HMS Nightingale (Alexis Carew Book 4)

by J. A. Sutherland

  Certainly not … these two are trouble, no matter where they go, I imagine, and I’ve enough of that sort. She glanced over at Doakes. But Port Arthur has no means at all of handling them.

  Ousley and two of his mates arrived. Iveson opened his eyes and looked up at the approaching footsteps, then furrowed his brow and sat. He slapped a hand into Spracklen’s leg and they both stood, eyeing bosun warily.

  “Sir?” Ousley asked.

  “Stand by, Mister Ousley, we’ll have need of you in a moment.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  Alexis led the way back to the caged miners.

  “Mister Iveson, Mister Spracklen, your presence is unwelcome in the Dalthus system and Port Arthur. I’ll ask you one last time if you’re willing to leave of your own accord.”

  “Or what? You’ll have your bully-boys give us a beating?” Iveson rolled his shoulders and twisted his neck from side to side, cracking it. Spracklen said nothing, but pressed his fists into opposite palms, cracking his knuckles. “A bit of a dustup’s a good night for us.” He nodded to Ousley. “All at once or one at a time, then?”

  “Sir?” Ousley asked, keeping his eyes on the two miners.

  “Very well, then.” Alexis sighed. She hadn’t really expected the bosun’s presence to make a difference, but it had been worth a try to give the two men a last chance. She pulled out her tablet and searched it quickly. “Mister Doakes, you are the Crown representative on Dalthus?”

  “I am, Miss Alexis, you know that.”

  “And are you familiar with Article Thirty-Four of the Crown representative’s duties?”

  Doakes frowned and scratched his neck. “Well, we’ve not had cause to be taking on all of the —”

  Alexis handed her tablet to Doakes, who scanned it for a moment, then his eyes widened and he looked at the two miners, face breaking out in a wide grin.

  “Oh, I’m bloody well familiar with it now, I am.”

  “What are you on about, little girl?” Iveson asked.

  Alexis ignored him. “Mister Doakes, do you agree that these two are able-bodied, experienced spacers?”

  “I do indeed.”

  “And that the exigencies of the current conflict with Hanover and the needs of Her Majesty’s Naval Service outweigh any benefit these two represent to Dalthus?”

  “Worthless pair of buggers, aye.”

  Iveson’s eyes grew wide. “Wait —”

  “I believe the third paragraph is what you need, Mister Doakes,” Alexis prompted.

  Doakes scanned down the tablet and nodded. “Oh, aye.” He cleared his throat and grinned at the pair in the cage as he read. “Iveson and Spracklen, the needs of Her Majesty being paramount, do you wish to voluntarily enter into Her Naval Service at this time?”

  “I bloody well don’t!” Iveson yelled.

  Alexis reached into a pouch at her belt and pulled out two coins, holding them up for the pair to see.

  “The joining bounty’s a full guinea,” she said, “the Service is a far better life as a volunteer, gentlemen, I assure you.”

  “You can’t!”

  “My dear Mister Iveson, the Impressment Article is quite clear. A Crown representative may impress spacers to the benefit of the Service virtually at will.”

  “We’re not spacers, we’re miners!”

  Alexis frowned. “Mister Villar?”

  She found Villar staring at her open-mouthed, but he quickly closed it as she turned to him.

  “Sir?”

  “You’re familiar with the Dalthus system, I believe?”

  “Ah … I am, sir, somewhat, I suppose.”

  “Sailed to the belt here, have you?”

  Villar nodded. “I have, sir.”

  Alexis furrowed her brow. “Enlighten me, then, if you will. In the belt, that rather large void between all of the rocks, what is that called?”

  “Ah … that would be called space, sir.” He cleared his throat and pursed his lips, seeming to finally find the situation amusing instead of shocking and trying not to show it.

  “And what would one call those who spend the majority of their time in such a place?”

  “I believe the term for one such as that would be spacer, sir.”

  Alexis turned to the men in the cage and smiled pleasantly.

  “There, now, we’ve settled that, haven’t we?”

