Privateer (Alexis Carew Book 5)

by J. A. Sutherland

  “Coin or kind, ma’am, even in their private gaming, aye,” Dockett said, hope in his eyes and clearly already thinking as bosun and how he’d see the ship’s Articles kept within the crew.

  Alexis nodded. “And certainly no hint that I approve of such a thing, Mister Dockett. Looking the other way, as it won’t be in Eliza —” She paused, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath. It did appear she was stuck with it. “Gambling won’t be forbidden by Mongoose’s Articles, but I’ll certainly not be thought to endorse it, do you understand?”

  “Aye, ma’am.”

  “Do your … entertainments once interfere with my ship, Mister Dockett, I’ll set you in-atmosphere instanter, do you understand that, as well?”

  Dockett’s eyes brightened. “Aye, ma’am!”

  Alexis nodded. “We keep to a certain Naval protocol aboard Mongoose, as well, so drop that business and use proper address, will you?”

  Dockett grinned. “Aye, sir, gladly.”

  “Have a pint and a bit to eat from the publican’s back there —” She nodded toward the serving area set up for the selected crew. “— and see Mister Villar there with the common crew. He’s a goodly selection by now and you can begin settling on recommendations for your mates.”

  Sixteen

  “Thank you for your time, Mister Dursley. We’ll be making a decision sometime this evening and will let you know.”

  Alexis smiled as best she could, though the man set her teeth on edge. An assistant purser off a laid-up ship of the line — the list of ship’s names blurred in her head as badly as the list of applicants — Dursley was a fattish, pigishly-faced young man. She could almost imagine the hint of a curled tail poking out from his backside, and she’d taken an instant dislike to his tone and attitude. But he was qualified, and most of those with experience as a full purser were keeping their warrants aboard the ships in-ordinary, skimming what they may from the limited provisioning and hoping for another war.

  There’ll be no feeding at Mongoose’s trough for you.

  Alexis had Isom to keep a sharp eye on the purser’s books, and the purser aboard a private ship held no warrant — the captain could dismiss him as readily as anyone else.

  She held up a hand to cut off the man’s next words — some protestation about the length of the line, she assumed. “I’m sorry, sir, but we’ll get back to you after we’ve interviewed everyone.”

  Dursley harrumphed, as though offended at her refusal, but thanked her for the time and took his leave.

  The next hopeful stepped into his place, but Alexis noted Nabb nearby gesturing for her attention.

  “Excuse me a moment, please,” she said to the applicant and motioned Nabb to come over.

  Nabb bent close and whispered, “Begging your pardon, sir, but Mister Villar has a question.”

  She rose, grateful for the chance to stretch her legs. “I’ll return in just a moment,” she told the waiting man.

  Nabb followed her back to Villar, who already had quite a crowd of selected crew members milling about behind him and partaking of the offered refreshments, though quite a larger crowd still waited for his attentions.

  As she drew near, she was a bit surprised to see a group of four women in front of him and began to suspect his question. She smiled and nodded to them before approaching Villar, who stood and motioned her a bit away before speaking low.

  “I wanted to ask you, sir, if you were bent on a, shall we say, traditional Naval make-up of the crew?”

  Alexis grinned at his phrasing. Their long association and frequent dinners had certainly made Villar used to her opinions about certain Naval traditions, the dearth of female officers and crew in the Fringe fleet not least amongst her targets, as well as her belief that “tradition” was often a Naval term for utter madness.

  “Are they qualified, Mister Villar?”

  He nodded. “There were some few others earlier who were not, or not enough, I think, which is why I didn’t ask for your wishes before this.” He glanced at his tablet as though to confirm something. “These four, though — they’re off a merchantman, but have sailed the Barbary often enough already. They know the systems — and the dangers, well enough. Seen some action as their ship is one to fight off pirates, with arms and crew to do so.”

  “So they’ve been in an action?”

  Villar nodded. “Some — more running chases, but they’ve fought off boarders a time or two.”

