Malcomson frowned at her. “Yoo’re pokin’ aroond a point, lass. What is it?”
Alexis phrased her next words carefully, knowing Malcomson’s independent frame of mind. All the private ships’ captains, she supposed — hadn’t she, after only a short time in command of Mongoose and out from under the weight of an Admiralty, bristled under Commodore Skanes’ dictates?
“Suppose you’d had another ship when you’d encountered that convoy of prizes, would the action have gone differently?”
“Oh, aye,” Malcomson said. “Anither ship, put him near out of sight to windward an’ he falls off when he spots the jobbies. Let ‘em come down to Delight, then he’s t’windward of ‘em when they scatter.” He shrugged. “But I’ve nae other ship and nae lads tae crew one, e’en if I did keep a prize for it.”
Alexis raised her brows and gazed at Malcomson expectantly. A further suggestion wouldn’t do, she thought, he’d have to come to it on his own.
“What, lass?” Malcomson asked.
“I believe,” Parrill said, “that Captain Carew is sug — ow!”
She reached down to rub her shin and glared at Villar, who leaned close to whisper in her ear.
“Oh, really?” she said. “But why would he not just listen to — ow!”
Another whisper from Villar.
“But it’s self-evident that we should — ow!”
More whispering.
“If you say so,” Parrill said. “But it seems —” She broke off and held her palms toward Villar while turning in her seat to move her shins away from him. “Never mind, no need.”
Malcomson watched the exchange, brow furrowed.
“Do you nae allow the lass tae talk, then?”
“Miss Parrill has some difficulties with conversation,” Villar allowed.
“I fear I will never understand people,” Parrill muttered, face despondent.
Malcomson grunted. “If the wallapers won’t ken you first, lass, then they’re nae worth the bother.”
Villar frowned at that and Alexis did, as well.
True, Parrill’s conversational style was a trial at times, but what must it be like for her? With Hacking’s open derision in Mongoose’s wardroom? Villar’s usual method of signaling her that she’d gone on too long, or down a conversational road she shouldn’t, was gentler than the kicks to the shins he’d just delivered — Parrill’s usual digressions not being such that they’d be to anyone’s real detriment, as might have been the case here — but what must it be like for her to be constantly told that the words coming out of her mouth were somehow wrong or annoying to others?
Alexis had been happy to leave most of dealing with Parrill to the ship’s wardroom, relying on Villar there and limiting her own interactions with the woman to either ship’s business, where Parrill was entirely competent, or suppers with all Mongoose’s officers, where the verbal ticks were few enough to be amusingly tolerated.
What must it be like to be so constantly made aware that you’re saying the wrong thing in the wrong way? Alexis thought of Parrill’s last comment. And, possibly, to never truly understand why that’s so?
She’d have to think on that, and speak to Parrill some, as well as Villar. Hacking she could still leave to Villar to manage in the wardroom, at least.
“Thank you, Captain Malcomson,” Parrill said.
“Yer welcome, lass.”
Parrill frowned, then, possibly emboldened by Malcomson’s support, “May I ask you a question?”
“It’s only that I wish to know things, to understand them,” Parrill said. “But I was under the impression that a New Edinburghan such as yourself would wear a kilt and not … well …”
She gestured at Malcomson’s tight leathern trousers and fur cape.
“Miss Parrill —” Villar said.
“No, lad, ‘tis all right.” Malcomson leaned close to Parrill and said softly, “It’s for mah crew I’ve given up the kilt, lass.”
Parrill frowned. “The crew?”
“Aye,” Malcomson said. “For their spirit, ye ken?”
“How does a kilt —”
“It’s not wearin’ the kilt, lass, it’s the not wearin’ else.” Malcomson grinned at her. “Think on it — we’re in action an’ the grav’s burst, aye? Weel, up goes mah kilt, an’ then the crew’s all in a cringe for seein’ what they lack.”
Parrill glanced down at Malcomson’s lap, then fixed her eyes on the far wall, swallowing hard and flushing red.
Malcomson grinned.
“Aye, lass, cannae expect a man tae fight when he's feelin' all inadequate abit himself. Best I keep it hid.”
“I see,” Parrill said, growing so red that Alexis thought her head might burst.
“I’m sorry, lass,” Malcomson said, patting Parrill’s leg, “but y’did ask.”
Villar cleared his throat.
“Oh, aye,” Malcomson said, “we were talking abit how grand it would be for me tae hae another ship.” Malcomson turned his attention back to Alexis and sighed. “In any case, lass, I’ve only the one ship and nae extra crew, sae it’s —”
He broke off and frowned, brow furrowing.
“Yes?” Alexis prompted after a moment.
Malcomson held up a finger. “A moment.” He pursed his lips and rubbed his chin. “Noo here’s a thing I’ve just thooght of —” He pointed to Alexis. “What if yer Mongoose were tae sail with Delight, eh?”
