Ousley and another Marine soon entered with the seven men, hands bound. The group of four extorters, as Alexis couldn’t help but think of them, were angry, jerking away when Ousley or the Marine sought to move them into place before Alexis desk, while Nabb, Ruse, and Sinkey appeared calm — curiously so, given the recent brawl and the consequences they were facing.
Of the lot, the four seemed to have gotten the worst of it. There was more than one blackened eye starting, along with Chivington’s bloody and swollen nose. Carras walked hunched over, as though straightening pained him. The other three were in disarray, but appeared none the worse for wear and in good spirits.
Alexis sighed. She’d have to fight the urge to congratulate the three and go easy on them, for that’s what she’d like to do. Nor could she go too hard on the four, as it was clear they hadn’t started the brawl. Nor could she say a word about their extortion, for there were none among the crew who’d come forward to accuse them.
‘Sole master after God,’ my arse.
“Mister Ousley, were you or any of your men struck?” she asked. Though not as dire as if they’d struck an officer, landing a blow on the bosun, his mates, or one of the Marines would force her to increase the punishment for all involved.
“No, sir,” Ousley answered.
“Bank?” she asked one of the Marines.
He shook his head. “Not as I know of, sir.”
“I’m sure Corporal Brace would have sent word along with you if they had.” Alexis ran her eyes over the seven men. “Brawling at Spirits. And not the first time brawling, Scarborough.”
“Didn’t do nuffink! I were —”
Ousley grabbed Scarborough by the collar, knocking him forward then jerking him back.
“Shut your gob while the captain talks!”
Alexis paused a moment, wishing she could do more — could address more of the problems these four were causing aboard her ship. The fight had started right in front of her, though, and she couldn’t claim they were anything but the targets of an attack. She couldn’t order them flogged for that, much as she might like to.
“For you four, bread and water for a fortnight — one sound, Scarborough, and it’ll be a month!”
Scarborough shut his mouth, glaring first at her, then at Nabb, who looked on impassive, almost cheerful.
Alexis couldn’t understand why he and the other two had done it — nor why they’d done it so publicly. Nabb was new, only weeks aboard ship, but Ruse and Sinkey, lazy and dense as they seemed to be at times, had been in the Service long enough to know she’d have no choice but to order the cat for the instigators. Their backs had barely had time to heal from their flogging after the events on Al Jadiq.
More than that, Nabb, Ruse, and Sinkey were among the few those four weren’t regularly extorting; too young, strong, and willing to fight back for the bullies to cow, even outnumbered.
“Get them out of here,” Alexis said, keeping her eyes fixed on Nabb as Ousley shoved the four toward the hatchway and turned them over to a mate outside.
Nabb met her gaze for a moment, then looked down at the deck, but his lips twitched.
Does he think this is a bloody joke?
Ruse and Sinkey kept their gazes downcast throughout, though they darted more than one glance at Nabb.
“As for you three,” she continued once the hatch was closed and Ousley returned to stand behind them, “starting a brawl? Not even an argument to start? Just punches thrown in front of everyone?” She shook her head. “What do you have to say for yourselves?”
Nabb looked up at that and threw a quick glance at Ruse and Sinkey who nodded imperceptibly.
“Nothing to say, sir. No excuse,” Nab said, squaring his shoulders. “Lost our tempers, like, is all.” He took a deep breath and met Alexis’ eye. “Feel bad about the rest of the crew losing two days’ spirits over it … might be they’ll enjoy their full ration all the more when it comes, though.”
Alexis frowned and glanced at Ousley who was regarding the three more thoughtfully than before. Was Nabb saying there was more to this than just a scuffle between the two groups? Did he mean to put an end to the extortion?
She’d still have to punish them appropriately. Couldn’t be seen to countenance what they’d done.
“You’ll have a better rein on your tempers going forward, I trust?”
This time Nabb glanced at Ousley.
