Hornblower Fic: Like a Bad Penny
Title: Like a Bad Penny
Author: smallwaldo
Rating: R for descriptions of violence
Pairing: H/A pre-slash
Word Count: 3422
Notes: Filling in a blank in The Duel that I haven't seen filled in very many times before... feedback would be fabulous.
Summary: What happened after he got sent up into the rigging and why he decided he needed to do something rather permanent about Simpson.
Originally Posted: 9.05.2004
Horatio closed his eyes and tried to tighten already numb fingers around the ropes. All said, he could have been forced higher up, where the winds would have been stronger, where falling would have been deadly. But he didn't like heights and he wasn't remarkably fond of storms and he'd been up there for almost four hours. He was soaked through and numb. He'd begun to wonder if he'd been forgotten when he felt the rigging shake. He held his breath, somehow certain that it was Simpson climbing up to torment him some more. The rigging shook again as his visitor situated himself near his side.
"Come now, Horatio, Mr. Eccleston seems to think you'll have learned your lesson by now."
Horatio slowly raised his head and then opened his eyes into the bright blue eyes of Archie Kennedy. Before he could speak, the rigging shook again and when he forced his stiff neck to turn, he found Clayton on his other side. He turned back to Archie and tried to comply, to get down and let them go back down to the dry berths belowdecks. He tried to unwrap one hand to slide it lower on the rope, but found his hand most unwilling to cooperate.
Archie had swung one leg through the ropes to hold himself up. He was able to sufficiently wrap his legs around so that he could take both hands off the ropes and help Horatio loosen his hold. Clayton went down below the two of them and gripped the back of Horatio's trousers to help guide him down, slow and painful step by slow and painful step.
When at last they were back on the deck, Horatio found himself greatly needing the support Archie offered as they made their sodden way to the midshipman's quarters.
They found the room deserted, a lone lamp burning in the corner. Clayton pulled off his soaked cloak and coat and hung them on a peg before announcing that he was going to find them all some spirits.
Archie tossed his cloak on his seachest and quickly stripped to his shirt and leggings. As he tugged off his shoes, he looked up to find Horatio standing stock still in his sodden clothes. He shook the water out of his hair and pushed it back, not bothering to retie it before reaching up to help Horatio change. He wasn't sure if Horatio had a clean shirt, and if so where to find it, so he knocked his cloak to the floor and grabbed one of his own. Horatio stood passively and let himself be stripped and dried and then dressed in Archie's shirt. "Come now," Archie said, helping Horatio up into his bunk. "Clayton should be back soon with some rum. If there's any to be found aboard ship, he'll know where it's at. In the mean time let's get you warm." Archie pushed Horatio partially on to his side and wiggled the blanket out from under his hip. He covered Horatio and tucked the blanket around his shoulders.
He smiled at Horatio's drowned-rat look and wondered if it were at all possible that in their two-week acquaintance that he had seen Horatio wet more often than dry. He reached up and brushed a few stray wet curls back from Horatio's forehead. Horatio shivered as a drop of water made it's way from his hair down his nose. He reached up to brush it away and found that his hands were still wrapped around imaginary ropes and he was having a devil of a time convincing them that he was back on the solid deck. Archie smiled and wiped the water away with the cuff of his own shirt. The tender gesture caused Horatio to shiver again.
"Nasty night out. But Justinian's a good ship. We'll be warm and dry down here. And I've often found that the sound of the rain can help me sleep." As Archie spoke he grabbed his own blanket and tucked it around Horatio. "Hands hurt?"
Horatio nodded stiffly, wondering where his voice had gone. He looked down quizzically as Archie pushed back the blankets near his elbow and pulled his hand out. Archie had just begun sliding his palm over Horatio's, gently massaging the back of his hand, hoping to uncurl his fingers, when Clayton came back with three tankards.
Clayton handed two to Archie and then pulled off the rest of his still-damp clothes. He set his mug on a small shelf while he quickly pulled himself into a shirt he could sleep in and swung up onto his own hammock. He reached over and grabbed his rum, cradling it to his chest. "We've all spent some time there, Horatio. Don't worry about the men. Sooner or later we all end up there." He closed his eyes and took a sip of rum.
