The wind crossing the harbor had been bitter, and Horatio too busy paying attention to his stomach to make much conversation. Kennedy hadn't seemed inclined to talk either, just stared back at the retreating hulk of Justinian until they reached the pier and stepped on shore.

When Kennedy quickly turned up a street leading away from the docks and the only part of Portsmouth Horatio knew, he felt obliged to question. "Where will we meet the coach?"

"King's Inn." Kennedy pointed upward, though the building was not yet in view. "I'll take a room for us tonight, and we'll start first thing in the morning if all has gone well."

Horatio wondered why they hadn't just stayed aboard Justinian another night, and saved the cost of bed and board. After just a minute of watching his shipmate push through the crowd, though, energetic, almost bouncing with lightness, he understood. The chattering scamp who led him about was almost an alien creature. First crowding the windows of the bookseller to see the latest editions, then darting across the street to buy hot pasties, and spending the change on bruised flowers from a beggar girl for their buttonholes. Everything was new, and needed to be seen, touched, commented on, and preferably, enjoyed.

It was startling, and Horatio could only trail along quietly in Archie's sun-kissed rattling wake, questioning for the dozenth time if he really knew the other mid at all. When he saw where they would be staying, he was even less sanguine. King's Inn was tall and bustling, all fresh paint and mullioned windows, surrounding a large courtyard full of horses and carriages, and men dressed well. There were few Naval uniforms among the crowd, all of them shining with gilt. Horatio felt distinctly out of place.

The innkeeper seemed to think so too, until Kennedy produced a worn letter, after which it was all smiles and m'lords. Horatio couldn't help staring at his friend, who looked annoyed and uncomfortable until the door shut behind the last servant and they were alone in a fine room at the top of the inn, with a porcelain washbasin and a single wide bed that looked like Heaven.

The fact that there was only one bed was a problem that would trouble Horatio later. First he fixed Kennedy with a very firm stare. "M'lord?"

"Blast the man. I'm not a lord, you know. An 'honorable' at best, and I wasn't even that a year ago." Kennedy threw his satchel down and dropped onto the bed with an air of resignation. After a few moments, the mid confessed: "My father is the Earl of Cassillis."

Horatio blinked. A more unlikely nobleman than Archie was hard to imagine. The boy didn't even sound like a noble. Actually, Kennedy had a strange accent that seemed to shift with the boy's moods. "I thought your father was a Captain."

"He was, Captain Archibald Kennedy, North American Station... look, do we have to do this now? It doesn't matter, does it?"

That was the sort of thing only a rich person could say. "Well, of course it matters! I knew you had money, Kennedy, but... but... won't your father be upset that you're inviting a- a doctor's son to share your coach?"

"You'll be the most respectable boy I ever brought home."

Something in the way Archie said that, with those cool appraising blue eyes, made Horatio blush and get angry all at once. "You and your secrets, Mr. Kennedy! You might have told me I'd have to meet an Earl before I accepted the ride."

"Well you don't have to, if you're going to be snobbish about it. I could just open the carriage door and kick you out as we're passing St. Peters." Kennedy said acidly. "I was worried you'd be ridiculous about this."

"Well it sounds ridiculous. If it weren't for the innkeep, I'd think you were lying."

"I wish I was! God, what do you want me to say, Horatio? That I apologize? Fine. Pray pardon me for not mentioning that a year ago a second cousin once removed had the gall to die without sons and name my Da his heir. The title is in some little dispute, if that is any comfort."

Kennedy stood up again, pacing around the room with increasing agitation. "But you know, being an earl's son never seemed to stop Simpson from grinding my face into a table and..." Kennedy stopped in front of the washstand and poured water into the bowl not bothering to finish the thought before washing hands with unnecessary vigor.

"And besides, waking up from fits covered in spit and piss didn't exactly make me feel like a credit to the Kennedy name. I'm hardly my father's favorite son. So aye, I tried to keep it a secret." The boy dried his hands and threw the towel on the floor, dropping back onto the bed. "Forgive me."

Horatio felt horribly awkward at the outburst he had provoked. He stooped to pick up the discarded towel, and set it into place before coming over to kneel down near the bed and take Kennedy's freshly scrubbed hands. The boy had a knack for making him feel dirty and cruel.

"Archie," he said as softly as he could, "I'm sorry. Of course you had your reasons. And it doesn't matter who your father is. I am sorry."

Kennedy didn't look up at him, but didn't pull away from his touch either. "I'll forgive you if you say my name again."

This confused him. "Archie?"

Sunshine came again. "Yes. That's better. Are you sure you wouldn't like to go down and get dinner. Dinner that isn't salt beef and biscuit? And we have to decide what to do with the rest of our day."

Food sounded immeasurably safer than staying here, so close to Archie in a quicksilver mood. Horatio hastily agreed, and after a quick washing up, they went down to enjoy the inn's fare.

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