Chapter Nine

Archie took no notice of anything as he strode through the streets, back to the Black Swan. He couldn't stop his mind from churning, from picturing things he would rather not, from seeing images that should not be...Fear and anger both grew inside him as he reached the inn and went inside.

Horatio was not in the main dining area, so Archie headed toward their room (the room with one bed, he thought bitterly), taking the rickety stairs two at a time. Reaching the attic, he flung open the door and went inside.

Horatio was just washing up at the basin, his frilly white shirt unbuttoned to the waist. Drying his face off with a towel, he greeted Archie with a smile.

"Ah, there you are, Archie. I was beginning to wonder if you had gotten lost."

Archie watched him for a moment, uncertain just where to start. Anger was now burning slowly within his chest, anger that others knew what he did not, and anger that Horatio would keep such knowledge from him. Slowly, he closed the door, and circled around Horatio.

Puzzled, Horatio turned to watch Archie circle the tiny room. "Archie? Is something the matter?"

"The matter?" Archie said as he finally stopped his pacing and turned to face Horatio. "Oh, I should say so."

"Well, what is it?"

"I went looking for you," Archie said, beginning to circle around Horatio again, Horatio turning to watch him.

"It appears you have found me."

"I went to the Smiling Mermaid," Archie said, still circling around him. "Very intriguing place, that. You hear the most...interesting...things."

"Archie," Horatio said, reaching out and taking his arm. Archie flinched, and Horatio instantly dropped his hand. "Will you please stand still and make sense? I am getting quite dizzy."

Archie turned and faced him, blue eyes boring into brown. "I wish for you to make sense, Mr. Hornblower."

"Well, if you will tell me what you heard, perhaps I can make sense."

Archie decided to come right out with it, no beating around the bush. He had to know. "I overheard two of my men speaking outside the Mermaid. They spoke of us."

"What about us?"

Tilting his chin up slightly, Archie said, "They spoke of a relationship between us that is not friendship."

Horatio laughed. "Not friendship? I assure you, Archie, we are the closest of friends. I don't know why your men would be saying we are not."

Archie shook his head, his golden queue falling over his shoulder and then sliding down his back again. "That is not what they said. But what they said made so many other little things make sense, so many things I believed to be a product of my own imagination."

"Things like what, Archie?"

Taking a step back, Archie put as much space between them as possible before he could continue. "You are overly solicitous to me. You frequently touch me. You address me with familiarity, using my Christian name when others are not around. You tell me I am the more romantic of the two of us. You buy me poetry. You look at me with such emotion in your eyes sometimes." He took a deep breath. "Are we more than friends?"

Horatio, stunned, was not sure how to answer. He'd never looked at their relationship in that way. Never having had a close friend before, he had never imagined anything unacceptable in his friendship with Archie.

Slowly, feeling his way, he said, "We have shared so many experiences, things that have affected us both deeply, things that others cannot and will not ever understand. We are bound together, you and I."

"Bound? How? By love?"

"Yes," Horatio answered honestly, surprising himself, for the word had never been spoken between them. It was, he knew, the truth, and Archie deserved to hear it. "But not the love between lovers. I did not even know the meaning of that word, until I met you, until we became friends. We are friends only, Archie, though we are also as brothers. Brothers, not lovers."

Horatio fell silent as he watched Archie struggle for a moment. He did not know why Archie suddenly believed this of their friendship, but somehow, he had to accept that what Horatio was saying was the truth. Horatio knew that he could not tell Archie of Simpson, could not allow him to know how he was abused for so long, raped and beaten and humiliated all through his youth, for it would crumble the man he was now, the strong, confident, in-charge officer he had become. No, it was better that Archie have doubts about the nature of their relationship, than suffer the knowledge that he had been used in such a way. Intimacy was very difficult for the both of them, Horatio simply because it was not his nature, and Archie because Simpson had destroyed that part of him, but with each other, it was as natural as breathing. But it was not, and never would be, a physical intimacy.

Archie's choked voice broke into his thoughts. "Then why would Malley say that he saw us together, in that way?"

"Malley?" Horatio almost laughed with relief. "Archie, Malley hates us both, and he especially despises you. He would do anything to discredit us, anything to hurt us. If he and Fuller..."

"No," Archie said. "It was Whitney he was talking to."

"Whitney? Oh, Archie, that explains everything. Look," he said, taking Archie's arm and pushing him gently to sit on the bed, Horatio sitting at the opposite end. "Malley knows that you are vulnerable right now, that whilst you are not bothered aboard the Indy by your loss of memory, it still troubles you that you cannot remember your past. If he can create doubt in Whitney - and trust me, Whitney is very young, naive, and gullible - then he can work at turning all of your division against you. Haversham is already on the edge. He wants the upper hand, Archie, and he'll use Whitney and anyone else to get it."

Archie's blue eyes studied Horatio. "You swear we are not lovers?"

"I swear it, Archie, on everything I hold sacred. If my displays of friendship have in any way offended you or caused you embarrassment, then I truly apologize. It was never my intent to do so."

Archie lowered his eyes to the bed, studying the quilt, as relief washed over him. Friends only. Still not meeting Horatio's eyes, he nodded slowly, still uneasy, but wanting to believe the other man.

