Note* This chapter is really long, and so departs from the rather short chapter format we've been following. Our apologies if this irritates anybody. It really isn't intentional...well, actually, we don't really care if you think the sodding chapter is too long. Enjoy.

Chapter 8

On the whispering ship, where the dead walked, the wind blew constantly, and the sun never shone, two figures strode silently around the quarterdeck.

"So, Mr. Hornblower," said the first individual. "You wish to remain here, among the dead. You do not wish to return to your body." His tone was not questioning, rather, he spoke with the quiet authority of one who already knows the answers.

Horatio found himself intimidated by the imposing figure beside him. "Y-yes, sir," he stammered, annoyed with his own inability to speak clearly. "I do not wish to abandon Misters Kennedy and Wellard. Not again."

The one who stared through Pellew's eyes spoke gently, almost with amusement, as though a father with a boy who was trying to be clever, and not quite succeeding. "Do you think that when you leave, they will be tied to flaming wheels and tormented by demons until your return? That is not why Purgatory exists. It is here as a waiting place, for those who will not truly die...at least not until they are joined by others."

"But sir-"

"Now, Mr. Hornblower, look at your friends. I have no doubt that they would enjoy your company...indeed, Archie would give almost anything to never be parted from you again. But they are men of the sea, and there is one force in their lives that is more powerful than any other. That force...is duty. You have a duty to your men, Mr. Hornblower. You have a duty to those left behind. You have a duty to those you've not even met, future friends and comrades-in-arms."

Horatio's gaze flicked back to the two lonely figures standing on the forecastle, both the best friends he had ever had. He returned his eyes to Him. "It is very difficult to think of duty, sir, when it is your best friends from whom you are separated."

There was wisdom in the eyes of the face beside him, as he replied, "It can be the hardest thing in the world, to be apart from the ones you love. So many have suffered because of this hardship. But you know your duty, too, Mr. Hornblower. It is as powerful a force within you as it is within your friends. They understand what must be done."

Horatio felt his conviction wavering, but he quietly spoke his last arguement. "Sometimes, sir, the pain hurts too much to live."

"I understand. Perhaps I might show you...it might make this easier to accept."

Horatio felt confusion rising within him, but before he could give it voice he was simply...gone.

Time melted, blurred, and seemed suspended for a moment, and his surroudings changed. He spun around in a vain attempt to reorient himself, and abruptly recognized this place. "D*mn, it's Retribution!" He would recognize his beloved main deck anywhere. Then a horrible thought occurred to him: had he been focibly thrown back to Earth...would he never see Archie or Wellard again...nor be given the chance to say goodbye...

"Really, Mr. Hornblower," the voice echoed in his head, holding a note of mild reproach. "Do you really think you would be cast out like that? No, you are simply a shade, able to see the world without being seen. Observe awhile, and then you may return."

Horatio turned more slowly, watching the hustle and bustle of the ship being refitted. She had sustained heavy damage in the action against the French. He closed his eyes, hearing the sounds of the efficient work surrounding him. "D*mn," he thought in surprise, "I do miss this." He hurried away from the activity, feeling slightly traitorous for thinking such thoughts while his friends remained trapped in Purgatory.

Desperate to get away from his own internal turmoil, Horatio descended slowly belowdecks. The crowd of men simply slid around him, and he easily walked into the mess. His sharp ears caught his own name amidst the racket of men, talking and eating. Intrigued, he sidled closer to the rough group of men in close conversation, enjoying their rum ration..

"...so anyways, like I was sayin', I don't 'old too much 'ope for Cap'n 'ornblower's recovery, lookin' at the face on that bosun an' his mate."

Horatio vaguely recognized the man, Jacobs, as a seaman picked up in Kingston just before they'd set sail.

"Sod off, mate. What a thing t'say, with Matty an' Styles actin' like they're the ones dyin'. They've hardly left that 'ospital, they have, since we've gotten inta shore."

"Besides," continued another, "You'd miss the cap'n if he was gone. He's a gud one, 'e is. First command, and here 'e is drivin' off Frog Corvettes without killin' off our entire soddin' crew. He's one of those special ones, mark my words. 'e'll go far, I'm tellin' you."

