Alexis stopped and spun on Villar in shock. Did he truly think that of her? Leaving aside the fantasies she’d just been having of Bramley’s head and desk. Then she saw his lips twitch slightly.
Things with Villar had been steadily improving and she’d found he had a wry sense of humor she quite enjoyed. One which, she found, could lighten her mood at the worst of times, as it did now.
Bramley be damned, she thought. Her duty was to the Service and Kingdom, not some petulant agent of the Prize Court, no matter how unpleasant he’d become. More, she suddenly realized that he was partially correct. She’d been concentrating on the patrolling aspects of Nightingale’s brief and relying on that to encounter any smuggler’s or pirates. That allowed those pirates to still have free rein in their hunting, so long as Nightingale had moved on. A reasonable course when she’d had so little information, but that was now changed.
What she had now in the data she’d gotten from Bramley about the newly discovered missing ships might allow her to properly hunt them. If gallenium transports were the primary targets, and the number of those missing seemed to indicate that, then she thought she already knew where their hunting ground would be, and let the hunter become the hunted.
“No. No, I didn’t shoot anyone,” she said, quite seriously. A passing spacer glanced at her, frowned, then hurried his pace. She smiled, set off toward Nightingale’s berth, and called back over her shoulder, “But remember, Mister Villar, the day is still young!”
Forty-Two
7 May, aboard HMS Nightingale, enroute Zariah to Dalthus
“Another fine meal, Isom, my compliments to Garcia,” Alexis said as he cleared the table.
“Indeed,” Villar agreed.
Spindler and Poulter nodded their approval as well.
“He has another odd pudding for you,” Isom said. “Not sure what he’s calling it, but he came back aboard at Zariah with loads of milk and he’s had it on the stove all day.”
Alexis raised an eyebrow. “Well, whatever it is, I’m certain it will be as delicious as the last.”
When it was served, Alexis found that her prediction was correct. Rich and tooth-achingly sweet, the brown, caramely sauce — and how he’d gotten that from milk, she didn’t know — was poured over pound cake.
She scraped her fork against the plate to get the last bits of it, knowing that there’d be less of this sort of thing once they were past Dalthus again and they were forced to rely on the younger colonies for resupply.
“Gentlemen, sir,” Spindler said, raising his glass as Isom began clearing the last of the plates. “The Queen!”
“The Queen,” Alexis and the others echoed, raising their glasses and drinking.
Isom took the opportunity presented by everyone’s raised glasses to whisk the cloth off the table.
Alexis cleared her throat and keyed the table back to its working display.
“And with dinner over, gentlemen, we have a bit of business. You may consider yourself free, Mister Poulter, if you wish. This will be ship’s business.”
“I’d stay, if I may,” Poulter said. “I may not be proper Navy, but perhaps I may contribute something.”
Alexis nodded acceptance, but couldn’t bring herself to agree. To date, she still hadn’t warmed to Poulter, as she still felt he pestered her with questions he had no business asking.
“Very well, then,” she said. “The issue, gentlemen, is the piracy — or at least overdue ships — reported by the authorities on Zariah. The pirates appear to be targeting the gallenium transports out of Dalthus, but have also taken a few common merchantmen. Your thoughts as to what we should do about it?”
She had her own thoughts, but wanted to hear from the others first. They had time yet before a course of action must be decided on and part of her role as commander was to teach the other officers. She had no delusions that she knew everything, but felt Spindler, at least, could benefit from her coaching. Villar, she thought, might have some very valid ideas that had eluded her.
“The gallenium’s an obvious target,” Villar said, “due to its value.”
“But difficult to dispose of,” Alexis said, “there are markets, but it’s not a common cargo one might find a buyer for on any station.”
Villar nodded. “I do hear it’s been done in this area before — the sales, at least.” He raised an eyebrow at Alexis.
“Yes, the illicit mining at Dalthus. The Coalsons and a few others.”
“Do you suppose they’re involved still?”