Horatio nodded in return, then rose to his feet. "Very good, Archie. Look, it has been a very long day for us both - in fact, it's been a very long week. Why don't we get some rest now, and we can see what tomorrow brings. Remember, you have the watch tomorrow noon."

"I remember," Archie said softly, thinking of the near-irony in that statement. "But Mr. Hornblower, I...I'm sorry, I am still not comfortable with this."

"With us?" Horatio said quietly, trying to ignore the hurt Archie's distance was bringing.

"Yes."

"You are uncomfortable with us staying here in this room, together."

"Yes," Archie said so quietly Horatio could barely hear him.

"I understand, Archie," Horatio said, moving over to the dresser. "I think it best if I return to the Indy tonight - you stay here and rest, and I will see you back on the ship tomorrow."

"Thank you," Archie said softly. "I'm sorry this shore leave did not turn out as you had planned."

"It's all right, Archie," Horatio said as he began to gather up his few belongings and place them in his valise, still struggling to keep the hurt from showing in his voice. "I had hoped that you would recognize something or someone here, but I still have faith that it will happen soon."

"I am glad that someone has faith," Archie said, once again staring at the quilt on the bed. "Because I fear I have lost mine."

Uncertain of what to say to that, Horatio just stood and looked at his friend for a moment. Archie's anger seemed to have abated a little, though his shoulders were still tense and he could not meet Horatio's eyes, and a sort of sad acceptance had begun to settle over him. Horatio could almost glimpse a bit of the boy Archie used to be, the one who had always accepted that his life was not to be an easy one, the one who was frightened of the night and its memories - the one so recently supplanted by the strong, in-command officer he was now. A bit awkwardly, Horatio stood beside him and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Do not think that way, Archie," he said firmly. "This has only been a minor setback. Your memory will return, and life will go on as it always has aboard Indefatigable, and our friendship will still be intact. Think of it, Archie. Even though you don't remember Muzillac or El Ferrol, or any of the other things we have endured together, we have still become friends. That is the tie that binds us together. It is something that will never change, even under the very worst of conditions."

Archie sighed. "There are worse conditions than this?"

"Aye," Horatio laughed. "And we've already been through most of them. I cannot imagine what is left out there for us to endure." He picked up his valise, then opened the door to the tiny room, turning around one last time. "I'll see you tomorrow, Archie. Don't forget about your watch."

Archie, his gaze firmly planted on the floor, nodded, and Horatio left, closing the door behind him. Another closed door, thought Archie. Just like all of the closed doors in my mind, all the doors that are firmly locked against me. Lying back on the bed, he stared up at the ceiling, his emotions still boiling around inside him.

He wanted to believe Horatio - he did believe Horatio. But that didn't change the fact that Malley was trying to poison his division against him, that his own men were willing to believe the worst of him. How was he supposed to win their respect now, for he could not confront Malley's accusations, not without risking the charges being taken seriously. He was well aware of the penalty for what Malley spoke of.

But by keeping silent, was he tacitly giving credence to the idea? Would he and Horatio be forever looking over their shoulders, would they always be afraid of expressing their affection for each other, for fear of it being interpreted incorrectly, and having it lead them both to the noose? No, dammit, Archie thought angrily, rising to his feet. I'll not live like that. I'll not live in fear.

He blew out the candle and went down the stairs. Though it was late, it was not so late that the Black Swan was closed, so he ordered some ale, standing at the bar and drinking it, his anger still continuing to rise. Something had to be done, someone had to silence Malley and his accusations, and there was only one man who could do that. Finishing his fourth mug of ale, Archie tossed some coins on the counter and left. It ends here, he thought determinedly. It ends now.

Things were even more raucous and loud than when he had been at the Smiling Mermaid before. He walked in through the door, taking a moment to look around the place. It was a sailor's bar, through and through. Netting hung from the ceiling, with ships lanterns and captain's wheels adorning the walls, alongside cheap paintings of ships at sea, depicted in stormy weather or engaged in battle. In the corner, a fiddler and a flute player traded verses on "Nancy Dawson", the lively tune often drowned out by the sailors' laughter and song. Stretched out on the wall behind the bar was the place's namesake, an enormous carving of a laughing mermaid, naked from the waist up, with dark green fins and scales covering her lower half. Painted red lips smiled widely at the sailors in the room, while long yellow hair cascaded over her shoulder.

A loud round of laughter broke Archie's contemplation of the place, and he drew his gaze away from the oversized mermaid. A large group of sailors was gathered around a table, cheering on a drinking contest.

"Come on, Malley! You can do it!"

"He ain't got no chance! Keep 'em comin', Billy!"

Archie moved over to the edge of the group to watch the contest. Malley was inhaling drink after drink, but the burly man across from him was matching him pot for pot. It wasn't long before burly Billy turned green, and lost both the contents of his stomach and the contest simultaneously. A loud cheer went up as Malley jumped to his feet.

"I win!" he roared drunkenly. "More ale!"

The crowd cheered again, and a couple of drinks were thrust into Malley's hands. He poured them down his throat, then raised the mugs above his head, roaring out his approval of his own feat.

