Seek your NEW FORTUNE amongst the WORLDS of the Barbary!
Captain Alexis Carew, late of HER MAJESTY’S Royal Navy
HERO of Giron!
SAVIOR of Man’s Fall!
Now commanding the Private Ship
MONGOOSE
In action against Vile Pirates and Nefarious Slavers,
The Very SERPENTS of the BARBARY!
Captain Carew’s first command saw each Man near
FOUR HUNDRED POUNDS
Prize Money!
Her last saw Salvage of
TWO MILLION GUINEAS!
Only the FINEST shall be ACCEPTED!
Apply berth 32, Ring 7, Quayside
Alexis stared at her screen in disbelief. She looked to Isom and Villar, both of whom were grinning widely, then back to her screen.
“This is your something?”
“Aye, isn’t it?” Isom said proudly.
“I do think it’s quite good, sir,” Villar added. “Strikes the right notes.”
“Leaving off this ‘hero’ and, sweet Dark, ‘savior’ nonsense,” Alexis said, “four hundred pounds prize money?”
“You have told us the story of Grappel, sir,” Villar said.
“Yes, but there were only two regular crew aboard and I hadn’t taken the ship to begin with! It was all a great muddle made by the prize court!”
“Still,” Villar said, “the men did receive that sum, did they not?”
“I mean, they did, but …” Alexis sighed. “Well, this two million guineas bit is right out.”
“That was the value of the gallenium salvage Nightingale recovered, sir.”
“We saw not a farthing of that! It was all the Queen’s to begin with! Droits of the Crown, not of Admiralty!”
“Strictly speaking, sir, we did salvage it.”
“And I’m captain of the bloody Mongoose now, am I? When did that happen?”
Villar nodded toward Alexis’ bunk where the vile creature lay curled atop her blankets. “We do have the mascot for it, sir.”
“And it goes nicely with this serpents bit right here, sir,” Isom added, pointing it out on Alexis’ screen. “Sets up a proper good versus evil sort of …”
Isom trailed off and stepped back as Alexis glared at him.
“No,” she said.
“‘No’, sir?” Villar asked.
“Yes, no. No, we will not be running this …” She trailed off, unable to find words to describe it. “No.”
“I see,” Villar said, sharing a look with Isom, then frowning and scratching his neck. “Do you suppose, sir, that we might run this … just today, perhaps?”
“To see the results, sir,” Isom added. “As a sort of test, say?”
Alexis looked from one to the other. Villar looked away and Isom swallowed heavily.
“So it’s already on the station’s feed, is it?”
Isom nodded.
Alexis sighed.
“Well, we’ll pull it off and put mine back up, before there’s too much damage to the ship’s reputation.” She glanced at the advert again and shook her head. “Hero and savior, my arse.”
Her tablet pinged.
“Yes?” she snapped, keying it.
“Ah … Nabb here, sir, you set me to guard the docking tube?”
“Yes, Nabb, what is it?”
“Well, sir, it’s only that you didn’t say what to do with this lot what’s showed up, see?”
Alexis closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead. So now there were spacers showing up in response to this rubbish and she’d have to at least give them the courtesy of a hearing, though the chances of finding proper crew from it were …
“I’ll deal with you two after I’ve seen off the load of rubbish you’ve turned up.” She keyed her tablet. “Send them up to my quarters, Nabb, I’ll speak to them.”
“Ah, which, sir?”
“Which what?”
“There’s the lot which is asking about a berth and then there’s the station patrol, sir — which would it be you’d like sent up?”
“Station patrol,” Alexis muttered. “Bloody wonderful.” She glared at Isom and Villar in turn. “I can only assume this …” She waved her tablet and their announcement at them. “… has violated any number of Penduli’s ordnances against outright, bloody fraud.”
“Ah, no, sir,” Nabb’s voice came from the tablet and Alexis flushed as she realized she’d left the connection open. “I imagine it’s about the queue.”