  “And all four together?”

  “A full mess — that’s what we’re seeing, sir.”

  He gestured toward the waiting crowd and she noted that it was clumped together in groups of four, six, or eight — the numbers of shipboard messes, depending on the ship’s size. That made a certain amount of sense, as the Navy paid a ship off and sent the crew on their way after the cease-fire with Hanover, messmates would have stuck together as much as they could — those that weren’t trying to make their way to their homes, that is.

  There were a few groups with odd numbers, where a man might have done just that, or found a berth for himself alone, but for the most part they were full messes, and she could see that the pattern followed with those Villar had already selected, with clumps of men around the food tables and kegs brought over from the pub.

  She frowned. Would that be a problem? Merging crew from so many ships, with so many groups of old mates possibly still identifying themselves as their former ship and not as Mong —

  Gooses or Geese? she pondered. Well, it would be something to worry about later.

  “I have neither objection nor preference, Mister Villar,” she said finally, “so long as in your estimation they’re qualified.”

  Seventeen

  Alexis was finding that an overabundance of candidates was as bedeviling as a dearth. She’d made no decisions about officers, telling those she found possibilities that they would be invited to a dinner that night where they might meet Villar as well. He’d have to share a wardroom with them, after all, and while competency was paramount, so was having a happy and companionable mess. There was no sense in starting things off with tension or dislike if it was avoidable.

  With that put off, she merely lacked a purser to make her own choices complete and the group in front of her had shrunk considerably, as she’d announced that those seeking the filled positions could be about their business. That Dursley fellow was the best of the lot she’d interviewed so far, but something about him made her hesitate and merely take his name to be notified later. Perhaps it was only her general distrust of the position itself.

  So, with only pursers and the remainder of the candidates for ship’s officers remaining, she took a gulp of wine and pressed on.

  “Next, if you please?”

  “Lieutenant Estcott Hacking, lately third in Forrester,” the next in line announced, rather more loudly than necessary.

  He was in uniform, perfectly acceptable, regardless of his half-pay status, but Alexis couldn’t help but feel he put a bit too much into it. Still, while there were many officers to choose from, she’d not been terribly impressed with any. She suspected that, given Penduli’s state as a major Naval system, the best of those off ships laid up at the end of the war had been moved to other stations, while those on the cusp had likely made their way just a bit coreward to the nearest system with an Admiralty office where they might seek a place.

  Those left here were either too junior or lacked the patronage to expect much else.

  “Welcome, Mister Hacking. Tell me, if you will, what interests you about sailing with us on Mongoose?”

  She noted the direction of Hacking’s gaze, which was to her dangling feet. Feet, she noted, which she’d been idly swinging to tap against the crate. She stilled them, feeling her face grow hot.

  Hacking laughed. “Employment, of course. Left idling with the cease-fire and not enough Naval berths.”

  Alexis smiled. “So why a private ship and not a merchantman?”

  “Action and prize money,” Hacki
ng said. “I’m not one to plod about on merchant cruises, making do with a salary year in and out. No, with the war off, a private ship’s the place for me.”

  It was a fairly standard answer and she’d not expected much different. Hacking’s bearing was a bit off-putting, but his records showed a steady officer — with good reports from his last captain and nothing to show a problem.

  “Very well, Mister Hacking. We are not selecting the ship’s officers outright here, but rather inviting a select few to dine with me and Mongoose’s first officer this evening. He and I will make our decisions after that — and I do mean that I wish to invite you to dine with us, if such was not clear.”

  “Of course,” Hacking said. “Though I was hoping for a clearer answer here.” He smiled widely. “There are other possibilities brewing, you understand, and I may not be available later.”

  He looked at Alexis expectantly.

  That put her off. Even if he did have other offers to consider, which she doubted, she did not appreciate being pressed. Still he had good reports, and off a frigate which had seen its share of action, so he had experience on a fighting ship and had stood up well under fire. That was the sort of officer Mongoose needed.

