Alexis’ lips twitched in amusement, having only just come from commanding such a ship.
“I suppose that … well, trade is necessary, certainly, but it never made me feel … useful, if you can understand that. This voyage of yours, I know it’s not a formal Naval expedition, but you’ll be going after the pirates, not running from them as I’ve done all my life, yes?”
Alexis was silent, shocked a bit by the expression of the very sentiment that had sent her into the Navy — the very sentiment that made her reluctant to take over the running of her family lands, even now that she could. There were varying degrees of useful, she supposed, but what could compare, really, to taking one’s ship into harm’s way? Commerce might be the lifeblood of the kingdom, but what kept that blood safe was the ships and crews she’d commanded, laying themselves alongside the enemy and pouring hellfire from her guns into those who’d spill it.
“I’m sorry, but you did ask,” Parrill said, standing. Alexis realized that she must have been silent for some time. “Certainly you’re looking for those who’ve had experience with such things, not merely fancies.”
“A moment, Miss Parrill, if you will — I’d like to invite you to dinner.”
Eighteen
The pub’s common room was crowded and Alexis felt out of place. It was in the Naval section of the station — she and Villar had hosted the dinner for prospective officers here, it being familiar territory — but since neither she nor Villar were in active commission and were serving on a private ship, neither wore a uniform. Villar was in a generic ship’s jumpsuit, lacking any patches or even rank insignia, while Alexis wore what she’d become comfortable in during the months at home: a white linen shirt and denim trousers.
They’d abandoned the private room upstairs where they’d hosted the dinner and sent the prospects away, the chosen officers to settle their accounts and any business aboard Penduli Station, while she and Villar stayed for a final drink or two.
“To a crewed ship,” Villar said, raising his glass.
Alexis, reluctantly, raised hers in turn. There’d been more than enough at dinner, as well as food, and she was feeling full of both.
Still, the time would give their new crew a chance to settle into Elizabeth’s …
Mongoose’s, bugger it all, Alexis thought, as the name had stuck and even those who’d sailed with her from Dalthus were using it.
In any case, with so many new hands, she’d decided to let Nabb and her former Nightingales have a free hand at settling the newcomers in. The officers’ absence would make it clear that she had every confidence in her coxswain and the new bosun, Dockett, so there’d be no questions raised as to who was in charge — and any bruises come about as a way to make that clear could be raised without her official notice.
It was also their last chance to dine on any but shipboard provisions before reaching the Barbary, as Alexis planned to sail straight from Penduli now that the ship was fully crewed.
Fully crewed and more.
She sighed at the thought, both from satisfaction and bewilderment that Isom and Villar’s bizarre advert had worked such magic — and lucky they were done and able to pull the advert from the station’s newsfeeds as well.
So now she had a ship and crew of would-be Mongooses.
Mongeese? she wondered.
One more thing to blame on Isom, Villar, and the vile creature, now they’d named the ship that — there’d be no agreement amongst the men as to what to call themselves.
In any case, they’d had the pick of what she could only call the best of spacers left idle by the cease-fire with Hanover. Men who, for one reason or another, had taken no berth with a merchant ship since being paid off. Most, Villar’d discovered in his interviews, preferred the life of a warship and were simply waiting, idle or at whatever work they might pick up on-station, for the Navy to decide they were needed once more.
True, some had been refused berths on merchants for other reasons, but the experienced Nightingales like Ruse and Sinkey were able to suggest questions that ferreted those out of the mix.
Women, as well, which would make for a new experience — other than Marie, she’d never sailed with other women aboard as crew. Dansby’s ship, when she’d sailed on that into Hanover, had some, but she’d not truly been part of that crew herself.
In the end, she had enough of a crew and turned away more who were equally suited to her needs — even after making clear to them that it was unlikely in the extreme that they’d be splitting some two million guineas in prizes, no matter what the bloody advert claimed.