Archie could see that Horatio wasn't calmed at all by Clayton's words. He gently fingered the damp curls that seemed determined to fall and chill Horatio. "I don't think that's helping much right now, Clayton," Archie called over his shoulder as he took the hand he'd started massaging and wrapped it around Horatio's mug of warmed rum. "But I suspect this will," he added, tapping the bottom of the cup, encouraging Horatio to drink.
After several small sips Horatio looked up at Archie wondering if was safe to speak of fears like his or if it would get out, be used against him. So far, Archie had done nothing to indicate that he could not be trusted, and perhaps he could offer some advice. "Mr. Kennedy?" he began, voice shaking.
Archie peered at him over his own mug. "Call me Archie, most everyone does."
Horatio nodded, wondering if he could bring himself to be that informal with a man who had several years seniority on him. When no other words seemed to be forthcoming, Archie added, "You wanted to ask?"
Clayton's hammock creaked, reminding Horatio of his presence. Suddenly unable to admit to further weakness he just shook his head. "Nothing, I'm sorry."
Archie nodded, trying to discern the cause for Horatio's sudden unwillingness to talk. "I heard what happened yesterday - on the ratlines," he said half into his mug.
Horatio sighed; he was going to have to talk about his fear of heights after all. "One of the men said Lieutenant Eccleston needed me in the fighting top."
"I don't think you'd catch Lieutenant Eccleston dead in the fighting top," Archie answered glibly. "Afraid of heights."
Horatio turned to look at him. "He - he is?"
Archie mumbled an 'mm-hm' into his mug before reaching around to set it on his seachest. "From what I hear, he has good company on that score."
It was an out, and Horatio recognized it as such. He could pretend not to understand, or he could just come clean with it. Archie didn't seem to be laying any judgment. "I think I may have been fine until that rope broke," he whispered hoarsely and took a hasty swallow of rum.
"Perhaps tomorrow I'll show you the best way to get up there and back down if you'd like. Fact of life in the Navy, we're all going to be sent up on the masts at some point. To help with the sails, to look out for enemy ships. That is, if we ever get out of this damn port."
Horatio debated the idea of facing his fear with a friend by his side or just trying to avoid it as much as possible. "If you don't mind, I'd like to wait until the weather's better," he finally answered.
"Fair enough," Archie answered. "Done with that?" he indicated Horatio's mug.
Horatio swallowed the last few drops and handed Archie the empty cup. "Thank you." He felt Archie's fingers graze his as he took the handle of the cup and hastily added, "for all of it. Thank you."
"No trouble," Archie said, disposing of the mugs and hopping up onto his own hammock. "We were all new at one time." Archie frowned as he realized that Horatio still had his blanket. He wasn't going to take it back; Horatio had still been shivering when he'd taken his cup. He debated stealing Cleveland's - it was on the hammock next to his - but there was the chance that he'd raise hell whenever he staggered in and that might wake Jack up. He punched his small pillow and figured it wouldn't matter once all the other men came in and body heat alone brought the room temperature up to a comfortable place.
He was almost asleep when a loud, “Mr. Kennedy!” sounded through the deck. Jolting to full wakefulness, Archie rolled out of bed, grabbed his still-wet Midshipman’s jacket and shoes and went to see what it was that Mr. Eccelston could possibly need from him when he was off watch.
Horatio glanced over to Clayton. “What do you think that’s about?” he asked cautiously.
Clayton shrugged. “Don’t know,” he said casually before opening one eye to look back at Horatio. “Lieutenant Ecclston’s, alright. So’s Lieutenant Chadd. He rolled onto one elbow. You know why Eccelston sent you up on ropes, don’t you?”
Horatio shook his head.