  “Bloody —” Spracklen muttered, speaking for the first time.

  “You can’t do this! We’ll file suit, we will!”

  Alexis nodded. “I’m sure you will, just as soon as you’re allowed off Nightingale. At Zariah station. Some ten or so weeks from today — provided we have decent winds.” She held up the two coins again. “Now, will you be signing on as volunteers and taking the joining bounty?” She rubbed the coins together, two guineas, one for each of the men. “Or will it be the Impressment Articles for you?”

  Spracklen sighed, shrugged, and held out his hand. “I’ll sign.” Iveson glared at him. “It’s not as though we’ve a choice — and a guinea’s a guinea.”

  Eighteen

  31 October, Port Arthur, Dalthus System

  “Those two’ll be trouble,” Villar said as he and Alexis made their way back to the chandlery’s front.

  Ousley and his mates left with Nightingale’s new recruits between them — each of the men’s arms tightly clasped by a bosun’s mate, while Doakes gleefully led Alexis and Villar out of the warehouse to the shop floor. As they came around the counter into the shop proper, the chandlery’s door opened.

  Alexis glanced that way, then froze, struggling to keep her face impassive as she saw the man in the doorway.

  The last time she’d seen Edmon Coalson she’d been threatening to have him hung for striking her in her role as a Queen’s officer if he didn’t tell her where his father, Daviel, had run to — and that after she’d dumped a pot of tea over his head when he’d come courting her.

  More than that she’d later fired a broadside of HMS Merlin’s guns into the father’s fleeing boat, destroying it and horribly maiming the man. In fact, for years she’d thought him dead, until encountering him again in Hanoverese space — where she’d rectified the oversight by setting him adrift in darkspace after he confessed to his and his own father’s roles in the deaths of Alexis’ grandmother and parents.

  She still had nightmares about that act. Being lost in darkspace, where everything, even one’s thoughts, was slowed by the effects of so much dark matter, was a fate spacers feared beyond all else. Many would dump the air from their vacsuits if they suspected their ship would not turn around to retrieve them, rather than suffer longer.

  But cruel as that fate was, and much as it made her sick to have done it, Alexis forced herself not to regret it.

  If ever a man deserved that and more, it was Daviel Coalson. I only wish I could have sent his father, Rashae, to join him for his role in grandmother’s death. She sighed. And now comes Edmon.

  Alexis braced herself as the son of the man she’d killed sighted her and strode forward. Four others entered behind him and she regretted not moving to immediately put her back to something. She stiffened her shoulders, settling her uniform jacket and grateful for the weight of the tiny flechette pistol she kept tucked in a hidden pocket at the small of her back. She didn’t think Coalson would attack her openly, that really wasn’t his family’s way, but she wanted to be prepared.

  Coalson strode toward her, the men following him spread out to either side.

  Beside her Villar stiffened, as though he sensed something of her tension.

  “Sir,” he whispered, “should I call for Mister Ousley and some hands?”

  Alexis shook her head minutely — grateful for Villar’s support, but knowing whatever happened would be over before the bosun could arrive back from Nightingale’s boat. Instead she watched Coalson approach.

  Neither time nor the disgrace and death of his father appeared to have either diminished the Coalson’s family fortunes or improved Edmon’
s taste in clothing. Alexis was certain everything he wore was both expensive and imported — from the shiny material of his trousers to the garish, orange and blue pattern of his jacket. Likely someone, somewhere thought it the height of fashion, as the four men with Coalson were dressed similarly.

  They were all of an age with Coalson and Alexis recognized two of them, sons and younger sons of families the Coalsons had been allied with since the colony’s founding.

  Coalson stopped a bare pace from Alexis.

  “Carew.”

  “Mister Coalson,” she answered, nodding politely. Inside, her stomach clenched.

  “I wasn’t sure it was you, when the notice of your ship’s arrival was signaled.” He took a deep breath and raised his hand midway between them. “I’m happy I was in town to greet you.”

  Alexis stared at the hand for a moment, then blinked.

