tray on top of the empty barrel of grog while Spencer manipulated the new one into place next to it.

"Mr. Smith!" Miss Asher called out, and Mr. Suarez danced her over to where they were standing. "Mr. Smith, come and dance with me, I require greater variety than these two oafs."

Mr. Suarez made a face of mock offense, while Mr. Blackinton - whom Brendon had, puzzlingly, also heard the others call Mr. Ripley - ignored her in favor of spearing several pieces of meat with his dagger.

Meanwhile, Miss Asher was attempting to waltz with Spencer. It took several attempts, but they did finally find the proper rhythm. After two circuits of the room she turned him loose, pink-cheeked and sweaty from the exertion, and fell upon the provisions.

He moved quickly to get clear of the group, and after a moment more Brendon followed him into the kitchen.

**

Spencer waited until the house had been fully quiet for at least an hour before he got out of bed. He slid carefully out of the far side, so as to not disturb Brendon on the trundle, then grabbed the corners of the sheet Ryan was laying on and tugged after him.

Thanks to a little bit of extra laudanum in his last cup of tea - Spencer felt bad, drugging him, but not enough to not to do it - Ryan barely stirred as Spencer wrapped him securely in a blanket, then carried him out of the room and up the set of stairs at the far end of the hall, and then up a second, much narrower set to the attic, where a nest of ragged blankets and freshly-washed but still stained sheets were waiting.

Spencer lingered another five minutes before descending, listening carefully to the house. When he was satisfied no-one else was stirring, he went back for Brendon. Once they were settled, Spencer sat down to keep watch. Sleep tugged at him - he had had a very long couple of days, between the extra people for meals and Ryan's decimated nerves - but he pinched himself regularly, and stayed awake until dawn, when he could demand Brendon relieve him.

**

"Spencer," Brendon said, and Spencer could hear both irritation and disbelief in his tone. "What - why are we in the attic? The Captains will be wanting their breakfast any minute now, and - "

"No," Spencer said. "We're safer up here."

Brendon rubbed his eyes furiously and frowned. "Safe from what? Having to do extra washing-up?"

"They'll get bored eventually," Spencer said, crossing his arms and glaring, though the effect was ruined somewhat when he yawned. "And then -"

"Spencer, they are not going to use us for entertainment," Brendon said, struggling to keep his tone even. "Now -"

"No," Spencer growled, lunging forward as Brendon struggled upwards.

The ensuing tussle led to Brendon falling down, which was enough to startle Ryan awake. Calming him down afterwards took some time, and Brendon concluded it would be best to wait for both of them to go back to sleep. Eventually they did drift off, Spencer curled around Ryan, and Brendon made his escape.

**

"The horses are all here, sir," Toro said. "So are the donkeys. And I cannot imagine they left on foot."

Gerard picked up his tea and drank it largely out of habit, and for something to do with his hands. The household had been somewhat unsettled, in the last few days, and the sudden disappearance of such a large number of his crew was greatly distressing.

"There were no fresh tracks in the lane when I went up to town this morning," Captain Saporta chimed in from behind his tea.

"They're in the attic," Urie said from the doorway, and every head at the table swiveled to stare at him.

Gerard stood up with such speed that his chair rocked backwards and seemed to be in danger of falling over.

"Mr. Urie," he said, not sure even as he spoke if he were relieved or enraged.

"My apologies for my tardiness, sir," Urie said. "Mr. Smith is . . . unwell, I think. He feels surrounded, and has retreated to what he thinks of as a place of safety."

"Surrounded?" half the table echoed, their voices both baffled and amused.

"He - they are very frightened, and will not listen when I try to reason with them," Brendon continued, swallowing carefully. "They are, I think, haunted by experience."

"I am a veteran of Korse's mercies as well," Miss Ivarsson said, standing up slowly. "I will go and speak to them, perhaps that will help."

The low hum of amused voices faded as she moved. Brendon glanced at the Captain, not quite sure what to do.

"Thank you, Miss Ivarsson," Gerard said, sitting back down in his chair, and nodding at Brendon.

**

Spencer's first warning that they were being invaded was the sharp creaking of the stairs. He scrabbled in the blankets until he found the sword Ryan had appropriated from one of the old trunks in the corner and stood up.

"What -?" Ryan hissed from deep in his nest of blankets; Spencer shushed him and tightened his grip on the sword.

"Mr. Smith?" their visitor called out, and Spencer was surprised when the voice was female. "It is Miss Ivarsson, may I come closer?"

"No," Ryan said softly, sitting up on his knees.

