A small home tucked away in the less favorable streets of London housed a boy who could have never dreamed he'd be standing in the great cabin of a ship captain, no less a captain he serves day in and day out. A boy with wide eyes and shallow dreams, spending most of his energy caring for his medicated mother when his father had to turn to his work - a boy who always had bandaged fingers and little sewing projects assigned to him by his father - a boy who did not know how to climb the ladder to anything resembling success, save for the fact that he's here now. That he's found footing on some rung or another, and has traded bandaged fingers for those spotted in ink of lists, or calluses from ropes and laundry and shoe polish.

Never much a liar, he stares across the space at his Captain, stands at his tallest, keeps his hands tucked behind his back. (He remembers his first day - a little fumbling with Crozier's dissent and aggravation, struggling to stand straight when the mighty ship took a turn with a different set of sea legs.) There's the warmth of some brandy burning in his veins, but nothing like the poor boy below, so deep in his drink he's spun himself up into a frenzy that's brought Jopson here.

"I did not make the choice to lie lightly, sir," he says carefully, chewing on his words before he spits them out. Has he ever lied to his Captain? No.

"I took a great deal into consideration: the men involved, the topics under discussion when the first fist raised, and the consequences thereafter. Young Mr. Chambers is a green hand with a great deal to learn about propriety and decorum on a ship of status. I've come to understand, too, that he has not been nearly so far or so long away from home, sir."

The pieces of the puzzle have been moved about, in preparation for completion, but not quite there yet.