The ghostly figure strode into the darkened wardroom to the scent of tobacco, expecting his comrades to be celebrating their forthcoming shore leave. Instead he found the smirking visage of Archie Kennedy, with cigar in hand as he blew clever smoke signals like bored aristocrats do. Kennedy glanced at the visitor with his grin expanding as if his mistress has arrived to sedate his lust, but the visitor knew his thoughts were irrational as he glared at the indulgent midshipman who haunted the shadows of his mind.

He cleared his throat, contemplating how to repress his forthcoming hardness in his breeches, �Archie, where�s Horatio?�

Kennedy laughed, exposing his pearly teeth unmarred by his nautical diet, �Mister Clayton, is it to Mister Hornblower you refer?�

Clayton could not help the uplifting of his stern mouth, ��Don�t play your upper crust games with me, you little bastard.�

Silence resumed as Kennedy smoked his cigar, blowing circles above his head that reminded Clayton of angel halos; but his friend was more deserving of horns, with his mischief that bedeviled his comrades when Lucifer departed from their purgatory. Clayton coughed to attract attention, but his devices could not distract slouching ennui or blushing cheeks.

Again, Clayton spoke, �Well, where is Horatio?�

Kennedy stared at him as if he were some ghost before his sardonic smile bewitched his cherub cheeks, �Oh, he is preoccupied entertaining Jack.�

�What?� Clayton shrieked, but assumed Kennedy was tormenting him with his maniacal jokes. �Really, where is he?�

�It is as I said,� Kennedy laughed �They do need to become better acquainted.�

Clayton became crimson as his friend chuckled, �You--you sent him there?�

�Why not?� Kennedy became weary as he resumed smoking his cigar. �Jack fancies to teach ignorant young gentlemen the ways of the sea.�

Clayton could not restrain his indignation as Kennedy indulged himself, condemning the innocent man to the insufferable vices of humanity all contained in the flesh of Jack Simpson. He bolted from the entrance of the wardroom, intending to strike his fellow officer out of his self-absorbed state. As he neared Kennedy, the younger man extinguished his cigar as if his clever mind had alerted him to the red faced fury that was about to strike his cheek. Clayton restrained himself as blue eyes sparkled with understanding amid the bland facial expression, but he knew there was self-satisfaction with the slight upturn of those surly lips.

He struck Kennedy, knowing he would suffer guilt from this moment onward for punishing the man of his affections; but it was unforgivable that he had condemned their friend to hell, though it had saved himself. Clayton clenched his fists as Kennedy stared from his defensive posture, but the younger man soon had return to the grace of his good humor.

�Hmm, better him than me,� he murmured while shrugging his shoulders. �I suffered the ministrations for months before he arrived, so now it is his privilege as the most junior of us.�

Clayton remained crimson, hearing his heart throb in his head, ��But how can you of all people be so thoughtless, so heartless?�

Kennedy straightened himself, reaching for his cigar, �Erasmus, when did you develop morals, you drunken sod?�

Clayton pounded the table, �Hasn�t Horatio been through enough already?�

Kennedy glared at him as though offended as he relit his cigar, �It�s nothing compared to what I�ve endured, if your drunken mind can comprehend. Or are you at the laudanum again, dear Erasmus?�

�You, it�s always about you isn�t it?� Clayton leaned forward while Kennedy remained still, as if he had the dignity of rajahs without kingdoms who refused to lose their nobility. �Well, haven�t you anything to say for yourself.�

Kennedy replied with his sardonic smile, �One must think of himself when survival is paramount in purgatory if he seeks to get to heaven.�

Clayton shook his head, �I thought you had high ideals. You, the disabused son of aristocrats, who maintained his nobility against bad men on this nightmare sloop.�

Kennedy chuckled, �What good are ideals when life is short and brutal, with all pleasure to be seized at any opportunity.�

Clayton frowned as he resumed his customary posture, running his pale hands over his face that resumed its shade of ghost flesh. He was perplexed at this dilemma, with his friend behaving in the most unbecoming matter. Kennedy was mischievous, but he never incensed anyone to violence. Perhaps he was more manipulative than Clayton imagined, with his angelic appearance making people forget how maniacal his mind was.