"Yes," Spencer replied, partially because he knew she was going to come up whether they liked it or not, and partially because she had smiled at him very sweetly once, not long after they had arrived.

"Brendon said she is kind," Spencer explained to Ryan's betrayed expression.

"Brendon also said she is the most fearsome pirate among them," Ryan whispered, and then the door opened slowly, revealing one slender figure on the threshold, and the shadow of another on the wall of the stairs.

"Hello, gentlemen," she said, her expression pleasant even after she caught sight of the sword in Spencer' hand.

"Mr. Urie has reported you are most distressed by our revels," she said, smoothing her trews down with her hands.

"Yes ma'am," Spencer murmured, ducking his head. He felt quite ridiculous all of a sudden, as well as small and young.

"I must apologize for disturbing the peace of the household," she continued, taking a step forward. "We are sometimes careless in our - enthusiasm."

Spencer just stared at her, and suddenly wondered if he were wandering in his wits, or dreaming. He could feel the weight of the sword in his hand and Ryan's solid warmth against his leg, but those were not reliable indicators either way.

She took another step forward, and another, the dim light in the attic sliding over her delicate features as she moved.

"I have great sympathy for your distress," she murmured. "I have been Korse's prisoner as well. It was some time before I could endure the company of my fellows again, once I had escaped."

Spencer blinked at her. "Escaped?" he repeated.

"Aye," she said, a grin spreading across her face. "And I carried his eye away with me, as a prize."

"Truly?" Ryan asked, inching forward a little bit.

"Aye, truly," Ivarsson said, her grin broadening. "Perhaps you would like to hear the story? I am told it goes well with tea and biscuits."

Spencer could feel Ryan tensing next to him, even as he struggled to respond. Now that he had had some sleep, the foolishness of his plan was coming home to roost, and he was a little bit ashamed of the whole affair.

"It will be all right," Miss Ivarsson whispered, taking one more slow step forward in order to extract the sword from Spencer's grip. "Captain Way is a good man, the first one I would sail with, once I felt recovered."

Spencer let the weapon go easily, blinking hard against the sudden stinging in his eyes. She slid it into the leather scabbard on her hip, then further surprised him by drawing him into a hug, and holding him carefully until he could compose himself. When she did finally release him she leaned over to take Ryan's good hand, and helped him up.

"Come," she said, guiding Ryan free of the nest of blankets. "Mr. Toro has doubtless got the kettle on already."

Spencer took a steadying breath, and followed them down the stairs.

**

Mikey pushed the door to the study open slowly. As he expected, he found his brother staring at a blank piece of paper, one hand clutching his hair. He coughed quietly, and Gerard raised his head.

"Tea?" Mikey asked, holding out a mug, and Gerard took it with an expression of relief.

"Miss Ivarsson has made an inquiry," Mikey said, when his cup was nearly empty.

Gerard put his mug down on his desk and sat back in his chair, his lips pressed together in a firm line. Nonetheless Mikey pressed on.

"She asked if now might be the time to assign Mr. Ross duties in the shop, where it is quieter," Mikey said, being careful to keep his tone a neutral as possible.

"And Mr. Smith?" Gerard asked, leaning forward and resting his arms on his desk. "There's hardly enough work for two of them in the shop."

"Mr. Walker felt he could be profitably occupied in the garden, and it is Mr. Urie's opinion that he might be more at his ease so long as Mr. Ross were not unduly disturbed."

Mikey drank the rest of his tea, and waited.

"You may advise them of their new orders," Gerard said after a long, thoughtful silence.

"Thank you, sir," Mikey murmured, and departed.

**

When they arrived at the shop the next morning, Captain Way gave Ryan a tour, pausing several times to give the history of individual presses and commentary on customers. Ryan's knee soon began to ache, and he was relieved to finally be shown to his appointed place, and then left in peace to address packages, organize orders, and open books for customers.

Some time later, Ryan heard the door creak open and glanced up. The newcomer was a tall man wrapped up against the rain. Ryan watched him for a moment, then went back to slicing through the folds of the pages of the book in front of him. Then the low hum of conversation in the shop abruptly stopped. When Ryan raised his head to investigate, he found the face that haunted his nightmares looking back at him.

"Mr. Ross," Korse said, his eyebrows bouncing upwards. "Fancy meeting you here."

Ryan could barely hear anything over the sound of the blood roaring in his ears, but he could feel the solid weight of the book knife in his hand. Korse flipped his cloak over his shoulder, revealing both his shirt and a sliver of bare skin. Ryan tightened his grip on the knife and climbed onto the counter.

Korse started laughing; a nearby child started screaming. The noise jolted Belle awake and into a frenzy of barking, which brought Iero and both Ways out from the back at a run.