  “Do come to our dinner if you find none of those other possibilities brewed to your liking, Mister Hacking. Until then?”

  Hacking’s smile fell the tiniest bit, then widened again. He nodded and stood. “Of course. Until then.” He cleared his throat. “Assuming I am still available, of course.”

  “Of course.”

  He turned to leave and the next in line made her way forward. Hacking, perhaps distracted at not being selected immediately, must not have noticed her movement and their shoulders collided. The woman next in line was driven aside by the blow, which Hacking acknowledged with only a curt nod and a muttered apology before moving on.

  The woman glared after him for a moment, and Alexis considered calling him back to rescind her invitation. She wanted no such discourtesy or shortness amongst her officers, after all, but in the moment’s thought Hacking was much of the way to the warehouse’s hatch and the woman had approached. She would have had to call out loudly and that would both disrupt the proceedings and embarrass Hacking unnecessarily. She could sit through a dinner with the man, she supposed, given the half dozen others she’d invited, and then inform him that he would not suit — or perhaps send him a message that the positions had already been filled.

  The woman’s approach drew her attention from Hacking and she smiled welcome, though her thoughts were tinged with curiosity. Villar might have seen several women applying for positions amongst the crew, but there’d been none so far amongst the potential officers and warrants.

  Most of those applying were off laid-up Navy vessels and, while women were common in the Royal Navy’s Core Fleet, those ships had been recalled to the Core, not laid up here at Penduli. It was only Fringe Fleet vessels which had suffered that fate, and none of them would have had any women aboard. Alexis herself was a bit of a fluke in the Fringe Fleet — brought aboard her first ship by kindly-disposed captain and, she suspected, trundled along in part because no one was quite sure what to do with her.

  “Fernleigh Parrill,” the woman said by way of introduction. She was in her thirties, perhaps, with short-cropped, blond hair that would fit in a vacsuit much easier than Alexis’ own ponytail.

  “Good afternoon, Miss Parrill.” Alexis scanned the proffered records, confirming that Parrill was off a merchant vessel, with no time in the Navy — and not one, as those Villar had asked about were, which prowled the Barbary. No, the routes laid out in these records were good, safe, New London shipping, centering around Penduli and Lesser Ichthorpe. She stifled a sigh so that the woman wouldn’t see it — much as she’d like give her the chance, Mongoose was going into harm’s way. She’d likely not take a man with no experience of action, so couldn’t justify an exception.

  “May I ask what’s brought you here to us?”

  She expected much the same answer as Hacking had given. After all, Parrill had a safe berth, one which she’d apparently held for some years, aboard her current ship, Doggersbank. The reasons to make a change from that to a private ship would almost certainly center around money or some misguided quest for glory.

  “You,” Parrill said.

  Alexis blinked. That certainly wasn’t an answer she’d expected. She shifted uneasily on the crate and wondered what the woman was about.

  “What do you mean?”

  Parrill took a deep breath and swallowed visibly. “I’m first officer aboard Doggersbank — you’ll likely not recognize the name, I suppose.”

  Alexis’ brow furrowed. Why would she? There were tens of thousands of little merchantmen prowling the Dark, it wasn’t as though she’d encountered so very many of them. Then her blood chilled. There were, indeed, some ships she’d learned the names of — she’d only not expected to encounter them again. She should have, perhaps, in coming back to Penduli, so near Lesser Ichthorpe, and both so close to the Berry March.

  “Giron,” she said quietly.

  Parrill nodded. “Doggersbank was … next.” Her voice was quiet and she spoke slowly. “We saw.”

  “Miss Parrill, I —”

  “We saw your signals,” Parrill went on, speaking faster now, as though trying to get something out before Alexis might stop her. “We saw the frigate come back on your ship. I tried to convince Captain Cantrell to come about. Doggersbank had only a few guns, but we could have been some help — perhaps … I very nearly came to blows with Captain Cantrell over it.”