Alexis was glad it was Villar who’d asked the question, freeing her from the fear that she’d allowed her … well, if she were honest about it, hatred of the family … to color her suspicions.
“It may be possible,” she allowed.
“He did seem to have a great deal of coin to throw about.”
Alexis nodded. “Let’s not focus too much on one possibility, though,” she said, “there are others with a bit more coin than one would expect.”
Villar frowned for a moment, then nodded. “The Jadiqis.”
“A fleet of their own ships and far more in the way of imported goods than one would expect in such a young colony.”
Villar nodded.
“Any others come to mind?” Alexis asked. “Assuming it’s not some random band with no associations to anyone we’ve had dealings with.” The others were silent. “Very well, then. Thoughts on where to find the bastards in the act?” She paused. “Mister Spindler?”
Spindler jumped. He’d been looking back and forth between Alexis and Villar and apparently hadn’t expected to be singled out.
“I’m — I’m not certain, sir.”
“None of us are certain, Mister Spindler, hence the need for this discussion. Think it through a moment — there’s a bit of evidence for us to work from.”
Spindler’s brow furrowed and Alexis shared a look with Villar, whose lips twitched in a suppressed smile. Then she caught Poulter looking at her as well, and her own amusement vanished. Damn him, but the man put her on edge.
“I suppose,” Spindler said tentatively, “there was that first ship we encountered, the gallenium transport they cheated us out of.”
Alexis raised an eyebrow and Spindler flushed.
“Well, I suppose it wasn’t cheating, but still …”
“To this evening’s point, Mister Spindler,” Alexis prompted.
Spindler looked even more nervous, as he had since she’d snapped at him on Man’s Fall, and Alexis regretted that incident even more. No matter her own frustrations and temper — and she was glad to admit that both had eased considerably since Nabb, Ruse, and Sinkey had begun bringing the crew around, and more since she’d made the decision to actively seek out the pirates — she must remember not to take it out on her officers, who had no real recourse. She had the extreme example of Hermione’s Captain Neals to remind her of the dangers of that.
“What about that first ship, Mister Spindler?” she prompted.
“Well … it was being taken and was in the Remada Straits when we came across it.” He frowned. “It seems to me that would be a fine place to come across ships, were I a pirate, and particularly for traffic from Dalthus to Zariah. All that gallenium being shipped …”
Alexis nodded. It was no more than something well-known, that darkspace straits and pirates went together like toast and jam, but it wouldn’t hurt the lad to come to such conclusions on his own.
“But the Straits are quite large,” Spindler went on. “We might be watching one side while the pirates take ships in another. We’d have to sail one end to the other and still trust to luck.”
Spindler’s brow furrowed.
Villar started to speak, likely to prompt the lad with a question, but Alexis signaled him to be still and he nodded understanding. Spindler was thinking things through on his own and she thought he might come to it without help.
“If I were hunting back home,” Spindler said, “well, if I were following my father’s hunt, I suppo
se he’d use a bait of some sort.” He looked up at Alexis. “Pirates are sort of predators, aren’t they, sir?”
Alexis nodded. “They are, indeed, Mister Spindler.”
“I’m sorry to disagree, sir, but carrion eaters, more like,” Villar said and Alexis once more noted the changes in their relationship that allowed him to feel comfortable expressing his own opinion. “No honor in them. Not like a proper foe.”
“I’m not so certain of that,” Alexis said, “Well, not that the pirates have honor, but that there’s any such thing as a proper, honorable foe.” She thought of Giron and the little ships destroyed in their flight from there. “War has a way of bringing out the worst in us, I think. It’s quite easy to justify nearly any act at the time some other bloke’s trying to kill you.”
Poulter shifted in his seat, looking at her intently, but said nothing. She’d almost forgotten the surgeon was there and instantly wished he wasn’t.
Likely wanting to pull out his tablet and begin taking notes on me.
“Regardless, Mister Spindler was on the hunt for these pirates. What bait might we use, Mister Spindler?”
