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An hour and a half later, Roth was all but empty of her officers and crew, and Jack closed and locked the door to his suite of cabins. Pocketing the old-fashioned brass key, he patted his breast with his free hand, checking that his sextant, the most valuable thing he owned (his commission was technically property of the crown), was secure in his pocket. Then he stooped and picked up his valise.
Conversation floated up the companion. As an exercise he paused to try and identify the speakers. They were midshipmen, clearly, as he had already seen the ship’s boys safely off the ship in the care of the gunner.
“Gimme a minute,” said one, and Jack pictured his tallest, oldest midshipman, with curly red hair, but what was his name? “Hold your horses,” said what was probably the same person.
“It’s past three bells already, hurry up,” said a second voice.
“Hold your horses,” said the tall midshipman again - Kinsey, Jack thought.
“What’s a horse?” asked a voice Jack was certain belonged to Barus.
“It’s an animal.”
“Like a hamster?” asked Barus. “Hold your hamsters?”
Laughter floated up the companion.
“No,” said Kinsey, “bigger. Like a cow.”
“Hold your cows?”
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