Friends at Sea

Chapter 1: Needling Over Needlework

Pete tossed his journal up into the air and then caught it again, peering down to the boy sitting at the desk below him. He prided himself on being able to catch the book without even having to look at it. It was rather entertaining. Well, to a point, anyways. And Pete had just about reached that point.

"How much longer are ya gonna take, Hershtik?" He whined.

"I'm nearly done." Charlie said, gliding the pen across the page with the care and precision of a master scribe.

"What could you possibly be writing in there anyways? All we did today was stare at bowlines and slipknots." Pete continued. He threw his journal up again.

"All midshipmen should strive to maintain a detailed and well-organized logbook. We are graded on them, you know." Charlie dipped the pen into the inkwell as he spoke, not letting the conversation slow down his pace.

"Of course I know that!" Pete refuted. What sort of fool did that kid take him for? The only appropriate response to such words was to tease him back. "But with how much you write, I'd think the officer who ends up looking through yours will die of boredom before he can finish it."

Charlie rolled his eyes. It was too much of a bother to comment on the insult.

"I've peeked at your logbook before, Pete. Whoever reads yours'll probably keel over from all the spelling and grammar mistakes." Tom said with a grin, peeking out from the bunk below.

Pete, flustered, flung his journal up with a bit too much force. It thumped against the overhead and then fell straight down onto his face. He yelped and flung the book across the room in frenzied embarrassment.

Charlie chuckled and penned in the last sentence of his entry. "Alright, I've finished. One of you can have a go at it now." He rose up from the chair and pushed his book towards the back of the desk, leaving the fresh ink to dry out.

"Meh..." Pete grumbled, his way of saying he didn't want to go next. His embarrassment with the book had extinguished his eagerness to write.

"You're such a big baby." Tom said as he pushed himself onto his feet and shuffled over to the desk. He moved the inkwell over to his left side and opened up his logbook. After thumbing through pages filled with smudgy sentences and doodles of plants in the margins, he reached a blank page and began to write.

Charlie grabbed another book from the shelf, a thick one with yellowed pages bound in blue leather. He plopped down on the nearby stool to begin reading it, keeping it close to his chest as he did so.

The trio sat in silence for a while, each of them working on their own separate tasks. Tom wrote, Charlie read, Pete brooded and contemplated getting off his berth to grab his book. It was silence, yes, but it was a comfortable silence.

"Aw dammit." Pete said, interrupting the peace that had settled into the salty cabin air.

"What's the issue now?" Charlie moaned, hardly keeping his patience under control. Why did this Milroy fellow have to talk so much?

"Bloody button's come off my jacket." He held the thing out for the other two to see, a token of silver pinched between his fingers.

"Better go fix it then." Tom said.

"Yeah, yeah." Pete hopped to the floor with a light thud. He gathered the sewing supplies from the trunk and got his logbook while he was down there. He was quick to return to his berth, which he liked to imagine was his own personal crow's nest, a special place from which he could look down upon everything else in the cabin.

"You boys any good at mending?" Pete asked as he gracefully threaded the eye of the needle.

"Not really. Never had to do it back home." Charlie admitted.

"Pff." Pete snorted. "Lucky you."

Charlie looked up from his tome, eyebrows raised comically high. "You really had to do it yourself? Your maid didn't do it for you?"

Pete frowned slightly. He turned his head down and focused on the well-worn fabric in his hands. "...No."

"Strange. They're supposed to do that sorta thing for you, y'know. You should bring it up with your parents about it some time, perhaps."

"Yeah... maybe I'll do that." Pete muttered. How could that boy be so oblivious? He shook his head. Guess that's what you get when someone grows up interacting with no one else in the bloody world beside his tutors and parents. A socially unaware idiot.

"I think it's fun, sewing and stuff." Tom offered to lighten the mood.

Pete's eyes lit up. He'd never known that about Tom before. "Really? What sorta stuff have you made?"

"Oh, nothing too interesting, honestly..." Tom was surprised to hear anyone show such enthusiasm for his hobby. "Just some dolls for my sister, a hat for my mum. Actually, I have something now that I've been working on lately.. Do you want to see it?"

"Of course." Pete was always eager to see whatever Tom was interested in. He watched from his little crow's nest as Tom left his spot at the desk to rummage through the trunk.

"That isn't sewing." Charlie remarked with a squint and wrinkled nose as Tom pulled out a white piece of fabric, stretched taut by a hoop of wood.

"Well, no, it isn't, but it's similar enough."

"Beh! Sewing is practical, gives you something you can use. That is just a hobby. A time-killer."

"Eh?" All of this was going clear over Pete's head. What difference did it make? It was all just work you did with your hands and needles and cloth. He didn't care what name it went by as long as it got the job done.

"It's embroidery, not sewing. Technically. You create an image by using a variety of threads of different colors and making different lines out of them. See?" Tom held the cloth up to Pete's berth. Upon it was an incomplete portrait of a flower with vibrant yellow petals. Around the border was an intricate stitch of few different shades of green, creating the illusion of a wreath of plants. It didn't matter to Pete what the process that had created the picture was called; to him it was beautiful all the same.

"What sort of flower is it?" He asked.

"A cosmos. They're my favorite type, I've always wanted to grow them myself. But since they're only native to the Americas, it's practically impossible to get your hands on any seeds back in England... It's said that they represent harmony, because of the balance in their petals." Tom mused, talking to his artwork more than his fellow midshipmen. Pete smiled anyways. He loved to see Tom so passionate about things, a rare occurrence while they were away at sea.

"That's lovely, the name especially."

"Greek for 'world', right?" Charlie recalled.

"Yeah!.. I like it a lot. Makes you wish that the world was actually in harmony, doesn't it?"

"It does. Well, your.. eh..." Pete had to take pause to recall the word. "...embroidery looks excellent."

"Thanks. I'm glad you like it." A small grin worked its way onto Tom's face as he ran his fingertips over the piece, feeling the smooth ridges of the threads. He'd received compliments on it before, but for some reason Pete's alone had done to make his heart beat just a little bit faster.

"Oy! I can hear you chatting to each other in there! You lot are supposed to be asleep right now, as you should know!" Called out the gruff, craggy voice of the ever-foul third mate.

"We apologize, Mr. Flynn!" Charlie answered promptly. "We'll go to bed at once!"

"You'd better! A busy day awaits you all tomorrow!"

Charlie stood up and went to kill the flame flickering within the lantern above, plunging the cabin into darkness.

"Hey, I didn't get to write my entry!" Pete protested. Upon his face was a pouty expression that neither of his companions were able to see.

"Shame." Charlie said. Serves Milroy right for insulting his writing. "Good night, Milroy."

"Night, Hershtik." Pete grumbled. Already, plans of petty revenge were brewing in his mind as he set aside his mending materials and pulled the blanket over his body.

Tom let out a weary sigh. This was going to be a long voyage. "Good night, both of you."

Chapter 2: A Rigging Rescue

Author's Note: This chapter was co-written by MortNoire.

"Milroy! Lanke! You couple of boiled potatoes!" Charlie called, rushing up the stairs out onto the main deck in a huff. His cheeks were red both from running all over the ship in search of his fellow midshipmen, and from growing anger at their abandonment of their duties. At last he had found them, and by the looks of it they were up to no good.

Pete snorted and nudged Tom lightly in the ribs. "Ugh. That guy again. What was it, Gar... Har... Hersh... tick?"