A fourth chimed in, "Not ta mention, 'e's earnin' us all a fortune in prize money!"

Rough laughter followed this statement, but another interrupted, "Seriously, boys, 'e's a gud cap'n. Appreciates us, 'e does. Doesn't flog the skin off our backs. Feeds us right. Even respects us, 'e does, callin' us by our prop'r names an' all. Takes an in'trest in everything."

Enthusiastic nods greeted this pronouncement. "D*mn straight," another replied. He raised his voice to the entire room:

"Hear then, men. Let's 'ave a toast to Cap'n 'ornblower's recovery."

"Hear hear!" came the deafening shout. Horatio watched in disbelief as the tankards all about the cramped mess were raised in toast...and then the room began to dissolve...

...And discovered that he was on the deck of the Renown, in the middle of the Atlantic. It was the night watch, and bitterly cold, so few men were stirring. One lone officer paced the deck, swathed in his dark wool cloak, breathing on his hands to warm them. He turned- and Horatio started. It was Lieutenant William Bush. As a smile lit the shade's face, another young lieutenant emerged onto the deck, clutching two thick ceramic mugs.

"Drop o' hot grog, sir, to warm you through. It's d*mned cold tonight."

"Indeed it is, Burroughs. Come talk with me for a moment, this watch has lasted forever."

"Delighted, sir. I've heard rumours about the "Retribution", seems she took a couple of french frigates off the coast of ol' England a few weeks ago. Heard the news from the latest supply ship. Sir, didn't you have a mate on that ship?"

"Indeed, Mr. Burroughs." A smile lit Bush's handsome face. "One of my dearest friends has command...Captain Hornblower. One of the most courageous officers with whom it's ever been my pleasure to serve. I wonder if he's in England now, celebrating..."

Horatio couldn't stifle his snort of amusement.

Oddly enough, Bush seemed to hear it and momentarily glanced in his direction. Seeing nothing, he turned his attention back to the other lieutenant. "He saved my life, all of our lives, more times than I can count." Bush's blue eyes sparkled with mischief. "At Santo Domingo, on our last mission before Kingston, we had to blow up the Spanish fort, and to do that..."

Bush recounted every detail of the Spanish fort's explosion, the young officers' run for their lives, and their harrowing leap from the cliff. Well, almost every detail, as Horatio realized that Bush had neglected to mention his scream of "I can't bloody swwwwwiiiiiiiiiiiimmmmmmmm!" as they had leapt for the sea. The shadow chuckled at the memory.

Burroughs paying rapt attention, his face glowing in awe. "He must be some officer, sir!"

The scene was beginning to blur...

...and refocused to sharp clarity fairly quickly. "I'm getting used to this spirit business," Horatio smiled to himself. He then examined the familiar room, realizing that it was his own hospital room. The smile slipped off his face as he saw his own unconscious form in the bed. His own forced, ragged breathing was the only noticeable sound in the room. Horatio tore his gaze from his own tortured face to the others present in the room.

"Sir, might I interest you in some food?" Matthews asked Commodore Pellew. "Styles and I can bring back a half decent meal from the pub across the street."

Horatio watched as the commodore glanced up at Matthews. "Yes. Yes, Mr. Matthews, that is acceptable. See to it." The tone was absent-minded, quite unusual for Pellew.

Matthews and Styles left the room, and Horatio's spirit slipped, unseen, to Pellew's side. On closer inspection, his face was strained, with stress lines etching their way across his brow; and dark circles under his eyes. Pellew reached down and squeezed Horatio's limp hand in his. "D*mn it man, why don't you fight for your life? You're lying here, slipping away!" His voice held a faint note of desperation. "You must come back, Mr. Hornblower...Horatio. There is so much you can have to give this world...you must-" his voice broke.

Horatio was completely stunned. For as long as he'd known his mentor, he'd seen many emotions flash through those ageless eyes:

Anger.

Astonishment.

Happiness.

Rage.

Pity.

But never this. Disbelieving, Horatio could only watch in numb shock as a single tear tracked its way down Pellew's creased face...

And the room began to spin wildly, and vision of Pellew was snatched away. "NO!" Horatio screamed helplessly as he was pulled from the hospital...