  Coalson cleared his throat. “Ah … is that not the proper greeting for a Naval officer?” he asked. “I don’t suppose I should salute, not being one myself and all.”

  Alexis blinked again and looked from his hand to his face. His expression was bland, perhaps slightly amused, but not at all antagonistic. His hand appeared to hold no weapon, though she wasn’t sure she could rule out some sort of contact poison when dealing with the Coalsons. She reached out tentatively and took it.

  “No,” she said, hesitating. “No saluting — this is quite proper.” Her brow furrowed. She released his hand and resisted the urge to wipe it on her trousers just in case.

  The very best encounter I’ve ever had with Edmon Coalson ended with my pouring a pot of tea over his head. Cordiality is … quite unexpected.

  “It would be lieutenant,” Villar said from beside her, “as a form of address, Mister Coalson, or captain, as she commands a ship.”

  Coalson turned his gaze to Villar and Alexis thought she detected the slightest tightening around his eyes.

  “Both lieutenant and captain?” He laughed. “The things the Navy manages.” Coalson looked Villar up and down. “Is that why your own insignia’s changed, young man? Weren’t you a lieutenant as well, last you were here? What is it now?”

  Villar flushed and tensed, whether from the reminder of his reversion in rank or at being called “young man” by someone younger than him.

  “Midshipman.”

  “I see.” Coalson returned his attention to Alexis. “I’ll not keep you long … lieutenant, I expect you’ll be visiting your home holding soon, but will you be returning to Port Arthur before you sail on?”

  Alexis hesitated — she was uncomfortable saying anything about her plans to a Coalson, but couldn’t think of a way to put him off without being rude. A quick glance around the chandlery showed that the conversation had attracted more attention from those shopping. Coalson himself was being nothing but polite and proper, so any rudeness on her part would only reflect poorly on the Navy and the Crown.

  “As soon as my ship has taken on supplies, yes.”

  Coalson glanced around the chandlery as well.

  “I have a dinner party scheduled in five days’ time.” He nodded toward the men who accompanied him. “Myself and some other younger holders.” He squared his shoulders. “Or holders’ sons — they’ve not all come into their lands as I have, but they will one day.” He smiled. “The future of Dalthus, as it were.

  “We’d be honored did you attend. There’ve been many changes on Dalthus these past years, with more to come, and we’d value your insights — as a Naval officer and representative of the Crown, so to speak.”

  Doakes cleared his throat.

  “Meaning no diminishment of Mister Doakes here and the service his family’s offered the colony as Crown representative since the founding, of course. Only that so much is now happening off-planet and, perhaps, a bit of Naval insight might do us good.”

  Alexis studied Coalson’s face, which now held what seemed to be a genuine smile. Much as she loathed the family, she couldn’t find a way to beg off. They might be prohibited from mining in the belt due to Daviel Coalson’s actions, but the family was still a powerful force on Dalthus — and her orders required her to provide such assistance and advice as might be requested by the colonial governments. Perhaps if Edmon were just another heir as his friends seemed to be she might decline, but he was head of his family now and held the colonial shares in his own right.

  Nor could she claim the exigencies of Nightingale’s patrol and leave system before the dinner. She’d told Doakes she’d be in-system for several days, and if she changed that now without some emergency to call her ship away Coalson and others would surely hear of it and feel slighted.

  She suppressed a sigh.

  “Yes, Mister Coalson, I’d be happy to attend.”

  Coalson’s smile widened.

  “Wonderful! I’m so glad I was able to catch you here, then,” he said. “I’ll just forward an invitation to you and let you and your … midshipman, Mister Villar here, get on with your business.” He nodded politely, smile never leaving his face. “Good day, Lieutenant Carew.”

  Alexis watched him leave, trailed by his companions, and waited as the shoppers in the chandlery returned to their errands — finally she turned to Doakes.

  “Thank you for your time, Mister Doakes. Your thoughts on the challenges facing Port Arthur were most enlightening.”