He sniffed the tobacco stained air, �Are you soused?�

�Do you see any magnificent goblet in my hand?� Kennedy replied, his face disheveled. �You drunken sod, I need my humor to survive this purgatory. One more day and I shall go mad.�

Clayton furrowed, �How could you condemn you friends to Jack Simpson. How?�

Kennedy continued to act like the disenchanted aristocrat, �Friends? Who needs friends? The Justinian is a death sentence with the ailing Captain who knows nothing of his ship.�

Clayton turned his back to Archie, fearful he would cry at this nex character who ahd been before his eyes, �I don�t know what to think of you, sending Horatio to Jack like that.�

�The sooner he learns what is expected of him, the better,� the angelic voice boomed. �Isn�t that what you told me?�

Clayton turned his head slightly so he could view Kennedy, �Yes, but-�

�It�s no different from what I have done,� Kennedy smiled, as if satisfied with himself. �Naval traditions must be obeyed.�

Clayton paused as memories altered his perceptions, �You sound as bad as Victor.�

Kennedy was nonchalant as he shrugged his shoulders, �Well, at least I haven�t woken castrated in some seedy Portsmouth Inn.�

�How can you find humor in that?� Clayton roared as he turned toward Kennedy, the red returning to his scowling face. �He was a promising lad, just like-�

�But he still violated the code of the sea, and he paid the price,� Archie interrupted as he rose from his chair, extinguishing his cigar. �Now you understand how I felt when you condemned Victor to Jack, just so that I could be saved. Well, some of us don�t want to be saved!�

�Damn your impudence, man!� Clayton roared as he bounded forward, his knuckles prepared to bruise the pretty flesh of his former affection. �Damn you!�

Kennedy countered the first slug, his fists thrusting against throat and kidney. Clayton strode backwards, clutching his neck and abdomen while his mind was shocked by the strength in his small, compact friend. He dared to glance at the cross expression that glared with anger he had never known to color that pretty face.

�What was that for?� he gulped as he seated himself, surprised that the pain continued to reverberate. �Why?�

Kennedy bellowed as he paced toward Clayton, �It was you, you drunken sod, who condemned Victor. He lost his manhood because you soused yourself and wanted to escape Jack that night so you told him Victor was waiting ashore for him. You told him that, and he almost bled to death if I haven�t been there to save him. And what did you say to me in your dumb, drunk state? That one must do anything to survive purgatory. Anything!�

Kennedy had his strained face near Clayton, who tensed as the angry, hateful eyes glared. He became more ghostlike as his heart haunted his ears with its rapid rhythm, beating defeat as Kennedy pulled him by the lapels. His body became more corpselike, except for the stiffening in his breaches as Kennedy licked his lips. He whimpered as he was seized from the chair, fearful of the violence that was about to ascend when footsteps approached.

The familiar voice spoke, �Archie? Erasmus?�

Clayton was dropped, perplexed at the new development, but was relieved that Hornblower lived.

�Yes, Horatio?� Kennedy asked, his voice musical.

Hornblower sighed, his shoulders heaving with great burden, �I--I challenged Simspon to--to duel.�

�What!� his friends shrieked in alarm, glaring at each other before glowering at Hornblower.

�I cannot endure him anymore,� Hornblower blurted. �One of us must go.�

Kennedy hopped over to Hornblower like some rabbit, embracing his friend who began to sniffle. He guided Hornblower to the wardroom table, caressing his back all the while like mothers do to their children. Hornblower leaned his head into Kennedy to stifle his tears, with Kennedy encircling him tighter with unrestrained affection. He whispered to Hornblower, who nodded as whatever reassuring words remained unheard by Clayton who watched with predatory eyes as his prey was snatched away.

Whether what Kennedy had done earlier to bedevil him, Clayton understood why it had been done. He had discovered love in purgatory twice, fearful that Clayton would steal it away again when he was blindingly drunk, unconscious of what danger he put others into. It had lead Victor on the path to death, but Kennedy should not be condemned to that fate again whether Clayton loved him or not. He would sacrifice himself for Kennedy and Hornblower, the better men who had their future, unlike the drunken sod of failed merchants who had drowned his potential in liquor. Only, he was not clever like Kennedy, so how would he prevent the noble Hornblower for the little prince?