Clayton flopped onto his back, causing his hammock to sway. “He was hoping you’d be the one.” He glanced about conspiratorially, “As you’ve already figured out, locking horns with Jack Simpson is suicide. Lieutenant Eccleston has a fair idea of what’s happening, but no one will come forward and press charges. He’s been trying to find someone who’ll speak against him since -“
Clayton cut off so sharply that Horatio glanced at the door, expecting to find Simpson standing there. But there was no one there and when he looked back, Clayton was staring at the bunk Archie’d vacated when he’d been called out.
Pieces started falling into place for Horatio. The drastic change in Archie’s demeanor once Simpson had returned, the fit the night before and everyone’s total obsequeusness to Simpson. “He did something to Mr. Kennedy.” Horatio said flatly.
Clayton sat up and pulled his blanket around his shoulders. “Archie doesn’t remember it.”
Horatio looked at him, puzzled, but waited silently for the older man to continue.
“We were off the coast of Ireland, most of the men had been given leave once we’d delivered the dignitaries we were transporting. Two of the Mids were going to be going ashore for their Lieutenant’s exams as soon as we got back, so Archie and I stayed to study with them. Jack had been disallowed leave because he was so far behind in his studies. He was in the mess, so the three of us went up to the gun deck… I don’t remember how we got from staying well clear of him to him becoming furious with us for making him look like a fool. We weren’t doing it deliberately - he’s either too stubborn or too stupid - “ Clayton cut himself off again, looking at the door to be sure he hadn’t been overheard - “to get some of the more basic points of navigational math. Archie was able to do most of the basic questions in his head then. He’d just gotten through explaining the problem I’d given him when Simpson came in and beat him - we were sure - to death.”
Horatio sat up, engrossed and enraged by the tale. “He beat him for knowing how to do math?” Horatio began understand why no one was doing well in Captain Keene’s tutorials.
“You’ll find that very little makes sense when it comes to his temper. He didn’t stop until he’d backhanded Archie across the face so hard that Archie fell… and struck his head on the butt of one of the canons.”
Horatio could feel the blood drain out of his face.
“He was unconscious for three days. We were sure he was going to die. He had fit after fit in the weeks after. He couldn’t hold down food or water… he was ghastly weak and thin for a time.” Clayton looked up from the edge of the blanket he’d been picking at. He wondered why he was telling Horatio this story. It wasn’t as if Archie would want anyone to know. “Hepplewhite isn’t worth a day’s rum ration as a physician - he’s barely tolerable for a surgeon - so I can only suppose that God had other plans for Archie Kennedy. There’s no other reason I can think of that he’d survive.”
Horatio nodded. He could remember his father treating a few people for fits. One had been Mr. Horace who’d been kicked in the head while shoeing a horse. The other had been a little girl his father had delivered with some difficulty when Horatio had been about six. She had remained a simple girl, he recalled. She lived nearby and often ran errands for her mother when she’d gotten old enough. Her mother would write things down and send her with the message, since she never could seem to repeat back the missive with any kind of clarity. Horatio had played with her for a while as they grew up, but as he’d gotten old enough to go to school, she remained quite childish in her interests and he grew annoyed with her. His father had told her that it wasn’t just their age difference, as Horatio had chalked it up to, but that being born so blue and having so many fits kept her brain from developing properly. So Horatio had been a little more tolerant of her insistence on playing with dolls and her completely incontrollable fear of the cat that slept in front of their hearth (Horatio eventually learned to just lock the cat in his bedroom whenever she came by for anything) and her simple language.
He remembered how when she would tell him that the lamps all had rings around them it meant that she was going to have a fit in just a few minutes. And how his father had told him to make sure that she lay on the floor and that he keep things out of reach that she may hurt herself on. He wondered if Archie could tell that it was coming, or if that was something Mary had learned to predict from a lifetime of fits. Logic told him that Archie must have some kind forewarning; otherwise he’d never be so blasé about climbing up the rigging.
