Ship of Spies

by David Healey

  When he awoke, he was alarmed to find Hobhouse holding a book in one hand and a pistol in the other.

  "What's that for?" Alexander asked.

  "I seem to recall that the last time I was asked to keep an eye on you, assassins broke into the house," Professor Hobhouse said. "Who knows what's going on aboard this ship, or whom to trust? As an elemental you are a valuable asset. For all we know, the Napoleonists may have a spy or assassin aboard. They are planning some mischief, that much is certain. No sooner had the storm ended than one of their ships appeared off our stern, much closer than before."

  While Alexander thought that the professor was probably being overdramatic, he couldn't deny that he had been attacked in Gibraltar. That now seemed like a bad dream, but there was no point in denying that it had taken place. It was still a mystery who the assassins had been, or who had sent them.

  He noticed that the hammock did not seem to be swaying as much as it had been. Daylight spilled through the portholes, though the sky remained gray. "The storm is letting up?"

  "Finally," the professor said. "It was one of the worst I've seen. Many of the crew have been ill."

  Alexander grinned. "I must have slept through the worst of it."

  "That's not all you slept through," Hobhouse said. "Just an hour ago, some of Colonel Beauchamp's missing papers were found in a sea chest belonging to one of the crew. The captain believes this man may be the one who took the colonel's gold signet ring."

  "Who was the sailor?"

  "Your friend Old Cullins, as it turns out. Captain Bellingham is quite upset about it. He says he may have to hang the man, or see him whipped at the very least."

  "Oh no!" Alexander slid out of the hammock. He felt lightheaded and stumbled a bit as he got to his feet. "Old Cullins isn't the thief! I've got to tell the captain."

  The professor reached out to catch Alexander before he fell over. "Take it easy, Alexander. But I don't understand. Aren't you relieved? The thief has been found!"

  "Old Cullins didn't take the ring. I saw Scarlett Beauchamp wearing it on a chain around her neck after the dinner last night. She said her father gave it to her for safekeeping."

  The professor's eyes widened in surprise. "That makes no sense, Alexander, unless ..."

  "Unless what?"

  Hobhouse stood and paced around the cramped surgery. He was so tall that he had to stoop to keep from hitting his head on the ceiling. He tugged at his chin, as he often did while teaching a class of ensigns. It was a sign that he was thinking hard about something. "Colonel Beauchamp did mention to you that some papers were stolen, but he wasn't very specific about it. What if the papers were more valuable to him than the gold ring, but he couldn't really say so? If he demanded that we find who stole his ring, no one would question that we would need to find who took such a valuable item. He might have hoped that the search for the ring would lead to whoever had taken the papers."

  Alexander nodded. He was beginning to think that Colonel Beauchamp was far more clever than he let on. By all appearances he was an Indian fighter and rather pompous Southern planter, but he was also sly as a fox.

  "He is a diplomat," Alexander said. "Maybe there was something secret in the papers that were stolen. He couldn't very well come out and say that."

  The professor pointed a finger at him as if he had just gotten an answer correct in class. "Exactly!"

  Alexander started for the door. "In that case, there's no time to waste. I've got to see the captain before he hangs Old Cullins!"

  • • •

  Alexander found Captain Bellingham in his cabin, along with Lieutenant Swann and Colonel Beauchamp. The captain and lieutenant wore grave expressions; the American simply looked angry. Old Cullins stood to one side, hanging his head like a guilty man, flanked by two large Royal Marines. It nearly broke Alexander's heart to see the old mariner appear so downtrodden, while at the same time the sight of the big, blustery American made him angry. Somehow, the colonel managed to wear an offended air as obviously as a hat. Alexander glared at him, but the man paid him no attention.

  The captain nodded grimly at Alexander. "Mr. Hope, we have other matters to attend to now that we have an enemy ship off our stern, but I believe we have found the thief, as much as I hate to say it in this case. We haven't much time, so this matter must be dealt with quickly. Cullins, you've given me no choice but to—"

  "Sir, he's not the thief!" Alexander blurted out.

  Captain Bellingham blinked at him in surprise. "Mr. Hope, whatever on earth are you talking about? Colonel Beauchamp's stolen documents were found in Cullins's trunk."