“The gallenium transports, I suppose, they seem to be the most targeted.” He frowned. “But they don’t stay still, do they? So they’re not at all like bait — and the pirates would still have the means to take a gallenium transport, even if we gave them all of Nightingale’s guns. The things have so much mass they turn so poorly, all a pirate would have to do is hang off their stern and fire. The transport would never be able to bring her guns to bear.” He sighed. “I’m sorry, sir, it was a poor idea.”
“Hhm.” Alexis shared a look with Villar. “Is it the bait that fights back when you hunt with your father, Mister Spindler?”
“Well, no, sir, it’s the hunters nearby in a blind.” He frowned again, brow furrowed with thought. “Perhaps if Nightingale …” He shook his head. “No, that wouldn’t work, would it? The pirates would see us and not attack — there aren’t any blinds in darkspace. They could see there was another ship with the transport and simply wait for the next one, couldn’t they?”
“If Nightingale were with the transport, you’re absolutely correct,” Alexis said, then waited.
“We’d have to be in order to see the pirates come. If we couldn’t see them …”
Spindler’s voice trailed off and Alexis had to hold back a laugh as his forehead creased even more.
It’s like a freshly plowed field up there — I could plant wheat in those furrows.
“Our optics!” Spindler fairly cried out. He began tapping rapidly on Alexis’ table, then looked up, face falling. “Oh … I’m sorry, sir, I …”
“Do go on, Mister Spindler,” she said. “Follow your thought and show us what you wish.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Spindler tapped for a moment, then slid two lists of ship specifications into the center of the table.
“What am I looking at, Mister Spindler?” Alexis asked. “Talk me through it, will you?”
“Aye, sir. See here?” He pointed to one list. “This is our optics and these here —” He pointed to the other. “— are civilian standards. The lenses and filtering to keep the darkspace radiations out affect the range, see? Ours are better, but most merchants don’t like to spend so much — some don’t even have this range.” He paused, looking at her with wide eyes. “The pirates’ ships would likely just be captured merchantmen, wouldn’t they?”
“In most cases, yes,” Alexis said. “You’ve been studying ship specifications?”
Spindler flushed. “Mister Villar’s given me extra studying, sir, when I … well …”
“Mister Spindler has exhibited a singular lack of hygiene in the midshipmen’s berth on occasion,” Villar said dryly.
Alexis suppressed a smile. Nightingale’s lack of lieutenants left it to the senior midshipman to manage the berth, consisting of the single cabin Villar and Spindler shared. She could well imagine what conflicts the close quarters might engender and was happy that Villar seemed to have it in hand without being too hard on Spindler.
“You seem to have put those studies to good use,” she said. “So what advantage do you think our optics would give us in this matter?”
“Well, sir,” Spindler said, “we could sort of follow the transport, do you see? A pirate finding the transport would almost have to be ahead of its course, wouldn’t it? So they’d see the transport, but not us, and then we’d see them before they could see us and …” He broke off, perhaps realizing how fast he was speaking, and looked at Alexis. Then his face fell. “I suppose the pirates might take some other transport while we were following the one. Perhaps it’s not such a good plan.”
“Don’t be so quick to dismiss it, Mister Spindler,” Alexis said. “We’re only one ship, after all. There’ll always be the chance, no matter what we do, that the pirates will strike elsewhere. We must simply do our best to increase our chances.”
“So it’s not a bad idea, sir?”
Alexis smiled and shared a look with Villar.
“Do you have any better idea, Mister Villar?”
Villar shook his head. “No, sir. It seems a decent plan.”
Alexis nodded. “Very well, then, Mister Spindler. We shall do as you say.”
Spindler stared at her, wide-eyed. “You mean we’re going to do it, sir? My plan?”
“Indeed,” she said. “And I should wish you spend our time enroute to Dalthus in further study of those ship specifications, especially those of the missing ships. The pirates may be using one of those captured merchantmen — not the transports, I imagine — as their ship now. Perhaps not, but it’s possible. If they are, the more we can guess about their optics and capabilities, the better.”