He thought about what Clayton had said about Archie being able to do the maths back then. He wondered if Archie was getting them wrong on purpose now to avoid a recurrence of that night or if he’d lost the ability to comprehend when he’d been hurt. He wondered what else he might have lost that night. His chance at making Lieutenant? His chance of ever getting transferred off this floating hell? He wondered if any captain more aware than Keene would keep Kennedy aboard if it became known that he had fits. Something in the pit of his stomach told him that Archie Kennedy was trapped between the devil and the deep blue sea. No other Captain would likely allow him to serve as long as he was having fits, which meant that Archie had to stay in the very place, with the very people that had done this to him.
“Why hasn’t Captain Keene done anything?” Horatio asked through gritted teeth.
“Like I said, no one will go forward. I think he knows that something is amiss. Despite the fact that Jack can’t even do the simplest mathematics, Keene keeps sending him for his Lieutenant’s exam. I don’t know if he hopes that he’ll actually pass and then he can transfer him or if he fails enough time that he’ll get frustrated and leave, but he keeps coming back…” Clayton gripped his blanket in frustration, “Like a bad penny.” As for that particular incident, Archie doesn’t remember that night - I’m not entirely certain he remembers being to Ireland at all - Sudderland passed his Lieutenant’s exam and was transferred to the Mediator immediately afterwards. And I…” He let that statement hang.
Horatio nodded. He’d seen how Clayton had deferred to Jack as well. He supposed seeing a friend beaten nearly to death might have that effect on someone who didn’t have a strong will to begin with.
“There’s something you’ll figure out for yourself sooner or later, Horatio, but I’m going to tell you now…Jack Simpson is twice as cruel, but only half as stupid as we end up believing. If you anger him, he will not only take it out on you. He will find anyone you care for and take it out on them. He’s used my friendship with Archie against him more than once. If I’d spoken up against him in the mess your first night here or here when he ordered me to wake you…” He sighed and squared his shoulders before concluding with, “If I’d spoken against him or refused, Archie would have been beaten - or worse - for my insolence. I’m fairly certain he hasn’t forgotten about last night. It might be best if you stay on your guard for some time.”
Horatio fell back against his pillow. He rubbed his hands over his face as the unstated request penetrated: watch your back, watch Archie’s back, and mine too if you wouldn’t mind. Little wonder everyone was so deferential, so on unnerved.
But he knew his own temper well enough. He was unsure if he’d be able to hold back the next time Simpson started against him. He’d been taught by his father and his teachers that a man did not allow another man to belittle him or bully him. That honor was everything and there was nothing honorable about being walked upon. They never told him what to do when acting in one’s own best interest put others in jeopardy of being beaten.
Or worse. Clayton had said that Archie would have been beaten ‘or worse’. He couldn’t think of anything worse than what had been described to him for several moments. Then he remembered what he’d truly feared when Simpson had him over that table in the mess. He wondered if Clayton had meant that Archie’d been threatened with… Or if he’d actually…
He remembered Archie’s face when Simpson had returned to the mess. There had been more than fear. There had been shame. Horatio began to think the rum in his stomach had somehow gone rancid. And still, after all that, Archie smiled and teased. He protected Horatio from the ratings who were still figuring out how far they could push this newest Midshipman. He still seemed proud to serve in His Majesty’s Navy.
As he stared at the ceiling pondering the unfairness of the world, Archie came back in and threw his jacket onto his chest before hauling himself up onto his bunk. “Mail came in!” he announced holding up a letter. “My sister wrote - she had her second daughter last month.” He was grinning ear to ear.
And Horatio wondered how in the name of everything holy someone who’d been through the things Archie Kennedy had endured could smile like that. And he wondered how someone like Simpson could want to hurt someone who had been nothing but gregarious and helpful to a green Midshipman whom he could have washed his hands of as soon as he’d delivered him to the mess that first gray day.
“She named her Gwendolyn,” Archie went on. “Something of an archaic name, don’t you think?” He glanced from the paper to Horatio.
And when Horatio looked back he knew that he would be that one that Lieutenant Eccleston was looking for. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to risk anything happening to Archie by going to the officers, but Simpson was not going to get away with his contemptible behavior any more. He wasn’t sure how, but he would find a way to stop Jack Simpson. For himself. For Clayton. But most of all, for the shining soul of Archie Kennedy.