  “They were planted there, sir.”

  “Who would do such a thing? Why?”

  Alexander turned to Colonel Beauchamp. “Sir, what are these documents?”

  Beauchamp looked away. “Just diplomatic correspondence. Very boring stuff.”

  “Are you sure about that? You weren’t given a ship to deliver the daily mail,” Alexander said, and then decided to appeal to the colonel’s vanity. “Someone as important as you seem to be isn’t just a delivery boy.”

  That puffed the colonel up a bit. “Let’s just say that some of these documents … well, a very great deal hangs in the balance as concerns France, England and the United States.”

  Bellingham spoke up. “I should very much like to know why I might have to hang poor Cullins. Whatever could these documents concern?”

  The colonel thought it over. “I suppose I can explain some of it. You see, the United States would like to buy France’s claim to its territory in North America. The proposal is being called the Louisiana Purchase. It’s a vast, vast territory.”

  “England can’t be happy about that,” Captain Bellingham said, bristling somewhat. “I believe we have some claim to the same territory.”

  “Indeed England does, Captain. That is why we have reached an agreement through diplomatic channels. England won’t stand in the way of the Louisiana Purchase, so long as the United States doesn’t side with the Napoleonists in this little war you are having with France.”

  “I see,” Captain Bellingham said. “This is a rather important agreement. Momentous even. Then were all of your documents detailing this agreement found in Cullins’s trunk?”

  “Not all of them, it's true. Some of the more, uh, critical documents were missing. This fool probably used them to wrap fish, for all I know.”

  Alexander spoke up. “Or maybe you've been outsmarted. Maybe the real thief wants you to think that's what happened to the important documents.”

  “When there’s a crime, boy, the culprit is usually the most obvious criminal, which is this man here. I’m just relieved that he seems too simple to be a spy.”

  “But Cullins did not steal anything from your cabin, sir. The items were stolen during the fight with the Napoleonist ship. If you recall, Cullins was at the wheel on the quarterdeck with Captain Bellingham—and with you.”

  Captain Bellingham nodded. “Come to think of it, Mr. Hope is correct.”

  The colonel threw up his hands in exasperation. “Maybe he had an accomplice! Who knows! But it seems clear to me that the thief is standing right here and I want him punished!”

  “I know how to settle this,” Alexander said. “We need to send for Scarlett.”

  Beauchamp turned red-faced with anger. “How dare you, young man! I want my daughter to have no part in this.”

  “Is that why you gave her your gold signet ring to carry while you went around saying it had been stolen? Because you didn’t want her to be involved? We all know by now that the ring was a ruse.”

  Colonel Beauchamp grew redder, if that was possible. “You’re not dragging Scarlett into this.”

  “Then let us send for Mrs. Pomfrey,” Alexander said. “She was seen outside your cabin during the battle.”

  “You’re saying that she stole the papers? That’s unlikely.”

  “Maybe she can tell us who did. I’m not sure she told me the whole story of
what happened that day.”

  Captain Bellingham ordered one of the Marine sentries to pass the word for the governess. They waited in awkward silence for several minutes in Bellingham’s cabin: Old Cullins with slumped shoulders and downcast eyes, Colonel Beauchamp glaring, Bellingham clearly troubled—he would much rather face a storm or an enemy frigate than this business of spying and thieving. It was a relief when the sentry returned, though he was alone.

  “She’s not here, sir.”

  “Where the devil is she?”

  “She’s taken a boat, sir. She’s rowing toward the Napoleonist ship.”

  “Good lord! What Napoleonist ship?”

  “The one that’s been shadowing us, sir. It’s much closer now.”

  At that moment, the cry of “Beat to Quarters” sounded through the ship. Lieutenant Swann had command of the deck, and must have seen the enemy ship.

  Bellingham clapped his hands together. “Cullins, you are free to go. It seems to me that if there was a thief aboard, she has just rowed away.” He looked meaningfully at the colonel. “And if there are important documents still missing—ones of import regarding this Louisiana Purchase—I will wager that Mrs. Pomfrey has them.”

