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"James, you awake?"

The berth was almost black; only the light from the slits in the inner wall sections permeated into the dank darkness, which was enough for her to see the dull shapes of the men in their hammocks. Cicely walked towards the back wall, where she knew James's was and tried not to wake the snoring men she was passing on the way.

Following the wedding, she had gone with Maturin back to his cabin, and he had explained that he had agreed with the Captain that though she would take part in the battle, she would, for the sake of sensibilities, take up residence with him and carry out some work.

Cicely had repressing the urge to argue about and had asked permission from the doctor to at least change back into her sailing clothes. He had laughed before excusing his joviality, explaining she was at liberty to do what she pleased.

However this presumably did not extend to practicing manoeuvres as an hour later she heard the sound of the orders of war being called, the salts heaving cannon and irons, the officers and midshipmen directing.

"James?"

Cicely almost stumbled over Gordon who for some reason had taken up sleeping on the floor, and lurched in the direction of her own hammock. Excellent, she thought, as she felt the rough hessian fabric brush her arm, it was still up.

In the same logical manner the he had proposed Maturin had then explained what Cicely was to do with his work: she would transcribe the information from his notebooks made during observations on the Galapagos Islands and Cicely had felt less inclined to mourn her exclusion from practice when she saw what delights she would be reading about, iterating his instructions obediently.

However this fascination only lasted two hours; Cicely had not imagined how long and laborious the job would be, especially still sitting there in the Captain's wife's dress; the doctor had not taken the request at her permission to change as a cue to help her. It had been Blakeney, who had come along near supper time to bring her some food who she had had to ask to unlace the incarceral ribbons tied so precisely by the Captain so she could be free of the dress and have the chance to return to her own britches and jerkin.

"Rob?" She heard James's tired voice emanate from his hammock.

"Give us a hand up, will you?" Cicely whispered, trying not to disturb the other men, and she felt James's hand on her shirt.

It was not as if Maturin had not been kind enough to allow her his bunk; he had set up a hammock at the other end of his quarters that evening. He had asked her whether she had eaten supper, and when she had responded to the negative had explained gently that she was no prisoner; that she could dine with the men should she wish. His only request, he explained was for her to sleep here for the sake of respectability and ever the gentleman made a deal of remaining outside allowing her to wash alone before bed.

As she splashed cold water onto her face, Cicely considered, not for the first time, his goodness and when he extinguished the candle half an hour later Cicely lay in the darkness, examining why, after such kindness had been shown her, she felt troubled.

"What are you doing here?" whispered the lad, as she climbed with his help into her old hammock. "The captain told us you'd be bunking with the doctor…" he left the sentence unfinished, as if the reasons for her not being there were too complicated for him to put into words.

"Can't sleep there," she replied quietly. "Not the same as here. Too enclosed." Cicely stopped and watched as the unspoken haze of division between them evaporated. "What did I miss?"

As she spoke, Cicely realised what was concerning her: two well-meaning and honourable men were, through their duty to her honour, smothering and constraining her; controlling her. That was the life she'd left in Gloucester; the life she had fought to escape.

Well she'd be damned if she was going to be held to their rules now, not when she needed information that would help her on the morrow, and when she needed the security of her pair. But...Cicely's mind began to doubt her bold impetuosity….

"The captain's got a plan," said James sleepily. "You know the whalers we picked up from Chatham? We're to fool the Phantom that we're a whaler too, hide the colours and get close before attacking…"

…well, she'd return at the dawn bell, she could say she'd been to the head. As the thought rolled over in her mind, remorse chided her for her betrayal of his trust…

"…once we get in close, Mr. Mowett'll get the sheets high, then we fly the ensign…" Cicely rolled over in her hammock so she could face James's direction and hear more clearly his description of manoeuvres.

…the way Maturin had spoke to her, logically and reasonably; so full of honour and respect; mildly but reverentially. Had it not been a marriage proposal she would have believed she was in the company of a learned man at a forum such as a debate or other….

"…the gun crews will fire an eight-routine all in. That'll sort 'em, so says Lamb…"

"Mh-hm," agreed Cicely absently. If the marriage were a contract of sorts, she must repay him for his kind commodious part of it by doing what he had asked regarding his books, even if she could not honour the promise she had made to sleep in his cabin tonight. He must never know her feelings and she must shun her affections for that reason.

But that would be hard to do, she added, following the kiss Maturin had given her directly after Aubrey had pronounced them "man and wife"…

"…the middies second, once over we're to feed the mainsail to an angle again to give Mr Killick time, then the sheet can be lowered and returned to normal…" James yawned.

