Knowing them would mean knowing what she’d lost if it came to that, and she dreaded it, but she’d not get their best without it. She needed their best, needed it desperately, she thought, if enemies like the Owl were any indication — and, truth to tell, they deserved better of her.
They’re following orders — but they’re not following me.
She stepped toward them and laid a hand on each of the men’s shoulders. This might be a poor pair to start with, but even they deserved better of her than she’d given.
“Lads, I need your help.”
Ruse blinked.
“Sir?”
“Nightingale’s not what she should be, you know that.”
Sinkey snorted, then flushed. “Sorry, sir, but … well, she’s …”
“A cack-handed bunch of castoffs,” Alexis said and saw the two men flush. “But you’re my castoffs and I’ll stand by you.” She nodded toward the room they’d just left. “As I did here, see?”
Ruse nodded.
“I need you to stand with me,” she said. “You two are decent hands, and not so old as some of the others who’ve actually spent time in the Dark enough to know the way of it. The crew’ll look to you. Leave off with those two bastard miners and show them what a proper Queen’s man can do.”
Ruse looked doubtful.
“We’re not much for leading and such, sir.”
Alexis knew that, but at least she saw them thinking on it.
“No, no you may not be, but, damn you, lads, if you must follow, could you not choose someone worthy of it? Someone you can admire or aspire to? Scarborough? Is that the sort of man you’d be? Or your sons, if you have them?”
They both flushed again and looked away.
Alexis thought she might have a decent chance that her words had got through to them — a start in any case.
“Come on then, lads.” She jerked her head down the corridor toward the landing field. “Back aboard ship and put this behind us.” She left it to them to decide if she meant their actions on Al Jadiq or the poor start of her tenure aboard Nightingale. “Let’s get home.”
And Nightingale was home, for a crew that spent months, or sometimes years, aboard her — home and what family they had. She caught and held each of their eyes in turn.
“And don’t you dare disappoint me again, lads.”
Thirty-Six
22 December, aboard HMS Nightingale, darkspace, leaving Al Jadiq System
“Bring them forward, Mister Ousley.”
Alexis struggled to keep her face impassive as Ruse and Sinkey were brought forward to stand before the slightly raised platform at the fore of Nightingale’s gundeck. Alexis, Villar, and Spindler, along with Corporal Brace and two other Marines faced the assembled crew.
The two spacers looked relieved to be back aboard Nightingale and no longer in whatever cell the Jadiqis had kept them in, but still worried about what was to come. She’d made it clear to them in the boat on the way up to the ship that there’d still be consequences at captain’s mast for their disobeying orders and speaking to a Jadiqi woman in the marketplace.
She didn’t like it — hated, in fact, this part of command, but what else was there? Discipline had to be maintained and with so much time and distance between Nightingale and any other Naval ship, much less a port with a Naval presence, there were few options. If consequences were weeks or months away, many men wouldn’t concern themselves with them.
Despite her dislike of the lash, these were simple men, especially on the Fringe, where many colonies’ educational opportunities were limited to the hours in a day not needed to put food on the table. They understood simple rules and simple consequences of the sort they’d grown up with. And that more for Nightingale’s crew than was usual for other ships, she knew, as those who’d been troublemakers or slackers aboard other ships would be no stranger to a captain’s mast.
Alexis scanned the faces of the assembled crew and realized that the men’s expressions were not what she was used to seeing at captain’s mast aboard other ships. Nor, she realized, were they what she herself wanted from her crew. She’d never want the fear and loathing that had been present aboard Hermione under the despised and cruel Captain Neals, but what she saw in Nightingale’s crew was far too light-hearted, especially given the grave consequences if she hadn’t managed to get Ruse and Sinkey back aboard.
I’ve set quite the wrong tone aboard this ship, in more ways than one, and it’s past time it changed.
Despite her talk with them, Ruse and Sinkey themselves seemed to be more amused than chastened by the situation.
Well past time.