“Much as needs be, I imagine, sir,” he said, turning back.
Ousley snorted, then pursed his lips and nodded as he stared at Nabb, as though satisfied with something.
Alexis sighed and rubbed her face with one hand. The politics of a crew — a full crew and not the neck-or-nothing prizes she’d commanded before — were far more Byzantine than she’d ever imagined.
“A half dozen each, Mister Ousley,” Alexis said. It was really the minimum she could order, given the circumstances, “and the same fortnight’s bread and water as the others.”
“Aye, sir.”
Ruse and Sinkey looked downcast for a moment, but Nabb shoved Sinkey with his shoulder and the two joined him in saying, “Aye, sir,” as well.
“That’s all,” Alexis said. “We’ll hold a Mast this afternoon and be done with it.”
Ousley herded the three to the hatchway, but Alexis made a sudden decision. It might not be the right one or the right time, but it felt so to her.
“A moment,” she called, waiting for the others to turn. “Nabb …”
She swallowed. She wanted so much to see him safely back home on Dalthus, but suddenly felt it certain he wouldn’t go — that he’d determined to join the Navy as his father had, for whatever reason, and was set on that. Much as she wanted to keep him safe, if she was right about his motives for this fight, she needed such a man with her, and it did feel so right.
“I’ve need of a coxswain — and a proper boat crew. Would you take the position?”
Nabb nodded quickly. “Aye, sir, I would.” He jerked his head toward the others. “Ruse and Sinkey’d make the start of a proper crew.”
Alexis blinked. Of all the ways she could think of to describe those two, proper crew wasn’t in it.
“I’ll trust you to fill out the crew, Nabb,” she said, trying to keep her voice clear of those doubts.
“Aye, sir.”
Ousley saw them through the hatch, then turned to Alexis.
“That lad’s a starter, sir. He’ll make master’s mate with a bit of seasoning, should he strike for it.”
Alexis agreed. “More than that, I think, Mister Ousley.”
Ousley glanced at the hatch, then back to her.
“If he don’t stay a coxswain, that is.”
“I doubt he’ll do that, not once another opportunity presents itself.”
Ousley frowned.
“A man’ll choose what he chooses for his own reasons, sir.” He nodded again. “I’ll see to settling the crew after all this.”
Part Two
Thirty-Eight
5 April, aboard HMS Nightingale, darkspace, enroute to Zariah
Isom’s entry from the pantry prompted Alexis to close the latest bit of Nightingale’s mountain of reports and dispatches.
In the nearly four months since she’d left Al Jadiq for the first time and completed her first circuit of her patrol area by returning to Zariah, everything aboard had improved — save the sheer mass of paperwork and reports required of her as commander.
The time spent on such things was made even more frustrating when she considered the lack of any information or response from Admiralty. Despite hours of work on reports and dispatches detailing Nightingale’s actions, she’d received virtually nothing in return.
In fact, the only Admiralty message sent specifically to Nightingale these last few months had been in response to her dispatches on the incident at Al Jadiq and the recovery of Ruse and Sinkey. Alexis had feared there’d be repercussions from that, but the response, without even an indication of who at Admiralty
had reviewed the incident, was a simple Carry on.
She was grateful for that, if frustrated by its brevity, as she’d fully expected a reprimand at the very least.
Grateful also for the relative peace Nightingale had encountered since. They’d had no further cause to run out the guns, save in exercise, encountering only a handful of smugglers amongst the merchants she’d stopped for inspection. Those had been returned to Zariah for adjudication or their cargoes seized as she thought appropriate.
If the ship’s encounters had been peaceful in that time, though, the same could not be said for the crew’s. There were several conflicts between the cohort of extorters and the rest of the crew in the weeks after Nabb’s fight with them. All occurred below decks and out of sight of either Alexis or Ousley, thankfully, so there was no cause for her to intervene again — also all seemed to have gone Nabb’s way, which cheered her further.