Archie pushed his way to the front of the crowd, and Malley caught sight of him as he arrived. Looking as if he had swallowed something unpleasant, he sneered at Archie, his tone nasty and unpleasant when he spoke.

"Off'cers ain't welcome here."

"I saw no sign saying such," Archie said steadily. "And what about those officers at the table over there?"

Malley shoved his way over to stand chest to chest with Archie, though he towered over the younger man. "I meant, off'cers like you ain't welcome here."

"And just what does that mean?" Archie said quietly, his voice dangerously low. "What kind of officer do you speak of?"

"Worthless ones," snapped Malley. "Weak, spoiled, pitiful little women ones that should be prancin' 'round some girly dance 'stead of bein' on a man's ship. You ain't got no place aboard ship, ya scrawny runt."

"I should watch my words, if I were you," said Archie, his voice still pitched low. "That is dangerous close to insubordination. I could have you flogged for less."

"You ain't got the guts for that," mocked Malley. "Yer too weak fer anythin' but lyin' under your 'friend' and - "

Archie's fist flew out, catching Malley unaware, and knocking him sprawling against the table. Mugs still full of ale flew every-which-way, drenching the crowd that was still lingering around and then crashing to the floor, shattering into dozens of pieces. The fiddler stopped his chorus, and the rest of the room fell silent as Malley, furious, pulled himself back to his feet.

"I'll kill you fer that," he snarled, blood dribbling from the corner of his mouth. "Ain't no soddin' officer gonna hit me." He wiped the blood away with the back of his hand and advanced toward Archie, pushing up the sleeves of his dirty plaid shirt as he did. "Yer gonna pay, Kennedy. An' pay good."

Refusing to back down, Archie pushed up his own sleeves. It wasn't the way he wanted it and certainly not the way he had planned the confrontation, but if a fight was what Malley wanted, then a fight was what he would have. Some men understood nothing but brute force.

"I think not, Mr. Malley," he said with conviction. "I ask - " He never got to finish the sentence, as a blow from behind sent him crashing to the floor, blackness and pain enveloping him as he fell, unconscious.

Malley gaped at him for a moment, then raised his eyes to the man standing over him. It was Whitney, a broken table leg clutched in his hand as he stared down at Archie's prostrate body. A huge grin broke over Malley's face.

"I knew you was one of us, mate," he cheered, wrapping his arm briefly around the young man's shoulders. "I owe you a drink."

Whitney was still staring down at Archie, beginning to feel a little sick to his stomach. He hadn't wanted to hurt Mr. Kennedy, but Malley was right. A man who fancied other men was not someone who should be allowed aboard a ship of war, for who knew what kind of trouble would come because of it? Whitney just wanted to be a sailor. He wanted to sail the seas and fight the frogs, not worry about whether the officer in charge of his division was going to ask him to do something unnatural. Or even worse, order him to do it. No, he'd done the right thing, hitting Mr. Kennedy.

He raised his eyes to Malley's face, and nodded. "I 'spect you do, Malley."

Malley roared with laughter at that. Looking down at Archie, his lip curled with distaste. Worthless excuse for a man...His mouth curved into a smile as an idea came to him. He pushed Whitney toward the bar, handing him a couple of coins.

"You go get some drinks. I got a mess to clean up." Whitney left, and Malley motioned to some of his mates he'd been drinking with. He whispered something to them, and the three men laughed heartily, then bent down and picked Archie up, dragging him out the front door. Malley watched them go, still laughing to himself. He'd teach Kennedy, he would, and teach him good. No one hit Jethro Malley.

"Here ya go, Malley." Whitney handed him a pot of ale, and Malley downed it in one gulp. Whitney took a little more time, looking around as he did.

"Where'd Mr. Kennedy go?" he asked.

Malley guffawed. "Aw, a couple o' the boys jus' took 'im out to teach 'im a proper lesson. He'll be all right."

"They ain't gonna 'urt 'im, are they?" asked Whitney anxiously. He was starting to regret what he had done. Yes, Mr. Kennedy should be punished for being what he was, but he'd always been good to Whitney, always helping him when he didn't rightly understand things, and helping to make sure that he was all right. Sea life was hard, even for someone who wanted to be there, as Whitney did, and Mr. Kennedy had always taken care of him. Maybe he shouldn't have hit him so hard.

Malley turned to him, a cold look in his eye and Whitney shivered. Maybe he was siding with the wrong man here.

"You care, Whitney?" Malley said angrily. "You care 'bout a buggerer? Maybe you like 'em that way, maybe you wanna join 'im 'n' 'Ornblower."

"No," Whitney said quickly. "I dunt. What he is is bad, I ain't sayin' it ain't. I jus' dunt wanna see 'im get killed, that's all."

"Don't matter if they kill 'im or not," said Malley smugly. "Cuz he's gonna hang if they don't, so 'e'll be dead either way. And then, Whitney," he said happily, putting his arm around the young man, "we's gonna have a party like you ain't never seen afore. We'll all watch 'im and his buggerer mate 'ang side b' side, and we'll drink to it all. Gonna be a great day, Whitney. You mark my words."