"Yeah, something like that. Weird name for a weird fellow." Tom checked his footing then looked back to Pete. "You sure climbing up here is a good idea?"

"Pff. Course it's a good idea, I know what I'm doing." Pete gloated, pulling his hand away from the ropes to point a thumb at his chest. "Been sneaking all over ships for as long as I could work on one!"

Charlie grumbled to himself. Looked like they were doing their best to ignore his presence. He began shouting up to them, yet at the same time he didn't want to draw too much attention to himself, resulting in a strange whisper-yell. "What the hell are you two doing up there?! Kissing or something?! Get down, you're going to get me in trouble by association! You know that only topmen are authorized to be up there!"

"Why're you askin'? Wanna join us?" Pete replied with an obnoxious grin spread across his face. He looped his arm around Tom's shoulder and pulled him in to kiss the air a few inches away from his cheek.

Charlie grimaced. What a crude suggestion. "Heavens no! Climb down here this instant before one of the officers sees what you're doing!"

Tom was relieved he turned down the offer, joke or not. Pete was his best friend. No one was supposed to interfere with the things they did together. But that was besides the point. "Mr. Richardson's cat is bein' a bloody idiot again! We're trying to get it down."

Pete raised his head up, trying to catch sight of the bastard cretin through the intense glare of the sun. It seemed he had no interest in following Charlie's request.

Well, in that case. Charlie wouldn't let this pair of lackadaisical know-nothings outdo him. He double-checked for any nearby officers, then started climbing up to join them. This wasn't the time to be hasty, though. He kept a steady pace up the rigging, and Tom slapped his forehead and groaned as he noticed him slowly making his way up to join them.

"Oh, bugger off, Hershtik! We don't need your help! Pete 'n I can handle it just fine!" Tom snarled at the boy who was now only a few rungs below where he stood.

"No, no, come on up! Three's a party, eh?" Pete said, winking.

"What?"

"Nevermind. Move aside, Tom."

Tom didn't really understand what Pete was getting at but didn't bother questioning it, and took small steps over to make room for Charlie.

Charlie shielded his eyes with a palm and gazed around. "Where's the cat, then?"

"It's around here somewhere." Pete replied. "Cats are tricky, they can sneak right past ya without you even noticing. But I'll get my hands on that slippery devil, just you see." It almost seemed like the cat would be a trophy to be held above his head rather than an animal that needed to be rescued.

"Not if I get my hands on her first." Charlie challenged.

"Ohoh? You know, I'm surprised you even managed to get all the way up here with how 'pampered' you are!" Pete said as he pinched Charlie's side.

Charlie swatted Pete's hand away and began climbing again, leaving behind the other two boys. "Oh, put a sock in it! I can handle myself just fine! Just watch me! I'll get that cat before either of you can even set your eyes on her!"

Pete was grinning, eyes up. Tom followed where he was looking, and began to realize what was on Pete's mind. He was getting mean again... And Tom knew what that meant. His glare was unnoticed as Pete suddenly lunged and grabbed a hold of Charlie's ankle.

"Oy, let go! You're gonna make me fall! Wanker!!" Charlie growled, trying to kick away Pete's slim hand.

Unfortunately, Pete tugged playfully at the same time, and the combined force sent his sole right into Pete's face.

"Gaahh!" The kick knocked Pete off-balance and he nearly plunged down into the sea below. But Tom, standing by and watching all of this senseless folly unfold before him, reached out in the nick of time and grabbed him by the sleeve of his jacket. Pete saw his life flash before his eyes, and his racing heart descended deep into the pit of his stomach. He clung onto both Tom and Charlie, panicked and still fearing for his life.

"Let me go!" Charlie shrieked, feeling his grip loosening as an entire body weight was suddenly dangling from his ankle. He flailed his legs frantically, trying to shake Pete off of him.

"No, no, wait!" Tom said. "You'll just make us all fall! We need to just calm down for a moment, no sudden movements."

"I'm slipping!!" Charlie's panic was only growing, as was his flailing. He hadn't the patience nor foresight to listen to Tom's plea.

"Knock it off!" Tom reached over to Charlie's legs and tried to hold them in place. "Stop being such a whiny brat! You're gonna get us killed!"

"Oy!! What's all the ruckus about up there?"

The precariously-dangling boys looked down to see first mate Parry standing on the main deck far below them. Around him was a scattered crowd of crew members, all straying from their duties to gawk at the commotion that had broken out in the rigging. Nothing this exciting had happened onboard for weeks. Parry's arms were folded across his chest, and although he was too far away for his expression to be made out, they were sure it was one of disappointment. He was not at all entertained by the very real danger the three midshipmen had posed to themselves.

Pete's nerves were still fried by his near-fall, but the looming threat of punishment quickly sobered him up. He reluctantly let go of the other two and cleared his throat to answer the officer watching them from below. "Nothing, sir!"

"Milroy?! What are you boys doing up in the rigging?! You'd better find your way down to the deck right now!" Parry ordered like a disappointed father.

With pathetic pouts on their faces, the three boys climbed down, their quest for Richardson's cat failed spectacularly. They hadn't even seen her once while they were up there. But that was the least of their worries in that moment. Their shoulders sagged in defeat, their faces cast downward, unable to look Parry in the eyes, who by now had been joined by Captain Longfellow.

"Are you lads causing trouble? You didn't forget what your punishment would be for doing things such as this, did you?" Longfellow warned, brows furrowed.

A frustrated sigh slipped out of Pete's mouth, his antics put to an end. "No, sir..." Tom and Charlie echoed him quietly.

"Well, you best get started then."

Charlie knew he had no choice, no place to defy the captain's commands, even if this whole fiasco wasn't his fault in the slightest. For moral support, he bent down and petted the slender tabby who had rubbed up against his leg, until it clicked in his mind.

"Wait a bloody second." He sent an accusatory glare towards the other midshipmen. "You rotten turnips! You lied to me!"

Pete's jaw dropped, both at the sight of the cat and at Charlie's assertion. "No we didn't! We really were looking for the damn thing, honest! How'd it get down here?"

"Didn't you say it yourself that cats can slip by you without notice?" Tom teased with slight laughter. Charlie was quick to join him.

"Oh, shut it."

Chapter 3: The Boys' Bet

"Aughh...." Charlie moaned, rubbing his forehead.

"What, can't handle a spot of cow's blood?" Tom asked, although in truth he was nearly as disturbed as his friend was. He really only said it to mask his own discomfort.

O'Farrell frowned slightly. He hated to hear the two midshipmen mocking the third over something he couldn't control, but it was hardly his place to scold them for it. He looked down to the now-deceased animal sitting on the deck before him. He gently pulled the knife away from her throat and went to Charlie, placing a friendly hand on his shoulder.

"Need anything, sir? Maybe a drink to ward off the nausea."

"Mm... yes, please. That would be lovely." Charlie said as he wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his jacket.

"Alright, sir. I'll get that to ya in just a tick." O'Farrell clambered over to the other side of the pen, then turned back to the boys. "You lads aren't done in helpin' me out just yet, though. While Mr. Hershtik recovers you two'll assist in butcherin' her."

Tom and Pete nodded as O'Farrell paced off to find a steward or perhaps Sefton himself. Tom set down the axe he'd just used and went to Charlie's side.

"Jokes aside, are you feeling well?"

"Eh, yeah. I'll be fine..." Charlie answered, a hand still touched to his spinning head. His eyes trailed down, and he had to resist grinning like an idiot when he realized what his friend had done. "Em, watch where you're stepping, Tom."