Ryan was in the act of swinging his legs around when Mr. Way grabbed his shirt with both hands. Ryan tried to wriggle free but Way's grip was firm, and he was trapped. Meanwhile Iero darted forward to grab Belle's collar and try to haul her away. He was tiny, though, and she was putting up a fight.

"How precious, Captain Way, coming to the defense of your catamite, " Korse said, a lazy smile playing at the corner of his mouth. "And your brother as well. Do you share him? He does enjoy a crowd, don't you, Mr. Ross?"

Ryan growled low in his throat and struggled some more against Way's grasp, but it was no use, he was held fast. Meanwhile, Iero won his battle with Belle, and disappeared briefly in the course of confining her into the back room.

"You will apologize to Mr. Ross, and then you will get out of my shop," the captain said, a note of steel in his voice that Ryan had never heard before.

"Apologize? To a bed-warmer? Have you been at the bottle already this morning, Captain?" Korses said, widening his eyes with mock concern.

"Then you will choose your weapon and meet me at dawn tomorrow," the captain said. "Have your second call upon my brother."

Korse's eyes widened in genuine surprise just as Ryan finally got free of Mr. Way and jumped down off the counter. But he only managed one step forward before Iero caught him about the waist and swung him away.

"No," Iero hissed at Ryan, squeezing him into submission and dragging him towards the back room at the same time. "Let the Captain manage him."

Ryan growled again, but Iero was too strong. He could also hear Mr. Way ordering everyone out amid promises to re-open in an hour. Iero dropped him on a chair at the same time that the Ways came through the door from the shop.

"You are all right?" the Captain asked, crouching down in front of Ryan and carefully prying the knife from his fingers.

"Yes," Ryan mumbled, already starting to shake with leftover adrenaline.

A moment later he felt Belle's familiar warmth against his side, and her tongue on his face. He petted her head, struggling not to give in and cling to her, and finally persuaded her to lie at his feet.

"Mr. Iero will take you home," Mr. Way said, taking the knife when the captain handed it to him. "Iero, you may take Snake Child. Go through the fields, Korse is likely to be on the road. Bring Mr. Urie back with you if Mr. Toro can spare him."

"Yes, sir, " Iero said, and hauled Ryan to his feet.

The journey was a blur punctuated by Iero's muffled curses and sudden shocks as Snake Child soared over fences. When they finally stopped, they were in the back courtyard, and Spencer was waiting for them, stripped to the waist after a morning in the garden. Ryan didn't so much dismount as fall off the horse, but Spencer caught him easily before he hit the groud. Ryan curled against him, only dimly aware of Iero hollering for Brendon amid the clatter of the horse dancing anxiously on the bricks and Belle's heavy panting.

"What happened?" Spencer whispered, then repeated, louder, for Iero's benefit, when Ryan could not answer him.

"Korse," Iero said, and Spencer's grip on Ryan tightened so much Ryan almost couldn't breathe. "There's to be a duel."

"A what?" Brendon and Mr. Toro chorused, the kitchen door slamming behind them.

"Mr. Urie, you're needed at the shop, now come, quickly, and I'll explain on the way," Iero said, and there was more clattering of hooves. "Mr. Toro, we will be receiving callers this evening, and the parlour should be readied for them."

"I will see to it right away, " Mr. Toro said, and the kitchen door banged shut again.

Ryan raised his head from Spencer's chest just in time to see Brendon haul himself up behind Iero, and Iero turn the horse towards town.

"Ryan," Spencer whispered, when horse and riders were a blur in the distance, but Ryan still could not speak.

Spencer loosened his grip, putting some air between them, and Ryan tried to concentrate on his breathing. He had done a terrible thing, and he knew it and now - now there was going to be a duel. If the Captain were to lose - Ryan could not even form the thought.

After another minute Spencer lifted Ryan up and took him to his room, Belle following closely behind them. Ryan was quiet while Spencer stripped him out of his clothes and checked him for injuries, though he was shaking so violently his teeth were chattering. At some point Mr. Toro came in with a hot water bottle and a calming drought, and Ryan took them both without protest. Finally Spencer put him on the bed. Belle climbed up and tool her usual place at Ryan's feet. Spencer hovered for a moment, as if he were contemplating leaving, and Ryan grabbed his wrist with both hands.

"All right," Spencer murmured, and climbed up next to him.

When he lay down Ryan began to talk, confessing his indiscretion in rushed, jumbled sentences. But he could tell from Spencer's breathing that he understood.