“Queue?” Good lord, could so many have been gulled by Isom and Villar’s work that there was a bloody queue? “How many are there?”
Nabb paused, then, “Can’t rightly say, sir … the corridor curves out of sight at near a hundred meters, so …”
Alexis buried her face in her hands, but not before seeing Villar’s grin.
Fourteen
The line did extend past the curve of the station some hundred or more meters away from Elizabeth’s berth, and the two station patrol officers at the hatch looked none too pleased about it. They did, at least, show Alexis the kindness of directing her to an empty warehouse nearby — if “Look, you, move your bloody circus to that empty warehouse up the quay or we’ll charge you fees for every berth you block,” could be called directing.
After Alexis apologized to the masters of other ships berthed nearby, no few of whom had also gathered to express their displeasure at having their loading and unloading blocked by Elizabeth’s queue, and promised to have things set right instanter, she had Villar and Nabb chivy the queue along behind her while she and Isom set off for the empty warehouse.
That proved to be a bit of a mistake, for when the station patrol had said “empty” they did not mean available for use — not without a fee to the warehouse operator, at least, and that worthy, seeing the crowd behind her, and perhaps let on by the officers, clearly noted her need and named an exorbitant fee.
“For a few hours’ time?” Alexis asked, stepping on her outrage.
The warehouse operator shrugged. “Supply and demand,” he said.
“What?”
“You’ve a large supply of men there needing a place to stand about and it’s me demanding thirty pounds for the day’s use.”
“I don’t think that means what …” Alexis sighed. “Twenty,” she offered, and at that it was still usury.
“Thirty-five.”
She fought down her irritation and sighed. The man did have the right of it — she could likely find meeting rooms in a pub, but not for so many, nor did she relish sending them away — the best of the lot would see that as Elizabeth’s captain being unprepared, and none but the desperate or uncaring would like to sail on such a ship.
“All right, thirty,” she said, then, as she saw the look in the man’s eyes and he started to open his mouth, “Thirty-five. For the day — a full station cycle, if I’ve need of it.”
She wouldn’t, but damned if she’d let the man collect double rents for time she’d paid for — paid for and again, thrice over or more.
The man grinned and flipped a finger against his tablet, sending Alexis the contract.
“Have your captain sign this, then, and you’ll be set.”
“I am the captain,” Alexis said, as she reviewed the contract to ensure he hadn’t slipped any extra bits in on her.
The man grunted. “Thought you were a clerk or cabin girl, straight off the farm dressed like that …”
He broke off at Alexis’ look.
She added her approval to the contract, sent it back to him along with the payment, then frowned.
“Is there a pub nearby with the means to put together something for a large crowd?”
She thought to have some sort of refreshments brought in for those hired on — it would be a long day of interviewing, and she’d like to give those selected, and those spending the day selecting, a bit of a wet and some food.
“Just there.” The man nodded toward a place a few compartments down. “Tell them Alfred sent you and they’ll do
you right.”
“Thank you.”
The high, wide warehouse hatch was slid open and the man took his leave.
Alexis entered the cavernous space and nodded. Villar had finally got the queue to understand that they were to move forward in order, not rush the warehouse to form a new queue, and was moving them toward her. She noted Nabb had her boat crew off Elizabeth and spread out along the queue, putting an end to any squabbles and scuffles over place. He’d be noting the faces of those, she knew, to keep an eye on for trouble if they were brought aboard.
“Isom. Go see to that pub, will you? A weak beer served to those waiting, stronger for those selected —” She eyed the space, thinking of how to organize this — what had the patrol officer called it? Circus, yes, was a proper naming. “We’ll put the men selected there at the back until we can organize them aboard ship. Some sandwiches, as well, and a half dozen bottles of wine for Villar and I, as well any officers we might find in this lot.”
She glanced after the departed warehouse operator.
“Do not, I think, tell them Alfred sent you.”
Fifteen
“Name?” Alexis asked. “And position?”