Tom followed where Charlie was looking and leapt back as he came to realize that he had both feet firmly planted in a puddle of vomit. "Aghh!! Disgusting!"

"Ha! Look at the two of you! What a mess this has turned out to be, eh?" Pete chuckled, a ridiculing finger jabbed towards both his friends.

"It's not that funny... Now my shoes are all— Oh, how am I ever gonna get these clean?!" Tom fretted, his hands wandering up to his neckerchief to fidget with it nervously.

"Well, it's not like we have frequent laundry days around here. Guess you'll just have to deal with it for the time being." Charlie stated, attempting to move on from his little embarrassment. Once more, he cleared his throat, still burning from the stomach acid.

"Ugh! So undignified. Why must ships be some of the most disgusting places in the whole world..?"

"What's all this about now, gentlemen?" O'Farrell asked, returning to the area with a softly steaming mug in hand.

"Tom's bein' a dumbass, so nothing new." Pete said.

O'Farrell shook his head and extended the tankard out to Charlie. He gladly accepted it, already put at ease by the warmth of it against his palms.

"Thank you, Mr. O'Farrell."

"You're welcome, sir. Now you enjoy that while me 'n your friends take care of this, yeah?"

Charlie nodded as he took a sip of the warm, rum-infused tea. He turned his back to the mess within the pen and drank away, trying his best to tune out the rather unpleasant-sounding instructions from O'Farrell and the accompanying sloshes and slashes. Once Tom and Pete had stopped being of use to the butcher, the man kindly relieved them of their duties. At last the midshipmen were permitted to leave the pen and return to their cabin for some downtime before lunch.

"That was utterly horrific. The most barbaric thing I've ever witnessed with my own two eyes in my life." Charlie declared as he closed the door behind him. "I'm never eating meat again."

"Oh, is that so?" Tom took off his vomit-coated shoes and tossed them into a corner. He'd have to clean them later, in his own time. He couldn't just wait around for laundry day.

"Yep, never again. And I mean it."

"Impressive. But are you really gonna stick to it? You know how bland the food here is even with meat. Can you imagine how dreadful it'd be if you were to cut it out? How hungry you'd be?" Pete said. He could hardly fathom it. He was always sure to clean every morsel of food off his plate.

"I mean, he never eats half the stuff on his plate anyways. It'll hardly make a difference to him."

"That's true but I don't know..." Pete tapped his chin thoughtfully. His eyes narrowed playfully, a weasel-y scheme crystalizing in his mind. "I don't think you have the willpower to stick to it."

Charlie gasped. "Course I do!"

"Oh yeah? Let's make it a wager then. Me 'n Tom place bets on how long you can go without eating meat. Whoever ends up getting the closest wins. But if you manage to go without meat for.... let's say, a week or more longer than either of our guesses, you take the money."

"Ha! That's easy. How much are we wagering?" A mischievous grin spread across Charlie's face.

"Well, let's see what all we've got." Tom stuck his hand deep into his jacket pocket and pulled out a few coins. "I've got... eh, five pence." He tossed them onto the desk.

"I have two." Pete muttered, adding in his own.

"Seven." Charlie dropped his coins onto the pile.

"So... fourteen? Fourteen pence to whoever has the most accurate guess?" Tom confirmed.

"Sounds good to me." Pete rubbed his hands together in anticipation.

"Alright. I give him... one month."

"Pff, really? I give him one week."

"Wow, I see now how little faith you have in me. Fine then. I'll prove you both wrong."

"Yeah, sure. Just like that time you swore to us you'd work on your fighting skills, right? When was the last time you even picked up a sword?" Pete remarked.

"That's hardly comparable! I haven't been able to work on it because no one wants to practice with me! You two always fight against each other and I get left out!"

"Whatever you say, Charlie." Pete said, throwing his hands up into the air in a shrug.

"Ugh. You bastards are impossible."

"Anyways, is it a deal then? Is the wager on?" Tom asked.

"Yes."

"Yeah, it's on."

"Alright, let's shake on it then." Tom stuck out his hands to the other two. The three of them soon ended up in an awkward tangle of criss-crossing arms and shook each other's hands. Which one of them would end up victorious, claiming for himself the fourteen pence sitting on the desk? Only time would tell.

Pete and Tom drifted back into the cabin, nearly ready to collapse from both the physical and emotional exhaustion. Tom was tired, yet somehow too tired to lay down in his berth. He couldn't just sleep off what he'd been through. Aimless, he wandered over and stood next to the desk. Absently, he placed a hand down on it, only for his fingertips to find a pile of coins sitting there, cool to the touch and clinking together quietly.

Right, that stupid bet.

That one the three of them had made a couple weeks ago.

Charlie had won that bet; he'd stuck to his promise in a sick, twisted way.

He had never eaten meat ever again.

Tom scooped the coins into his palm and tossed them out the porthole. They fell into the water outside with the faintest of splashes and sank down into the abyss.

Chapter 4: Dueling Dangers

Pete lunged forward, thrusting his sword wildly in Charlie's general direction. Charlie swiftly brought up his own to block the attack, a satisfying clang sounding off as the two blades met.

"Good block, Hershtik! Keep it up!" Perrott remarked, still able to observe the boys' fight while engaged in his own squirmish against Tom. It wasn't too hard, considering Tom was seldom bold enough to make any advances of his own.

Pete regained his footing after having his attack foiled and immediately went back for another one. And again, Charlie moved his own cutlass into position just in time for the attack to fail. This process had perpetuated for nearly five minutes.

"Block, block, block! That's all you're doing, Charlie!" Pete whined. He fell out of proper sword-fighting stance, his arms dangling at his sides and his shoulders slouched poutily. He was guaranteed to be enjoying himself as long as a sword was in his hands, but this stalemate was starting to drag on a bit. "At least try to parry me!"

"Fine then! Come at me! Make your move!"

Pete grinned. It looked like he finally managed to fire Charlie up a bit. Hopefully then things would be a bit more interesting. He returned to proper form and then really focused this time, searching for a hole in Charlie's defense. The boy's sword was still held low from his previous block, leaving the perfect opening for Pete to jab towards his upper body. He made his move, swinging his sword high above his head.

"Agh!" Charlie yelped, taken aback by the sudden calculation behind his opponent's movements. Still maintaining his composure, he shielded the attack by bringing up his sword with both hands, one wrapped around the grip and the other holding onto the dull edge of the blade. Pete's sword bounced off, giving Charlie the opportunity to counter with a faux-stab at Pete's heart.

"Hey! He can't do that! It's not in the rulebook!" Pete waggled his sword at Charlie accusingly, looking to Perrott for affirmation.

"Who cares about the bloody rulebook!? You woulda split my head in half if I hadn't done that!" Charlie retorted.

"Now, now, you two." Perrott gave them a placating hand wave. "Both of you have a point. Milroy, your move did pose a serious threat to Hershtik's safety, meaning it too is against the rulebook. And Hershtik, blocks such as the one you just did may be popular in theatre and fantasy books, but it isn't a standard move in naval swordplay. Don't do it again."

Pete crossed his arms in a huff and gave Charlie a wicked side eye as Perrott reprimanded him. Charlie only responded with an eye roll, frustrated that his attempt to impress the spectating officers had only earned him admonition.

Perrott shook his head and turned back to the boy standing before him. "Anyways, back to business, Lanke. You can't just stand there and wait for things to happen to you. Go on, make a lunge of your own."

