“Drowned?” Alexis’ eyes widened. What could he have nearly drowned in that would smell so foul? Her eyes widened. “Surely they didn’t dump him in a vat?”
What would the nutrient solution and growing beef do to a man? Did anyone know?
“Ah … no, sir.” Ousley looked away. “It were an empty beer vat.”
“Empty? But —”
“Sippers and gulpers!” Scarborough yelled suddenly, looking around wildly. “You want your sippers and gulpers, you gets ‘em after!”
“It were … ah … refilled, sir.” Ousley looked at Scarborough sadly and shook his head in amazement. “Must’ve taken the lads a week or more to … well, make the necessary, as it were.”
Alexis stared at Scarborough as Ousley’s words and the acrid odor suddenly making things clearer.
“Dear God —”
“Sippers and gulpers come after now, you sodding bastard!” Scarborough yelled.
“Weren’t but a few centimeters’ air between the lid and the … well, afters,” Ousley said, voice full of wonder.
“How … how long do you think …”
“No telling, sir.” Ousley and his mates edged away from Scarborough as the man shuddered and more droplets fell from him. “Sometime last night — he were missing this morning, but his mates covered it, come to find out.”
Last night — and his mates had covered for him, probably thinking he’d snuck off, but inadvertently keeping him from being found earlier and leaving him for hours in a vat of —
“Afters!” Scarborough yelled. “Afters for you, you bloody sot!”
— hours in a vat of … afters, with only a few centimeters of air between the lid and —
“Oh, dear.”
Alexis was torn between horror at what had been done to the man and outright laughter at the very appropriateness of it. More, she took heart that her crew had come together against a common enemy at least, even if it was one of their own — and that they’d managed it in a way that wasn’t lethal.
She sighed. Still she’d have to make it clear that this should be the end of it. Scarborough and his mates would have the message that their schemes wouldn’t be tolerated by the crew any longer, and the crew needed the message that she’d tolerate no further revenge.
All without actually acknowledging I know what’s gone on — or I’d have to punish everyone involved.
“I’ll want it made clear to the crew that they’re to use the proper heads, no matter if there’s a line, I suppose.”
Ousley nodded, slowly. “Aye, sir. That’s what must’ve happened here. Terrible long lines there are a’times. A man gets desperate, he does.”
“But not again,” Alexis said pointedly.
“Aye, sir.” He glanced at his mates whose faces were clearly struggling between amusement and disgust at Scarborough. “And the tale of … well …” He jerked his head at the dripping crewman.
Alexis fixed her gaze on Scarborough, who looked back but seemed not to clearly see her.
“The danger of using an alternative in a dark hold late at night?” she suggested.
Ousley nodded. “A fall, perhaps, sir? Slipped in the dark and took a tumble into … er …”
“Yes, a fall.” Alexis nodded. The shipboard catchall when everyone knew exactly what had occurred but daren’t acknowledge it. “Isn’t that what happened, Scarborough? You —”
“Sippers and gulpers!”
Alexis winced. “Get him cleaned up, Ousley, and take him to Mister Poulter.”
“He’s not hurt, sir, not a bruise on —”
“Sip the afters!”
“Take him to the surgeon, Mister Ousley. There are other sorts of hurts.” She paused, eyeing the dripping, stinking crewman. Poulter had been a questioning thorn in her side since she’d taken command, with his damnable queries as to her thoughts at every opportunity. It might be petty, but …
“In fact, now I think on it, I believe Mister Poulter should see the man instanter. No delay, do you understand?”
Ousley frowned. “Without he’s, well, rinsed, as it were, sir?”
“Afters for you, you bugger!”
Alexis nodded. “I believe Scarborough’s hurts are entirely in Mister Poulter’s bailiwick and brook no delay.”
“Aye, sir.”
Ousley nodded to his mates, who led Scarborough from her cabin. Alexis eyed the trail of liquid left on the deck.