  Parrill trailed off, allowing Alexis to speak. She was uncertain of what to say and no little in turmoil herself to have that action brought up again. She forced the memories out of her head as she’d practiced, allowing herself to focus on the here and now.

  “There was —” No, it wouldn’t do to tell her there was nothing Doggersbank could have done to help in that action. One never wanted to hear that one was useless — though that wouldn’t be the message she meant, it would be the one Parrill took from it.

  “Your duty was to the civilians and soldiers aboard your ship,” she said finally. “Getting them to safety was what you came for, wasn’t it?”

  Parrill nodded.

  “And you did.”

  “Thanks to you.”

  “Thanks to all of us. You do see that, don’t you?”

  Parrill nodded again. “There’s talk of a crest, you know? For the ships that were there.”

  “I’d heard.” Alexis thought it was little enough recognition, come to that. She cleared her throat, hoping to steer the conversation away from such an uncomfortable topic. “Which brings us here.”

  Parrill smiled. “Yes, I’m sorry, but you did ask.” She settled herself on her crate and Alexis noted with some envy that her feet touched the floor. “In any case, I’d thought since then that I might … be of some more use than sailing crates of goods back and forth, you see? I looked into the Navy —” She shrugged with a wry grin. “— bit long in the tooth to go midshipman, though, and I can’t see myself as common crew. The fleets here on Penduli or anywhere Doggersbank sails wouldn’t have me, in any case. Have to go to the Core for that, and I haven’t the means now. Wouldn’t like it anyway, I suspect — the Fringe is more to my liking. Even Penduli’s a bit too refined for my taste now.”

  Alexis raised an eyebrow at that. Penduli was really the first bit of the Fringe, almost Core in its attitude and infrastructure by now.

  Parrill must have seen the question in her expression and went on.

  “I like the freedom,” she said. “I once sailed nearly two years in the Core and it’s all so bloody the same, isn’t it? If one wishes a pub, it’s always a Waterhill’s, no matter the world one’s on. Need a pastry? Well find the nearest Scone & Crumpet — there’s one on Penduli Station now, and how they made such a success is beyond me. Bloody cardboard and paste would make a better mouthful.” She became louder now, and fa
r more animated, as one did when let onto a favorite and familiar rant. “Why, I remember what settled me on leaving for the Fringe as though it were yesterday. I was on … Kethfield, I think, and I only wanted some fish and chips. I took a bite and I realized it tasted the same — the very same — as the last round I’d had on Greater Maddock not two months past. And I thought to myself, I thought, how did they do that? Do you know what I found out?”

  Alexis shook her head, fascinated despite herself by the tale.

  “They ship it in,” Parrill said. “Can you believe it? There’s a whole bloody world, Huxford, I think, where they pull out tons and tons of the same fish every day. Then they cut it up into the same size pieces — what they do with the bits that don’t fit, I have no notion — and then they toss on batter and freeze it before they load it into those massive Core ships with the bloody soulless mechanicals and hardly any crew to speak of and ship these little diamonds of fish and batter to hundreds of worlds. All that, so that whenever you walk into an Ashvale, no matter where, it’s all the same bite, you see?”

  Parrill looked around, blinking, as though not having realized she’d said so much.

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  Alexis grinned, quite taken with the tale and Parrill’s passion.

  “And so you came to the Fringe, and now seek to come aboard a private ship — are the merchantmen too much the same for you as well?”

  Parrill flushed red, but Alexis held her gaze. She wanted an answer to that, a real answer about why Parrill wanted a berth on Mongoose. It was one thing to take on an officer lacking in experience, it was quite another to take on one lacking any real expectation of what the voyage might be like. Alexis might be taken with the woman’s tales, but she didn’t want some casual dilettante aboard Mongoose when it came to an action.

  “I’ve enjoyed my time aboard Doggersbank quite a lot,” Parrill said, “but I’ve always thought there might be something missing.” She frowned. “After Giron, after seeing first-hand what the Navy’s for — what you did, not the bothersome stops and searches of the revenue boats —”