Author: smallwaldo
Rating: R for descriptions of violence
Pairing: H/A pre-slash
Word Count: 3422
Notes: Filling in a blank in The Duel that I haven't seen filled in very many times before... feedback would be fabulous.
Summary: What happened after he got sent up into the rigging and why he decided he needed to do something rather permanent about Simpson.
Originally Posted: 9.05.2004
Horatio closed his eyes and tried to tighten already numb fingers around the ropes. All said, he could have been forced higher up, where the winds would have been stronger, where falling would have been deadly. But he didn't like heights and he wasn't remarkably fond of storms and he'd been up there for almost four hours. He was soaked through and numb. He'd begun to wonder if he'd been forgotten when he felt the rigging shake. He held his breath, somehow certain that it was Simpson climbing up to torment him some more. The rigging shook again as his visitor situated himself near his side.
"Come now, Horatio, Mr. Eccleston seems to think you'll have learned your lesson by now."
Horatio slowly raised his head and then opened his eyes into the bright blue eyes of Archie Kennedy. Before he could speak, the rigging shook again and when he forced his stiff neck to turn, he found Clayton on his other side. He turned back to Archie and tried to comply, to get down and let them go back down to the dry berths belowdecks. He tried to unwrap one hand to slide it lower on the rope, but found his hand most unwilling to cooperate.
Archie had swung one leg through the ropes to hold himself up. He was able to sufficiently wrap his legs around so that he could take both hands off the ropes and help Horatio loosen his hold. Clayton went down below the two of them and gripped the back of Horatio's trousers to help guide him down, slow and painful step by slow and painful step.
When at last they were back on the deck, Horatio found himself greatly needing the support Archie offered as they made their sodden way to the midshipman's quarters.
They found the room deserted, a lone lamp burning in the corner. Clayton pulled off his soaked cloak and coat and hung them on a peg before announcing that he was going to find them all some spirits.
Archie tossed his cloak on his seachest and quickly stripped to his shirt and leggings. As he tugged off his shoes, he looked up to find Horatio standing stock still in his sodden clothes. He shook the water out of his hair and pushed it back, not bothering to retie it before reaching up to help Horatio change. He wasn't sure if Horatio had a clean shirt, and if so where to find it, so he knocked his cloak to the floor and grabbed one of his own. Horatio stood passively and let himself be stripped and dried and then dressed in Archie's shirt. "Come now," Archie said, helping Horatio up into his bunk. "Clayton should be back soon with some rum. If there's any to be found aboard ship, he'll know where it's at. In the mean time let's get you warm." Archie pushed Horatio partially on to his side and wiggled the blanket out from under his hip. He covered Horatio and tucked the blanket around his shoulders.
He smiled at Horatio's drowned-rat look and wondered if it were at all possible that in their two-week acquaintance that he had seen Horatio wet more often than dry. He reached up and brushed a few stray wet curls back from Horatio's forehead. Horatio shivered as a drop of water made it's way from his hair down his nose. He reached up to brush it away and found that his hands were still wrapped around imaginary ropes and he was having a devil of a time convincing them that he was back on the solid deck. Archie smiled and wiped the water away with the cuff of his own shirt. The tender gesture caused Horatio to shiver again.
"Nasty night out. But Justinian's a good ship. We'll be warm and dry down here. And I've often found that the sound of the rain can help me sleep." As Archie spoke he grabbed his own blanket and tucked it around Horatio. "Hands hurt?"
Horatio nodded stiffly, wondering where his voice had gone. He looked down quizzically as Archie pushed back the blankets near his elbow and pulled his hand out. Archie had just begun sliding his palm over Horatio's, gently massaging the back of his hand, hoping to uncurl his fingers, when Clayton came back with three tankards.
Clayton handed two to Archie and then pulled off the rest of his still-damp clothes. He set his mug on a small shelf while he quickly pulled himself into a shirt he could sleep in and swung up onto his own hammock. He reached over and grabbed his rum, cradling it to his chest. "We've all spent some time there, Horatio. Don't worry about the men. Sooner or later we all end up there." He closed his eyes and took a sip of rum.