…and not get distracted as she had done that afternoon. But it was curious why John Fotherington's name would be on a sheet of vellum at the back of the doctor's notebook (Albermarle, Volume 4) along with seven others. She had studied the information for a moment, trying to see where it fitted in with Canis Aurorae. Besides, Vichesse, Marlot, Burgoyne…these sounded like French names and since they didn't appear to be connected to botany or nature in any way, Cicely had replaced it between the pages from where it had fallen out.

"…Rob, you still awake?" James yawned again; and Cicely's mind was dragged from thoughts of the afternoon to the present.

"Yes" she whispered. "I was just thinking, there was something I need to tell you. Do you remember when you were ill? In the sick berth?"

"Not now Rob; we need to sleep…" Cicely stemmed the flow of conversation that had welled in her cerebellum. She would tell him tomorrow, sometime. Before the battle, at least. He must know about Old Joe's supposition that he was his father, and his part in her being aboard the Surprise.

"James?"

"Yes, Rob?"

"Do you think we'll get through tomorrow? I mean you and me?" Cicely heard the oak above them creak as James turned in his hammock.

"We're under the best Captain in all the Service…"

"Yes, I know." Cicely sighed inwardly. "But assuming we don't; I just want to say – "

"You too Rob," interrupted James quietly. "You're the best friend I've ever had, an' all. Now shut up and get some sleep."

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Four bells tolled above the berth. Cicely opened her eyes and vaulted from her hammock quickly, almost landing on Chell. Without stopping to explain she rushed through the men who had arisen to begin their watch, and straight through the officers' mess, knowing that no-one would be there at this hour.

If she had had a chance to reflect Cicely would have realised this had been the first night that she hadn't been awoken with the dreadful dream of her brother drowning. The dream of Edward floating face-down in the ocean as the moonlight reflected off his hair. The one where Cicely finds herself going in to save him only to see his body, dead and stiff.

Three vital minutes of up-and-down decks it would save her, she knew as she opened the door at the far end which led onto the staircase. From there she hurried two at a time up to the first lower deck and turned right, down the corridor to where Stephen Maturin's cabin was.

Slowing her pace now, Cicely walked towards the door, pushing down the latch carefully and quietly as she could. He would still be in his hammock now, as it was only a quarter to five. Cicely could slip back into bed and wait until he rose.

She pushed open the door. Yes. Wait until he sat at his desk and she heard the scratching of his peacock-feather quill…

…as she stepped forward Dr. Maturin looked up from his writing, putting down the quill. Cicely stopped in her gait, and looked at him, his eyes looking between her and the page of transcription she had done the day before

"Er…umm.." she said foolishly, before closing her mouth; whatever she was going to say would be ridiculous. Regardless of the reason for her being up, it was obvious she had not occupied the bed all night. Maturin nodded towards the ledger.

"Excellent," he said, nodding towards her handwriting, "exactly what I was looking for. I don't think another man aboard this ship could have completed the work as accurately or quick."

"Er…" said Cicely again, running over his last sentence in her mind.

"And you're exhausted from this, I expect," he continued pushing his round-framed spectacles up his long nose, "so much so that you slept well and got up early for a breath of fresh air." He snapped the book closed when he'd finished, as if underlining the point that this was the end of the conversation.

But he had been so kind already! She could not allow him to make another concession in her favour.

"Dr. Maturin…"

"I think now we are married, you could risk calling me by my first name, Cicely," he said, still looking at her.

"Er…" Cicely could feel the confusion envelop her face as her mind rewound to the ceremony less than a day ago.

"Stephen," she began uncertainly. Maturin smiled at her gently, and nodded in confirmation.

"I expect that you were with your friend…Fillings…" he continued. Cicely nodded. "And I expect you're here to inform me that, as we have a busy day ahead of her you are off to breakfast now." Cicely nodded again, defeated. I will repay you, she told him silently, if it's the last thing I do. She turned to go, and Maturin looked down at his books. She had taken two steps, hand on the door when he looked back up again.

"Cicely, if it helps, fourth is far too late to mount a return from berths, even through the officers' quarters. For future reference, I generally rise at the second."

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James looked at Cicely with wide eyes in wonder. "So my father is alive? Is that truly what Old Joe said? Did he mean it? It wasn't one of his stories, was it?"

Cicely bit into her ship's biscuit lunch and chewed quickly, trying not to think about the weevils that were falling through its substance and landing on the tin plate. He had been overjoyed at the thought of his father aiding her; he chipped in as she described her contact, before recounting the tale Old Joe had told him whilst unconscious; from what had described, James had believed he had imagined it all.