She turned her attention to the plate Isom slid in front of her, which contained far more food than Alexis truly needed. Garcia seemed to have made it his mission to fatten his captain up to some private standard and she’d found herself unable to finish most of what he prepared for her. This morning it was a massive proper breakfast of fried eggs, bacon, sausage, fried potatoes, mushrooms, baked beans, half a tomato, and both white and black puddings. Garcia and Isom saw to her personal stores and she wondered where they were managing to keep it all.
“This is the last of the tomatoes until we reach some system with a bit for sale,” Isom said, pouring her a glass of weak ship’s beer.
She didn’t care for the beer at all, but liked the ship’s water even less, and there was no coffee or tea to be had until Nightingale made her way back to Zariah or Dalthus — the outer worlds, such as Man’s Fall and Al Jadiq, either couldn’t grow such things at all or hadn’t bothered yet.
“I could almost be thankful for that, as it means less food on the plate,” Alexis said, raising an eyebrow. “One does wonder, though, where the other half of the tomato’s got to.”
Isom flushed which confirmed Alexis suspicion that her clerk, short as his time in the Navy might have been, had become acquainted with the custom of colluding with the cook in augmenting their own meals. It was a time-honored perquisite of the positions, after all.
“Mention to Garcia that I need a bit less food than the typical captain, if you will?”
Isom nodded. “I will, sir, but he has his ways.”
Alexis sighed. She slid most of the files and other work she had open on her table to the side, knowing that Garcia’s meals were long on quality as well as quantity and not wanting to be distracted from it.
“Thank you, Isom, that will be all for now.”
“Aye, sir.”
She smiled a bit as Isom hurried back to her pantry’s hatch and what she was certain was an equally large plate of his own. Still, she wouldn’t begrudge that bit to either Isom or Garcia — if nothing else aboard Nightingale had come easily to her, those two had at least seen to it that mealtimes were something to look forward to. She picked up her fork and was raising the first bite to her mouth when a soft ping interrupted her.
“Sail, sir,” Villar announced over her cabin’s speakers.
“Where away, Mister Villar?”
“Fine on the port bow, sir, and closer than I’d like — sails came up all of a sudden.”
Alexis frowned, slid her plate to the side, and brought the navigation plot monitors up on her table. The image of the other ship was clear, and closer than it should be to have just been sighted, which must mean that it had been lying still with its particle projectors uncharged and only now set sail and turned them on.
That last was a little too close to their first encounter, with the ill-fated Greenaway, for Alexis to be comfortable this ship might be some innocent merchant or smuggler at worst.
“Clear for action, Mister Villar, and signal for that ship to heave-to instanter.”
“No response, sir.”
“Running is quite the response, Creasy.” Alexis studied the navigation plot. The distance was closing, but slowly. The other ship was running fully away from Nightingale, not making the best use of the winds, but simply pointing its bow away and turning if Nightingale drifted to one side or the other.
“Not running very well, though,” Villar said quietly.
“No,” Alexis agreed.
As a strategy, the other ship’s maneuvers generally allowed Nightingale to gain on it, more often or not. It was as though the ship were being commanded by someone who next to nothing about sailing the Dark — much less ship-handling itself, as what maneuvers were made were executed in a slipshod manner. One warning shot alongside, along with an Imperative signal added to the already flashing Heave-to and Inspection, had already been ignored by the other ship and Alexis’ tolerance was at an end.
“One more shot alongside, Mister Villar, and if they refuse to heave-to, then I’ll have one into her.”
“Aye, sir.”
Villar passed the orders along and a streak of light leapt out from Nightingale’s bowchaser, passing close alongside the other ship. Villar waited a moment, then ordered the other bowchaser fired. This one loaded with chain shot, and a wide bar leapt across the space between the ships, striking the other ship’s rigging.
Alexis could see suited figures on the other ship’s hull, but they didn’t appear to be working at repairing the damage to the rigging — at least not successfully.