Archie could see that Horatio wasn't calmed at all by Clayton's words. He gently fingered the damp curls that seemed determined to fall and chill Horatio. "I don't think that's helping much right now, Clayton," Archie called over his shoulder as he took the hand he'd started massaging and wrapped it around Horatio's mug of warmed rum. "But I suspect this will," he added, tapping the bottom of the cup, encouraging Horatio to drink.
After several small sips Horatio looked up at Archie wondering if was safe to speak of fears like his or if it would get out, be used against him. So far, Archie had done nothing to indicate that he could not be trusted, and perhaps he could offer some advice. "Mr. Kennedy?" he began, voice shaking.
Archie peered at him over his own mug. "Call me Archie, most everyone does."
Horatio nodded, wondering if he could bring himself to be that informal with a man who had several years seniority on him. When no other words seemed to be forthcoming, Archie added, "You wanted to ask?"
Clayton's hammock creaked, reminding Horatio of his presence. Suddenly unable to admit to further weakness he just shook his head. "Nothing, I'm sorry."
Archie nodded, trying to discern the cause for Horatio's sudden unwillingness to talk. "I heard what happened yesterday - on the ratlines," he said half into his mug.
Horatio sighed; he was going to have to talk about his fear of heights after all. "One of the men said Lieutenant Eccleston needed me in the fighting top."
"I don't think you'd catch Lieutenant Eccleston dead in the fighting top," Archie answered glibly. "Afraid of heights."
Horatio turned to look at him. "He - he is?"
Archie mumbled an 'mm-hm' into his mug before reaching around to set it on his seachest. "From what I hear, he has good company on that score."
It was an out, and Horatio recognized it as such. He could pretend not to understand, or he could just come clean with it. Archie didn't seem to be laying any judgment. "I think I may have been fine until that rope broke," he whispered hoarsely and took a hasty swallow of rum.
"Perhaps tomorrow I'll show you the best way to get up there and back down if you'd like. Fact of life in the Navy, we're all going to be sent up on the masts at some point. To help with the sails, to look out for enemy ships. That is, if we ever get out of this damn port."
Horatio debated the idea of facing his fear with a friend by his side or just trying to avoid it as much as possible. "If you don't mind, I'd like to wait until the weather's better," he finally answered.
"Fair enough," Archie answered. "Done with that?" he indicated Horatio's mug.
Horatio swallowed the last few drops and handed Archie the empty cup. "Thank you." He felt Archie's fingers graze his as he took the handle of the cup and hastily added, "for all of it. Thank you."
"No trouble," Archie said, disposing of the mugs and hopping up onto his own hammock. "We were all new at one time." Archie frowned as he realized that Horatio still had his blanket. He wasn't going to take it back; Horatio had still been shivering when he'd taken his cup. He debated stealing Cleveland's - it was on the hammock next to his - but there was the chance that he'd raise hell whenever he staggered in and that might wake Jack up. He punched his small pillow and figured it wouldn't matter once all the other men came in and body heat alone brought the room temperature up to a comfortable place.
He was almost asleep when a loud, “Mr. Kennedy!” sounded through the deck. Jolting to full wakefulness, Archie rolled out of bed, grabbed his still-wet Midshipman’s jacket and shoes and went to see what it was that Mr. Eccelston could possibly need from him when he was off watch.
Horatio glanced over to Clayton. “What do you think that’s about?” he asked cautiously.
Clayton shrugged. “Don’t know,” he said casually before opening one eye to look back at Horatio. “Lieutenant Ecclston’s, alright. So’s Lieutenant Chadd. He rolled onto one elbow. You know why Eccelston sent you up on ropes, don’t you?”
Horatio shook his head.
