Ship of Spies

by David Healey

  He hadn't gone far when he heard Mrs. Pomfrey below him. "Stop! You foolish boy! Do you want me to shoot you? Don't think I won't!"

  He looked down. Mrs. Pomfrey raised her pistol and fired. In disbelief and horror he saw the burst of flame and smoke from the muzzle, then instantly a lead bullet sang past his head, but not before it stung him like a bee. He touched his ear, which came away bloody. She had proven her point.

  "You missed!" he blurted out, hoping he sounded braver than he felt.

  "That was a warning shot," she said.

  Below, Mrs. Pomfrey raised the other pistol. Alexander felt sick to his stomach.

  Then he had an idea. It was the documents in the satchel that Mrs. Pomfrey wanted, of course—not him. He slipped his hand inside the satchel and pulled out the packet of documents, tightly wrapped in rubber. With his back—or rather his backside—to Mrs. Pomfrey, she couldn't see what he was doing. He tucked the documents into the front of his coat. Then he slipped the strap of the satchel off his shoulder and let it drop to the deck.

  "Smart boy!" Mrs. Pomfrey called out, and turned her attention to the satchel.

  Alexander kept climbing, trying to put as much distance as possible between himself and Mrs. Pomfrey's pistols. Her cry of frustration moments later made it clear that she had caught on to the fact that he had no intention of giving up the documents. He chanced a look down, and saw with surprise that she was no longer aiming the pistol at him. Instead, she had sent the big Napoleonist sailor up after him. Maybe Mrs. Pomfrey was afraid to shoot in case he fell into the sea with the precious documents.

  The man climbing after him was grinning, and between his large yellow teeth he held a long dagger. Unfortunately for Alexander, the sailor was quite agile for a large man. He closed the distance between them quickly. He thought about that blue sky overhead and that dagger behind him. Neither were good choices.

  He kept climbing, coming upon a sharpshooter in the rigging who was trying to pick off targets on the deck of the Resolution. The man had a musket pressed to his shoulder, aiming so intently that he didn't notice Alexander next to him. Even now, the sharpshooter could have Captain Bellingham or some other Resolution officer in his sights. Alexander couldn't help himself; he lashed out with his foot and kicked the man, who was so started that he dropped the musket. He shook his fist and cursed in French at Alexander, who was already moving higher into the rigging, the big Napoleonist with the dagger right behind him.

  Alexander was running out of rigging. He kept reaching for the next strand of rope, but his wounded arm was next to useless and drops of blood dripped down onto his face. Somehow he reached the highest mainmast cross tree. He climbed up onto it and walked to the very end. Heights had never bothered Alexander—which happened to be a bonus if you were flying gryphons or climbing a ship's rigging. However, it was still no easy task keeping his footing, considering that the roll of the ship was amplified many times at the end of the mainmast. Stray cannonballs whipped the air. He had hoped the Napoleonist sailor wouldn't be so brave or sure-footed.

  He was sadly mistaken. The big fellow stepped onto the cross tree with the grace of a tiger. He took the dagger from between his teeth—grinning even wider now—and transferred the blade to his right hand, holding out the open palm of his left hand in the universal gesture that said, "Give it here!"

  Far below, Mrs. Pomfrey was peering up at them, hands on hips like an irate schoolteacher—one who happened to want to shoot him.

  Alexander saw that he was cornered. There was nowhere else to go. This far above the water, his wristling wasn’t any use. And once he handed the documents off to the sailor, then what? The man would likely toss him out of the rigging if he didn't skewer him first with that wicked dagger.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Alexander caught a flash of Royal Blue. It was Lord Parkington and Lemondrop, sweeping through the rigging to harass the sharpshooters. Alexander shouted to get their attention. The big sailor raised his dagger.

  And then Alexander leaped.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Alexander tumbled, catching dizzying glimpses of rigging and sky and then the ocean rushing at him. From that height, hitting the water would be like landing upon a cobblestoned street.

