HMS Nightingale (Alexis Carew Book 4)

by J. A. Sutherland

  Denholm merely nodded. He might not understand, but she felt he’d accept her words. He nodded to the stone.

  “I was worried it should be something grander,” he said quietly.

  “Grand wouldn’t do at all,” Alexis said, with a fond smile. “The grand ships were the frigates and ships of the line in that battle.” She caressed the letters spelling out the ship’s name again. “She wasn’t one of those at all. Just one of the tiny, little ships doing yeoman’s work there that day.”

  She rose.

  “Thank you.”

  She took her grandfather’s arm and they made their way back to the path leading down toward the farm.

  Alexis turned and turned back to look at the stones again. For a moment, her vision blurred and she staggered. In her mind, she saw not just the single stone marking Belial, but rows of them stretching off in all directions. The sun seemed to darken and shadows rose up beside each stone. She gasped.

  “Alexis?”

  She shook herself and her vision cleared. The sun, bright as before, dispelling the shadows and phantom stones both.

  Demons, indeed.

  She shivered.

  “Memories,” she said, thinking that might be a better than her grandfather thinking she was having some sort of visions. Better than her believing the fears of her nightmares were appearing in day.

  “Memory’s an odd thing. It’s —” Denholm frowned and nodded down the hillside toward the fields around the village. “Like hedgerows around a fallow field. Newly plowed it’s all raw and torn up, but step outside, leave it for a time, and when you return you’ve a peaceful meadow with just the best of what was before. Give it time to become that.”

  Alexis considered that, but wondered how it might apply when one’s fields were constantly being plowed again and again.

  “There’s been no time, there never is. With the war there’s just been one thing, one loss after another, with never a moment for it to heal. The war’s still on — every new trip to Zariah brings the Gazette with stories of ships I know, crews I know, in one battle or another. They don’t even bother listing the names of the common crew, you know? Only the offices. So I’ve no way of telling how many others of my lads are dead or injured or …” She scrubbed at her eyes again. “I sometimes wish that I could bring them all here and hide them away so they’d be safe.”

  She sighed. Oddly, she did feel better — a good cry and the admission of how much guilt she felt for those who’d fallen. Not that she thought this one instance might be an end to that guilt or the nightmares that came with it, but perhaps Poulter had a point about the talking. It was something to think about, at least — but not now. She couldn’t spare the time to think about that any more than she could keep her Nightingales from harm’s way.

  “But I can’t, because in seven days’ time a gallenium transport will be leaving for the Straits, and it’s my bloody duty to take my lads off into danger again.”

  Forty-Five

  17 May, aboard HMS Nightingale, darkspace, trailing a convoy in the Remada Straits

  Alexis woke to a hand on her shoulder and Isom’s whispered, “Mister Villar’s at the hatch, sir.”

  Followed quickly by, “Sorry he’s out again, sir. Thought the new latch would keep him penned up.”

  For a moment, she wondered why on earth her first officer would be kept penned up, then realized it was the vile creature Isom was talking about as he lifted it from her chest.

  She sat up and rubbed her eyes. She had slept well, despite the creature’s presence.

  “Let him in.”

  “Three bells of the middle, sir, and sails sighted off to the edge of the Straits and bearing on the convoy,” Villar said.

  Alexis stretched. Isom was already back with her uniform. She pulled on the trousers, her tunic, then slid her arms into the jacket he held for her.

  “Check my boots, please.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  With both a look and a sniff Isom gave her boots the all clear. As she was pulling the second one on, Villar’s words registered.

  “Sails? More than one?”

  “Two, sir.”

  Alexis frowned. Pirates were a solitary lot and seldom worked together.

  Not normally, at least, but neither do they tend to transition at will as that last one did — so perhaps they’re less normal here than I should expect.

  “I assume we’re not yet visible to them?” Alexis asked as they left her cabin for the quarterdeck.