“Again,” Alexis ordered, “and reload with chain in both bowchasers.”
“Aye, sir.”
Chainshot wasn’t strictly according to New London’s doctrine. The Navy preferred its captains use roundshot and fire for an enemy’s hull. Nightingale’s crew, though they’d improved greatly since Nabb and the others had begun fighting back against the extorters, were still not up to the standards Alexis expected, and though they were gaining on the other ship, Alexis wanted it slowed further.
The chase dragged on, shot after shot flashing between the two ships as the distance narrowed. All going in one direction, Alexis noted thankfully, as the other ship had yet to fire back. An occasional vacsuited figure made its way around the other ship’s hull and into the rigging, but so far as Alexis could tell there was little repair work being done — at least little that was successful.
The other ship’s sails became more and more ragged as Nightingale fired, until, finally, their azure glow went out altogether.
“Did we strike their particle projector?” Alexis asked.
Dorsett, on the tactical console, shook his head. “No, sir, it happened between shots.”
“They’ve not struck, sir,” Villar pointed out.
Alexis studied the image of the other ship. The hull was lit as one would expect still, so there was power available, but the sails were dark. The mast and hull lights used for signaling weren’t doing so, however — neither the flashing code that indicated surrender nor, still, any response to Nightingale’s signals.
“Perhaps one of our shots damaged their particle projector and it’s only now failed?” Villar suggested.
“I been tracking where we struck ‘em, sir,” Dorsett said, “and shouldn’t be any damage to a projector.”
“Continue to close with them,” Alexis ordered, “but be wary. I’ll not have us sucked in again, as with the Owl.”
“Aye, sir.”
The closing rate increased now that the other ship’s sails were dead. Nightingale approached rapidly, then more slowly as she took in her own sails. The chase’s gunports remained closed and sails dark. What few vacsuited figures had been on her hull were no longer visible. It was as though the ship had been abandoned in mid-chase and Alexis couldn’t help think of their encounter with Greenaway.
Apparently neither could Nightingale’s quarterdeck crew, as Creasy muttered, “Dutchman,” quite loudly.
“Enough, Dorsett,” Alexis snapped. “We saw folk out and about on her hull.”
“Not there now,”
Creasy muttered.
Alexis ignored that, not wanting to give credence to the spacer’s fears by addressing them. Creasy and any others would see soon enough that the other ship was as normal as any and no spirits drove it through the Dark.
They closed further.
“Pass the word to the gun captains, Creasy. Watch them and fire at the first sign of treachery. I’ll not see us caught flat-footed as we were by the Owl.” Alexis kept her own eyes closely on the images of the other ship as Nightingale came about to pull alongside. “So much as a twitch from one of her gunports and I want our full broadside into her.”
“Aye sir.”
Nothing appeared amiss or out of place as Nightingale drew closer — no more than the disturbing lack of any activity, that is. Alexis held off on ordering her own crew, other than those working the sails, to go to the hull or boarding tubes, as she wanted every spare hand on the guns until the last moment. If they did face treachery again, she’d be as prepared as possible for it.
Up close, the damage to the other ship was more visible. Loose rigging drifted slowly, twisting until it struck something that altered its direction. The hull was pocked in multiple places where shot had struck there instead of the sails and rigging.
“One man from each gun to the hull and make us fast,” she ordered finally when the two ships were close enough and at rest. “Weapons close and the gun captains to remain ready.”
“Aye sir.”
Nightingale slid alongside, moving a bit too quickly to come to rest directly there.
“Back sails, quarter charge,” Villar said to the helmsman.
“Aye, sir.”
The ships dim sails were hauled around to face the wind on her bow, then pulsed with a short particle charge to catch a bit of the winds and slow her more. Once doused again, Nightingale came to rest within reach of the other ship.
HMS Nightingale (Alexis Carew Book 4) Page 28