"But what if I hurt you on accident?" Tom muttered, staring down at the shiny metal of the sword in his hand.

"No such thing would happen, lad, I'll be fine. Go ahead. Try it." Perrott nodded in encouragement.

"...Alright." Tom tried to loosen his shoulders in preparation for his big move. Everyone's eyes were on him now. Perrott, Pete, Charlie, and from the aft deck above, Witterel and Hoscut. He had to do this right. He tightened his grip on the sword and then, after a deep breath, lunged. He thrust his sword out high, aiming vaguely for Perrott's head. But the old man swiftly ducked out of the way, not even having to raise his sword in a counter. Tom had failed. But he'd put far too much force behind the attack. He overextended himself, disrupting his balance and shifting his weight off his feet... The next thing he knew, he was sprawled out on the deck, lying flat on his stomach.

"Oof..."

Both Pete and Charlie doubled over with laughter. Tom found the situation not nearly as amusing as they did.

Witterel chuckled lightly, resting against the railing to get a better look. "Ahh, reminds you of our midshipmen days, doesn't it?"

"Aye." Hoscut said as he watched Perrott pull the fallen boy back onto his feet again.

"What wild days those were.."

"All thanks tae you 'n your antics."

"Antics?..." Witterel stroked his mustache, feigning deep thought. "I don't recall getting into any antics back then."

"Don't try tae play stupid with me, Rob. Ye were a bastard back in the day. Remember that time ye tried tae take all those blokes from the mollyhouse onboard? Cap'n nearly beheaded ye for that one."

"Oh, please. You wanted me to bring them. I stuck my neck out for your sake."

"Not true in the slightest."

"Fine, fine. You can have your version of the story, and I can have the correct one."

Hoscut sighed deeply, trying to return his focus to the midshipmen, who by now had resumed their sparring.

"You make the first move for this round, Charlie." Pete suggested. "And try not to break any rules this time. Mrs. Hershtik would be heartbroken to hear that her sweet little baby boy isn't playing nice." He accentuated his tease with a wink.

"You are so dead!" Charlie got into a fighting stance and raised up his sword, ready to give Pete what for.

"In your dreams!" Pete matched his movements, ready to ward off any incoming attacks.

Charlie plunged the blade forward, aiming low, near Pete's legs. A sword moved to meet it, then turned up towards Charlie for a parry. Charlie pushed back against it, then redirected the attack off to the left, deflecting it deftly. As Pete recovered from the block, Charlie aimed high. He had intended only to jab the air above Pete's shoulder, but the boy suddenly moved to the right, trying to make an attack of his own. Charlie attempted to withdraw his attack, but the momentum of his move dragged the blade forward, directly into Pete's face.

"Ah, fuck!" Pete shrieked, dropping his cutlass onto the deck. Tom and Charlie were quick to do the same and immediately rushed to their friend's side, terrified that he'd been gravely injured. But Pete cradled his face in his hands, and the boys were unable to see where exactly he'd been hit.

"Oh dear." Perrott joined into the huddle around the injured boy, as did Witterel and Hoscut.

Hoscut put an assuring hand on Pete's arm. "Let us see it, Milroy."

Pete, still wincing in pain, retracted his now red palms from his face, then turned up to look Hoscut in the face. There was a small cut carved deep into his right eyebrow. He was stuck in a permanent wink, to keep out the blood that was trickling all along that side of his face. Tom couldn't help but sigh in relief. He nearly thought Charlie had taken out his eye or slashed an awful gash across his cheek. But no, it was just an eyebrow.

"Ah, nothing too serious, luckily." Witterel remarked over Hoscut's shoulder. "Fetch the surgeon if you would, Perrott."

"Yessir." Perrott nodded and began his jog down to the orlop deck.

"I'm terribly sorry, Pete. I wasn't intending to hurt you." Charlie apologized, rubbing his arm. He couldn't bring himself to look Pete in the eye as he spoke.

"Eghhhh." Pete was still in too much of a shock to find any words. Instead, he waved his hand and shook his head. 'It isn't your fault.' His body said.

Tom draped an arm around Pete's shoulder and patted it, offering what little comfort he could in such a situation. Charlie was a bit listless as they waited for Pete to regain his composure, unsure of how he could make up for doing such a thing to him. He found that he had begun fiddling with his neckerchief while trying to think of something, and the perfect solution came to mind at that moment. He pulled out the cloth tucked into his jacket and undid the knot, then pulled it away from his throat and bundled it up into a ball.

"Here you go." He held it out to Pete.

"Eh? Oh, thanks." Pete grabbed the rag and held it up against his blood-soaked face. "Heheh, damn, Charlie. I didn't realize you hated me that much."

"It really was an accident, I swear! What do I need to do to—"

Pete waved away the apology. "I'm just joking, Charlie! It's fine. It was obviously an accident. Although that doesn't mean I'm not gonna take my revenge for it."

"What?"

"Don't worry about it! I'm not being serious, right, Tom?" Pete nudged Tom with an elbow.

Truth be told, Tom couldn't tell whether Pete was being serious or not. "R-right."

Charlie relaxed his tensed-up posture. "Hm... It doesn't hurt much, does it...?"

"Nah, not too much. It was just a bit of a shock, is all. Never been stabbed in the face before."

"Oh, it was hardly a stab! I just nicked you a bit."

Pete put the back of his hand against his forehead and spoke in a sobbing, melodramatic voice. "Oh, gaze upon me, mother! Look upon the carnage that this treacherous bastard hath committed against mine beautiful face. Oh, woe is me! I have now the most wretched visage known to the seven seas! Oh, woe!"

Tom and Charlie laughed at Pete's theatrical display. Seemed to them like he would be alright in spite of his wound.

"Witterel, sir, what seems to be the issue?" Evans inquired, having come up to the main deck accompanied by Perrott.

"Nothing to get too concerned over, I'd think. Hershtik gave Milroy a small nick in the face while they were practicing their swordplay." The captain gestured over to the midshipmen, whose swords were discarded in a nearby pile on the deck.

"I see." Evans gave an understanding nod. "Come here, Milroy."

The boy obeyed and pulled away Charlie's neckerchief to allow the surgeon to inspect his injury.

"Will he need stitches?" Tom asked.

"Eh, no, I'd think not." Evans answered as he reached into his kit for his own rag to clean the wound with.

"Thank God." Hoscut said under his breath. He'd seen more than his fair share of sailors losing their lives to infections brought about by invasive surgical procedures.

"So..." Pete began, trying to sound casual. "Am I gonna have a scar from this?"

Evans stifled a sigh. He'd heard this question from sailors countless times before, especially from young boys like Pete. "It's... fairly likely, given the location."

Pete punched up into the air in excitement. "Hell yeah!"

Chapter 5: Follies and Fortunes

"Morning, Tom!"

Tom's eyes fluttered open to meet Pete's head hanging down from the bunk above.

"Morning." He returned groggily, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

Pete jumped down from his spot and looked at Tom upright, hands on his hips. "Have you forgotten what today is?"

"No, of course not."

"Well, you aren't nearly excited enough for the occasion! Show some enthusiasm!"

"I've just woken up, Pete. Not everyone has as much energy as you do first thing in the morning." Tom pushed himself out of bed. "Anyways, how can I be in the mood to celebrate anything when I'm on some dingy, stinking ship?"

"You've got the two of us." Pete consoled, jabbing his thumb over to Charlie, whose face was buried in a book.

"Huh? What's happening?"