  • • •

  A Marine drummer beat out the staccato rhythm calling the crew to battle stations. The drumbeats seemed to match their pounding hearts. The crew had been expecting the call with a Napoleonist ship so near, and they sprang to action. Gun crews readied their weapons. Marine sharpshooters swarmed into the rigging with belt pouches heavy with ammunition. Belowdecks, the surgeon uncovered his grisly bone saws and tongs, then spread sand on the floor. The flyers saddled their gryphons and cranked down the flight deck.

  Many of the men had seen Mrs. Pomfrey in the longboat rowing toward the enemy frigate. It was a sight that took the entire ship by surprise, but with the captain and lieutenant below occupied with the discovery of the thief, no one on deck seemed to know what to do about Mrs. Pomfrey rowing off. She was a civilian, and a distinguished one at that—who were they to order her to return? Later, they would discover that the longboat had been lowered for the carpenter to assess the damage from the storm. He planned to row around the entire ship to inspect the hull. But Mrs. Pomfrey had seen her chance and taken the empty boat.

  Once again, Alexander found himself at loose ends. He had no gun crew to command and Captain Bellingham was too busy rushing up on deck to give him any direct orders. So Alexander ran for the gryphon deck. His plan was to go after Mrs. Pomfrey. For one thing, he was angry at her for causing him a great deal of trouble. His investigation hadn't won him any friends among the crew, and perhaps even alienated Liam. She nearly got Old Cullins hanged. She may have been the one who ambushed him in the hold. Finally, he wanted to intercept those documents she carried. If they were half as important as Colonel Beauchamp claimed, then it was worth every effort to get them back aboard the ship before they fell into enemy hands.

  He raced through the gate separating the gryphon stables from the rest of the ship and found Toby buckling Lemondrop's combat saddle into place.

  "Take me up with you!" he managed to pant, quite out of breath.

  "There's no chance of that, Alexander. I'm not taking a stern rider aloft today. Fast and light is the action—we don't know what we're flying into. Besides, it pains me to say it, but the gryphons aren't in top form after that storm. A few of them were seasick. They aren’t strong enough to carry two riders.”

  Alexander found it hard to believe that a winged beast that could do barrel rolls and dizzying dives hundreds of feet in the air could possibly become seasick, but this was not the time to argue the point. "You're going into battle, but I want to catch Mrs. Pomfrey. She's taken one of the launches and is rowing toward the French ship."

  "I daresay if you start swimming now, you may catch her."

  It was clear that his lordship was in no mood to help Alexander get into the air. He glanced around desperately. One of the smaller gryphons, the one he had flown to the Resolution, was still in its stall.

  "What's wrong with Gimcrack?"

  "Like I said, some of the gryphons were seasick." Lord Parkington climbed gracefully into the saddle while one of the Flyer grooms helped buckle him in. Then he guided Lemondrop toward the gryphon port. "If I don't see you later then you'll know I've arrived in Elysium Fields."

  With that, Lord Parkington lowered his goggles and crouched in the saddle. Lemondrop reared back on his haunches and prepared to spring. Gryphons have very powerful back legs, designed to launch themselves high enough that they can get their wings into use. Lemondrop leaped, and his wings spread and caught the sea air. In three powerful beats of those wings he was already climbing, leaving the ship behind. Rigley followed, giving him a final wave before Biscuit flew off.

  Captain Amelia was last to launch. To Alexander's amazement, her gryphon somehow managed to get a running start and catapulted them both far over the sea, more like an arrow shot from a bow that a typical gryphon launch. Those two were indeed made for one another.

  Alexander was now alone except for the groomsmen, who worked to clear the landing area. Fresh sea air washed in, chasing away the dank gryphon smell. He walked over to the grounded gryphon, who looked healthy enough.

  "What do you say, old boy, would you like to fly with your friends?"

  The gryphon seemed to perk up at Alexander's words. It was a bit like asking a dog if he wanted to go for a walk or wanted some dinner. Somehow, he always understood your meaning.

  Gimcrack made a noise like, "Eeee rrrrr!" Alexander took that to mean something along the lines of, "What are we waiting for?"

  Alexander grabbed the nearest groomsman. "Let's get Gimcrack saddled up as well," he said. "Captain Bellingham wants every gryphon in the air. We may be in for quite a fight."

