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Offshore, Cadiz, 1805
Jem rested his elbows on the railing of the Orion. There, ahead of him, was the Royal Sovereign, and the Agamemnon, as languid as everything else in this bay. He wished they'd blow up, just to get some variety. Jem stared down at the water that clucked peacefully against the side of the ship. It was the side facing away from the Belleisle, because he didn't want his eyes to catch on it all the time.
"Sir?"
"What?" Jem said, turning. One of the sailors stood there nervously.
"We're running out of buttons," he said.
"Deal with it," Jem snapped. The sailor left empty handed, to the amusement of his fellows.
Jem turned back to watching the water. He sighed and pulled out one of his few remaining cigarettes. It had been a long time since they'd been allowed ashore, and he was starting to run out. Behind him he heard the men playing cards on deck. They'd been at it for three weeks, ever since they became stranded outside Cadiz, but they had long since stopped playing with real money. Most players had already lost what little money they'd had, except for a few fortunate ones, and they had reverted to betting for buttons. After each round they were redistributed. Jem had joined the game a few times, but he'd been totally unable to focus on it. He wished Kite was there. They would have done something together, something else than this unbelievable boredom. Just talking to him would have been a vast improvement.
He didn't understand why he was here and Kite was not. It must have been Miz himself who requested the transfer to the Belleisle. There was no other sensible reason: Miz hadn't been any trouble to anyone onboard the Orion, and there hadn't been a pressing shortage of officers on the Belleisle. And yet Jem had been convinced that Miz was... what exactly? In love with him? Somehow, when they where together, everything seemed all right and he believed in it. But now that he went back in his mind there was little evidence.
Aching for something to do Jem walked round to the other side of the ship, then remembered the reason he hadn't been there in the first place, and walked back. Kite's latest letter lay in his pocket. He took it out slowly and unfolded it. He stared at it. It must be because of Agatha, he thought. Kite felt cast out, and he didn't dare cross his sister. But if Kite really was too scared to come close to him, why did he cling so hard to keeping contact? It didn't add up.
This won't do, Jem told himself. Think!
If only he could cross that stretch of water to the Belleisle, everything would be all right. Jem promised himself that the next time he saw Kite he would grab his shoulders, then he would hug him, kiss him even. Assuming that Kite loved him, which he did.
The English Channel, 1797
The cabin of the Kingdom was getting unbearably stuffy. Five out of seven of its occupants were smoking, and the smoke lay heavy in the air. Jem promised himself that after this round, he would get up and do something about it. It didn't seem very likely to happen, however, since he had been thinking he'd do so for quite a while already. Very well, someone would simply have to find them suffocated in their cabin off the coast of England. Poker was more important.
Jem was not overly surprised when Madeline bet her wedding ring. He feigned indignation all the same, and Madeline winked at him. Their marriage had been a semi-arranged affair, firmly encouraged by both of their parents, but Jem had gone along with it and so had Madeline. Still, they tried to make the best of it.
"Don't you trust me?" she said. "I'm not sure I can be married to someone who thinks I'm a bad poker player."
That brought laughter from the whole table.
The boom was followed by a shaking and a loud grinding noise from somewhere in the ship.
"What happened?" Charles shrieked. Jem jumped to his feet, as did the others. It soon became clear that the ghost ship had fired at them, and that the so called ghost ship was a French battleship. What was an antiquated French battleship doing firing at a harmless lighthouse survey ship? Jem couldn't make sense of it.
"Look, there's an English ship," William said, peering out of one of the tiny windows.
"Signal to it," George said. William ran off and soon Jem could make out the light flashing from the Kingdom. The English ship showed no response.
"Look, they're using flags," Charles said suddenly. "We haven't got any flags."
"We'll have to reach them," George said. The Kingdom had no guns, no way of defending itself. Meanwhile, the shots from the French ship kept falling. If one of them got lucky they could all die.
William came rushing into the room. "Our waterwheels have been blown off." Jem had never seen him other than calm, but now he looked panicked.
"Well bugger," George said. "Anyone know how to swim?"
Charles laughed nervously. He shook his head, as did William and Frank. Madeline took Jem's hand. "You can swim, you have to go. You'll be safer."
"No, I can't leave you all behind," he protested.
"Don't be silly," Madeline said and pulled him with her. The others stared mutely as they left. Up on deck it was cold, which came as a shock and a relief. The fog was dense.
