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The streets of Portsmouth were lined with sailors and soldiers and whores, all grumbling of half-pay and peace, searching for ships and postings and plying wares. The brunette flashed a smile and a hint of skin in their direction, and though neither of them fell prey to it, they both noticed.
“Half pay, half price, gents.” Her voice was thick with drawl, two teeth missing in her wide, wicked smile. Bush’s eyebrow lifted in echo with Kennedy’s, and both men shook their heads, hurrying instead toward the tavern.
Archie settled onto the low bench with a relieved sigh, wincing as his weight shifted, pulling at the healing stitches of his wound. His chest ached, but it was slowly fading to nothing, and given that he was still alive to feel it, he felt he had little cause to complain. Bush ordered them both ales in large mugs, hard ceramic in their hands as they touched their glasses together. “To Mr…” Bush shook his head. “To Captain Hornblower.”
Nodding his assent, Archie took a deep draught from his mug and then set it on the table, wiping the thick foam from around his mouth with the back of his hand. “Lieutenant again, I fear.” He settled more comfortably on his seat, his hand sliding against his stomach to press against the thick black stitches that marred his skin, feeling their thick bunching through even the layers of cloth. “All of us equaled again by peace.”
“I fear you are still junior, Mr. Kennedy.”
“Yes, Mr. Bush, as you are always so keen to remind me.” He grinned and took another drink as Bush did the same.
“I cannot let a man get so far above his station, Mr. Kennedy.” He took a drink as well then gave a short bark of laughter. “Unless, of course, that man is Mr. Hornblower, who is incapable of accepting no for an answer.”
“Especially if he feels he is right.”
“Which he always does.”
Archie nodded thoughtfully and took another sip. “Which he always is.”
“You have…” Bush paused for a long moment, drowning it with a long draught of ale. “A great…admiration for Mr. Hornblower.”
His eyebrow lifting, Archie managed a knowing smile. “And you do not, Mr. Bush?”
“I do, Mr. Kennedy. Though I think my admiration falls far short of yours.”
Archie traced a thick line carved into the wood of the table, staring down at his rough, calloused hand as it ran the length of the mark. “Are you asking something of me, Mr. Bush?” He raised his eyes and held Bush’s gaze. “For I would think, given the situations that we have found ourselves in together, you would do me the courtesy of asking out right rather than…” his smile was bitter and sharp, “prevaricating around the issue.”
Bush’s eyes widened slightly and then he took his own drink, letting the uneasy silence fall between them. “I am not, Mr. Kennedy.”
“Mr. Hornblower is my dear friend, and I admire him greatly for his keen mind and sharp wit. I have gladly served with him, and would do so again.”
“It was not a question, Mr. Kennedy.” He bowed his head slightly and then shook it, looking up to meet Archie’s gaze. “And I apologize for any implication I may have made.”
“We are not so different, you and I, Mr. Bush. Both of us in His Majesty’s Navy long before Horatio Hornblower ever set foot on Justinian, and yet both of us finding ourselves a battle away from serving under him. Officially, as I think we both know that we’ve done nothing but serve under him since you were brought aboard Renown.”
“And yet there is no resentment.” It was not a question, though he could see Archie pondering the answer.
“If I did not trust him, I think that would not be so, but I do. I would risk my life for him.”
“And your neck.”
“And he would do the same for me.” Archie took another long drink. “And for you.”
“A good man to have at your back, our Mr. Hornblower.”
Archie smiled, keenly aware of Bush’s choice of words, of the implication in his voice, of the potential therein. “He is that, Mr. Bush.” Archie leaned in and pressed the lip of his glass against Bush’s. “He most definitely is that.”