  "Aye, aye, Mr. Hope."

  Quickly, Gimcrack was saddled and Alexander climbed on. To save time, he waved off the groomsmen trying to strap him in.

  Someone handed him a pair of pistols and a sword. "You had better take these, sir. If you run into any Napoleonist flyers, they're going to throw more at you than insults."

  He slid the pistols into their saddle holsters and hung the sword belt over his shoulder. Then he was on the flight deck, with nothing in front of them but sea and blue sky. He patted the gryphon's back, hoping that he was indeed strong enough to fly. Then the gryphon crouched on his hind legs and sprang into the air. Alexander's stomach lurched sickeningly as they fell toward the waves, but then Gimcrack beat his wings and they slowly climbed above the Resolution.

  The whole ocean seemed to spread out below, with the two ships like toys in a bathtub. On the deck of Resolution, Alexander could see men swarming everywhere as they readied the guns for battle. One of the Marine sharpshooters in the rigging waved. Then he tugged the reins and guided Gimcrack out over the ocean, toward the Napoleonist ship. Captain Amelia and the other flyers were nearly there already, moving into formation high above the Napoleonist ship. The enemy did not launch its own flyers, so it was possible that it had none other than a few courier gryphons. But the enemy ship was far from undefended. As the Royal Navy Flyers approached, the Napoleonists unleashed a barrage of chain shot and grape shot, raking the blue sky with a deadly hail of iron.

  Alexander wasn't interested in joining the attack. He soon saw what he was looking for—the launch that Mrs. Pomfrey was rowing toward the enemy ship. It was a long way and it was hard going, but she must have been very determined. Already, she was more than halfway there. He steered Gimcrack toward the boat.

  The gryphon swept effortlessly across the tops of the waves, wind singing in Alexander's ears. It would have been a joyride if the situation had not been so dire with a sea battle about to take place.

  He had no real plan for what to do when he reached Mrs. Pomfrey, other than a vague idea that he would demand that she turn the boat around. Whatever documents she had could not be allowed to reach the Napoleonist ship. Surely Cap
tain Bellingham would have come to the same realization, and the Resolution's guns would have made short work of the stolen launch. But Alexander was just as sure that the captain would never order his guns to fire on an unarmed launch rowed by a governess—even if she was a spy.

  The gryphon was not the swiftest on the wing, but in no time at all the beast had covered all the distance that Mrs. Pomfrey had rowed so laboriously. He pulled back on the gryphon's reins, slowing down to hover over the stolen launch.

  "Mrs. Pomfrey," he shouted. "I must demand that you turn around or—"

  That's when he saw that Mrs. Pomfrey had a pistol in her hand. The weapon spit fire and a ball whistled past the gryphon's ear, causing the beast to rear suddenly. Alexander lost his grip on the reins and because he wasn't strapped into the saddle, he slipped off the gryphon's back and tumbled into the sea. The gryphon gave an indignant screech and flew back toward Resolution.

  Alexander came up sputtering and began to tread water. The shock of the cold sea brought with it the dire reality of his situation. The Resolution was a long way off—too far to swim in a waterlogged woolen Royal Navy uniform. The Napoleonist ship was closer, but Alexander didn't care for the thought of becoming a French prisoner. He reached for his power, tried to find it within himself, but there was nothing there. No matter. He didn't feel that he could summon a wave and ride it all the way back to the ship. The stolen launch itself was almost within reach, but Mrs. Pomfrey was leveling another pistol at him.

  She peered down the barrel at him, then sighed, clearly exasperated. "Do get in the boat, Mr. Hope! I am not in the habit of letting boys drown, even stupid English ones. And mind your manners, because I will use this pistol if I must."

  Considering that she had very nearly shot him out of the saddle, Alexander didn't doubt her for a moment. He swam the few short strokes to the launch and managed to pull himself over the side, which wasn't easy, considering the weight of his wet clothes. Mrs. Pomfrey's pistol never wavered. There was no question that she intended to continue toward the Napoleonist ship. He slumped miserably in the stern of the launch. Almost immediately, he began to shiver in the chill sea air.