"You'll be alright. I hope we will be too," Madeline said.
"Madeline, I can't leave," Jem said, but she wasn't having it. She pulled him to the railing.
"Good luck," she whispered, and heaved him over board.
In the state room of the Defiance everything looked old fashioned. While he tried to explain to the captain what had happened, Jem looked around him. There were burning lamps fixed between the tilting windows. The men wore uniforms of a type he had never seen before. He couldn't shake off the feeling that this was another ghost ship.
Suddenly Captain Heecham interrupted him angrily. "But why did you think it was a ghost ship? We're in the middle of a war, man; you're hardly more likely to see a ghost than the French! And what the bollocking hell was that ship? What were those waterwheels, how were you running on no sail?"
Jem stopped. Everything did look terribly old fashioned. "May I ask what year it is?"
"What?" the captain snapped.
"Seventeen ninety-seven," Kite the signaling lieutenant said in a small voice.
Jem nodded, wishing to God that this was only a nightmare. It definitely felt like a nightmare. "Captain Heecham, we left Scotland in eighteen ninety-one. There is no war then. We all thought the French ship was a ghost ship because ... because we don't have sailing ships any more. Modern ships run on coal engines." He managed a smile. "I suspect I'm rather lost, gentlemen."
There was a moment of entire stillness. The only motion was the swing of the lamps on the ceiling, and the tilt of the horizon beyond the window. Heecham shifted his weight from foot to foot and huffed his breaths out. Jem wondered what would happen. If this was a nightmare it could be anything. The ship might explode and he would wake up back home in London. He realized that if this wasn't a nightmare, which would be ridiculous, he might never see his son again.
"Well," Heecham said finally. He seemed to deflate. "We are making now for Southampton, where, if you stick to this story, the Admiralty shall wish to speak to you in detail. In the meantime, Mr Castlereagh, you must consider yourself our guest."
"Thank you, that's very kind," Jem said. Someone, Kite, brushed his shoulder. Jem caught his knuckles and held on to them hard. The signaling lieutenant was the only thing that seemed remotely human in all this.
London, 1797
The Admiralty's New Year party was worse than Jem had expected. The successor of the girl who had stolen him from Kite talked on and on, and he had to keep up his charm nonetheless. To his relief Agatha eventually saved him.
"Jem, there you are," she said, then glanced at the girl. "I'm not disturbing you, am I?"
"Not at all," she said, disappointed, and discreetly left them.
"Thank you," Jem said and smiled at Agatha.
"No problem," she said curtly. "How do you like the party?"
"It's horrible. I hadn't expected to be so popular."
Agatha laughed, her tightness easing slightly, before her eyes flicked to something behind him. "It seems like I'm popular too. Here's admiral Ernest on his way towards us, he'll want to talk to me."
"Alright. Where's Miz?" Jem asked.
Agatha's face tightened further. "I think I saw him go outside."
Jem thanked her and went out through the back door. He was relieved to get away from the heat, and all the people he didn't know, disturbing him with paperwork. It was cold. There was a long gravel path that passed through carefully tended gardens before disappearing in the gloom. He could see a lone figure further up the path who looked suspiciously like Miz, and Jem started jogging after him. Soon he was out of breath and had to walk.
"Miz, are you all right?" he asked as he caught up.
Kite turned. "Just too hot. You? Didn't Agatha find you?"
"She did, but then her paperwork piled up."
Kite laughed. They walked together up the river, with a painful foot or more in between them. It was dark and quiet, the only noise the crunch of gravel under their feet. In an attempt to prolong their walk, Jem sat down on the low railing that ran along the path.
"You could have told me," Kite said suddenly. He nodded towards Jem's bruised hand. "My profession is punching Frenchmen."
He looked strangely hurt. Jem struggled with how to explain, because he wanted to be perfectly honest, then sighed. "I'm sorry," he said. "It just seemed so grubby, and in my head you're so pristine, I just wanted not to... to get anything on you. Does that make sense?"
"No."
Jem wanted to kiss him then. He gently pulled Miz into his arms, who leaned into him gratefully. At least, that was how Jem decided to interpret it. He struggled to keep up some measure of coherent thought, distracted by how frail Miz felt in his arms, and how he was breathing against his throat. Jem made a small noise to attract his attention. When Miz raised his head Jem softly kissed his forehead, then his lips. Jem waited tensely for Miz to do anything, anything, but he didn't.