  Villar shook his head. “Not for some hours yet.”

  They reached the quarterdeck and Alexis could see the truth of that on the navigation plot. The gallenium transports were sailing as nearly as they could down the middle of the Straits, keeping well away from the edges of the three systems where their rate of travel would slow and the dark matter built up into a halo of shoals.

  The two unknown ships were nearer to Lesser Remada, and sailing on a course to intercept the transports.

  Nightingale was also to one side of the Straits, but well behind the transports, while the two new vessels were ahead.

  Each of the ships had a wide circle about it, representing, in her officers’ best guesses, the range at which each ships’ optics could detect the light of another’s sails. The exact range would depend on how large the other ship was, how much sail she had set, and the strength of her particle projectors, as well as the current conditions in the Straits — too much dark matter being kicked up by strong winds would reduce visibility.

  Even as an estimate, though, she could see that it would be some time before the other ships, even the convoy, would spot Nightingale. By that time, she thought she’d have them. The winds were variable, but generally more toward the Strait’s center here. Nightingale would have the wind gauge on them, and, she hoped, superior speed.

  “Call the men to an early breakfast, Mister Villar,”

  Hours passed.

  Alexis studied the navigation plot. Nightingale was still out of sight of the three ships and the convoy of ore carriers. The decision of when to change that would be vital. Too soon, and she risked the pirates escaping — leave it too long, though, and they might be amongst the convoy before she could come up and stop them. The problem was made more difficult by the cycle of winds in the Straits.

  The convoy was in a stream of dark energy winds traveling toward the Zariah end of the Straits. The pirates and Nightingale were coming in on a swirl of those winds that seemed to curve toward Lesser Remada up out of the Straits, and then back down into the center.

  As she watched, the convoy, which had been signaling the oncoming ships for some time, lights on their masts and hulls flashing more and more frantically as they sought some assurance that those approaching were not what they feared, broke into disarray.

  One of the ships, the one closest to the oncoming pirates, its captain apparently deciding that the time had come for every man to take his fate in his own hands, broke from even the loose formation the transports had been maintaining.

  The ship turned away from the pirates, cutting across the path of another and forcing that transport to turn up into the wind to avoid a collision.

  The turning ship wore around the wind and set its course back down the Straits toward Dalthus. The one which had been cut off slowed.

  Nightingale was too distant for Alexis to be certain, but she imagined the transports sails would be slack and fluttering as the ship faced the wind instead of catching it on her side.

  “She’s in irons, certain,” Villar muttered.

  “Why did he run?” Spindler asked. “Wouldn’t they have a better chance if they concentrated their firepower?”

  “Some think only of themselves,” Villar said. “No matter the cost to others, for his actions have likely doomed that ship he cut off if we can’t intercede in time.”

  Alexis nodded to Villar. It would take that transport precious minutes to work the lines of the sails and catch the wind again, perhaps even having to
take it on the front of the sails, gain some way backward, and horse the ship around to catch the winds properly — all the while with a pair of unknown ships bearing down on them. Her crew would be frantic and growing more so.

  “Doomed if we weren’t here,” she said. “Bring the projectors to full power, Mister Villar, and beat to quarters, if you please.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  Alexis kept her eyes on the plot as the ship around her burst into action. Increasing the power to the projectors meant a corresponding increase in the ship’s visibility. For both the convoy and the two pirates, it would be as though Nightingale had suddenly appeared where no ship had been before, like a flare suddenly burning in the night sky.

  Forty-Six

  17 May, aboard HMS Nightingale, darkspace, the Remada Straits

  “That’s the Owl,” Villar said.

  Alexis nodded. They were close enough now that Nightingale’s optics could magnify the other ships enough to identify them if they’d been seen before. The ship’s computers gave a ninety-three percent chance that the trailing pirate ship was the Owl. Villar was quite a bit more certain and Alexis agreed with him. She thought she could make out some of the spots on the hull where Nightingale’s shot had struck, now poorly and haphazardly repaired.