“Wilmer Dockett, ma’am,” the man seated across from her said. While the warehouse lacked true seating, there were a number of empty crates they’d employed for that purpose. Though they were a bit large for Alexis’ taste, as none were small enough let her feet touch the floor. She found herself interviewing prospective crewmen with her feet dangling several centimeters above the deck. “I hope for bosun, if I may.”
Alexis scanned the work records he sent to her tablet. She was already weary a mere hour into the interviews. They’d broken the mass of applicants into three groups. At the far side of the warehouse, Villar had the larger group, interviewing and selecting the common crew — topmen, gunners, and even the unrated spacers whose job was merely to haul on whatever line they were pointed at, all the myriad specialties that would make up the, she hoped, nearly two hundred men she’d take aboard ship.
They’d be berthing cheek to jowl in the ship’s berths, but she’d need so many in this endeavor — both to overwhelm an enemy in boarding and to man their prizes without leaving her under-crewed herself.
To the other side, Isom had charge of another, the smallest group — those seeking a place in the hierarchy of servants aboard ship. A cook for both the men and one for herself, as her former cook had chosen to stay on Dalthus, opening a small restaurant in Port Arthur with his prize money from their last cruise aboard Nightingale; servants for her quarters and the officers, as well as what full-time assistants the cooks and those servants would require — part time assistance would come from whichever members of the crew might be so inclined; and all the other positions aboard ship which were neither properly crew nor officers.
She’d taken charge of the middle group. Those seeking a place as officers or warrants — or what passed as warrants aboard a civilian ship, at least. The bosun, a gunner, purser, engineer and his mates, and she hoped for two other officers in addition to Villar, there being no place for midshipmen aboard a private ship.
With luck and, she admitted, thanks to Villar and Isom’s advertisement, fantastical though it might be, she’d leave Penduli with a full crew for Elizabeth.
Mongoose, she reminded herself with a grimace that made the man, Dockett, in front of her slump his shoulders, clearly thinking her expression was meant for him, when really, it was only that she was now stuck with being captain of the bloody Mongoose. One couldn’t very well advertise such a thing, hire on a full crew, then tell them their ship was named something else.
That Isom, when she’d said with some resignation that she supposed he should look into the details of renaming the ship before they left Penduli, had presented with her with a fully prepared set of documents bearing that name — merely needing her authorization to make it official … well, he was nothing if not efficient, she supposed.
“Your last ship was HMS Prosaic?” she asked, scanning Dockett’s history. “Master’s mate, but not bosun?”
Dockett nodded. “The frigate Prosaic, forty-four guns. Acting bosun, a time, though, you’ll see, ma’am,” he said. “Thrice on Prosaic during the war, as the bosuns were shot down in actions …”
He trailed off, perhaps at her expression, which this time was meant for him, or at least knowing what she must be thinking.
Aside from the thought that Prosaic had been a singularly unlucky ship for bosuns, this Dockett had been raised to acting in that position three times aboard her, but then replaced those three times by someone else. That he’d not managed to secure his own warrant for the position after so many chances didn’t speak well for his abilities.
Still, Prosaic’s captain had thought well enough of him to put him in the acting position three times, so there must be something else to the tale.
She’d not find a Navy bosun to act as bosun aboard Elizabeth — Mongoose, bloody Vile Creature — as that position held a Naval warrant. Even if the ship were laid up in ordinary during the peace, such men’s positions were secure. They’d still live aboard, perhaps bring their families, along with the purser, gunner, and other warrants, still receive their full pay, and still eat, along with those families, off of ship’s stores — it was a peaceful, profitable state of affairs and few holding such a position would give it up to sail on a private ship.
A man with experience as a civilian bosun, on the other hand, would have little or no experience with the crew of a warship, which — she sighed, resigning herself to the name — Mongoose surely was.
Dockett squared his shoulders and met her eye.