Portsmouth, 1798
The deck of the Belleisle buzzed with activity. Most of the activity was directed towards getting off the ship. Jem stood on the quay watching, hardly able to believe his luck. The very next morning he was leaving for London to join Agatha, and Kite happened to arrive here in the small window when he was still in Portsmouth.
"Miz!" Jem called as he spotted him on deck. Kite looked up, and when he saw Jem his expression froze. Then his face disappeared behind a passing sailor, and when he became visible again he was making his way towards Jem, face neutral.
"Didn't think I'd meet you here," Kite said. He held out his hand for Jem to shake, who raised his eyebrows and shook it. He would have thought a hug was more appropriate, but for once he didn't want to push it.
"Me neither."
"How long have you been here?" Kite asked.
"Since this morning," Jem said. "I'm going to London tomorrow."
"Ah."
Jem had purposefully not mentioned Agatha, but Miz must have filled it in himself. There was always that between them now.
"Will you come with me?" Jem asked. "To London, I mean."
Kite shook his head. "I only have a few days shore leave."
"Another time then. I'm not letting you stay away just because I'm married."
Kite nodded, but it looked mechanical. Not for the first time, Jem regretted his rash marriage proposal that had ruined everything. Somehow it had seemed like a good idea, but he had failed miserably, he knew that.
"Tell you what," Jem said, "let's go and have a drink."
Kite agreed. The pub they found was mostly empty, since it was the middle of the afternoon. As they ordered Jem noticed Kite fingering his sleeve over the lighthouse tattoo. He hoped that that had something to do with him.
"What are you doing on the Belleisle, anyway?" Jem asked as they sat down.
"What do you mean?"
"Why were you transferred?" It came out more accusatory than he would have liked. But then, Kite had virtually disappeared, with only a hurried goodbye and no explanation.
Kite took a drink of his beer. "I guess they needed a signaling lieutenant."
"But when you left, we had to get a new signaling lieutenant."
Kite shrugged in a How should I know? sort of way. Jem wondered if he was hiding something or if he genuinely didn't know. It didn't matter, he supposed. Better talk about something else.
"Shall I do a new tattoo for you?" Jem asked, gesturing to Kite's arm.
Kite smiled ruefully. "If you want to."
"If you want to."
"Sure." Kite put his arm up on the table and pulled back the sleeve. "What are you going to do?"
"Secret." Jem got out his needle. Then he made a single dot on Kite's arm. "There. You get one more star each time we meet up."
Kite laughed wearily. When Jem took his hand he looked up and smiled.
Offshore, Cadiz, 1805
The stateroom of the Victory was laid out like a coffee house, and it felt like one. It was filled with very happy officers. Jem was sharing a cigarette with Ru, who was talking with his brother, but the best thing was that Miz sat beside him.
At some point Miz had leaned his shoulder against Jem. Carefully at first, but as they grew tired and the atmosphere of the room became drowsy, they settled more and more against each other. Jem put a hand on Kite's thigh and started stroking his hip with his thumb. Amazingly, Kite didn't react at this, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. He just met Jem's eyes, then closed them for a moment and seemed very close to falling asleep.
This is real, Jem told himself. Definitely real. He took a drag from the cigarette before handing it back to Ru. The idea of separating from Miz now, after two years, was too much. Even if it was just for the night. If anyone had forced him Jem honestly thought he would have cried, he was that tired. Just as Jem was contemplating the possibility of slipping along with Miz to the Belleisle when they had to go back, someone announced that there were hammocks going up. They could all stay on the Victory.
Jem nudged Kite and met his eyes. "Do you want to share? Then we won't have to fight for two."
"No," Kite said. He straightened, leaving a whole in Jem's side. "Too hot. I'll fight."
"What? I haven't seen you for two years."
"No," Kite said and smiled. He looked miserable. It was the sort of smile he smiled when Agatha introduced him to someone.
Jem didn't understand at first. He knew that Miz thought of himself as a worthless nothing, but there was obviously no one else there whom Jem would rather share a hammock with. Agatha wasn't there, everything was great, and there was nothing else either of them should be doing. The only explanation was that Jem had totally misjudged Kite, who must think he was being very bothersome wanting to touch him all the time.
Unless Miz still didn't think this was real. Jem had been the one pushing for it to happen, he'd kissed him for God's sake, and still Miz didn't think it was real. Not in that way.
"Miz," Jem said. "Come on."
And then, well, you know what happens.