  It had taken the other ship’s a few minutes to react to Nightingale’s brightened sails, minutes which drew them ever closer.

  The gallenium transports seemed uncertain of whether to treat Alexis’ ship as a savior or yet another threat. Alexis had yet to order her colors raised — she regretted any anxiety this caused the transport captains, but, for the moment at least, the pirates were not running, and she wanted them sailing toward her as long as possible, so that they couldn’t get away.

  The computer’s certainty that the other ship was the Owl changed to ninety-six percent.

  “A fair bet, Mister Villar,” Alexis said.

  Around her, the quarterdeck was still and muted. The ship itself was, as well. On the main deck, all of the bunks had been folded up to the wall. The guns were nestled next to the still closed gunports, while their crews stood by. The deck was still aired, but all of the crew was in their vacsuits, helmets close to hand. So was the quarterdeck crew, though they’d have air throughout the battle, unless the hull was shot through.

  Isom and Garcia were on the orlop with Poulter — they’d assist him with any wounded. The creature, Alexis presumed, had been safely ensconced in the hold by Isom.

  For a moment, quite to her surprise, Alexis found herself missing the warm, furry comfort of the damned mongoose. She had a sudden image of wearing the bloody thing like a sort of scarf inside her helmet and chuckled.

  Creasy and Dorsett shared a look. Dorsett leaned over and whispered, “Captain’s got your bloody Dutchmen right where she wants ‘em — see ‘er laughin’ at ‘em.”

  Dorsett nodded and Alexis let them believe what they would, if it gave them heart to think she had some plan other than to drive straight for the foe, then she’d not correct them.

  Alexis studied the plot for a moment more. It was time. She keyed her suit radio so that it would transmit throughout the ship. With the gunports closed, those on the guns could hear her, and the sail crews were in the locker, as well.

  “Let’s have them know them who they’re facing, lads. Show the colors.”

  Nightingale’s hull and mast shone brighter as lights lit, alternating red and white to name her a New London Naval ship.

  The gallenium transports, the two not fleeing, edged up toward the wind to close with her, presumably feeling safer near the Navy..

  The pirates hesitated, then began a flurry of signals.

  “Any thought to what they’re saying, Creasy?” Alexis asked.

  “No, sir. Some sort of private code — give the computer enough of it, and some actions to match it with, maybe there’s a chance to break it.”

  “With luck, we’ll have them both in hand before that can happen.”

  That luck wasn’t with them, though, as the signals continued. For a time, it was almost as if the two ships were arguing with each other, but eventually seemed to settle their differences.

  The Owl, which was farther away from Nightingale, wore ship and fled before the wind. Nightingale would be able to catch it, Alexis was certain, but the leading rounded up and headed right for her.

  She heard Creasy grunt.

  “Something?” she asked.

  “I thought to try something, sir, in amongst that exchange of signals, see?”

  “Yes?”

  “Well, there’s some merchants don’t like to keep a proper quarterdeck watch, see, so they automate things a bit.”

  “What sorts of things?”

  “They don’t like so many queries from us revenue boats, sir? So they have their signals consoles automatically send a reply. I sent out our number along with ‘What ship?’, and she responded right quick just now.”

  “With her name?”

  “Aye, sir, Distant Crown, for what it’s worth.”

  Alexis frowned. That was one of the ships Bramley had said was missing — apparently taken by the pirates and without their signals console being reprogrammed.

  “Well, we know her name, at least, and that’s further confirmation she’s crewed by pirates now.”

  “Aye, sir,” Creasy said, “but —” He scowled as though unwilling to mention it.

  “What is it, Creasy?” Alexis couldn’t understand his hesitation, could he possibly still be worried about Dutchmen?