“I’ll have a man come to scrub that down instanter, sir.”
“Thank you.” She paused. “And Ousley, after that vat’s emptied into the recyclers …”
“Sir?”
“Space it before our good purser somehow manages to fill it with beer again.”
Forty-One
21 April, aboard HMS Nightingale, arrival at Zariah System
Darkness and swirling shadows.
Alexis moaned, knowing what was to come. She fought to wake, to move, to scream — anything to break the ever-repeating scene which was about to unfold.
Figures formed from the shadows. Two, large and small, at the forefront, as ever. The first man she’d killed and the boy she’d failed so horribly.
The figures stepped forward, then paused at a low, chittering sound, barely heard.
Alexis frowned — there’d never been such a sound in the nightmare before, and she’d come to dread any change in it. The last change had been the addition of the smaller figure, and that had presaged Artley’s death.
The figures raised their arms to point accusing fingers at her, but stopped as the sound came again, louder this time.
Alexis strained to hear and realized that something else was different.
Her neck and shoulder felt warm, and it was only then that she realized she’d always been cold in this dream. The rest of her still was, chilled and cold and as stone, but her neck and left shoulder were warm — hot even.
The chittering sound came again, along with the brush of something soft against her ear, and the figures moved back toward the shadows.
She raised a hand to her ear and the swirling shadows faded …
Alexis woke, torn between relief that the nightmare had not run its full, usual course and confusion.
Something tickled her ear and she raised her hand, encountering warm fur at her throat.
“What —”
Soft chittering near her ear and a cold, wet nose against her cheek caused her to realize what it was. The bloody creature’d escaped his cage again and curled up on her chest during the night.
“I suppose I should thank you,” she murmured, stroking his fur. There was something oddly comforting about the beast, now that it wasn’t rushing about the compartment like some furry Dervish. She settled a hand on him, feeling his soft fur and the warmth soaked into her neck — comforting and peaceful.
The ship’s bell chimed softly over the speakers. Six times — six bells of the middle watch. In a bare hour the morning watch would start and she’d have to be up and about as the crew cleaned the ship and went to their breakfast in preparation for their expected arrival at Zariah. Her body felt a bit more sleep might be in order, but her mind dreaded the possibility of returning to sleep and risking the nightmare again.
“I can’t rely on you to chitter in my ear all the time,” she murmured, stroking the little beast’s fur. He nestled in closer, rubbing against her neck. “Though perhaps you’re not entirely awful after all.”
A moment’s more drowsy rest and she decided it was time to rise. She slid a hand under the beast and lifted him gently onto an empty space on the cot. Isom could put him away in his cage once the crew was awake, no sense in both their rests being disturbed.
She stood to draw on her trousers from where they hung beside the cot, then sat again to slide her feet into her boots.
Her left foot met something cold and wet.
“Bloody —”
Alexis reached for the beast, but it was already in motion. Turning from a loosely coiled ball of fur to a streaki
ng blur in an instant.
She glared after it, teeth clenched, then pulled her foot from her boot, stripped off the soiled stocking, and rose to hop one-footed toward her head to wash.
“Isom!”
Regular uniform, but dress boots — the only spare pair she had — made Alexis feel self-conscious as she stepped through the quarterdeck hatch. More than self-conscious, a spot on the ball of her foot still felt cold and wet, regardless of how much she’d scrubbed it in the head. She even had the half-serious fear that she could detect the odor still.
The Zariah pilot boat was in sight on the navigation plot, though still some hours away, and Alexis could sense the quarterdeck crew’s anticipation. This was their third return to the system since she’d taken command and they were anxious for a chance to leave the ship for a time after the long trek through the Man’s Fall, Al Jadiq, and then Eidera systems — the latter having no station, liberty was restricted to a very few vendors allowed to come up to Nightingale, and the two former allowing no liberty at all. Zariah’s station allowed for a more controlled environment, at least so far as access was concerned, and Alexis had already announced that both watches would have a chance to leave the ship while they were here.
