"It is the opinion of this court," announced Admiral Pellew, "that strict inquiry should be made among the Spanish prisoners to determine who it was that murdered Captain Sawyer, and that the murderer, if still alive, should be brought to justice. And as a result of our examination of the surviving officers of the H.M.S. Renown it is our opinion that no further action is necessary."

As soon as proceedings were ended, Hornblower hurried out of the courtroom. He almost ran to the medical bay where Bush and Kennedy were recovering.

"Archie!" he said, smiling broadly as he strode inside. He sat down in the chair next to his friend's bed and patted Kennedy's bare shoulder. "We're free men! How does it feel to be a free man again, eh?"

"That's wonderful news, Horatio! Sore," Kennedy continued, "but better. Doctor Clive says that I will be able to leave his care within a month."

"You're a lucky man, Archie," said Bush, sitting up in his bed. "A little to the right and that gunshot might have been fatal."

"Always the optimist, William," Kennedy replied. "Yet here I am."

"It will be good to see you hale and hearty again, Archie," said Hornblower. "You too, Mister Bush."

"Almost back into fighting shape already, Mister Hornblower." Bush bent forward to pick up his shirt and winced as the stitches pulled at his skin. "Perhaps a little longer yet," he admitted. "But it is good to hear that we are no longer under suspicion. Was Mister Buckland glad of the news?"

Hornblower cleared his throat. "Mister Buckland... his reputation has suffered at the hands of the Spanish. The Renown will be given a new captain for him to serve under."

"Are we to return with him?" asked Bush. He eased on his shirt with care and sat back, exhausted from the simple effort.

"I am unsure," admitted Hornblower. "Admiral Pellew has invited me to dinner tonight; perhaps he will tell me then."

"I fear that I will not be joining you," said Kennedy, giving a small cough. "It will be months before I recover. When I am again able to travel, I will be returning home until I am fit enough for the Royal Navy to allow my return. It may be some time, Horatio."

"Archie..." Hornblower looked crestfallen. "I..."

"I know. It's alright, Horatio. We'll keep in touch. By the time I've recovered, you'll probably be captain of your own ship."

Hornblower gave a rueful laugh. "After what has happened on the Renown I do not know if my chances of promotion are any better than Buckland's. But if I am ever made captain, I will need good officers to stand beside me." He looked from Kennedy to Bush, then back again. His hat, which he held in his hands, suddenly became a source of fascination for him. "Well, I must be going! I'll need some time to be ready for tonight's dinner."

"Good luck, Horatio," said Kennedy. Bush nodded in agreement.

"I hope tonight brings you good news, Mister Hornblower."

Hornblower put his hat back on his head and tipped it in salute. "Thank you, Mister Bush. Goodnight, Archie." And with that, he turned and left.

Kennedy snorted. "Oh, Horatio, what are you going to do without me? Probably make a mess of yourself."

"What do you mean, Archie?" asked Bush, confused. He and Kennedy had developed a solid friendship during their time together on the Renown, but he had yet to become as close to Hornblower, if he ever would. The relationship between Kennedy and Hornblower was complex and at times unpredictable to him.

"Mark my words, William, he'll be promoted. He'll be a captain any sailor would be proud to serve under. But as a man..." he trailed off.

"As a man what?" asked Bush, curious now. Kennedy had often avoided mention of Hornblower in their conversations, and Bush realized now that perhaps he shied away from the subject for a reason.

"Let it be said that he is better at ships than at people, and better at commanding than understanding." He shrugged, gently, and changed the subject. "Do you not seek promotion yourself?"

"At the moment I will be glad to keep my rank where it lies," said Bush, "but yes, someday I hope to have command. I must admit that I am not yet ready for it, but in time..." He looked out the window at the bay, and at the tall ships docked nearby. "A ship of my own!"

"It is something you dream for," said Kennedy, quietly.

"Yes, it is. I do not hope to dream for I do not know if it could ever happen, but in my heart... in my heart I yearn for it," Bush said. "Despite myself."

"You are the same, in that way. You and Horatio," said Kennedy, "you're more alike than you know. You both have the sea in your eyes."

Bush turned from the window to look at Kennedy. "And you do not?"

Kennedy shook his head. "Not as you do. I could be as happy on land as on a ship, with good company and work to keep me from idleness. Which is good," he smiled, "because I am about to spend the better part of a year on solid earth."

"I wish it were not so. I will miss your company, Archie."

"And I yours, William," Kennedy said. "You must keep me busy with letters, so I have something to occupy my long days of rest. I have asked Horatio to write to me as well, but he is often brief in his descriptions and forgetful in the task."

"Then I will write a letter at the end of each day and seal it for you," Bush promised. "When port is reached and they are delivered to you, it will be as if you were there for each day as it happened." Kennedy grinned so widely at this that Bush could not help but grin back. Something cold in him was melted by the friendship he had discovered with Kennedy; as much as it pained him that he would lose his company, he was comforted by the fact that he would not lose his kinship.

"You do not have to write every day," Bush added, "but you too must write to me. I wish to hear of your recovery, of your life on shore."

"Agreed," said Kennedy. "Though I am sure my letters will be less eventful than yours."

"You are seldom short on responses in my company, Archie. I cannot imagine that you would hold your tongue merely because we are separated. You will have the opportunity to craft a fortnight's worth of jibes and comments in reply to mine," Bush drolled. Kennedy laughed at this. "And," Bush added, more seriously this time, "I am charged with your care. Distance does not release me of it, for I have gladly accepted the responsibility."

Kennedy nodded. "If I may, I will ask one more favor of you: keep watch on Horatio for me. Be a friend to him where I cannot. As certain as I am that he will be promoted, I am sure he will ask you to join him. He has given his trust to you, something he does not do lightly. You are a good man, William, and he sees that."

"I will do my best," Bush said. "He is not entirely free with me."

"He is not entirely free even with himself," said Kennedy. "I have learned that over the years of our friendship." He sighed, once, then brightened again. "Hopefully I will be able to rejoin you before the year is out. A toast," he said, picking up his water glass, "to good fortune." Bush picked up his own and eased himself over to tap his glass against Kennedy's.

"To good fortune," he repeated, "and good health. May we see the year out together."