  The signalman scratched at his neck. “Why would she respond at all, you see? What with them being pirates and us a Queen’s ship and them all in the middle of signals to the other one? So they’ve something automated, at least, and maybe more.” He grimaced as though afraid to voice the thought. “Some captains are cheaper than most, sir. There’s a chance — just a chance, mind you.”

  Villar’s head came up, his gaze hawkish.

  “Do you think so?” he asked.

  Creasy shrugged. “No tellin’, sir, but if it is …”

  Alexis looked from one to the other, wondering if the two were doing this to her on purpose.

  “Would it be at all convenient for one of you to fill your commander in what you’re talking about?” she asked.

  Creasy flushed, but Villar actually grinned.

  “There’s a certain class of merchant, sir, who finds there’s less cost in keeping a full watch on the quarterdeck — ones who think a helmsman’s enough, and him, perhaps, drowsing a bit in the deep Dark.”

  Alexis nodded. She could see that happening. A merchant captain would want to squeeze out every pence he could, and smaller watches meant a smaller quarterdeck crew.

  “And some go further than a signals response, sir,” Villar said. “So as not to irritate a revenue cutter’s commander – the surly sort, I mean.”

  Alexis glanced at him and raised an eyebrow. Was he tweaking her?

  “Not that I’ve encountered any such as that,” Villar said, lips twitching.

  “So as not to irritate those revenue captains, myself being the soul of patience,” she said, “, they have this automated response to identify their ship — yes, I see that, but what further…” She stopped and frowned. Her next act in approaching such a ship, though, would likely be to inspect it — and she’d be just as irritated if her next signal were ignored for any length of time. Irritated and suspicious, so what use was the first reply? Unless …

  “No,” she said, “what fool would —”

  “Never underestimate what a cheap and lazy man will do, sir,” Villar said.

  “Do you really suppose?”

  Nightingale closed with Distant Crown, while the Owl continued to flee. She’d thought at first that the other captain might have meant to swing around and take Nightingale from another angle while she was engaged with the Distant Crown, but it was now clear that the Owl was fleeing with no intent to return.

  Villar made a disgusted s
ound.

  “No honor amongst thieves, I suppose,” he said.

  “No,” Alexis agreed, “but why the Crown’s not fleeing as well is curious. Do you suppose they think they can take us alone?”

  “There’s no telling, and I shouldn’t think they’d be able to. That one’s smaller than the Owl, and I doubt they’ve had time to cut and seal her hull to introduce more gunports as the Owl has.”

  “Perhaps they mean to only delay us for a time, then transition to normal-space where we can’t follow.” She scowled at the navigation plot. “That’s a trick I’d dearly love to have from them. Admiralty would be quite interested, I think.”

  She’d included their encounter with the ship that transitioned away in her dispatches, but there’d been no reply to that yet. Perhaps there’d be one when next they reached Zariah.

  The Crown was on the starboard tack, coming upwind toward Nightingale, while Alexis drove nearly directly downwind. As the distance closed, and the Crown began to pass in front, though, she changed that.

  “Put the wind on the starboard beam, Busbey,” she ordered.

  “Wind on the starboard beam, aye.”

  Nightingale was the faster sailor, from what Alexis could tell so far, and she wanted to keep her ship ahead of the other for what she had planned.

  If it’s not some phantom of Creasy’s mind, like his Dutchmen.

  She couldn’t imagine any captain allowing his ship to be handled in the way both Creasy and Villar swore some did, but if the Crown’s former commander was one who did such things she’d be willing to take advantage of it.

  Even if he wasn’t — hadn’t been, she supposed, for the former captain and crew had almost certainly been killed outright by these pirates — Nightingale would still be well-positioned to begin the coming battle.

  “He’s not tacked at all,” Alexis mused, watching the plot.

  Villar nodded. “No course changes at all — if it weren’t for the crew on the hull, I’d imagine her —” He glanced at the signals console then leaned closer and lowered his voice. “I’d imagine she had no crew, if I couldn’t see those there.”