"Tom. Birthday. Celebrating. Join us."

"I'm not much one for partying, sorry. You two have your fun."

"Blech! What do I have to do to make you participate?"

"Why don't you give me a few suggestions and I'll tell you which of them might pique my interest?"

"There'll be drinks." Pete offered with eyes sparkling, clearly looking forward to them himself.

"Nope, not interested in making a fool of myself."

"Me neither." Tom said as he pushed his messy bedhead hair back into its proper style. "You'll probably be alone in that venture, Pete."

"Pthh!! Neither of you are any fun." Pete contemplated a bit more for something that would entice Charlie. "Card games? We could put some money at stake if that'll interest you."

"Perhaps. But please, continue with your suggestions."

Damn, Pete really thought that was going to work. He was starting to become desperate. What did it take to pry that boy away from his damn books? "We can sing a little? Dance? Maybe even do some hornpipe?"

"Hmm.. getting closer. You'll still have to do better than that though."

"Ugh, you know I'm terrible at the hornpipe." Tom complained.

"So what? It's fun to watch you trip over your two left feet."

"But I—"

"I'm in." Charlie said decisively, slapping his book closed.

"Wha?" Pete asked, dumbfounded.

"I'll participate if it means I get to watch Tom make himself look silly doing a funny sailor dance."

"Ughhh..." Tom moaned. "Why me?.. Why me..."

"We love you, Tom!" Pete said in a singsong voice.

"Right..."

The trio finished getting ready and then spent the day doing the usual activities, receiving instructions from the officers, meeting crew to carry out tasks, reporting back to the officers so they could get even more instructions. It was just like any other day for them. Only after dinner time had passed could the celebrations really begin.

"Heheh, alright, Tom. It's finally time for some fun to happen!" Pete announced, sliding back onto the bench alongside his friend. In his arms were three mugs filled to the brim with grog, much of which got splashed out onto the table with Pete's careless movements.

"What's this? Both of us said we're passing on the drinks." Charlie said, nose wrinkled.

"Yeah I know, but I thought I'd get 'em anyways in case you changed your minds." Pete rather conspicuously nudged the mugs closer to each of his friends. "That isn't the main thing that'll be fueling the fun tonight though." He reached into an inner pocket of his jacket and pulled out a deck of cards.

"We play cards every other night. What's so special about that?" Charlie nagged.

"This isn't your standard deck of playing cards, you dunce, it's a Tarocchi deck!" Pete demonstrated by splaying a few cards out in his hand, revealing beautifully detailed illustrations upon the faces. "Mr. Pasqua let me borrow 'em for the occasion."

"Tarocchi? What's that?" Tom asked as he swiped a card from Pete's grasp to get a better look at the art.

"Not sure really, but he showed me the basics of how to play a game with 'em. Wanna give it a shot?" Pete snatched the card back and started to shuffle the deck.

"Yeah sure, why not." Charlie shrugged. "Can't be too hard, can it?"

"Shouldn't be. Heheh, if I can remember his instructions properly, that is." Pete chuckled.

"Wait, we haven't even caught a glimpse of Pasqua today. When did you get these from him?" Charlie's next sentence came out in a harsh whisper. "You didn't steal them, did you?!"

"Don't be daft! He handed 'em to me a couple days ago. Been planning this party for a while, you see." He gave his friend a warm smile. "Wanted to make sure it was an enjoyable evening for you, Tom."

"Well, thank you for the effort." He was humbled at how much consideration Pete had put into this. It was markedly.. unlike him to be so thorough with his planning.

After Pete dealt the cards out and gave Tom and Charlie his foggy recollections of Pasqua's explanation, the game was under way. As things progressed though, they came to the realization that he definitely got something terribly wrong at some point, because it appeared that the game was absolutely unwinnable for all three of them. But they didn't mind that one bit. In fact, they found Pete's folly so amusing that they didn't even want Pasqua to correct things for them when he wandered up to the gun deck to see how things were faring. They decided they'd keep going with the doomed game until they all passed out from laughing too hard. The plans for singing and dancing and watching Tom's terrible attempt at hornpipe had all slipped from their minds.

"Hello, lads." The captain's wife approached the table with that same old friendly smile of hers. "Have ye seen— oh, what's this? Are ye doin' a tarot readin'?"

"A what?"

"A tarot readin'! That's what those cards're used for."

"These belong to Mr. Pasqua, and he said they're just used for playing games."

"Ah, well, there's a famous French book explainin' how tae use these cards tae tell yer fortune as well. Do ye lads want me tae do that for ye?"

Tom cocked an eyebrow as he glanced to Pete. Sounded like rubbish to him. Pete could only look back at him with a big stupid grin on his face. "C'mon, Tom! Don't you want to learn a little bit about what the future holds for you?"

Well, it would certainly be a unique experience. And really what more could one ask for when trying to make a birthday spent at sea bearable?

"Sure, let's try it."

"Lovely! Mind makin' some room fer me?"

"Of course, ma'am." Charlie scooted down and Abigail took her seat next to him.

"Alright. Now, I'll take all o' these cards up.." Abigail scooped the scattered cards into her hands and began separating them into major and minor arcana. The boys couldn't help but feel a bit sad that their hackneyed, hours-long game of Tarocchi had come to an end. "Now, before I can do anythin', I'll have tae know who's goin' first."

"Tom is." Pete volunteered. "He's the one having a birthday after all."

"Oh, is that so? Well, happy birthday tae ye, Mr. Lanke. So, young man, what do ye want the cards tae tell ye?"

"Eh?"

"Ye got tae ask 'em a question so they ken how tae answer."

"Oh.. hmm..." Tom ran his hand through his hair in contemplation. "What obstacles will I be facing on this voyage?"

"Excellent question, Mr. Lanke." Abigail shuffled the major arcana before spreading them across the table. "Now, pick any three cards from here. The first will represent yer mind, the second yer body, the third yer spirit."

Tom picked out three cards as asked and Abigail turned the first one over. Upon it was an angel with huge, feathery wings.

"Ah, that's the Temperance card. You'll be facin' difficult times on this voyage, times that'll put a strain on yer mental state. Ye may just want tae give up at points. But ye can overcome it if ye keep yerself levelheaded an' patient."

Abigail overturned the next card, revealing a cloaked old man.

"Here we have the Hermit. Loneliness will be one o' the hardships you'll be dealin' with in the comin' months. Not just the 'detachment from yer peers' sort of loneliness either. You'll be facin' new situations all on yer own, with no one tae rely on but yerself."

"How am I to be lonely when these two'll never stop being thorns in my side?" Tom asked with a chuckle.

"I dunno. That's up tae you tae figure out. An' finally, we've got.." she turned over the final card, a scene depicting both a man and a woman, standing naked in a field. "The Lovers."

"Ha!" Charlie cried out upon seeing the image. "Tom's gonna find love here? That's preposterous!"

"Well, the Lovers don't always mean romance, ye ken. They can mean the platonic love between two friends as well. Anyways, this means that you'll have tae fall upon yer relationships, or perhaps forge a new one, in order tae keep yer spirit at ease in this voyage. The other cards seem tae indicate a difficult journey fer ye, an' yer love will probably be the most important thing in survivin' it an' comin' out a better person fer it."

"Interesting.." Tom said. He was entirely unconvinced that this was a genuine way of seeing into the future. Love? On the Obra Dinn? How?