“What? You mean sail together and share in the prizes?” Alexis asked.
Malcomson nodded.
“Noo Ah ken it's a thing we private ships don’t dae sae much, but think on what we coods dae together, comin’ across sich convoys as Ah have.”
Thirty-Seven
Mongoose’s quarterdeck was tense with excitement from the chase. Alexis and Villar bent over the navigation plot, while the spacers at the consoles flicked their eyes over images from outside the ship and readouts from the systems within.
The plot itself was cluttered with over a dozen ships, even excepting the tracks of Mongoose herself and the accompanying Bachelor’s Delight.
Malcomson had not been exaggerating when he’d said that there were sometimes more targets than the Delight could take herself, and Alexis could feel the crew’s excitement over the rich find they’d made.
A convoy, looking for all the world like any legitimate group of merchantmen bound farther into the Barbary, but scattering for cover when Mongoose and Delight began flashing New London’s colors and demanding they heave-to for inspection.
“They’re dropping the gunboat and splitting up,” Villar noted.
Alexis studied the plot. The pair of ships Mongoose was after had indeed split up, with one veering off to run for the nearby system — perhaps to hide within its shoals or transition and go dark in normal-space if she could get out of sight of her pursuers for just a few moments.
Her captain had made a mistake, though, in Alexis’ estimation, of cutting the lines to the gunboat he towed behind. Several of the ships had similar vessels in tow and, while they were of little use in the open chase, the little vessels with their low mass and single lugsails could play havoc with a larger ship once amongst a system’s shoals.
“We’ll leave her to Delight and stay on the other,” Alexis ordered, then to the helmsman, “Two points to port, if you will, Layland.”
“Aye, sir.”
When the convoy scattered at their approach, some toward open space and others toward the nearest system, Mongoose had been closer to the outside — by design and agreement with Malcomson, for while the Delight was the larger ship with heavier guns, Mongoose was the faster and her sail plan allowed her to come more fully up to the winds.
Delight would therefore take the downwind chase toward the nearest system, while Mongoose took the upwind targets.
To all appearances it looked to be the best of plans, as the navigation plot was now predicting that both private ships would be well able to catch up with nearly all their targets, provided
they took no more time than expected to force each one to strike.
“Have the bowchaser put the next one into her,” Alexis ordered.
“Aye, sir.” Villar nodded to Creasy, who passed her word on to the guncrew in the bow.
A moment later, the flash of a laser came, striking the fleeing ship dead in her stern.
“A hit!” Villar cried, grinning widely.
Alexis struggled to keep her own grin under control. They might be playing the wolf, but it wouldn’t do for her to look like one and she was fairly concerned that Villar’s tongue might start lolling out, so widely was his face split with delight.
“Her helm’s off, sir,” Dorsett announced, his nose almost touching his screens as he squinted to make out details of the images of the fleeing ship. “Rudder or planes, one — hard to tell.”
“The next alongside,” Alexis said, “but close enough to make them understand it was no miss.”
“Aye, sir,” Creasy said, working his console to relay the order.
The entire quarterdeck crew seemed to hold its breath, waiting for the guns to fire — then waiting more, as they didn’t. Alexis caught her lower lip between her teeth and held back the urge to query the bowchasers as to the delay. She had the two best guncrews there, manning the pair of long nine-pounders in Mongoose’s bow, along with Hacking who’d shown himself a dab hand with the guns, and they knew their task well enough without her jostling them.
A few moments later and her confidence was vindicated as both bowchasers fired as one, their bolts lashing out, shortening and condensing as the dark matter affected them, but arriving true to flash close along either side of the fleeing ship.
“There’ll be no misunderstanding about that,” Villar said with a laugh.
“She’s struck!” Creasy announced.
Alexis nodded with satisfaction. “Mister Villar, I’ll have —” She thought for a moment of the master’s mates, as well as Parrill and Hacking — who could be spared first from the rest of the chase and who might be needed later? As well, who might keep their first prize safe and under control as Mongoose sailed on after the rest? “Stott and a crew of seven others. He’s to have that small cutter we took on from Delight and follow along in the prize as best she’s able. Signals as discussed, mind you, and you, Creasy, keep watch on her as well as ahead — I’ll not have one of our prizes retaken and disappear with any of our lads.”
The chorus of “aye, sirs” sounded and Alexis turned her attention to the plot again. The ships of the convoy might have scattered, but there was an order to it — there were only so many points of sail that might allow for the possibility of escape, after all, and the trick now would be for Alexis to determine the path Mongoose might follow that would allow for taking as many of these as she could.
“Four points to port, Layland, and up ten — we’ll take this one next.” She tapped the plot over the next target, which would highlight it for the rest of the quarterdeck crew, as well.