Spindler nodded eagerly, apparently not caring that he’d just been given even more studying to do.
“And while you’re at it, calculate the maximum visibility distance for the optics on Nightingale and each of those ships under the conditions in the Straits.” They’d recalculate those as they sailed, for conditions always changed a bit, but she’d like to know the distances involved for further planning. It would be important to know how closely they could follow a transport, while remaining hidden from a pirate, for she’d want to be able to close quickly and engage the pirate without putting the transport in undue danger.
“Aye, sir.”
“Very well, gentlemen, we have a plan thanks to Mister Spindler —” She nodded to Spindler who flushed red. “— and time to flesh out the details before we reach Dalthus. I suggest we get our rest now.”
“Aye, sir,” Villar and Spindler said, rising.
Poulter rose as well, but paused instead of heading toward the hatch with the others.
“A moment, if you don’t mind, lieutenant?”
Forty-Three
7 May, aboard HMS Nightingale, enroute Zariah to Dalthus
Alexis nodded reluctantly at Poulter’s request, resisting the urge to sigh. She waited until Villar and Spindler left and the hatch was closed once more.
“Yes?”
“I only wanted to say that I’ve noticed you seem better rested since we left Zariah,” Poulter said.
Bloody hell, is the man monitoring my sleep somehow?
She even glanced around the cabin for a moment, wondering if she might see some device he’d installed.
Now that he said it, though, she thought she might have slept better. Perhaps it was the extra work of pouring over shipping reports, and missing ship reports, to find whatever patterns there might be, or perhaps only the sense of purpose in pursuing the pirates instead of only sailing about waiting for something to cross their path.
“I have, Mister Poulter.” She could allow him that, at least.
“I thought you handled the boy quite well.”
Alexis’ jaw clenched. “He’s not a boy, he’s a Queen’s officer — young, he may be, but he’s also that.”
“I —”
“And deserves
the respect his position demands, Mister Poulter. I realize you’re not properly Navy, that the Sick and Hurt Board is rather outside the traditional command structure, and that a surgeon’s place aboard ship is … somewhat aside from the rest of us.”
For that, she knew some ships’ captains were quite friendly with their surgeons. She could understand the desire, in fact. She’d never before felt so isolated as she did aboard Nightingale — well, perhaps aboard the ill-fated Hermione. Here, though, she really had no one she could simply talk to — every interaction with the crew, even with Villar, carried the baggage of commander to crew. She might be Sole Master after God aboard a Queen’s ship, but that also meant having no equal she could converse with.
“Nevertheless,” she went on, “Mister Spindler must maintain the respect of the crew. Oh —” She held up a hand to stop Poulter as he began to speak. “— the hands might well refer to him as ‘lad’ and ‘boy’ amongst themselves, there’s no stopping that, and the older, wiser ones, such as Mister Ousley and his mates, know it’s partly their job to bring him along as an officer. But they know the way of doing so while still respecting his position.”
“I see,” Poulter said. “I meant no disrespect. Only that you gave him quite a feeling of accomplishment, guiding him toward that plan and then accepting it.”
“I don’t recall him needing so very much in the way of guidance. I, and Mister Villar, for all that, might have had the same thing in mind to start with, but Spindler came to it much on his own, I think. If he should come to the realization that the plan was known to Villar and me at the start by his own devices, that’s one thing, but I don’t wish it bandied about that his thoughts were less worthy than they were.”
Poulter shook his head. “I assure you, lieutenant, I do not bandy.” He raised an eyebrow. “In fact, I consider such conversations as this quite private.” He paused. “Should you ever wish to talk about anything.”
Alexis took a deep breath and clamped down on her desire to snap at the man. This was exactly what she’d been afraid of when Poulter asked to stay behind and here he was with his demands she talk about something.
HMS Nightingale (Alexis Carew Book 4) Page 31
