Chapter Eight
"Aw, dammit, boy!" The low voice said to the sound of breathing in fits and puffs and the clattering of boot leather on wood punctuated the quiet. Tom looked up at Alex disapprovingly, but it was all Alex could do to shake his head. Tom returned to his task. "Here," he whispered hurriedly. "Take his feet, they're floppin' about all over. Someone's bound to hear." Alex sighed and reluctantly lifted Jack's feet off of the floor.
"It's a good thing he's too far gone to protest," said Alex half-heartedly as they bundled Jack down the corridor. "My God, I've never seen anything like it in all my days!" Tom shook his head.
"Quiet," he warned. "Don't need Toffy hearing us, or even the man himself." Alex chewed his cheek for a few moments as he frowningly took in the less than admirable state of Mr. Sparrow. He looked up to meet Tom's gaze as they reached the threshold to their cabin.
"Won't make any difference," he murmured as they laid Jack on the bunk, and propped him back up into it after he nearly rolled out. "It won't change anything, he's sure to tell."
"Don't even think it," said Tom. "Last thing I need is to have to wrestle that weasel Powell. He's a thorny blighter. Don't call him down on us now, whatever you do."
"I have a bad feeling," said Alex. "I think it might be Powell that arranged this whole business."
"What do you mean? The party?" Alex leaned against the bulkhead as Jack began to snore loudly.
"Mmm..." he said. "Can't say, but if there's trouble you're sure to find Mr. P's in it, right in the thick." They both nodded glumly.
"Well," said Tom after a moment. "If Mr. Powell so chooses, we shall either hear from him shortly, or we shall hear from the Captain." he paused. "Personally I'd rather hear from the Captain." Alex winced.
"Aye," he said reluctantly.
"I mean, we can't hide Mr. Sparrow in here. And I wouldn't want Mr. Powell lording it over young Jack." Alex gave Tom a sideways glance.
"I don't think I like the drift of this," said Alex. "You mean we tell the Captain?"
"Aye," said Tom.
"Oh, that's mad," said Alex. "No."
"Look, lad," said Tom. "I like Jack as much as you do, but a few lashes is nothing compared to Mr. Powell's domination. You should know that. He'd be miserable. Mr. Powell would never let him off for this little," he looked at Jack slowly sliding out of the bunk again. "This little lapse in judgement. Now, with the Captain what might he do?"
"You know, he'd hand him over to Mr. Playfair and he'd give him the lash," Alex frowned again. "Don't like the sound of this, not at all."
"I know about the lash, lad. I mean what happens after the lash?"
"What after?" asked Alex. "Well, the Captain probably would be none too pleased but Powell would be proud as a peacock."
"Aye, but that's not the important thing. Both of those things would soon pass. The Captain would forgive Jack eventually, for he's not a hard man."
"And Mr. Powell, he'd turn sour," said Alex. "I know that."
"So, do you see now?" said Tom soberly. Alex looked down at Jack once more. "It's for the best, believe me." Alex moved with Tom to lift Jack back onto the middle of the bunk and tuck him in as firmly as they dared. "He looks a little better," said Tom as Alex cautiously tried to smooth Jack's hair.
"His hair's gone all wiry," complained Alex as he tried to press down the same black lock three times. "Maybe we could wrap it-" The two men heard the heavy oak door shudder slightly as someone leaned into it. Before they could react the door opened in a smooth gliding motion and Mr. Powell walked in, pipe in hand. Alex and Tom stood over Jack. Alex gave one last tug to Jack's hair in protest to the intrusion.
"What's wrong with the whelp?" said Mr. Powell.
"Good evening, Mr. Powell," said Alex sweetly. "Mr. Sparrow's just having a little rest." Tom's mouth twisted into a sardonic grin as Mr. Powell briskly shook his head.
"He's a drunken dastard," said Mr. Powell. "You could see, a flaw in the kennel-rake's character," Alex's eyes widened in astonishment. "You could see, I say. It's a flaw."
"Not a subtle man, are you?" said Tom.
"Jack's not a- a rake!" said Alex.
"No," said Mr. Powell stepping farther into the cabin. "I said he's a kennel-rake," he snarled as he replaced the pipe to his mouth.
"That's quite enough, Mr. Powell," said Tom dangerously. "There's no need to be libellous. Jack's a young lad." Mr. Powell made a motion as though he would speak but Tom cut across him. "Besides," he said. "The Captain will deal with him, aye?" There was a sharp look in Mr. Powell's eye and he walked out of the cabin. Tom made a move for the door, and Alex just moved aside in time for him to pass.
"You're not-" said Alex.
"No," said Tom as he turned into the corridor and strode down into the darkness. It didn't take him long to reach the Captain's cabin door. He sighed with relief, with no sign of Mr. Powell. He gathered himself before he knocked on the door. He waited a moment, and mused on how he actually had hoped that it wouldn't come to this, despite what he had said. Still, he wanted to give Jack his fair chance. Tom knocked on the Captain's door again. After another moment he knocked again, and looked around. He sighed. Turning away he found a tall, blond haired sailor who had just finished cleaning the deck.
"Jehan," he said. "Do you know where the Captain is?" The Frenchman nodded, and pointed to the fore.
"I saw him take a walk with Puggy," he said, raising an eyebrow. "Trouble?" Tom tried to steady himself, clearly agitated. "Oui," said Jehan as he gathered his supplies. "Puggy, he's on the walk of the war?"
"It's Mr. Sparrow," said Tom. "He's drunk."
"Jacques Sparrou, he is drunk?" said Jehan with mild interest. "Aw, dat's bad. I tell you, it is too early for dat." Tom waited anxiously as Jehan finished tidying the scrub brushes and buckets. Then Jehan turned walking below deck. "Come," he said. "I show you."
The two sailors walked below deck, but it became clear from the knowing nods that they met that Mr. Powell had already brought the Captain to Alex' cabin. Jehan merely nodded philosophically and followed Tom back to the cabin where they found only the Captain, Alex and Jack. Alex stared anxiously past the Captain at the two men in the corridor.
"Capitaine," said Jehan evenly. "I hear dere is a problem?" Captain Hawthorne turned his head aside, but didn't answer. On the cot Jack groaned, and slid sideways once more. There was no noise in the cabin except for the long, slow intake of breath through the nose of the Captain, followed by the annoyed hum as it was exhaled again. Finally he seemed to break out of his thoughts and turned to all.
"And so, how long has Mr. Sparrow been like this?" he said hurriedly.
"Probably..." Alex stammered.
"All of three hours, I'd say," said Tom.
"Three hours?" said the Captain. "There had been a drunken sailor on my ship for three hours, Mr. Mc Cory? Is this about right, Mr. Corcoran?" Alex nodded grimly. Jehan whistled in the hallway, and the Captain wagged his head to silence him. "Three hours, then." He lowered his voice. "You two know better. You two know what a danger this sort of thing is. I won't have it." He looked hard at Jack. "No, he'll have to be passed over to Mr. Playfair." Alex gave a pained look which the Captain caught. His face softened as he sighed. He turned to the three men. "Gallants, " he said. "You see here the newest hand of our enterprise. Here is the lad who this morning saved his Captain's life. Here is the lad who has taken up the King's business with his enemies. Here he lies," he waved. "Here he is, drunk as a skunk, gallants. And I won't have it," he added pleadingly. "He will go to Mr. Playfair, he will go on his own once he has sobered. You will tell him that I have said that this must not happen again."