"Tommy's gonna fall in love!!" Charlie teased, ignoring Abigail's earlier clarification. "Who'd you think it'll be, eh? Hoscut? One of the passengers? A siren? Oh no, maybe it'll be that bugger little monkey!"

Pete blew a raspberry at him. "You aren't nearly as funny as you think you are, Charlie."

"Am too!"

"No you aren't!"

"I'm loads funnier than you are!"

"Prove it! Tell me a joke right now that'll..."

As Pete and Charlie fell into one of their usual petty shouting matches, Tom looked over to Abigail and gave her a helpless shrug. She wasn't too troubled though, it was amusing to her to see what sort of things would turn into squabbles between the young midshipmen.

"Well, it's about time I excuse meself. Still have tae find where Fillip's gone off tae." She said as she removed herself from the table. "Let me know if ye'd like me tae do yer readings again sometime."

"Thank you, Mrs. Witterel!" Tom waved her goodbye. He listened back in on his friends' bickering, which had somehow jumped to the subject of who would make for a better captain. He shook his head. Temperance, those silly cards told him. Just keep moving along. "Hey, didn't we say we'd all watch me do some atrocious dancing earlier?"

"Oh yeah! Completely forgot about that. Still in the mood for it?" Pete asked.

"Of course! You wanna make bets on how many times I'm gonna fall on my ass?"

"Five— no, ten times!" Charlie said with a decisive slap on the table.

Pete, slightly tipsy from his drink, answered with "A hundred!!"

"Tch, alright. But don't complain to me in the morning when you've lost all your money." Tom said.

"No, I'm gonna win, I'm sure of it." Pete said as he scooted off the bench.

"Yeah right." Charlie said indignantly.

The boys ran off up to the main deck, where a small group of partying crew mates had already gathered. Pasqua was there, playing his violin, and his cards were dutifully returned to him. And so the midshipmen spent the rest of the night doing all the things they set out to do. And though his rear end was rather sore by the end of it, Tom found that he had a good time, just as Pete planned. Surely, nothing could go wrong on this voyage, those tarot cards be damned.

The Atrocity of Arrogance

Tom slapped his book closed and pushed himself out of his berth. He dreaded the walk over to the bookshelf at the other end of the cabin, as he was almost certain that there were no more books upon it that he had left unread. Oh well. It wouldn't hurt him to look through the Bibliotheca Botanica again. Perhaps he could even sketch a few plants from it, if the mood struck. As he began to walk over, he took a peek over Charlie's shoulder, at the book that was laid out on the desk before him. Immediately he could see that it was something strange; the numerous pages were thin and yellowed with age, the leather it was bound in was dyed deep blue and very well-worn, and the symbols inked in a faded black were absolutely foreign to him. What in God's name...?

"Oy, what is it that you're reading?" Tom asked, stepping aside to lean over and get a better look at the unusual characters written on the paper. "It doesn't look like anything I've ever seen before. It isn't Greek or Latin, obviously, so what is it?"

At once, the hairs on Charlie's neck stood straight up, his posture growing tense. He rolled his shoulders around, trying to release the built-up tension. He rested his hands over the pages as if obscuring the symbols from Tom's vision would somehow make him forget that they were there. He should've known not to read this book at the desk. They were bound to notice it eventually.

"What, gonna summon a demon with your magical book, Charles?" Pete sneered from high up in his berth, not even knowing what exactly Tom was talking about.

"No." Charlie answered curtly, eyes focused on the page. Perhaps keeping conversation to a minimum would make them lose interest in it.

"So what is it then?" Tom continued, genuinely curious. He shot a critical glance up to Pete. He enjoyed teasing Charlie too, but he found it a bit uncouth to accuse him of witchcraft. Pete's focus was still trained on the trousers he was mending, so the glare went unnoticed. Tom rolled his eyes and returned his attention to the unusual book.

Charlie took a deep breath. "...I'm reading the Torah."

"Torah?" Pete's freckled face emerged from his work, his attention at last captured by the unfamiliar word. It did nothing to dispel the notions of sorcery from his mind. He cast a judging stare down to the boy sitting at the desk below him. "What's that?"

A sigh escaped from Charlie's mouth. Of course he shouldn't have expected a swain like Pete to know what he was talking about. That meant he'd have to explain to him what it meant. Fantastic. He fiddled with the corner of the page with his index finger as he thought up an explanation simple enough for that bastard to understand.

"Both of you are Christians, correct?" He began.

"Yeah?" Tom answered, a bit confused at the sudden inquisition. Pete nodded along with him.

"..So that means you read the Bible?" Charlie continued.

"Supposed to." Pete admitted. Tom shot him another look. This time, Pete noticed it and in response stuck his tongue out at him.

"Well. The Torah is like the Bible, but instead of being for Christians, it's for—" a sharp inhale. "—Jewish people. I'm.. I'm Jewish."

"Oh." Both of the other boys uttered. The revelation floated around the air for a while, as they took it in. It was growing tense fast, and Tom could feel that. He decided another question would ease things up a bit.

"So what are those symbols exactly?"

"...It's Hebrew. The traditional language of the Jewish people." Charlie answered quietly, still unsure of Tom's perception of him.

"Interesting. So you can read all of that? Understand what it says?" Tom stabbed his finger at a line of Hebrew characters.

"For the most part." Charlie gently swatted Tom's hand away. "There are some words I don't quite know.. but I can usually understand the meaning from context."

"That's pretty neat. Don't you think so?"

Pete didn't answer for a long while, still staring down at Charlie like a hawk.

"Pete?"

"...Yeah, sure. Very cool."

Tom frowned and looked back down to Charlie, who had already turned back to his book. Tom couldn't find anything he could do to properly comfort him so he returned to his berth for some rest. He wasn't quite in the mood for reading anymore.

Things were tense in the coming days of their voyage. Pete and Charlie were too bitter to speak to each other, and Tom hadn't the courage to speak up and act as mediator between them. It felt to him like a fuse had been lit, and it was inching towards a massive stock of gunpowder, bound to explode.

Another evening of stilted, joyless free time had begun, yet it seemed like Charlie was unable to settle down, searching up and down their cabin in a subdued panic. At last he stopped and finally spoke to Pete.

"Where is it." It didn't even sound like a question.

Pete gave no reply, not even sparing him a single glance.

"Where's what?" Tom asked in his stead.

"Pete knows what I'm talking about. C'mon. Spit it out. Where did you put it?"

Pete looked down to him with the cold-blooded eyes of a snake, giving him the first eye contact they had shared in days. "Tossed it."

Charlie's eyes grew wide. "T-t-tossed it? Overboard!?" His hands squeezed into fists of fury, and his eyes clouded over with tears. "You bastard!! I'll kill you!!!" He lunged forward, fist sailing up into the air towards Pete.

Tom's heart was beating faster than a racehorse. He had let this go much too far. If he didn't step in now, the two boys might never have the chance of being friends. He shot up onto his feet, putting himself between them. "Don't.." he whimpered out. "Don't fight..."

"Why not!? That book was nearly a hundred years old, it's massively important to my family! And that bastard tossed it away like it was a piece of crap!!"

"Because it is a piece of crap!" Pete snarled. "I did you a favor!"

"In what way is that a favor, you gentile knobhead!?" Charlie shrieked, tears running down his face.

Pete opened his mouth to yell at him some more but then sealed it shut. He settled down into his berth and pulled the blanket over himself, facing away from Tom and Charlie. "It.. it just is, alright?"

"Don't act like this is over! I'll—" Charlie attempted to push past Tom.