Moreover, a large part of the disappointment over there being no salvage money for the gallenium had passed. There were still some aboard who were disgruntled, but most had settled back into the ship’s routine within a few weeks, treating the event like any number of dreams that hadn’t materialized.
The three ships following Nightingale now, and the two she’d brought in on her previous rounds, went a long way toward that as well.
The prize money for confiscated cargoes might not be so grand as that for a hold full of gallenium, but it was surer, was paid quicker, and would get one just as drunk, at least the once.
Alexis’ first stop was the office of the Prize Court agent. She hoped to move things along quickly and have the Court representatives take over control of the three ships soon, allowing her men on those ships to enjoy some liberty time on the station before Nightingale sailed again. Bramley’s office was much as she remembered it, though Bramley himself was grimmer. Far grimmer.
“More smugglers, lieutenant?”
“Contraband for the two and proscribed goods for the last,” Alexis said.
Bramley snorted, reviewing the reports Alexis had forwarded once Nightingale transitioned to normal space and could communicate with the station. “Eideran pepper jam?” He shook his head. “I see you’ve been busily protecting the Queen’s subjects from their personal proclivities … to your own profit, of course.”
Alexis frowned. Her visits to Bramley had been cordial in the past and she couldn’t account for his current attitude.
“I don’t create the proscribed list, Mister Bramley, only enforce it.” Bramley snorted again and Alexis found all of the possible connotations of that quite offensive. “Nor do I work for you — Nightingale has her orders and I intend to follow them.”
“At least the ones which put coin in your purse,” Bramley said.
“Whatever are you talking about?”
Bramley slid a report from his desktop to her tablet.
“Since you brought in that ore carrier some months ago,” he said angrily, “the shipping factors have been compiling a list of overdue ships. We’ve no idea what’s happened before that, as there was so little cooperation without a proper magistrate on Zariah, but since … well, just look.” Alexis did so, but Bramley went on before she could read a word. “Three additional ore ships are overdue just since you were last here. Three. And two general merchants, the Silver Leaf and the Distant Crown.”
Alexis scanned the report. Overdue could mean any number of things. A darkspace storm, issues loading cargo or waiting for a cargo — the list was long.
“Do you have images of the missing ships?” Alexis asked. “We did encounter a converted merchant being used as a pirate — presumably, as she attacked us — and it may have been one of these.”
“You did?” Bramley appeared to be more pleased by this. “It would be good to tell the factors you’d done something more than confiscate trade goods. Was this ship taken or destroyed?”
“It was …” Alexis knew what she was about to say sounded quite mad, but it was what had happened. “The ship transitioned as we were approaching.”
Bramley frowned. “Did you not follow it to normal-space and pursue?” he asked.
“It transitioned outside a Lagrangian point, Mister Bramley. Nightingale was unable to follow.” Bramley’s look was exactly what Alexis would expect in response to such a ludicrous assertion. “I realize how that sounds, but it is what happened.”
Bramley snorted. “This is not the sort of tale I intend to take to the factors, lieutenant. They have no interest in your fairy stories.”
Nor Creasy’s Dutchmen neither, I imagine, but it doesn’t change what happened you sot.
Saying that aloud, however, would do no good. Instead she shrugged. “The events are what they are. I may not be able to explain it, but neither can I deny what every man aboard Nightingale saw.”
“Ghosts and goblins,” Bramley repeated. “Jams and, what was it, untaxed wines? An odd mixture to bring back with you, and all while you harass honest merchantmen like Captain Lounds, of the Marchant Company, no less —” His lip curled with distaste, “— and busy yourself with jam. We shall all, I’m sure, feel ourselves the safer for your efforts.”
So, Captain Lounds has made his way back here.
