The officers’ deck hatch opened, and Royce spotted Beryl stepping out into the night air. Beryl liked his sleep and, being senior midshipman, rarely held the late watch. He stood glancing around, taking in the lay of the deck. He cast an eye up at the maintop, but Royce knew he was invisible in the dark tangles. Beryl spotted Wesley making his rounds on the forecastle and crossed the waist and headed up the stair. Wesley looked concerned at his approach but held his ground. Perhaps the boy would get another beating that night. Whatever torments Beryl had planned for Wesley were no concern of Royce’s, and he thought it might be time to scare Bernie again.

“I won’t do it,” Wesley declared, drawing Royce’s attention. Once more Beryl nervously looked upward.

Who are you looking for, Mr. Beryl?

Royce unhooked himself from the shrouds and rolled over for his own glance upward. As usual, Bernie was keeping his distance.

No threat there.

Royce climbed to the yard, walked to the end, and, just as he had done during the race with Derning, slid down the rope so he could hear them.

“I can make life on this ship very difficult for you,” Beryl said, threatening Wesley. “Or have you forgotten your two days without sleep? There is talk that I’ll be made acting lieutenant, and if you think your life is hard with my current rank, after my promotion it’ll be a nightmare. And I’ll see to it that any transfer is refused.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You don’t have to. In fact, it’s better if you don’t. That way you can sound sincere if the captain questions you. Just find him guilty of something. Misconduct, disrespect, I don’t care. You put his buddy the cook on report for not saluting. Do something like that. Only this time it needs to be a flogging offense.”

“But why me? Why can’t you invent this charge?”

“Because if the accusation comes from you, the captain and Mr. Bishop will not question it.” He grinned. “And if they do, it’s your ass, not mine.”

“And that’s supposed to entice me?”

“No, but I’ll get off your back. If you don’t, you won’t eat, you won’t sleep, and you’ll become very accident-prone. The sea can be dangerous. Midshipman Jenkins lost both thumbs on our last voyage when he slipped with a rope, which is strange, ’cause he didn’t handle ropes that day. Invent a charge, make it stick, and get him flogged.”

“And why do you want him whipped?”

“I told you. My friends want blood. Now do we have a deal?”

Wesley stared at Beryl and took a deep breath. “I can’t misrepresent a man, and certainly not one under my command, simply to avoid personal discomfort.”

“It will be a great deal more than discomfort, you little git!”