"Please, Charles. Violence isn't going to fix this, especially if the officers happen upon us. We can settle this later, peacefully. Please?"

"..Fine." Charlie's fists relaxed, and he stepped away from Tom. "...Good night." He extinguished the lantern illuminating their cabin and crawled up to bed. And though he tried his best to keep quiet, Pete could hear the boy sob himself to sleep. A seed of doubt rooted into his mind.

Tom sat up. Charlie was snoring loudly, and if he knew anything of Pete's restless nature, the boy was still awake, staring up at the overhead.

"Why did you throw the book out?" He asked.

"I had to." Answered the voice above him.

"That's not a proper reason. Why'd you do it?" He pressed on.

Pete shifted around in his berth, unable to remain comfortable, and equally unable to find the words that could possibly justify him. "He's better off without it."

"You can't be the judge of that sort of thing, Pete. You're being—"

"Shut up, you stupid wanker! I'm not being 'anything' other than helpful!"

Tom was taken aback. Pete had never spoken to him so harshly before. He was a little hurt, but remembered that it wasn't comparable in the slightest to what he'd done to Charlie.

"..I don't understand why this has got you acting in such a way. I hardly recognize you like this."

"I don't understand why you're acting like this either! Like I'm the villain in this situation, when I'm really the only one that's doing any good! You're fine with merely standing by and letting Charles fill his mind up with that demonic nonsense?"

"Demonic? Pete, do you realize how delusional you sound right now?"

Pete huffed indignantly. "But it's true! He shouldn't be reading all of that witchcraft!"

"You don't even know how to read it!" Tom hissed. "How would you know that it's witchcraft? And even if it was, stealing his shit and throwing it overboard isn't going to convert him to Christianity, it'll only make him dislike you more than he already did!"

Pete was struggling to think of the words to counter that, but clenched his jaw shut when he heard Charlie moving about in his sleep, disturbed by their arguing. At that moment, Tom decided that he had had enough of their discussion. "I'm truly disappointed in you. I hope you come to see that you've made a grave mistake by doing this. Good night."

"...Good night."

One day passed.

Pete was still thoroughly unnerved by the argument he shared with Tom the previous night, leaving him even more sleepless than usual. He did regret the choice of words he made at points, but he was still the one in the right, wasn't he? Tom may have disliked what he did, but in the end it was the morally correct thing to do, wasn't it...? All of these troublesome questions were making him uneasy. He needed some fresh air. He popped his head down. Tom had drifted off to sleep, and so had Charlie across from him. With light tread, he jumped down and slipped out of the cabin. He found his way up to the main deck and began pacing along the edge of the ship, contemplating what to do as the moon's pale light shone down on him. He detested the idea of seeking another crew member's advice, but he was afraid that was the only thing that could possibly remedy the difficult situation he'd landed himself in. He scanned the scattered group of men on watch that night. Near the bow was one he knew to be an Englishman, and a friendly one at that, and so Pete approached the man.

"Sir?" He said meekly.

"Hm? Oh, good evening, lad. You're one of the midshipmen, aren't you?"

"Yes I am, sir."

"Oh, you don't have to do any of that 'yes sir, no sir' performance with me. Just call me George. Now, what're you doin' up here in the dead of night?"

"Sleep troubles. And.. well, something else too... Could I ask you a few questions?"

"Sure, son. Ask away."

"You've been sailing for a long time, right?"

"Aye. Over fifteen years."

"So I assume that means.. you've visited lots of different places? And met lots of kinds of people? People... different from you..?"

"Aye. Name any country on God's good Earth, and I could tell you I've met a man hailing from there."

"And.. how does it make you feel? To see them, and learn that they believe different things than you, think in different ways than you..?"

"Hm." The seaman rubbed his chin in contemplation. "I will admit to you that it was all a bit unusual at first— frightening, even. But.. as I got to working with them, talking to them, making friends with them, I came to understand that we all have more in common than we think we do. There isn't any reason to be afraid of people for the mere fact that they're different from you and I."

"I see. But..." He hesitated, embarrassed over how foolish he sounded. "Aren't you concerned for their souls?"

"No, of course not. If a man does good deeds in life, he'll still be accepted into Heaven with open arms. It's not our business what our fellow man believes in, that's just a matter between him and God Himself."

"I.. I think I understand. Thank you, George. This has helped me a lot." Pete gave him a weary smile.

"Glad I could be there for you, son. Now try to get some sleep, alright?"

"Of course. Good night."

Charlie nearly leapt out of his berth in fright when something flew through the air and thudded hard on the deck beside him. He bent over the edge to see a thick book, with yellow pages, bound in blue leather... the Torah.

"What..?" He was unable to believe what he was looking at. He had to be dreaming. His eyes slowly found their way to Pete up in his perch, looking over at him with a tinge of sadness in his eyes. If he truly was dreaming, he could only hope that Pete didn't turn it into a nightmare.

"I.. I thought you said you tossed it." He uttered.

"No. Just kept it underneath my pillow." Pete patted it once for emphasis.

Charlie quickly jumped down and took the old tome back into his arms, holding it close. "I don't understand. Why are you giving it back to me?"

"I..." A frown twisted onto Pete's face. "I changed my mind. I thought I was.. helping you. Saving your soul and all that bollocks.. I see it didn't work though. You're still as much of a bastard as you were before." Pete shook his head at his own crude comment. "Sorry. What I mean is— oh, this is so stupid.." Pete trailed off, too flustered to finish off his apology.

"Saving my soul? What's that supposed to mean, eh?"

Pete winced. "I.. I don't know. I've never made acquaintance with a Jew before, and all I've ever heard about them is that.." He quieted down into an ashamed whisper. "They do blood rituals and.. worship an evil god... so.. I thought I'd remove that influence from you..."

"You didn't help me at all by doing that! And throwing the book out can't just stop me from following my religion! That isn't how it works in the slightest!"

"I know, I know... I'm truly sorry.. I wanted to help you, because—" he hated to admit it. "— because I care about you. I just went about it in the worst possible way, because I was.. too arrogant and ignorant to do it in any other way..." He sighed. "I want to make it up to you somehow, beyond just giving the book back to you. Would.. would you mind teaching me?... If you still want to speak to me after what I did, that is."

"Teach you what?"

"How to.. I dunno, read Hebrew. Teach me what being Jewish is truly like. Tell me what the passages in your book— the Torah— say. I.. I want to learn. I want to understand more about it."

"Oh." Charlie contemplated Pete's offer. Never had someone gone so far as to steal his property, but neither had someone shown interest in learning anything about his way of life. Truly a strange one, Pete was. "...Alright. I suppose I can teach you. First off, we don't perform blood rituals or worship a demon. That's bullshit."

"I figured as much. Just nonsense rumors from people who know just as little about Judaism as I do."

"Well, you know more about it now than most Englishmen do. Now, come down here and I'll teach you the alphabet." Charlie sat at the desk and flipped the Torah open.

Pete hopped down and pulled up a stool next to him. It would be a long, difficult challenge to undo all of the prejudices built up in his mind over the years, but he had already taken the first and most important step.

Chapter 7: The Venturing Vermin

Pete strolled into the cabin, surprised to find it occupied by only Charlie, huddled into one of the corners and looking at something in his hands, back turned to him.

"Charlie? What're you doing over there?"

Charlie peeked over his shoulder to see Pete, looking at him quizzically. He clasped his hands tighter around the thing resting in his palms and turned away from him again. "Nothing you should be concerned about."