  In the last instant before he struck the sea and very likely broke every bone in his body, Lemondrop plucked him from the air. One second he was still falling the the next second—he was not. The gryphon did not catch him gently. Talons pierced his thick wool coat and dug into his skin. But all in all, it was much better than plunging into the sea.

  Then, dangling like a mouse caught by a hawk, he was flown the short distance to Resolution and released so that he fell in a heap onto the deck. His first glimpse revealed nothing but chaos. Splinters of wood were scattered around, as were clumps of fallen sail and rope. He noticed that puddles of blood stood on the deck, and everywhere he looked he saw anxious, powder-blackened faces. The Napoleonist gunners were quite deadly and were having a telling effect on the Resolution.

  "Ouch!" he cried, getting to his feet. He looked around for the gryphon and flyer. "Could you be more gentle next time?"

  "You, Alexander, are stupider than a codfish," Lord Parkington remarked. The gryphon only hovered above the deck, ready to take off again. The beating wings hurled aside the billowing gunpowder smoke. "You're lucky that Lemondrop saw you!"

  "Take me up! Take me up!" Alexander grabbed at his lordship's saddle and pulled himself onto the gryphon's back. Lemondrop flapped his wings harder, adjusting to the added weight.

  "What in Neptune’s name are you doing now?" Lord Parkington wanted to know, sounding exasperated.

  "Fly!" Alexander shouted. "Take me up between the two ships!"

  Alexander clutched Toby’s waist to keep from falling. His lordship gave the reins a gentle tug and Lemondrop beat the air with several mighty strokes of his wings, soaring upward at dizzying speed until they were in the sky between the two ships. As if reading his mind, Lemondrop hovered there so that they could see the sea battle taking place beneath them. This was such a breathtaking spectacle that Alexander couldn’t help but stare, captivated by the awesome sight of a sea battle seen from the air. It was hard to say which side was winning. Great clouds of smoke, shot through with orange and red streaks of cannon fire, obscured both decks. Both ships were equally matched, battering away at one another.

  Alexander decided to even the odds.

  He closed his eyes and raised both hands, imagining the sea like an endless blue carpet beneath them. He tried to ignore the warm blood running down his wounded arm.

  At first, nothing happened. He did not feel that connection with the water below. He was too distracted by the constant hammering of the cannons. The gunners aboard the Napoleonist ship had spotted them and took aim at the gryphon. Chain shot whipped past, clawing the sky. Lemondrop dipped, then soared again so that the gunners would have to adjust their aim.

  "Alexander?" Toby actually sounded nervous. "We are sitting ducks up here."

  "You've got to trust me."

  There were too many distractions. He needed to clear his mind. He was beginning to discover that using his power was like lifting something. To save the Napoleonist capitán had been like picking up a pail of water—not too heavy. To command the sea, he would have to put his back into it.

  He thought of the pond on his uncle's estate. Such calm water. On a summer afternoon, the only sound was the buzz of insects and the occasional singing of a robin.

  In his mind's eye, the water of the pond gave way to the vastness of the sea.

  The inside of his head began to gurgle with the sound of water. He imagined the sparkle of breaking waves. He felt the power of the waves, the rush of current all around him. Then an image formed in his mind, and water clung to it. He opened his eyes and saw a wave building in the sea below.

  "You're doing it again, Alexander!" Lord Parkington cried, sounding excited, but Alexander ignored him, barely hearing him.

&n
bsp; The wave grew larger. Alexander reached down and he imagined he was dipping his hand into the sea so that he could feel the force of the water rushing across his fingertips. He scooped his fingers together and suddenly held the wave there in his hands. It was hard to explain—it felt almost as if all the energy of the wave was suddenly packed together like a snowball, ready to throw.

  He had only to hurl the wave to turn the enemy into splinters—

  But he stopped himself, holding the energy of the wave poised in his hands. As much as he despised Mrs. Pomfrey, she had spared his life at least twice. And the capitán he had rescued from the sea? Had he done that only to drown him now?