  “And I thank you for listening, Miss Carew, and for ridding us of those troublemakers, I do.”

  “Perhaps we’ll have more to speak of on those matters before Nightingale sails — I do plan on asking my grandfather about all we discussed.”

  Doakes nodded. “Not to speak out of turn, Miss Carew, but that Mister Coalson’s settled down a might since you were last here.” He shrugged. “Blood’s been bad ‘twixt your families, I know, but he’s not been the rake he was before you …” Doakes paused and scratched at his neck. “Before his father passed.”

  “Thank you, Mister Doakes.” Alexis assumed Doakes meant the first time, when she’d fired into Daviel Coalson’s boat here in the Dalthus system. That he’d survived, run to Hanover space, and subsequently been killed by her there wouldn’t be common knowledge.

  Doakes nodded again and returned to his counter.

  Alexis frowned as she left the chandlery, trailed by Villar, though she was barely aware of his presence. Her mind was still on Coalson and what his game might be, for she was certain he had one. The blood between their two families had been too bad for too long for her to believe his seeming cordiality.

  “If you’ll pardon me asking, sir,” Villar said, “should I know the nature of the tension between you and Mister Coalson?”

  Alexis ignored his question and asked her own. “Have you met him before, Mister Villar?”

  “Lieutenant Bensley met with him and his group a time or two — he seemed to make a point to meet me after Bensley left and I took command, but no more than to say hello.”

  “I see.” She pondered it more, wondering what Coalson’s goal might be, then decided Villar deserved at least a partial answer to his question. “Edmon Coalson thought himself a suitor before I joined the Navy and left Dalthus.” Let Villar think it was a mere personal grudge and not so serious — she was still unsure of Villar’s own loyalty at this point and didn’t want him to view Coalson as a potential ally against her. “Childish, really. Some words were exchanged … the misuse of a teapot may have been involved in our parting.”

  Nineteen

  31 October, Carew Farmstead, Dalthus System

  Alexis had always loved seeing her home from the air, and this arrival was no different. Foregoing the passenger compartment, she seated herself in the cockpit next to the pilot for the trip from Port Arthur to her home.

  There were changes — only to be expected after three years away. The farmstead itself was much the same, but the nearby village was larger. There was a new bridge across the river, just upstream of the fishing docks, and new buildings on the far bank.

  As Ra
sch, the boat’s pilot, circled to find a spot to land, she saw that there had been one change at least to the farmstead. One of the home fields, just past the outbuildings, had a section carved out of it, leveled and cobbled, and with new trees planted at the edges — just large enough for a ship’s boat to put down in.

  The crowd of people there, far more than she’d expected, made that space’s purpose even more clear.

  “I’m given to understand we’re the first boat to set down on that space, Rasch,” Alexis said. “Please do the Service proud, will you?”

  “Aye, sir,” Rasch said, tensing.

  Alexis repressed a sigh.

  Nightingale’s crew seemed made up of different sorts when it came to their duties. Those who did the least they could, not caring at all how well they performed — and those who tried, but through age, infirmity, or some other cause, never quite measured up. Rasch was in the latter group. The best pilot aboard, though that was faint praise, and seeming to constantly question what skills he had.

  The boat dipped, settled, and finally came to rest on the field. If it wasn’t quite centered in the space, and if there happened to be more than a little of the surrounding shrubbery entangled in the landing struts, Alexis was at least satisfied that they hadn’t crushed any of the crowd approaching from the farmstead.

  “That was …” Alexis paused, then patted Rasch’s shoulder. “A solid landing, Rasch.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  Aye, the thumps of each landing strut coming down independently had a solid tone, at least.

  She made her way back to the passenger compartment. Isom was there, trying to chivy the boat crew into some semblance of order. Alexis knew he was correct that she should pick a coxswain to deal with that, but there were none aboard Nightingale who seemed right for the task.

  The ramp was lowered, Alexis walked down, smelling the fresh air that seemed, in some way she couldn’t place, different than that on other planets, different even than Port Arthur. The scent of home.