Clayton flopped onto his back, causing his hammock to sway. “He was hoping you’d be the one.” He glanced about conspiratorially, “As you’ve already figured out, locking horns with Jack Simpson is suicide. Lieutenant Eccleston has a fair idea of what’s happening, but no one will come forward and press charges. He’s been trying to find someone who’ll speak against him since -“
Clayton cut off so sharply that Horatio glanced at the door, expecting to find Simpson standing there. But there was no one there and when he looked back, Clayton was staring at the bunk Archie’d vacated when he’d been called out.
Pieces started falling into place for Horatio. The drastic change in Archie’s demeanor once Simpson had returned, the fit the night before and everyone’s total obsequeusness to Simpson. “He did something to Mr. Kennedy.” Horatio said flatly.
Clayton sat up and pulled his blanket around his shoulders. “Archie doesn’t remember it.”
Horatio looked at him, puzzled, but waited silently for the older man to continue.
“We were off the coast of Ireland, most of the men had been given leave once we’d delivered the dignitaries we were transporting. Two of the Mids were going to be going ashore for their Lieutenant’s exams as soon as we got back, so Archie and I stayed to study with them. Jack had been disallowed leave because he was so far behind in his studies. He was in the mess, so the three of us went up to the gun deck… I don’t remember how we got from staying well clear of him to him becoming furious with us for making him look like a fool. We weren’t doing it deliberately - he’s either too stubborn or too stupid - “ Clayton cut himself off again, looking at the door to be sure he hadn’t been overheard - “to get some of the more basic points of navigational math. Archie was able to do most of the basic questions in his head then. He’d just gotten through explaining the problem I’d given him when Simpson came in and beat him - we were sure - to death.”
Horatio sat up, engrossed and enraged by the tale. “He beat him for knowing how to do math?” Horatio began understand why no one was doing well in Captain Keene’s tutorials.
“You’ll find that very little makes sense when it comes to his temper. He didn’t stop until he’d backhanded Archie across the face so hard that Archie fell… and struck his head on the butt of one of the canons.”
Horatio could feel the blood drain out of his face.
“He was unconscious for three days. We were sure he was going to die. He had fit after fit in the weeks after. He couldn’t hold down food or water… he was ghastly weak and thin for a time.” Clayton looked up from the edge of the blanket he’d been picking at. He wondered why he was telling Horatio this story. It wasn’t as if Archie would want anyone to know. “Hepplewhite isn’t worth a day’s rum ration as a physician - he’s barely tolerable for a surgeon - so I can only suppose that God had other plans for Archie Kennedy. There’s no other reason I can think of that he’d survive.”
Horatio nodded. He could remember his father treating a few people for fits. One had been Mr. Horace who’d been kicked in the head while shoeing a horse. The other had been a little girl his father had delivered with some difficulty when Horatio had been about six. She had remained a simple girl, he recalled. She lived nearby and often ran errands for her mother when she’d gotten old enough. Her mother would write things down and send her with the message, since she never could seem to repeat back the missive with any kind of clarity. Horatio had played with her for a while as they grew up, but as he’d gotten old enough to go to school, she remained quite childish in her interests and he grew annoyed with her. His father had told her that it wasn’t just their age difference, as Horatio had chalked it up to, but that being born so blue and having so many fits kept her brain from developing properly. So Horatio had been a little more tolerant of her insistence on playing with dolls and her completely incontrollable fear of the cat that slept in front of their hearth (Horatio eventually learned to just lock the cat in his bedroom whenever she came by for anything) and her simple language.
He remembered how when she would tell him that the lamps all had rings around them it meant that she was going to have a fit in just a few minutes. And how his father had told him to make sure that she lay on the floor and that he keep things out of reach that she may hurt herself on. He wondered if Archie could tell that it was coming, or if that was something Mary had learned to predict from a lifetime of fits. Logic told him that Archie must have some kind forewarning; otherwise he’d never be so blasé about climbing up the rigging.
