Chapter 2
But why? Archie Kennedy asked Styles in confusion.
I've no idea, sir. I was hopin' you could tell me. You do believe me, don't ye? he asked anxiously.
Well, I certainly don't disbelieve you, Styles, but it's just not like him. He hardly ever yells, unless he's angry, and he doesn't usually get angry, especially at a man he likes. And he does like you. He thinks you're a friend, not just one of the men.
Styles said glumly. Which is why I specially don't like gettin' im angry. I think he's a friend, too, Mr.Ornblower. You too, sir. Don't want either of ye mad at me, sir. He traced a pattern in the table between them absentmindedly.
Archie smiled. I'm not mad at you, Styles. But-I was there. I stormed the wall right with you. I saw the entire thing happen and no one, especially not you, did anything that could have made him angry. That's what I don't understand.
Styles shrugged expansively and a silence stretched between them. It was broken by Archie who murmured, more to himself than to Styles:
Unless he was already upset about something else.
And took it out on me, sir? Styles asked in a slightly comforted voice.
Yes. And you know what that means, don't you Styles? he asked, standing up.
What, sir?
It means I've got to go badger him until he tells me what the matter is.
Styles grinned and actually started a fit of coughing which sounded strangely like laughing to Archie. A smile was starting to creep it's way across his face as well, when he made a startled jump as the door to the mess room banged open and a very scared looking Pellew practically fell through the doorway.
Styles exclaimed, scrambling to his feet. All trace of merriment had fled from his features.
Pellew gasped, collapsing onto a table. Mr. Kennedy.
Sir! What's the matter, sir? Styles entreated, mirroring Archie's alarm.
Captain Pellew started, but held up a hand and drew severely deep breaths, clutching a stitch in his side.
Not Horatio. It wasn't a question. Archie was sure it wasn't a question, but his voice tinged with nervousness.
Pellew straightened and looked him squarely in the eye and Archie's stomach clenched.
What appened sir? Styles asked dully.
I'm not sure, Styles. All I know is that Mr. Hornblower- he looked down at the table and in the moment it took for him to collect himself, it crossed Archie's mind that he had never seen the captain so moved or rattled before. The knowledge did nothing to ease the worry building in his mind. All I know is that Mr. Hornblower is very sick. He has a high fever and is asleep in my cabin. I'd like one of you to go tell Doctor Hepplewhite to have a bed made up and I'll need the other to help me take him down to the sick berth.
I'll tell the doctor, sir, Styles said, sprinting for the door.
When the door had slammed shut behind Styles, Archie and Captain Pellew studied each other.
How sick is he? Archie asked in what was almost a whisper. Whenever Horatio was up and about and doing heroic things left and right, Archie always had a subconscious wish that he would get wounded or become ill or something. Not seriously, of course, just enough so that he could help him and not feel like dead weight for once. But on the rare occasions when Horatio wasn't in total control, he hated it and had a profound feeling of. . . well, of wrongness, really. As though something was happening that never should have happened. That was the only way he could think of to describe it.
Like I said before, I don't know, Mr. Kennedy. But we're not doing him any good sitting here jabbering like a bunch of schoolgirls are we, sir? he thundered.
No, sir.
Almost as soon as he said it, the mess room was empty and the door was swinging on its hinges.