"No, he's right, Jim," said Bonden, sliding next to Cicely and looking at the lad. "Joe knew ye' father, right enough. And I bet the Captain remembers him, too." James grinned up at Wiggin, who was standing next to Bonden.

"And that's not the best part," she added, smiling at the three lads whose full attention she now had.

Cicely had been astonished by their readiness to accept her in her new stead; for the most part she had been treated by and large as Robert Young that morning; Callumay directing her to the acular keel, then Blakeney to the mainsail sheet. She had gone to work as she normally would, dressed in her usual clothing, and it had been a full ten minutes before she realised many of the men were staring at her.

Cicely had stopped running the sheet through when she had realised it, and the atmosphere between her comrades and herself was far too much to bear. It had been broken by Blakeney shouting at her to stop her slacking and then, like German marionettes the men went back to work.

As she'd scrubbed the deck that morning, Cicely had noticed a shadow above her, and had looked into the firm-set face of Joseph Nagel. She had got to her feet, slightly uncertainly, before he held out a grubby hand, saying it was good to see her back; their section of the deck had been getting far too shabby. A few moments later Killick passed her, gesturing to the floor. "Well done, lad," he'd added, patting her on the back.

And that had been that; no ceremony, just acceptance that she was who she'd always been: the lowest-ranking position of mizzenlad, Robert Young.

"Well?" said James, Bonden and Wiggin in unison.

"Well you know how I got on at Sao Paolo?" James nodded. "I had actually tried out for mizzenlad at the wharf first of all, and it was a fellow by the name of John Fotherington helped me out. Got me back safely to the town. Gave me tips about how I should be. Smart uniform. Who to speak to. When not."

"Oh, Rob!" he exclaimed, beaming at Bonden and Wiggin. "How wonderful! Thank you for telling me before the battle." He got to his feet and looked out across the sunlit ocean.

"That means he's out there somewhere," he added quietly, "waiting for me to find him." Bonden turned to Cicely.

"Watch it, Young, you'll have him cryin' next!" Both men laughed heartily, and Cicely joined them.

"When is the Captain to attack?" asked Cicely, turning to Wiggin. "I know it's the noon-after…" She stopped when she noticed Blakeney behind her. Both lads, and James who had turned from his own private soliloquy saluted him. Cicely glanced at them, and saluted him also.

"Young," said Blakeney. "Lads," he added, extending the conversation to them all. "The battle preparations are to begin. Report now to Lieutenant Pullings in your group order to receive weapons for the battle."

"Aye-aye, sir," they chorused. Bonden scuttled down to towards the mess, while Wiggin and James held fast, waiting for Young. Blakeney looked at them both.

"I need to brief Young on proceedings," he said simply. Realisation dawned on their faces, and at once Cicely felt herself turning from their comrade to a stranger in their eyes. Both lads saluted and made their way to the mid-deck. Will turned to Cicely.

"I think that Doctor Maturin wishes to speak to you before we start," said Blakeney, looking at her and smiling.

"Will, I'm fighting," replied Cicely, firmly. "He promised; or else why were we married yesterday?" She leaned against the railings of the ship and looked down. "If he rescinds…" she sighed, and smiled wanly at Will.

"Do you think that's likely?" he added, stepping closer to her and speaking to her softly. "I know he is a man of his word, and – "

"And so is the Captain," Cicely interrupted. "And he promised that I was to return to England. How likely is it that Captain Aubrey could persuade the doctor?" Will sighed.

"Well, I can come with you if you wish," he added, smiling and taking her hand. Cicely shook it free.

"What I wish, Mr Blakeney, is to be treated as Robert Young. The men treat me as such; they respect my wishes to fight the French. I just wish my superiors would as well." She smiled at Will again, rubbing his shoulder. "It's the only way I can be," she added quietly.

"Do you think you could be Cicely for just another five minutes?" Will asked, grinning impishly. "I do so prefer it when you're her." She nodded.

"OK Will, before I go to see the doctor, can you let me in on the plan? What does Robert Young have to do this afternoon?" Will smiled happily, and told her.

It went like this: the mizzenlads, ten of them including Cicely were to run the gun cotton to the cannon gunnery officers, having soaked them in oil and tar so as they could be fired easily. Once the ship was close enough to board, most of the able seamen, deckhands and officers would board, tackling the toughest of the enemy. After twenty minutes or so Pizzy would blow the bugle, indicating that many of the stronger enemy had had been killed and it would be left to them to follow at the rear to finish off the sick and wounded.