Oh, there’d been some, many in fact, who’d refused to sign on. They’d taken a look at her, decided she was no fit captain, and gone on their way. But there were the others … others, like Parrill, who’d wished to sign on because of her, and she wasn’t entirely sure how to feel about that. Two old Merlins signed on, men from her first ship who’d grinned with pleasure as she called them by name. Then others that she didn’t know but who felt they knew her.
“Served with a man who came back with you from Hermione, sir, and said I should follow if you’re ever at the foe.”
“Was on Swan under Cammack at Giron, sir, and I’ll sign them Articles if you’ll take me.”
It was … unsettling. Satisfying and frightening, both, to be known so by men she’d never met. Still, it had netted her a crew in the end.
A fine crew, she had to admit.
She grimaced as she took another sip of wine, determined to limit this to one glass, as she’d had her full share at dinner only a short time ago.
A fine crew, but, sadly, she wondered if the same could be said about her chosen officers.
Oh, they looked right enough on their records, all the ones she’d invited to dine with her and Villar, but issues soon became apparent over the meal.
Lieutenant Wooddell, who, after his first bottle, finished before the first plates were served, seemed to lose interest in all but the food and drink before him. Alexis suspected he’d not really been looking for a ship, not a private ship, at least, but was instead after the free meal and wine while on half-pay.
Lieutenant Byrd, who’d flushed red and clenched his jaw once he’d learned that Alexis was, indeed, captain of the Mongoose and it all wasn’t some sort of joke by the real captain. He’d stayed, though, and eaten and drank his fill as well.
Lieutenant Hudkins, who’d nearly stormed out at hearing that Villar, a mere midshipman in the Navy, would be first officer of Mongoose. He’d made it quite clear that, private ship or not, it was simply mad not to carry the officers’ Naval ranks over to the ship’s wardroom.
A half dozen others who, when it came down to the questioning lacked, to use Villar and Isom’s phrase, “a certain something.”
In the end, it was Hacking and Parrill who Villar and Alexis had chosen. Hacking as second officer and Parrill as third.
While Hacking’s attitude gave her pause, all the rest lacked sufficient experience to take a chance on.
“To a full wardroom?” Alexis offered.
“As fine a one as we might,” Villar answered. He raised an eyebrow. “You have doubts?”
Alexis pursed her lips. She did have doubts.
Parrill lacked experience and had what Alexis could only describe as an inability to let a question she might answer pass by unnoticed.
During dinner, one of the others, a passed midshipman who might have been a match for the ship had he not drunk so much that he’d been snoring by the end, told a tale of taking a smuggler packed with sugar sailing for Wootwell, and marveled at why they’d carry such a cargo.
“It’s an interesting system, Wootwell,” Parrill said. “You see they were settled by this lot who think trade with other systems is never the answer — set up tariffs you’d not believe to protect their local business and jobs. Thing is, their world has trouble producing a single sweet — every bit of produce is lacking in sugars, you see? Not empty of it, only that it would take five times the
produce to get a bit of sugar or sweetener. So they must import it, but they’ve put so very high a tariff on the stuff to protect their own farmers that it’s dearer than gold almost. Padmouth, now, where your smuggler was likely coming from, has an abundance — seems all they plant there is beets and cane, likely because Wootwell has such a need and they’ve seen the profit in it. A captain can turn nearly ten times the profit if he puts sugar down without a tariff stamp on Wootwell, and, did you know, there’s an active resistance to the Wootwell revenuers on the planet itself? A whole network of distribution taking sugars in from smugglers boats in the hinterlands and routing it to the cities — many of whom are the very farmers the tariff’s supposed to be about protecting. Some make more off the smuggling of sugars than they do the growing of it.”
She looked around at the others who’d gone silent and were staring at her, then hunched her shoulders and lowered her eyes to her plate.
“I’m sorry,” she said, “but you did ask.”
Alexis chuckled, though ruefully, at the memory. The first such outburst of such very detailed information had been surprising, the second amusing, but the third and fourth had made her share a glance with Villar over whether he’d truly care for such in the wardroom every day.