"It will be all right," Spencer said firmly when he finished, and Ryan curled up as tight as he could and prayed that that were true.

**

"Pistols at dawn," Mikey reported. "Mr. Toro is cleaning the Wogdons now."

Gerard made a noise of acknowledgment, but didn't turn away from the window. Part of him wished there were ships that could be sailed on land, so he might fire a broadside at the man and be done with it. When he did turn around Mikey was sitting at the table, legs crossed casually, belying the narrow set of his mouth.

"And Mr. Ross?" Gerard asked, deliberately avoiding the questions and the poorly-hidden anxiety in Mikey's gaze.

"Sleeping," Mikey said. "Mr. Smith is with him and will remain so for the evening."

Gerard nodded, then tugged at his hair. It did not relieve his internal turmoil one iota.

"You will have one shot," Mikey said, flatly. "Aim for his heart."

Gerard dropped his hands and sighed. Mikey straightened in his chair and arched one eyebrow.

"I should have run him through in Tortuga when I had the chance," Gerard muttered.

Mikey hummed his agreement and pulled a deck of cards out of his pocket. "Faro?"

"All right," Gerard said, and joined him at the table.

**

Spencer spent the evening lying very still and watching shadows dance across the ceiling. He crept out of the room as soon as he heard Iero stirring, moving carefully so as not to wake Ryan, and went down to the kitchen. Mr. Toro acknowledged him with a glance and a cup of coffee. The Ways arrived soon afterwards, both rigged out in black frock coats, breeches and boots. Mr. Way held a small wooden box in one arm, which Spencer supposed must be the guns.

"Godspeed, sir," Mr. Toro said, when the they had finished their breakfast and risen from the table.

The Captain inclined his head and smiled tightly, then followed his brother out of the room. Spencer glanced at Mr. Toro, and waited for his nod before hurrying after them. They took the carriage, and Spencer climbed up and sat next to Iero. He wondered, briefly, if he should have woken Ryan, but the sight of Korse and his carriage convinced him he had been right to leave Ryan in peace. Just the sight of the gilt "K" on the door made Spencer's stomach roll and his skin crawl.

Mr. Iero brought the horses to a halt. The Ways exited the carriage. The Captain and Korse walked towards each other and bowed stiffly, then, when Mr. Way gave the word, counted off ten paces. Mr. Way opened the gun box, and the captain retrieved one of the pistols. It was a plain, ugly weapon, and Spencer swallowed carefully. On the other side, Korse was holding a more carefully decorated piece, and smirking.

"On my mark," Mr. Way said, and the last number had barely fallen from his lips when the Captain fired.

Korse jerked backwards at the shoulder and fell to the ground. His men swarmed over him, shouting. Finally one of them, a mean-faced man in a pale suit, stood up.

"He lives, barely, but he cannot shoot, and will not let his second take his place," the man said. "Victory is yours, for today."

Spencer let out a breath he did not know he had been holding. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Iero was scrubbing at his face, clearly wiping away tears, and so offered him a handkerchief. Iero took it with mumbled thanks.

The Captain bowed, stiffly, and the Ways returned to the carriage.

**

Ryan woke slowly, coaxed to consciousness by the scent of coffee and sweet rolls. When he opened his eyes and saw Spencer standing next to the bed, he sat up, ready to inquire as to the occasion, and then he remembered the events of - the previous day? He was not quite sure how long he had been sleeping.

"It's done," Spencer said, before he could make any comment. "The Captain triumphed."

"Korse is dead?" Ryan asked, gripping the blankets to hide the way his hands were shaking.

"No," the captain said from the doorway, and Ryan noted there was genuine surprise on Spencer's face at the interruption. "Or, I should say, not yet. He took a wound that may be mortal."

For a moment Ryan was too stunned to speak. By the time he found his voice the captain was at his bedside. He looked rumpled - more so than usual - but otherwise intact.

Ryan abandoned everything he had ever been taught and threw himself into the Captains arms to cling to his neck. The captain staggered at first, but recovered quickly, and further surprised Ryan by holding him close and murmuring soothing phrases in his ear.

"Hush," the captain said, when Ryan finally released him, and then tried to apologize for his gross breach of civilized behavior. "Now, I must tell you, I have just had a note from Miss Ballato, she has invited us to visit her at her uncle's villa in Tuscany. It is well-timed - we leave on Saturday, on the first tide. Mr. Toro and Mr. Iero will help you pack."

"Thank you, sir," Spencer said, when it became clear Ryan was once again too overcome to speak.

"We shall make sailors of you yet," the Captain said, his grin loosening. "Good evening gentlemen."

Onwards to the Bonus Material!