Jack and Tom followed Blakeney down to the sickbay. Stephen was speaking to Mowett, who was sitting up. The doctor had a pleased look on his face.

Jack breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of his second lieutenant. Mowett was still pale, but his usual smile was back on his face and he was sitting up, his heavily bandaged left arm in a sling.

Tom rushed over to his friend, relief evident on his narrow face. "Will! Are you feeling all right? How's the arm?"

"It's fine, it's fine," said Mowett impatiently, with an absent wave of his good one. "What happened, with the battle and all? I assume we won?"

Jack and Stephen exited the room, allowing the two friends to catch up with each other. "I'm impressed, Stephen," said Jack with a wry grin. "I thought this was going to be the one man you couldn't save, but you proved me wrong."

"Who, me?" Stephen said with a tone of mock indignation. "I beg your pardon?"

Jack chuckled. "Well, I'm glad that William's going to be all right, but I must get back on deck, I'm afraid. Send Mr. Mowett my best regards, if you please."

Stephen nodded and walked off, but he couldn't help but smile a bit at his own success. He had been truly worried for the officer, but it looked like he would make a full recovery.

"So, Cym is dead, and his officers captured," finished Tom, a look of satisfaction apparent on his face. "We'll head back to England very soon, the captain says."

Mowett nodded slowly. "And I took out Michelle, did I? Bloody idiot, he deserved it."

Tom snorted. "Indeed. He must have been bad to get you so upset."

"Ask the doctor," his friend insisted, missing the sarcasm in Tom's remark. "He was that bad."

Suddenly, the door creaked open very slowly, and La nosed his way into the room. His friendly brown eyes glowed at the sight of Tom, and his coat bore the signs of a recent brushing.

Mowett grinned slyly. "Looks like you found a friend among the Frenchies, eh? I thought you didn't like him."

"No, no, he's a good dog," said Tom absently, bending down to pat La on the head. The poodle licked his hand and allowed himself to be stroked for a few seconds, then trotted over to Mowett's hammock to inspect him.

William held out a cautious hand for the dog to sniff, remembering that he had been the only person that Babbington's dog had ever bitten, but La didn't seem to care. He sniffed curiously, but bounded out of the room when he heard Allen coming down the hall.

Tom smiled. "I think he prefers us, in truth. Well, I have to get back on deck." He stood and gave Mowett a friendly clap on his good shoulder. "Get some rest."

Mowett nodded and watched him walk out the door, then closed his eyes and fell into a deep, natural slumber.

Jack glanced at Tom as he approached. The wind was rising, seeming to challenge Jack, whispering, Go home! Take the wind home! It was very tempting. If Mowett was fit to travel...

Tom was grinning. "He's fine, sir. I think we can leave now: he won't need any treatment or anything."

Stephen, who was leaning on the quarterdeck railing, scowled. "Mr. Pullings, last time I checked, I was the doctor, not you."

"My humble apologies, Doctor," Tom said at once. "I didn't mean to...I'm very sorry, won't happen again, I just-"

Stephen waved a hand, cutting off the first lieutenant's babbling. "However, I think you're right. Mr. Mowett is in no immediate danger. Within a few days, he'll be up and about, I'm sure."

Jack's heart leapt and he struggled to contain a smile. "So, you mean, we can sail?"

His old friend eyed him coolly. "You're the captain, Jack, and I'm the doctor. I'm merely diagnosing a patient. You say when to sail."

The smile broke across Jack's face, lighting up his tired features. "Right. Tom, you, Mr. Howard, part of the crew, and half the compliment of Marines will escort the Caniche to England. Stay in the Surprise's view, will you, or we'll be coming after you, and I don't want to repeat this episode again. Mr. Blakeney can take your place until Mr. Mowett has recovered."

Tom, hardly daring to believe it, said, "Y-you mean, I will be in command?"

Jack raised his eyebrows. "Unless you want your dog to be in charge, Mr. Pullings! You'll leave within the hour?"

Tom nodded furiously. "Yes sir, of course, sir. Thank you, sir!" He saluted and strode off as fast as etiquette would allow, a look of surprise and happiness apparent on his face.

Later that day, Jack watched the Caniche set sail, her recently repaired sails billowing out majestically in the growing breeze. Stephen remarked, "I wonder if it was wise, letting Mr. Pullings leave while only Blakeney is available. I mean, he's very trustworthy and intelligent, but he is only 14 years old."

Jack sighed. "Yes, I know, but Mowett will be ready in a few days, and I have my full confidence in Blakeney. Besides, the crew likes him, and of course the midshipmen do. Think about the sense of that, Stephen."

"Ah," Stephen said, nodding. "I suppose you have found that the hands have very good judgment?" He coughed, making a noise that sounded a bit like Hollom!

Jack shot a sharp look at him. "Most of the time," he replied, defensive. He turned back to the sea, watching the vanishing horizon. "Well, that was a mission well done, I say. There were a few complications"-Stephen grimaced-"but overall, it turned out well. The Caniche is back in our hands, no permanent damage to Mr. Mowett...and best of all, we're going home for a long rest."

Stephen smiled thoughtfully. "That would be very welcome indeed."

But little did he know that rest was the last thing that he would get when the Surprise went home...

So, it's done! Finished! Obviously, I'm writing another, and I will not leave you hanging. The next book is going to be a NON-HUMOR! Can you believe that? Yup, it's gonna be a Mowett mystery! Stayed tuned...