  Not very gently, he bumped the wave against the Napoleonist ship, making the huge frigate bob like a toy boat in a bath tub. Some on deck had seen him and were pointing now at the strange sight of a boy on a gryphon's back, his arms held out as though he were conducting an orchestra. He could see the capitán on the quarterdeck, shouting orders. Alexander nudged the ship harder. The guns of both opposing ships fell silent.

  Another figure appeared on the quarterdeck. A woman. Clearly, it was Mrs. Pomfrey. She raised a sharpshooter's musket and pointed it at the gryphon in the sky. She put the gun on a railing to steady her aim.

  "Look out!" cried Lord Parkington, tugging at Lemondrop's reins.

  The bullet sang past their heads, followed an instant later by the crack of the shot itself. Alexander lost his concentration; the wave subsided back into the sea. It was as if the snowball had melted instantly. He groped at the water, but it would take time to gather its energy again.

  The deck of the Napoleonist ship seemed to come to life all over again after holding its breath at the sight of the wave. But this time the men did not rush to their guns but to the sails, putting them in order. Though damaged, the sails, masts and rigging were mostly intact. Wind filled the canvas and the Napoleonist ship limped away.

  Aboard the Resolution, the crew watched her go. They looked anxiously to the quarterdeck, where Captain Bellingham stood, gripping the railing until his knuckles showed white. As the captain of a Royal Navy frigate, his every impulse was to pursue and destroy the enemy vessel.

  But the captain gave no such orders. They had their own wounds to lick. The ship and crew had been badly mauled.

  From Lemondrop's back high above, Alexander and Lord Parkington also were content to watch. Seeing that the enemy ship was retreating, Alexander let his power fade like the tide going out, returning to whatever place it came from. It was peaceful up in the sky, watching the two magnificent frigates on the deep blue sea. But a terrible pain had begun behind Alexander's eyeballs. It spread now until he began to see black spots swarm across his vision.

  "Toby, take me down if you please," Alexander said in a weak voice that sounded faraway to his own ears.

  "You're not going to pass out on me, are you?" Lord Parkington sounded alarmed. "You're not strapped in. You're not even in a saddle!"

  Alexander never heard his friend’s words. He slumped and fell off Lemondrop's back, hurtling toward the sea. By the time Lemondrop reacted, he had fallen too far.

  Lemondrop plummeted, chasing him down, but the gryphon would not catch him in time before he struck the water.

  “Alexander!” Lord Parkington cried.

  But for the second time that day, he was saved by a gryphon. This one had fierce red eyes and caught him far more roughly than had Lemondrop, snatching him out of his fall.

  "Bloody young fool," muttered Captain Amelia from the gryphon's back as they swept on toward Resolution, the unconscious ensign held in Ember’s talons. "Who flies on a gryphon without a saddle? Just like a sailor."

  But she had seen the wave he had summoned and then held back from using. She was not sure that she would have shown such mercy to the enemy. Such power, she thought. Such power could win the war against the Napoleonists.

  When she set him down on deck, she did it gently.

  EPILOGUE

  "Bloody crazy, is what he is," remarked Mr. Rigley, stroking Biscuit's cheeks as he fed him scraps of salted meat. The beast made a terrifying growling sound deep in its throat when the flyer wasn't fast enough with the scraps. "I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes. Jumped off the cross tree into thin air!"

  Several sailors nearby uttered low laughs and shook their heads in mutual astonishment. They could hardly believe it, either. Young Mr. Hope was lucky—and brave. Any talk that he was an unlucky Jonah had dried up and blown away in the days since the battle with the Napoleonist ship.

  "Belay that!" called Lieutenant Swann, glaring at the crew. They went instantly still and dressed the line.

  All aboard were assembled on deck for a ceremonial send off. Badly damaged by the storm and battle, Resolution had to put into port for repairs. Halifax was the nearest station, but no one was terribly excited about putting in there because it had a reputation as a cold, foggy place. But there was still the matter of her passengers. They had lucked out in passing an American Naval frigate two days after the fight. The American captain had conferred with Bellingham and Colonel Beauchamp, then agreed to take the passengers on to America.

