The Shipping Forecast

Plymouth Part 3, the first

HMS Diana, Time... uncertain

Killin woke, if such a vague slide from unconsciousness to a waking nightmare could be called such a thing. He was lying on the floor, face pressed against rancid straw which was awash with something that might charitably be called water, in the way that the leavings of a horse might charitably be called straw, and which also, by unhappy coincidence, aptly described the stuff that Killin found himself lying in.

"Eugh!"

In the faint light of a lantern that swung wildly from its hook, Killin took in his surroundings. It looked like a prison cell. There were bars, and a guard, and everything. Everything was moving. He wasn't sure if it was a man or an animal, and moved away into the far corner. The guard watched him disinterestedly.

After a period where nothing much happened, except Killin's face took on a stoney, far-away stare devoid of outward expression, a man and a boy appeared at the cage. They were dressed in uniforms straight out of a Jane Austin novel, all gold trimmed and ostentatious on the part of the man who must be playing the part of Captain, Killin reasoned, while the boy - just a child! - must be someone's son, come along for the fun and playing dress-up.

"Look, this has gone far enough," Killin said to the Captain. "Just you let me out and take me back to the Zeeland. God, I don't envy you, when Captain Brindley gets hold of you. There'll be hell to pay!" He laughed at the the thought of Brindley's fury directed at these fools.

The man stared at him a moment, then turned to the boy. "His accent is strange. Are you sure he's not French?"

"No, sir," said the boy. "I can't say for sure, but he hasn't spoke a word of french yet. Parks and Bull who took him down from the mainmast yardarm said he smells like a fairy, so perhaps..."

"Yes, I take your point Mr Scalmy. You, sir! What is your name, and how came you to be aboard my Ship during an action? Are you an agent of the enemy?"

Killin stared open mouthed for a second, amazed at the charade that was obviously carrying on. Oh well, he thought, he'd give this idiot something to chew on! Standing straight and giving the captain his best Brindley-esque wide eyed stare, he said, "I, sir, am third officer Killin of the Purple Star Line flagship, Zeeland. Who the hell do you think you are, firing on an unarmed ship going about its business, eh? They call that piracy where I come from!"

"Zeeland?" said the preposterous captain. "What country is that from?"

"It is registered in the Netherlands."

"Then you are an officer on the enemy! As such you should consider yourself a prisoner of His Britannic Majesty's Royal Navy until such time as you are exchanged or hanged, whichever comes first."

Killin's shoulders slumped and he closed his eyes. He was in the company of madmen and idiots. "Gods my life," he muttered.

"What was that you said?" asked the boy. He had his face pressed up against the bars and was staring at his face in the pale lantern light. "And did you say your name was 'Killin'?"

"Yes," said Killin, taken aback slightly by the youth's self assured manner and shrewd stare that suddenly made him appear much older. "My name is Killin. Charles Aubrey Killin, if you must know."

"Charles Aubrey ... hmm." The boy turned to the captain and a whispered conversation ensued. The captain didn't look impressed, but eventually he gave Killin an appraising look, then said to the boy, "Very well. See what comes of it."

They left, but shortly after the boy returned with two marines, who entered the brig and escorted him up on deck, where the air was fresh, but cold with salt spray and rain. He was taken aft, past curious gun crews who stared at him with open wonder as he passed, then down a companionway to a dim and low interior where he immediately smacked his head into an unseen beam. "Bugger!"

"Mind your head! You may want to duck, it's a bit low down here."

"You don't say," muttered Killin, rubbing his head and trying to see past the fireworks that had erupted in his eyes. The ship lurched and he stumbled into one of the marines, who shoved him roughly upright, then pushed him forward into a low ceilinged space lit with two dim lanterns. A table and chairs filled the space, around which were dark-holed voids that he guessed might be berths. Killin slid into a chair and squinted at the boy who had sat opposite him. "What's your name and what are we doing here?"

"Midshipman Scalmy, sir, at your service. I want you to meet someone. He'll be here soon." Midshipman Scalmy leant forward and stared at Killin under the lamp. "That's a strange uniform you're wearing," he said.

Killin thought about that. He was still wearing his coat; an old disreputable oilskin that had faded in places and smeared with oil and grime from various cables and bits of engine room machinery, but one that had the logo for the Purple Star Line on the front. A thought occurred to him. He was wearing his uniform underneath, with officers' epaulettes in gold braid on black. He shuck off his jacket and was pleased to see the effect on Scalmy's face. The starched white of his shirt positively glowed in the dank, stuffy cabin.

"Blimey!" exclaimed Scalmy. One of the marines coughed, then leant over to speak in Scalmy's ear. "He's here, sir."

"Bring him in," said Scalmy.

Another boy - midshipman - sidled into the cabin and dropped into a chair next to Scalmy. His face was pale and sweaty, and Killin thought he must be unwell. Or maybe very seasick. The boy's eyes were fixed for a moment on the table in front of him while he steadied himself, then slowly raised up, stopping at Killin's shirt. The sick boy's face changed slightly, some little interest overcoming his obvious distress. Then the eyes moved upwards and locked onto Killin's face. The boy stared, open mouthed.

"Third Officer Killin of the Zeeland," said Scalmy. "Meet Midshipman Killin of the Diana."

Killin stared intently into the face of his namesake opposite. It was like staring into a mirror; one that showed his face from twenty years before as a young teenager.

"Gods my life," they both said together.