Alexis pulled her tablet from a pocket and read off the Articles of War one by one, placing a bit of emphasis on each the two men had violated and more on the punishments open to her under the Articles, most of which ended with:
“… shall suffer death” she read again, “or such other punishment, as from the nature and degree of the offense a court martial shall deem him to deserve.”
When she finished the crew, and Ruse and Sinkey especially, seemed to have lost a bit of their jovial attitude, and with the formal bit out of the way it was time for her to say a thing or two about their offenses and their fate.
“You bloody, sodding, cack-brained, cunny-witted, lubbers!” she bellowed as loudly as she could, which was none too loud, but the shuffling and muttering ceased once she started and by the end she was yelling into dead silence. “You’re an embarrassment! To the Queen, me, Nightingale, and even to your mates! If Nightingale weren’t so shorthanded, I’d have left you there to be shortened by the bloody Jadiqis and called it a good bargain to be done with you!”
Alexis felt the eyes of the crew on her, but kept her own boring into Ruse and Sinkey.
“That’s no bloody liberty port where they expect a bit of tomfoolery, lads.” She lowered her tone and pointed aft. “But you knew that. Been here before and know they’re a stick-up-the-arse religious colony and behave so anyway? What’d you show them, eh? That the Navy has no discipline, that’s what. That Nightingales have no sense, for another.” She paused and narrowed her eyes. “Almost that they can take Queen’s crew off a Queen’s ship and not pay for it?”
She paused, suddenly angrier than she’d been from the start of this. She’d already given Ruse and Sinkey a taste of what she thought of them, both for their actions on Al Jadiq and aboard Nightingale. It was, perhaps, time — past time — for the crew as a whole to know her thoughts.
“My crew off my ship? If it weren’t for want of a headsman I’d shorten you two myself!”
Alexis forced herself to calm and looked around for the first time, meeting the wide eyes of the other crewmen one by one.
“I know who you are, lads, don’t doubt it. Dumped off every passing ship that wanted rid of you — too old, too weak, too slow —” She eyed Ruse and Sinkey again. “— too much bloody trouble to keep aboard. Dregs of the Fringe, the lot of you, aye?”
She looked around again. Some expressions were angry, others resigned — a few were nodding, either the too slow of wit to realize what she’d said or self-aware enough to accept it.
“Well, you’re Nightingales now, and we’re stuck with each other, but I will have your best, lads. Better than the best you showed those captains who cast you off, you hear me? I’ll not ask any man to do more than he’s able, but I will have your very best or know the reason why!”
She turned her attention back to Ruse and Sinkey, shaking her head.
“As for you two…“ She spoke quieter now. “I’ll stand with you, lads — there’s no tin-pot Fringe world I’ll let take one of mine, but you’ll bloody well stand with me as well or I’ll greet your backbones once a fortnight until you do. Mister Ousley?”
“Aye sir!”
Alexis’ stomach clenched and she forced herself to remain impassive. She hated what was to come, not least because she’d felt a bosun’s cat herself, but saw no other choice.
“Rig
a grating and fetch your cat, Mister Ousley. Two dozen each and your very best work, do you hear?”
“Aye sir!”
Alexis held Ruse’s eye as Ousley set two men to rigging a grating upright between the posts that ran the length of Nightingale’s deck, and sent a bosun’s mate to fetch a cat — the short whip made from unwinding the tough thermoplastic line of the ship’s rigging into nine strands. If either of the men caused trouble, it would be Ruse she suspected, especially after she announced the rest of their punishment — Sinkey would just follow along with him.
“And a month on water alone,” she said coldly. “Mark that down, Mister Wileman.” She ran a quick glance over the rest of the crew before she returned her gaze to Ruse. “A dozen lashes for any man who slips them a bit of a wet, as well.”
“Aye sir,” the purser said, wincing.
Ruse’s eyes narrowed and he stared back at her. The two dozen lashes he and Sinkey were facing now would be bad, but the crew viewed such things as part of life — over, done with, and then forgotten, as she’d learned aboard her first ship. A month on ship’s water, run through the recyclers — and through the crew — for months on end, without recourse to the beer, wine, or rum used to make the water palatable, would be the worst of the punishments. With the threat of a dozen lashes hanging over them, none of Ruse and Sinkey’s mates would dare to slip the men a bit of their own ration either.