"Well, you know that's only gonna make me more curious! C'mon, lemme see it!" Pete began tugging at Charlie's arm, trying to turn him around.

"No, you're gonna make me drop him!"

"Just let me—"

"Aghh!!"

Pete pried Charlie's hands apart in spite of the protesting, and something small, brown, and fuzzy leapt from his palms and disappeared underneath a bundle of rope.

"What the.." Pete uttered in awe over the rapid succession of events that had just unfolded.

"Now look at what you've done! It's gonna take me hours to catch him again!" Charlie huffed, then got down onto his knees and began poking around the things strewn all across their cabin floor.

"What was that?"

"A mouse. Must've hopped on when we made that stop at Cape Town, I reckon."

"What was he doing in your hands then?"

"Well, I was worried that one of the crew members might try killing him if they found him messing about in the food stores. I figured he'd be safer here with me, so I caught him. Would you mind helping me look for him, since you're the reason he's gone again in the first place?"

"Er, sure, why not."

The two boys got down onto their hands and knees and rummaged around the room, searching up and down for the rodent traveller.

"What the hell are you doing?" Tom asked as he entered the cabin to find his friends crawling along the floor like insects.

"Lookin' for a mouse!" Pete announced proudly.

"Eek!" Tom yelped. "There's a mouse in here?" He tugged on his ascot anxiously.

"Yeah, he's a new friend Charlie made!"

"Oh, oh dear.." Tom stumbled over to his berth and climbed on, tucking his legs in against his chest. "I think I'm going to be ill..."

"Stop being such a pushover! It's just a wee little mouse!"

"Yeah, he wouldn't try to do you any harm." Charlie consoled.

"Sure it may not try to, but it still carries.. ticks, and fleas, and all those other horrible little insects that crawl all over you without you even realizing it." Tom's face began to turn pallid as he let the thoughts run through his mind. He shook his head, trying to force them out. "...What are you going to do with it once you catch it anyways?"

"I dunno, keep him safe in here until we reach port again. Then once we're there, we'll set him free, off on whatever adventures he pleases." Charlie answered.

"How positively whimsical." Tom muttered. "Well, you two enjoy your new little pet. I'll be having no part in caring for it."

Pete's eyes lit up. "Ooh!! A pet! Ohh, Charlie, we can't just set him loose into whatever city we're headin' to, we should keep him!! Can't we?" He begged, hands clasped together.

"No." Charlie stated firmly. "He'd be better off in the wild where he can find his own food and such. I don't really know the care requirements for a mouse, and I'm sure my parents wouldn't approve of my having one in the house anyways."

"Agh, you're so bloody boring!! Hmph." Pete pouted.

The cabin returned to silence for a while as Pete and Charlie continued to search it for their little friend. That was, until Tom heard the faint pitter-patter of little feet, not too far away from where he was sitting. The sound that came out of his mouth in response could be described as many things, but 'quiet' and 'dignified' were not among them.

"That's it!" He announced as he crawled up into the berth above. "I'm not coming down from here until you two find that nasty little thing and take it out of this cabin!"

"No!!" Pete protested. "He's our friend now, we can't just toss 'im out!" He poked through the blanket on Tom's now-unoccupied berth, hoping to find the mouse within its folds.

"I see him!" Charlie exclaimed after he stuck his head down before the nearby wash basin.

Pete gasped. "Where, where??"

"Under here!"

"Get him! Before he runs away!"

"Get a book or something to block his path, quickly!!"

"Right!" Pete stormed over to the bookshelf and grabbed a journal from it. He hastily joined Charlie's side and slotted the book in place, leaving only one avenue of escape for the little creature: Charlie's waiting hands.

"Come on... come on... got him!" Charlie clasped his hands around the furball once again.

"Yes!" Pete punched the air in excitement. "I'll find something we can keep him in."

He looked all around the cabin for something suitable, but could find nothing.

"How about borrowing a cigar box from one of the officers or something?" Tom proposed.

"Oy, that's a good idea! Thanks, Tom!"

"Yeah, sure. I'd rather just get that thing out of my sight and off of my mind as soon as possible."

Pete made his exit to pester one of the unassuming officers for a spare cigar box they had. He refused to elaborate on why he needed one, but since it was something as mundane as a cigar box, there was no suspicion cast on why he wanted it. He returned soon enough, a small wooden box held over his head in triumph. "Box!" He announced.

"Good job." Tom said.

"Alright, come on then, let me get him in there." Charlie urged.

Pete opened the thing up and put it below Charlie's hands, ready to catch their new pet. Charlie gently dropped him in, the velvet-lined interior of the box breaking his short fall. The mouse made no delay in exploring his new territory, crawling along the perimeter of the box.

"Awww!! He's so cute!" Pete gushed. "We should name him!!"

"I'll leave that to you." Charlie said.

"Hmm..." Pete pondered, tapping his chin. "..Gerald."

"Ha!" Tom laughed. "That's a stupid name for a mouse."

"Eh, how so?"

"That's the sort of name you give to a regular human person, not a pet! It sounds utterly ridiculous."

"Oh? I thought you wanted nothing to do with little Gerald, and now you're being the judge of what a good name for him is?"

"Yeah, I am! Because when we all are inevitably infested with fleas, I don't want it to be because of a mouse named something stupid like Gerald!"

"That's a bullshit excuse! You love 'im deep down, don't you?"

"No, that's insane! I'd never like— let alone love— something as unsanitary as a mouse."

"Yeah right. You can keep telling yourself that, but me and Gerald will know the truth." Pete winked up at him.

"Ugh."

The boys quickly fell into a pattern in the coming months of the voyage. Pete and Charlie would hide away morsels of each meal and bring them back to their cabin for Gerald to eat, all the while Tom adamantly reminded them that he didn't approve of his presence. But all things must eventually come to an end, and their destination of Bombay had finally reached them.

Pete carried the cigar box down the plank, a big, pouting frown stuck on his face. Charlie followed behind, and behind him, Tom.

"I just don't want to be waiting in the cabin all by myself." Was the excuse he made.

The boys found a secluded alleyway for Gerald to be safely deposited in. Pete knelt down and set the box onto the ground, hand hovering over the lid.

"I'm going to miss you, buddy." He said, almost sounding like he was giving a speech at a funeral. "I hope you'll live a good life here in the streets of Bombay."

"He will." Charlie assured him, patting his shoulder.

"Yeah, he'll be free to gleefully spread his parasites to the people here, rather than me."

"Oh, c'mon, Tom! Admit it, you're going to miss him too."

"Nah."

"Hmph." Pete turned back to the box, tilted it down gently, and opened the lid. "Alright, Gerald, off on your adventure you go."

Gerald hopped out onto the cobblestone street. He sniffed around, whiskers twitching, then scurried off down the alley, out of the midshipmen's sight.

~ Months later ~

Pete found himself alone in the cabin, Tom and Charlie having gone off to ask an officer a question about something. Didn't Tom tell him a voyage or two ago that he had taken a glance at his logbook..? Well, now it seemed that Tom had left his own unattended, sitting in the middle of the desk and begging to be peeked at. The perfect opportunity for revenge, Pete thought. He swiped it up and flipped to a random page. Off to the side of the page, was a small drawing. It was.. a mouse, wearing a cap and clutching a suitcase in its tiny little paws. Next to it, was written:

a stranger

a passer-by

a traveller

on an adventure

Pete smiled. Seemed Tom really had cared for that little mouse after all.