He lead them on a brief tour of the galleon, and the different decks.  The first deck down was largely a cannon deck, and rows of the iron giants lined each side of the ship, with small iron brackets holding large canisters of powder and lead cannonballs.  It smelled strongly of sulphur, but enough sea breeze broke through to keep it from being overwhelming.<br/><br/>The stairs into the deck below led into the galley and kitchen, a dimly lit room with row after row of tables and benches.  Beyond a large set of doors at the end of the galley were the living quarters, bunks stacked high and hammocks strung anywhere that didn't have a bunk.  If the area was too narrow for hammocks, lines with drying clothes hung there.  Tim courteously advised the girls from coming here too routinely -- here wasn't much for them here, and it was the place with the highest concentration of men, the farthest from the Captain's reach they were likely to encounter them.<br/><br/>Going down a deck lower brought them into the storerooms.  Rows upon rows of barrels with cured meats, hardy vegetables and citrus.  Further down, barrels of gunpowder waited in reserve for the next skirmish.  Clean water also took up a fair portion of the space, as well as cleaning agents and replacement clothes -- though nothing that looked likely to fit the girls without modification.<br/><br/>Another stairwell descended to the lowest deck on the ship, reserved mostly for the heaviest storage.  Cannonballs, of course, replacement cannons, iron braces and brackets, spare parts, lumber, barrels of tar.  Everything that was heavy was kept here, providing stability for the tall ship that towered overhead, as did the bunk Captain Harrington told them about.<br/><br/>Not so much a bunk, per se.  A cell.<br/><br/>Tim opened the heavy iron grate to the cell, which seemed to be a small square unit with a pair of bunks hanging on the wall.  "It's not so much a 'bunk' as it is technically a 'brig'," the first mate explained, walking into the room and plucking a key-ring off of the wall, hanging from a hastily hung nail, handing it to Joanne.  "You may've noticed that the Captain doles out justice on the spot.  Never had much use for a brig.  An offense was either small enough to be handled on the spot, or grave enough to merit a man going over the edge."<br/><br/>"It may seem like sub-par accommodations," he explained, "but I think the captain's goal was ever to keep them out, rather than to keep the two of you in.  This is a very dangerous place for two--..." his thought trailed off.  "Well, two ladies like yourselves, as you can imagine."<br/><br/>"So we'll shift all this shot out of the room, and then you can lock the door behind you at night.  To keep unwanted visitors to a minimum.  The captain has the only other key, but I don't think you need worry too much about him.  He doesn't take much interest in the crew these days," he remarked, seeming almost a little hurt by the notion.  "Let's see what we can't get managed before supper."<br/><br/>Tim rolled up his sleeves and got to work with the girls, helping to re-locate the cannonballs.  Space was not an issue on these low decks.  They could be stowed securely between and behind barrels, on various rails and enclosures where they couldn't roll too far.  While the 12 pounder cannonballs quickly grew cumbersome and heavy, he seemed to thrive with the labor -- a simple task that showed clear progress the longer they worked.  He didn't shy away from the work either, or push the girls excessively beyond some good-natured teasing as he'd scoop five of the balls up into his arms and move to relocate them.<br/><br/>For all of his help, a good brow of sweat seemed to be his reward.  He stripped off his shirt, not wanting to get it too sweaty with the difficulty of washing them on the ship, with clean water at something of a premium.  With arms like pythons, he continued his task, not noticing any reaction his bare chest and shoulders garnered from the girls.  He'd been aboard the ship for so long that seeing a shirtless man was as common as breathing.<br/><br/>It still took quite a bit of time to move the balls out of the brig in their entirety, but it was finally completed.  The beds still had linens on them -- threadbare, but serviceable.  The room was a bit drafty, and the floorboards seemed perpetually moist from a slow, unthreatening leak in the room, but despite that, it would have to suffice.  This was the closest they could get to private quarters on a ship of this size -- aside from the captain's quarters, which he did not volunteer to vacate on their behalf.  It would have to do.<br/><br/>Tim groaned, stretching as he recovered his shirt, attacking the lid of one of the barrels of water and using a ladle to reach deep and fetch himself a drink from the barrel.  "The coolest water is on the bottom of the barrels," he said, taking a long cool drink.  "If you learn to pull it out correctly, a cold drink will be your reward."<br/><br/>Taking one more deep sip from the ladle, he pour the rest of the amount over his head, letting it drip onto his shoulders.  He pulled the shirt back on and exhaled deeply.  "Well, Louie will have dinner served in a half hour.  If you ask me, you may want to keep my part in this chore a secret -- the boys will be gossiping for weeks, wondering how you pulled it off so quickly."<br/><br/>And with that, Tim left them to their devices.