Alexis stared back at Ruse as his eyes narrowed further. His nostrils flared and his jaw clenched, then he seemed to come to some decision and his posture relaxed. He shrugged, took a deep breath, and raised his hands to strip off his upper jumpsuit as he turned to face the grating.
“Aye, fair enough.”
Thirty-Seven
10 January, aboard HMS Nightingale, darkspace, enroute from Al Jadiq to Zariah
“Pipe Up Spirits, Mister Ousley, we’ll allow the men a bit of a wet and a rest, then exercise the guns again in the afternoon.”
“Aye, sir.”
Alexis turned to the navigation plot and began reviewing the results of the morning’s gunnery drill.
Better, not nearly good, she thought.
She’d moved the worst of the crew, especially the cabal of four — Scarborough, Carras, Chivington, and Monks — from the guns, despite them being younger, stronger, and better able to haul shot canisters and wrestle the heavy carriages about, but the gunnery times and accuracy were still not up to Naval standards, let alone her own.
Nightingale was nearly three and a half weeks out of Al Jadiq, with two weeks left to sail before reaching Zariah again. Things aboard were better, if not entirely good. Ruse and Sinkey had, at least, left off with the miners. They’d changed messes almost immediately after their punishment and she thought well of them for that.
But the mess they’d joined was Nabb’s, and that concerned her.
Despite Ousley’s good opinion of the lad, he was still young and Alexis worried at the influence two hands like Ruse and Sinkey might have on him. The worry might be for nothing, as he’d likely be off the ship and back under the care of his mum on Dalthus in less than two months, but it did still bother her.
After the main deck was put to rights, guns brought inboard and bowsed against the hull, gunports closed and locked in place, and the compartment re-aired, Ousley returned.
“Deck’s secure and the men’re out of their vacsuits, sir,” he said. “Mister Wileman’s just bringing the rum up now.”
Alexis nodded and closed the reports on the plot and made her way back to the main deck. Perhaps, just perhaps, there was a glimmer of hope in the current improvement. If the guncrews, as they were put together now, were willing enough, perhaps sufficient drill would bring about the necessary performance. There was still, though, what to do about the men she’d moved off the guns — they were lazy, obstinate, and, worst of all, still extortionate with the rest of the crew.
The daily rum issue remained a frustration to her, as she’d found no solution to their, along with the two miners’, predations on the rest of the crew. She wished someone, anyone, would come forward and expose the six bastards for the thieves they were.
Wileman and his assistant brought the large cask — emblazoned, as Naval tradition called for with the words, “The Queen — God Bless Her” — up from storage in his offices below. Alexis took her place with Villar and Spindler on a slightly raised platform at one end of the deck. The men were already lined up, the four hard cases at the front of the line as was their wont, the two miners, Iveson and Spracklen, close behind.
The six weren’t entirely together, Alexis had noted, it was only that Iveson and Spracklen had caught on to the others’ game and duplicated it. There seemed to be a sort of truce to the two groups, at least while Ruse and Sinkey were with the miners, that they’d prey on the rest of the crew equally and leave each other alone.
Alexis had ordered this issue diluted, rather than neat, with the men’s ration mixed into water and citrus juice. She wanted to exercise the guns again soon, she hoped the dilution would keep the crew from downing all of their ration at once. It would also, she hoped, reduce the amount those four could extort from the others. It disturbed Alexis to no end that none of the crew trusted her, her officers, or even the bosun enough to speak out against them, even after Al Jadiq, which she’d hoped might bring the crew closer to her — those four, and the miners, were a cancer eating away at her crew and she almost wished for some arrogant frigate captain to come along and demand a trade of personnel. She’d gladly pawn those six off on someone else for virtually any she could get in return.