He thought about what Clayton had said about Archie being able to do the maths back then. He wondered if Archie was getting them wrong on purpose now to avoid a recurrence of that night or if he’d lost the ability to comprehend when he’d been hurt. He wondered what else he might have lost that night. His chance at making Lieutenant? His chance of ever getting transferred off this floating hell? He wondered if any captain more aware than Keene would keep Kennedy aboard if it became known that he had fits. Something in the pit of his stomach told him that Archie Kennedy was trapped between the devil and the deep blue sea. No other Captain would likely allow him to serve as long as he was having fits, which meant that Archie had to stay in the very place, with the very people that had done this to him.
“Why hasn’t Captain Keene done anything?” Horatio asked through gritted teeth.
“Like I said, no one will go forward. I think he knows that something is amiss. Despite the fact that Jack can’t even do the simplest mathematics, Keene keeps sending him for his Lieutenant’s exam. I don’t know if he hopes that he’ll actually pass and then he can transfer him or if he fails enough time that he’ll get frustrated and leave, but he keeps coming back…” Clayton gripped his blanket in frustration, “Like a bad penny.” As for that particular incident, Archie doesn’t remember that night - I’m not entirely certain he remembers being to Ireland at all - Sudderland passed his Lieutenant’s exam and was transferred to the Mediator immediately afterwards. And I…” He let that statement hang.
Horatio nodded. He’d seen how Clayton had deferred to Jack as well. He supposed seeing a friend beaten nearly to death might have that effect on someone who didn’t have a strong will to begin with.
“There’s something you’ll figure out for yourself sooner or later, Horatio, but I’m going to tell you now…Jack Simpson is twice as cruel, but only half as stupid as we end up believing. If you anger him, he will not only take it out on you. He will find anyone you care for and take it out on them. He’s used my friendship with Archie against him more than once. If I’d spoken up against him in the mess your first night here or here when he ordered me to wake you…” He sighed and squared his shoulders before concluding with, “If I’d spoken against him or refused, Archie would have been beaten - or worse - for my insolence. I’m fairly certain he hasn’t forgotten about last night. It might be best if you stay on your guard for some time.”
Horatio fell back against his pillow. He rubbed his hands over his face as the unstated request penetrated: watch your back, watch Archie’s back, and mine too if you wouldn’t mind. Little wonder everyone was so deferential, so on unnerved.
But he knew his own temper well enough. He was unsure if he’d be able to hold back the next time Simpson started against him. He’d been taught by his father and his teachers that a man did not allow another man to belittle him or bully him. That honor was everything and there was nothing honorable about being walked upon. They never told him what to do when acting in one’s own best interest put others in jeopardy of being beaten.
Or worse. Clayton had said that Archie would have been beaten ‘or worse’. He couldn’t think of anything worse than what had been described to him for several moments. Then he remembered what he’d truly feared when Simpson had him over that table in the mess. He wondered if Clayton had meant that Archie’d been threatened with… Or if he’d actually…
He remembered Archie’s face when Simpson had returned to the mess. There had been more than fear. There had been shame. Horatio began to think the rum in his stomach had somehow gone rancid. And still, after all that, Archie smiled and teased. He protected Horatio from the ratings who were still figuring out how far they could push this newest Midshipman. He still seemed proud to serve in His Majesty’s Navy.
As he stared at the ceiling pondering the unfairness of the world, Archie came back in and threw his jacket onto his chest before hauling himself up onto his bunk. “Mail came in!” he announced holding up a letter. “My sister wrote - she had her second daughter last month.” He was grinning ear to ear.
And Horatio wondered how in the name of everything holy someone who’d been through the things Archie Kennedy had endured could smile like that. And he wondered how someone like Simpson could want to hurt someone who had been nothing but gregarious and helpful to a green Midshipman whom he could have washed his hands of as soon as he’d delivered him to the mess that first gray day.
“She named her Gwendolyn,” Archie went on. “Something of an archaic name, don’t you think?” He glanced from the paper to Horatio.
And when Horatio looked back he knew that he would be that one that Lieutenant Eccleston was looking for. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to risk anything happening to Archie by going to the officers, but Simpson was not going to get away with his contemptible behavior any more. He wasn’t sure how, but he would find a way to stop Jack Simpson. For himself. For Clayton. But most of all, for the shining soul of Archie Kennedy.