  Fortunately for Colonel Beauchamp, he now had in his possession again the documents pertaining to both the Louisiana Purchase that the American government had worked out with Napoleon Bonaparte, as well as the secret agreement between the American and British governments. If America kept out of the war with Napoleon, the British would not interfere with the sale of a vast portion of the North American continent.

  For the most part, everyone on Resolution was glad to see the Americans go, though they had a soft spot in their hearts for pretty young Miss Scarlett. Her father was something of a blowhard—although he was a shifty one who had concealed the truth about his mission—and her governess had turned out to be a spy. Miss Scarlet was caught in the middle through no fault of her own.

  They were being accompanied by Mr. Fowler as a kind of special envoy. Bellingham had been saddled with Fowler, and this seemed a graceful way of getting him off the ship. Fowler had tried to protest—though he couldn't very well reveal that he had been sent aboard to keep an eye on Mr. Hope. An ensign couldn't say much against a captain's wishes. In the end, Bellingham had puffed him up a bit with the importance of being an escort for a diplomatic mission. The other ensigns were glad to see him go.

  Alexander stood on deck among the other ensigns. It was a crisp day with the fresh breeze full of salt. A good day to be alive, though he felt a bit woozy and his head ached. His power took so much out of him, leaving him feel like an empty husk, but it wasn't was bad as that first time that sent him to bed for three weeks. His wounded arm was heavily bandaged.

  He still wasn't sure who had shoved him in the hold. Mrs. Pomfrey had denied it. His money was still on Fowler. But perhaps it had been one of the crew who held a secret grudge or thought that Alexander was an unlucky Jonah best done away with. In any case, that was all behind them now.

  The party of diplomats finally went over the side and into the launch waiting to carry them to the American frigate. Watching them go, Bellingham muttered, "This has indeed been a ship of spies."

  Alexander could not have agreed more.

  • • •

  The courier gryphon from Le Triomphant flew all night so that both rider and beast arrived in Marseilles exhausted. Field Marshal Ney dismissed the rider but opened the message he carried with curiosity. Someone had gone to great efforts to make certain he received this message. But what could it say? Inside the packet were two letters. He skimmed the first letter and saw that it was an account of a battle between one of their own frigates and an English vessel. Ney was an infantryman at heart and the tactics of ships at sea meant little to him. He gathered that the fight had ended in a draw. Ho hum. Had that lackluster engagement been worth nearly flying a gryphon to death over?

  However, he read the second letter about the arrangement between the Americans and English with g
reater and growing interest. Unfortunately, the letter writer noted there was no proof.

  But where there was smoke, there was fire. Ney grinned. As a fire elemental, he would know about that better than anyone.

  The dispatch was signed by a Mrs. Pomfrey. Ney had a keen memory for people and faces, and he recalled that she was a kind of spy or "observer" sent to England to serve as one of Napoleon's many eyes and ears there. Little took place in England that the Emperor did not hear about.

  While knowledge of the secret arrangement with the English and Americans was useful—the Emperor must tread carefully now to complete this Louisiana Purchase—Field Marshal Ney was far more captivated by her account of the young English ensign who had summoned a wave and thus turned the tide of battle. The capitán of the ship had made no mention of that. Would anyone have believed him if he had?

  Well, he thought. He had heard about this ensign before. But at the time, there had not been much to go on. How did one find a single boy in a very large Royal Navy?

  But now he had a name. Alexander Hope. An ensign aboard HMS Resolution.

  Ney mused that life was about to get very interesting for this Ensign Hope. It was also about to get very short.

  The field marshal called for his aide de camp. "Saddle my gryphon," he said to the man. "I have some news for the Emperor."

  ~ End of Book II ~

  Bows, sterns and other nautical notes

  The Sea Lord Chronicles takes place on a Royal Navy ship during a fantastical version of the Napoleonic Wars, so it does help to understand some of the nautical terms and history involved.

  Bow The front of the ship.

  Stern The back of the ship.

  Starboard Looking at the bow, the right side of the ship.