“I’ve a temper, ma’am,” he said, then hurriedly, “Not with the crew. Never them, no, but on station. It’s why the three times acting and never a warrant to my name, do you see?” He shrugged. “I know my way about a ship, I assure you — sails, the guns, I’ve no worries there.” He took a deep breath and his shoulders slumped as he let it out. “But I’ve troubles in ports, ma’am, and I’ll not lie to you about that. There’s some can’t pass glass or girl without giving it a go, ma’am … well, I’ve trouble passing a man who’ll raise his fists to me.” He shrugged. “Your pardon, if I’ve wasted your time, but I swear to you I’ll keep your Mongoose taut and the crew in line, do you but give me the chance.”
Alexis caught her lower lip between her teeth. She had no desire for idle brawlers aboard, but the man’s records did bear out his words. Raised to acting-bosun, then back to master’s mate — and sometimes back to able spacer — but always for a fight in port. Never a bit of trouble aboard ship, and all high praise from his officers.
She raised an eyebrow at one note, which read: “Mister Dockett will make an exemplary bosun — on the day which he first resists the urge to stand on bartops whilst shouting, ‘Send up your best man!’ at passers-by. Were it not for his fine hand at working the ship, a transfer to the marines’ berth might be in order.”
Dockett’s expression warred between hope and despair as she glanced from him to her tablet and back again. She called up the records of all those others seeking the position of bosun and found that none could claim more than Dockett’s experience. She met his eyes once more.
“So. Brawling?” Alexis thought for a moment. “Is there anything else, Mister Dockett? And do remember that there are no secrets aboard ship — any other proclivities will be found out, and we’re sailing for the Barbary.” She hardened her gaze. “Not a place a man wants to be put in-atmosphere for something he didn’t disclose as he should.”
Alexis knew this was no idle threat. Oh, any decent spacer would be able to get a berth out of those worlds … eventually. It was the fear of weeks, or even months, in-atmosphere while waiting for a merchantman to visit — all on some barren world with little to offer — that she hoped would prompt him to tell her.
Dockett’s shoulders slumped. “There was some talk of a book, ma’am.”
Alexis raised an
eyebrow at that, as she knew he wasn’t talking about reading. No, Dockett meant that he’d run a bit of gambling, and more than the lads did only amongst themselves as individuals.
“There was never no trouble, ma’am, so no real complaint, see?” His shoulders slumped more. “It’s only that I know the numbers — can see ‘em, like — and once a man says, ‘Oh, I can do a thing,’ and I see the numbers says he can’t, well, it’s hard not to tell ‘im so. And once the numbers is out, well, it’s every man’s hand for his pockets to put coin on for or against, isn’t it? Human nature, like.”
“I see.”
Alexis had already gone over the long list of Naval ship regulations with Villar, to weed out what Mongoose’s articles would be. Most would be kept, though the ending bits about how everyone “shall suffer death or such other punishments as the Captain shall deem” were right out. No private ship crew would sign such a thing. No, there’d be no cat in use aboard this ship, and the ultimate punishment would be to be left in-atmosphere — put off the ship on some world with any unpaid shares in prizes forfeit.
Gambling, one of those things forbidden, but mostly overlooked even in the Navy, was an article they’d struck. The lads would gamble amongst themselves, for coin, chores, or sippers and gulpers from the daily rum issue, depending on each man’s wealth at a given time, but they would gamble. It passed the time and offered some bit of excitement on longer cruises with no action.
The one thing she wouldn’t have was cheating, and they’d left that bit in, though moving it to the article which included theft and the punishment being put off the ship.
“A clean book, Mister Dockett?”
Dockett’s face firmed. “Always, ma’am, and I’ve ways to spot a cheat in the hands’ games, if I spy ‘em.”
“Well, so long as it’s clean — and I’ll have no real debts amongst the crew, either,” she added, thinking of the tens of thousands of pounds wagered and lost in dishonest games aboard Nightingale when the crew had thought they were to receive shares of millions in salvaged gallenium. “No more than the normal sippers and gulpers owed.”
Privateer (Alexis Carew Book 5) Page 10