The men were served, those four hanging about the cask still to collect their tribute. Next in line was Nabb, talking quietly with Ruse and Sinkey. That brought her concerns for the lad back to the fore of her thoughts. Ruse and Sinkey weren’t truly bad sorts, just easily influenced and a bit lazy. She didn’t want those traits to rub off on Nabb, no matter her intent to return him to Dalthus and his mum.
Nabb had his portion now and stepped away from the cask. Alexis clenched her jaw as Scarborough met him with a scowl. Ruse and Sinkey stepped up beside Nabb, their own full cups in hand.
Scarborough squared his shoulders, jaw outthrust, with a hard look in his eyes.
Nearby, Ousley’s head came around to look at the group as though he’d sensed something — he opened his mouth to speak, but before he could the deck dissolved into chaos.
Nabb, Ruse, and Sinkey, as one, flung the contents of their cups into the faces of the four extorters, following that up with swift blows.
Scarborough doubled over as Nabb buried a fist in his gut. Ruse slammed his now empty cup into Chivington’s face. Sinkey took on both Carras and Monks, driving his knee into Carras’ groin while swinging his cup at the side of Monks’ head.
There was a moment, just a moment, where the deck was still and silent save for the group of fighters and the sound of blows, then Ousley shouted, “Oy! Belay that!” and waded in, his two boson’s mates at his side, pulling seldom used stunsticks from their belts. Shouts and catcalls started from the rest of the crew, some of whom took the opportunity to approach the fighters and offer a blow or two of their own — nearly all landing on the four extorters, Alexis saw.
Scarborough took more than one punch to his kidneys from behind, spinning in place to face each new attacker, but finding only a sea of blankly innocent faces. Someone in the crowd stepped forward and drove a foot into the back of Chivington’s knee, collapsing his leg and giving Ruse an opportunity to put a knee in the man’s face. Blood washed the deck from Chivington’s nose and she could hear his cry of pain even over the shouts.
Alexis took a step back from the edge of the platform, gesturing for Villar and Spindler to do so as well. She’d let Ousley and his mates, along with the Marines, who Brace was sending into the scuffle now, settle the matter and restore order — better that than for one of her officers to be struck by mistake in the heat of the fight. With this happening right in front
of her she’d have no choice but to call for Ousley and his cat once order was restored, she didn’t want to have to do worse for striking an officer, even all unknowing.
The brawl ended as quickly as it began. Most of the crew moved back from the fighting as Ousley and his mates shouted and shoved their way into the mix. In short order the bosun, his mates, and the Marines had the principals separated and restrained — though Alexis noted those enforcing order seemed to take shots of their own at the much-disliked hard cases.
She stepped back to the front of the platform, Villar and Spindler beside her, with Brace and one of his Marines to either side — both of those had their own stunsticks drawn and were watching the crew carefully.
“Pack up the cask, Mister Wileman,” Alexis said, “there’ll be no further rum issue today. Nor tomorrow neither — quiet down!” Her bellow silenced the mutters from the mass of crew. “I’ll have not a bit of whinging or we’ll review the log and see which of you got a blow or kick in at the edges —” She nodded at the seven restrained men. “— then it’ll be more than this lot at the next Mast.”
She waited, eyes scanning the rest of the crew until they’d settled and seemed to accept it. If she did have to review the log’s recording of the events and who’d snuck in a kick or a blow, likely half or more of the crew’d be facing the bosun’s cat. Two days without the rum issue was less than they deserved, but she could well understand their urge to get in a bit of their own on those four. She turned her attention to the bosun and his captives.
“In my quarters, Mister Ousley,” Alexis said, “the lot of them, and in irons.”
Alexis used the time Ousley needed to get the brawlers in restraints to arrange things in her quarters, and for the rest of the ship. She sent Villar and Corporal Brace to oversee the rest of the crew, trusting them to keep order along with Ousley’s mates. Spindler was sent to the quarterdeck to keep the watch, a Marine along with him. In addition to the Marine outside her compartment’s hatchway, she brought two inside to flank her as she sat at her table. She didn’t truly expect any further trouble, either from the crew at large or the brawlers, but wanted to take no chances.
HMS Nightingale (Alexis Carew Book 4) Page 27
