Men move quickly and quietly, for there is never complete stillness on a ship. There is always motion in the waves, in the men. But tonight there is something altogether different about it, something that keeps every voice to a hushed whisper, every step to a shuffle in the darkness. He turns from the water and watches as the moon turns the deck to daylight, as brilliant white as noon.

Danger is inherent in movement, everything clear with no clouds or masking darkness to hide them. They stand exposed and ready, and yet there's a peace around the night. There is no rushed sense of preparation or fear. Everything moves like a dream, slipping silvery through the unreal light.

His uniform is washed away, no longer red, though it looks now like blood, the base of the color broken into parts of blue and purple, of sin and shadows. He turns his hand and watches it shift and fade and flare back to life as the ship sails on, the watch held by Hornblower as they slip through the waves toward England.

No one says a word.

He moves toward the quarterdeck, as the sailors move, silent and swift to their duty, sails shifting in the wind. They run and climb, swinging from rope to rope like something inhuman, ghosts or superstitions brought to life in the unreality.

Hornblower stands with his hands locked behind his back, watching the scene with eyes blacker than the sky. His focus is intent, as if he's seeing more than there is, seeing something else - past or future or present. Or perhaps he sees what Edrington sees, man and myth coming to life in the false day of the middle of the night.

There's a sudden burst of sound from below decks and Edrington is careful not to show that it startles him, moving instead up to stand beside Hornblower. The younger man wears a frown, his gaze no longer on the pregnant curve of the moon but on the boards beneath him.

"Men howl, Mr. Hornblower." Edrington reaches out and traces the white arc of the moon in the air, caressing it like a lover. "Like dogs, we howl at the moon."

"Is that what we do, my Lord." Hornblower's smile is nearly as seductive as the moon itself, a slow curve that is twice as tempting. "Let the moon pull the tide and sway the ship, let it sway us?"

"I do not pretend to know, Mr. Hornblower, what the moon would dare do with you." He closes his eyes and lets the night hold him in the wind's faint embrace. "No doubt guide you wherever you wished to go."

"And what if I were to say I have no idea of that destination, my Lord?"

"I would not believe you, Mr. Hornblower, and I do not fancy you a liar either. I think you know exactly where you will go, though perhaps not how you'll get there." His eyes open and he looks down to where men move below decks, climb the ladder, for'ard and aft. His gaze locks with Mr. Kennedy's, the sharp blue as impenetrable as the black sea. "Or with whom you'll journey."

"Where exactly is it you see me, my Lord? Am I to dine at the Captain's table? Play host to the admiralty in my time? Rule the seas under King George's auspices?"

"I think, Mr. Hornblower, you will achieve whatever it is you attempt to, and you will leave victims in your wake. French. Spanish, English alike."

"And if my allies think such of me, I can only fear what my enemies say." He followed Edrington's eyes to Kennedy and sketches a nod in the other man's direction. Kennedy's face changes, that steely gaze sliding easily to the hint of secrets large and small in the light of the moon.

"It is not what your enemies say, Mr. Hornblower, so much as who they are that I would fear."

They stand in silence for a long moment. Hornblower's eyes scan the horizon for enemies of whatever making. Edrington hears all too well the sharpening blade of jealousy, the lustful bellow of power. Hears them all in the silence and watches as Hornblower cocks his head, perhaps just as cognizant of the silent sounds. Edrington nods to Hornblower, turning to take his leave. "A good night to you, Mr. Hornblower."

"My Lord." Hornblower nods as well, his eyes unearthly in the light, everything a shade closer to unreal. Tomorrow will bring with it the honest sun, and everything will be normal again - skin darkened, eyes blue and brown, nothing shadowed in silver and mystery. "Sleep well."

"And you, Mr. Hornblower, when your chance comes. Close your eyes, lest the light keep you awake. Blind you."

"It is only the moon, my Lord. She pulls the tide, but not me. As you see, the ship moves, but I stand fast."

"Spoken like a Captain, Mr. Hornblower. But remember, everything that does not bend and move with the tide finds itself worn down and broken. The wind has snapped stronger than you and I in two. And the moon…well, she has a power all her own."

"I always abide by a lady, my Lord."