"…and the Captain has said I am to take full command of the ship as they fight," he finished proudly. Cicely smiled. To a lad his age and in his position that was indeed a great honour and she told him so.

"Come on," he said, glancing round to make sure Pullings wasn't about to pull him up, "I'll show you your crew deck," and Cicely followed him below to where the guncotton would be, before trailing after him along the route she would have to take in order to feed the gunnery section.

"Cicely," Will said, looking thoughtful. "Why do you want to fight in a battle?"

"Why does anyone?" she asked carefully. Will gave her look which said, "You've trusted me before. Trust me again."

"I'll be fighting for my country and for my brother," she said. Will nodded, then frowned. He means why because I'm a woman, not my motivation, she thought and changed tack.

"Which would you say is more exciting, Will, to fight in a battle or to hear about one after it had happened?"

"To fight," he'd replied quickly with excitement. "That's far more fun."

"So you would prefer that I missed out on the fun, because I'm a girl?" He shook his head, as he got the point.

"But you might get hurt," he added, looking mournful.

"I'll have you know I was getting hurt falling out of my brother's tree house before you were even thought of!" Cicely pulled Will close and gave him a sisterly hug.

"You might die," he continued, talking to her tunic. "I wouldn't want that, and nor would the doctor." Will looked up, his bright blue eyes shining. Cicely shook her head.

"That is likely. But I'll be doing what I need to do, and for the Captain too. Can you understand that?" He nodded, before pulling away, wiping a trickle of moisture from his cheek Cicely got down to his level and held his hand.

"I've one more thing to ask, Will…" he looked at her earnestly. "Don't ever tell the doctor about my true feelings, even if I die. Please?" she added, to stop him interrupting.

"Sh," he said, looking over her shoulder. "The doctor's coming." Cicely got to her feet.

"Ah," said Maturin, looking at them both. "I thought I may find you here. I understand the crew is preparing, Mr. Blakeney?"

"Aye, sir," replied Will, saluting the doctor. "I was just showing Young what sh- he has to do in the battle, sir, seeing as he missed out yesterday." He looked back towards the doctor. "If you don't mind sir, I'll be showing Young where to assemble?" He took a couple of steps in the direction of the steps towards the upper deck.

You adorable child, thought Cicely, making to follow him. How marvellous that at your age you can show such passive resistance to a man nearly three times your age when sounding as if you are doing your duty diligently.

"If I could relieve you of Young for just a couple of minutes, I wish to talk to him regarding the battle." Maturin gave Blakeney a look which told the lad he wished to be alone with Cicely.

"Yes, sir," replied Will, looking apologetically at Cicely for a moment before hurrying up the steps to the mid-deck. Maturin turned to Cicely.

"You are about to fight in a battle," he said, looking towards Cicely's downward gaze. "As am I," he added, brandishing the sword he had in his left hand. "Tell me, for the last time, are you prepared for this; to face all the horror that a battle entails?"

"I expect that the reason you are fighting is for the Captain, Dr – " she saw him raise his eyebrows, " – Stephen, is because all persons aboard ship are needed in one-to-one combat with the enemy? That every man should do his duty?" Maturin looked at her sharply, as if she has just recounted a fact to which she shouldn't be privy.

"You have told me before that you fight for your brother, you fight for Edward, instead of him. Is that truly necessary? Must you risk your life this day?" Cicely looked down, fixing her gaze on a knothole in the plank she was standing on, trying not to scream at him as the rage grew stronger in her very chest. She swallowed.

"It's as if you don't believe me," she replied, still looking down. You're a man of honour, she thought. Has the Captain coerced you?

"If I didn't believe you Cicely, I wouldn't have married you." She looked up into his face and saw…honesty; kindness; truth. Those qualities amongst the many for which she adored him. Cicely nodded.

"There is no other way," she confirmed.

"Then take this," Maturin said, handing Cicely an amber bottle. She glanced into her hand, before quickly trying to press it back into his.

"I cannot!" she said, horrified. "If you leave this with me now, I will not take it, and if I am killed today, you will have wasted a good deal of the medicine others who are wounded would need." She looked defiantly at him, until he received it back from her.

"If that is the case," he said, slipping the vial of laudanum back into his waistcoat pocket, "may I take this opportunity to wish you luck." Maturin bent to kiss her, but she stuck out a hand.

"Thank you, doctor," Cicely said, gripping his hand firmly. "Good luck to you as well."