“Only what I’ve expressed already,” Alexis said, answering his question about doubts.
“I’d certainly prefer to have Mister Spindler back with me,” Villar said, “if only because I’d spent so much time with him, and he’s a good lad, but he’s off to home since Nightingale paid off. Of the lot we saw, I’m satisfied — though there’s still Lesser Ichthorpe and a system or two else we could try.”
“Do you wish to?”
For Alexis’ part, she wished only to get to the Barbary and begin her search for Delaine. They’d managed to fully crew Mongoose with this single stop at Penduli, so any other would be solely for the officers.
“No,” Villar said. “From what you said — and I saw at dinner — there’re slim pickings for a wardroom. The crew are more willing to seek out a private ship, it seems, while the in-atmosphere lieutenants dream of advancing their careers and won’t risk the chance their commissions will be reactivated while they’re away with us.”
Alexis frowned. There was that, and she was risking her own career a bit. If a call-up occurred while she was off on Mongoose and she was unavailable to answer it, then her own prospects would be dimmed — of course, she remembered, her own prospects in the Navy were likely darkened all entire, as she’d have to resign her commission to take her place on Dalthus.
That did, though, raise the question of Villar’s career.
“And you?” she asked. “Suppose there’s a call-up and you miss it?”
“Ah,” Villar said, “you forget, from your lofty lieutenant’s rank, that I’m merely an unpassed midshipman, so far as the Navy’s concerned.” He raised his glass to her. “I serve at the pleasure of my captain in any case.” He grinned. “Besides which, Marie would never forgive me, did I leave you to your own devices.”
Alexis grinned back. “And a bit of prize money will do you no harm in your plans with her, will it?”
“Indeed, sir.” Villar sobered. “I do fear I’ve little to offer her, even with what prizes we took with Nightingale.”
Alexis sobered as well.
“You’ve more to offer than coin, Whitley,” she said, “and Marie’s not one to weigh a man’s purse against his other qualities.”
“Thank you for that, and no, she isn’t.” He shrugged. “But I do wish to make my own way. A midshipman’s pay only goes so far and that stopped these last months with no berth. The prices on Dalthus these days, as well …”
Alexis nodded. While she, as a lieutenant, was on half-pay with no ship, a midshipman like Villar was left entirely to his own devices. And the cost of everything on Dalthus seemed to be going up as more and more cash from the gallenium mines flooded the system.
Villar brightened and raised his glass again. “To Captain Carew and four hundred pounds prize money the man.”
“You and your bloody ‘somethings.’ Next the men will be asking about the split of those millions,” Alexis muttered, then, “So you’re satisfied with your wardroom, then?”
Villar shrugged. “As may be, I suppose. I’ve served in worse berths and not been in charge — before Nightingale. With only the three of us, we’ll make do, I think.
“Hacking’s a bit harsh and speaks his mind, while Parrill is … well, one can learn to never ask a question one doesn’t truly want the answer to, I suppose.” He grunted. “They’ll do. Hacking’s experienced, for all he’s full of himself, and Parrill …” Villar grinned. “She does have a certain something.”
Alexis laughed.
“So long as you’re satisfied,” she said. “I do fear they’re the best we may find. And we have told them they’re in, after all. It would be a fine thing to put them in-atmosphere now.”
“True. So we’re off, then?”
Alexis nodded. “A full crew. Enough officers that, with our new bosun, the watch billet is full, as well.” She took a deep breath. “Day after tomorrow.” She made the decision. “Time enough to bring aboard any last supplies, for the crew to say any goodbyes they have here, and for our officers to finish their business as well.”
“Hacking did speak as though half the station were dependent on him.”
“Indeed.” Alexis drained her glass. “So we’ll sail direct from here to the Barbary and be about it.”
Villar refilled her wine from the bottle on the table, then his own, splitting what remained neatly between them.