Alexis bristled. She could understand his and the merchants’ concerns, shared them herself, in fact, but she didn’t see how she could be expected to end something she was only just now informed of. “Mister Bramley, Nightingale has a large patrol area and must travel all of it. If you’ve discovered additional missing ships, then I’ll take that information into account when planning Nightingale’s patrols, of course.”
“‘Of course,’” Bramley said with sneer.
“And if you have any thoughts on the matter, I should be glad to —”
“My thoughts?” Bramley glared at her. “Is it my responsibility to do your job for you, lieutenant?”
Alexis sighed and wondered what on earth Lounds had told the man to make for such a change in his demeanor. Their prior meetings had been cordial, even friendly.
“I researched you quite thoroughly after Captain Lounds informed me of your disrespect,” Bramley said suddenly.
Alexis frowned, not at all certain where Bramley might be going with this or how she’d managed to offend the man to such depths.
“Oh, yes, I did,” Bramley went on, “and I discovered your dirty secret. I was certain I recognized your name from somewhere.”
Now Alexis blinked and stared at the man, flabbergasted. “Mister Bramley, I must say I have no idea what you think you’ve discovered, but —”
“Must have thought you were quite clever, didn’t you? Must’ve been all the talk?”
“Mister Bramley! I have had enough of this!” Alexis stood preparing to leave. “Quite enough! I’ll thank you to process the accounting of these ships, as is your duty, and leave whatever mysteries you think you’ve uncovered to your imaginations.”
“Does the name Grapple mean a thing to you, lieutenant?”
Alexis froze, then cocked her head, puzzled.
“I see that it does,” Bramley went on. “See that it might have been forgotten. But, no, I’ve looked into the matter. You must have quite enjoyed the attention — everyone thinking you’d taken a pirate ship by yourself, then gotten all the coin from it as a prize. I can see, though, how you muddied the records to keep it all for yourself and cut the rest of the crew out of the prize.”
“That’s not what —”
“Likely that’s why you were transferred off so quickly to another ship. I have friends in the Navy who were kind enough to forward me those records as well. Transferred, then charges of mutiny? The trial’s sealed, but I can imagine
well enough what you did to get off — some clever sort of business as you used to keep all the prize money.”
Alexis stared at the man in bewilderment. None of what he said was how it had happened. It was a clerical error on the part of the Prize Court here on Zariah, not some machination of Alexis’, which had been the error behind her receiving the lion’s share of prize money for the ship Grapple — and the trial, well, that was sealed to protect the reputation of the service and the ship’s captain, not Alexis.
“Mister Bramley —” she began, thinking, despite her fury at the man’s attitude and words, that it if she could only explain —
“Be about your business, lieutenant,” Bramley said with a dismissive wave. “Protect us good people from jams and whatnot, but believe I see you for what you are and there’ll be a reckoning.” His eyes narrowed. “A reckoning, I promise you.”
Alexis stormed out of Bramley’s office, barely able to contain the urge to return, grasp the bugger by his ears and bash his head against his desktop until there was some gleam of sense in his hooded little eyes. She stalked down the station’s companionway, oblivious to those who hurriedly stepped out of her way.
“Is there some problem with the prizes again, sir?”
Alexis forced herself to relax and slow down, seeing that Villar, who must have finished his own business at the chandlery, was hurrying after her. Longer though his legs might be, he was having to work to keep up with her. There were also, she noted now, a number of spacers hopping out of her way and eyeing her warily as she passed.
She took a deep breath to calm herself, and pushed down the first thought, that a brief stop into one of the pubs for a glass of bourbon, or even tracking down an establishment that served a proper Scotch, wouldn’t be amiss.
“No, they’ll adjudicate the cargoes we’ve taken, Mister Villar. It’s only that I’ve learned again I should never assume I’ve already met the most irritating man in the universe — there appears to be a vast conspiracy intent on proving me wrong each time I make that mistake.”
“You didn’t shoot him, did you, sir?”
HMS Nightingale (Alexis Carew Book 4) Page 30