He wiped at his mouth with a napkin and caught her eye.
“If you’ll excuse me for a moment, sir?”
“Of course.” She nodded.
Villar rose and made his way toward the heads.
Alexis took the opportunity to look around the pub.
The sight of so many uniforms did drive home her new status. She was not, for the moment at least, a part of the group she’d grown so accustomed to.
“Your lad left you all alone, did he?”
Alexis raised an eyebrow as the speaker dropped into Villar’s abandoned chair across from her. He was a lieutenant, younger than Villar, she suspected, only a little time into his commission, if the newness of his uniform was to be believed. Lucky in the war, perhaps, to be aboard some ship seeing enough action to raise him before the cease-fire.
“He’ll be back in a moment, never fear,” Alexis said, but could see in a moment that this wouldn’t deter the man. She glanced back the way he’d come and saw a table of his fellows watching eagerly.
“I saw you come in,” the lieutenant said, “and I said to myself, I said, Couchman, there’s a lass come up from atmosphere and looking to see what the wider universe is all about.”
“Did you?” she asked. “Well, that’s quite perceptive of you, I’m sure, but as I said my companion will be returning shortly, so if you wouldn’t mind —”
The lieutenant, presumably Couchman, nodded. He pushed Villar’s plate to the side, took Villar’s glass in hand, and leaned toward her.
“Have you ever been a’space before?” he asked.
Alexis resisted the urge to bark at him in her best command voice to get his bloody arse off her first officer’s chair, leave their wine alone, and take himself back to his ship before she sent word to his captain. She’d try, once more, politely, at least.
“Mister … Couchman, was it? My companion really will return soon —”
“Then I’d best hurry and win you away from him, hadn’t I?” Couchman drained Villar’s glass, then reached across the table and laid a hand over Alexis’. “Come on, then — first time a’space, yes?”
Very well, then, if the smarmy bastard wouldn’t move on, then she’d see he regretted staying.
She lowered her eyes then glanced up at him and away again.
“Does it show so very much?” she asked.
Couchman
grinned. “I knew it! From the first look I said that’s a lass on her first time aboard station, even, I’ll bet.” He took up the bottle, frowned to find it empty, and set it back again. “Have you ever seen a proper ship before? Inside, I mean. I could give you a bit of a tour, if you like.” He cocked his head to one side. “Pembroke, a frigate, best in the fleet, she is. Our captain’s all-night-in down on the planet, so it would be no fuss at all.” He made what Alexis assumed he found a seductive look. “You could touch the big guns, if you like.”
Eager to show me, are you? Alexis thought. I do not believe I’ve ever sat alone in civilian dress for more than ten minutes’ time, before some lout takes it into his head that I might simply perish for want of his company.
“I don’t know if I should,” Alexis said. “My companion’s only left for a few moments …”
Couchman leaned closer. “We’ll slip out now, leave a bit of a note for him that you’ve found a better entertainment, eh?”
Alexis sighed — there was no getting rid of his sort short of bluntness. She caught her lower lip between her teeth. It was a habit she thought to break herself of, but Delaine had once called it adorable, so she assumed it had a certain effect on men for some reason.
“I suppose I might,” she said in almost a whisper. “I could actually see the big guns, you said?”
“Touch them, if you like,” Couchman whispered back, leaning closer. “Run your hands right along the barrel — feel how powerful they are.”
“Oh, dear,” Alexis breathed. “I … I might like that.”
“You will, I promise.”
“I do have … well, one question first, if you don’t mind?”
“Ask away, dear, but quickly so we can be away.”
Alexis sat back, fixed Couchman with a narrow-eyed gaze, and took a deep breath.
She reached for her best voice — the one she’d use on the gundeck, when the hull was shot through and the radiations of darkspace killed the vacsuit radios. When she’d have to press her helmet against one of her lads’ and make her words cut through the echoing, terror-filled rasp of his own breath to put steel in his core again.
Privateer (Alexis Carew Book 5) Page 12