“A brig, sir,” Dorsett said, his tactical console already having analyzed the images of the next target. “Eight guns — no more’n six pounders, if I’m any judge, and a small crew. Twenty men at most.”
Alexis nodded. The estimate of guns and men would be just that. Correct if these were merchantmen carrying pirated goods, but off by quite a lot of they were the pirates themselves. Or prizes with pirate crews, though any prize crew should still be small in numbers, as the pirates would want to keep as many as they could on their main ship for future targets.
Much as we must, she thought as a low thump announced the detachment of a ship’s boat with Stott and his crew for their first prize. That boat was borrowed from Delight, where Malcomson seemed to have a penchant for collecting them from his prizes. The Delight, and now Mongoose in turn, looked much like some sea-going predator with a full dozen boats latched onto her outer hull like lampreys.
Malcomson had taken one look at Mongoose’s original complement of ship’s boats and scoffed.
“Och, lass, are y’on a bluddy outing or is it real business yer aboot?”
At first, she’d been amused, but now she was glad for them. The delay in coming alongside a capture to transfer a prize crew likely would have meant losing two or even three of the prizes she pursued — with the added boats, she could drop a prize crew for the latest and never slow in pursuit of the next.
One of the women who’d come aboard at Penduli had come along well and had been made master’s mate — she’d do for the brig’s prize crew and it would be a fine test of her to command it.
“Coburn and a crew of five to our smallest boat, Mister Villar,” she said aloud, eyes already on the maneuvers Mongoose would have to make once the next prize in line surrendered.
Thirty-Eight
Mongoose’s second time cruising with Delight was not so successful in the way of prizes.
The crew was a bit sullen as they broke orbit around Enclave, despite the week’s liberty Alexis allowed. Wheeley was unable, or unwilling, to front the prize money for all the prizes, saying that he wished to consult with the Hanoverese and Hso-hsi settlements before finalizing an offer. It had only taken the one quick settlement of their first prize for her crew to set that as their expectation and they’d been looking forward to time on Enclave with individual fortunes to squander.
Wheeley’d offered casino scrip again, and Alexis had, again, declined, but managed to get him to settle immediately on those ships of New London registry, at least. That gave the spacers prize money from three of the prizes, and enough for a fine run on the pleasures of Enclave without being cheated too badly.
Mongoose and Delight sailed again in concert and both Alexis and Malcomson were wise enough to discuss setting other expectations for their crews, as well.
“We’ll not see a convoy like the first one each cruise, certainly,” Alexis put forth the night before they were to sail.
She, Malcomson, the officers from both ships, and Little Mal, who seemed never far from his Da’s side, were meeting to discuss their next cruise over supper. The particular pub had become one of their favorites, set off a bit from the casino floor and, oddly for an establishment of Wheeley’s, having no gaming devices built into the tables. Alexis found it easier to concentrate on the task at hand if she weren’t tempted to think on odds and systems.
Though — her eyes wandered to the pub’s doorway — if we’re finished early enough, there is that one bit I want to try. Just a few hands to prove it out …
She’d had moderate luck at the tables during this visit, neither losing nor winning any large sum, and thought that was certainly a sign that her understanding of the games had improved. As well, the little thrill she felt when the cards turned was somewhat more alluring than the thought of another cruise aboard Mongoose. Despite the collection of so many prizes, their taking had lacked a certain … something. They weren’t warships, after all, nor even the pirates’ main vessels — only thin-sided merchantmen with ill-kept guns and lightly manned.
Not a one of them fired back at us, and Mongoose barely ran her full broadside out, much less fired one.
No, profit aside, the cruises had been less than satisfying, and Alexis found herself longing for an action that would let her put Mongoose alongside some other and truly test her.
There was a twinge of guilt at that, for a real action would put her lads at risk, but she knew some few of them felt the same way. Picking up ships and their cargoes so easily was little better than going a’merchantman oneself, and if that, then why bother with a private ship?
“It’s rare, aye,” Malcomson was saying in response to her, “but fine to get the like noo an’again. They’ll shift their routes noo, I expect, and one ay the others might see profit frae it.”
Little Mal drained his glass and called for another.
“Perhaps we could enlist the other private captains?” Alexis suggested. “To find where they may shift this route and —”
Malcomson laughed and Alexis
realized her mistake. She’d made the suggestion rather than merely hinting at it, and Malcomson was one who’d rarely accept an idea not his own.
“Better herd cats than that lot,” he said with a further laugh.
Thirty-Nine
Weeks of disappointment followed.
The space they’d formally patrolled seemed empty and abandoned, with nary the sight of a sail, much less close enough to pursue. They moved on, Alexis letting Malcomson set the route, as he’d hunted this area longer than she, and putting ever more space between their ships in order to cover as much of darkspace as possible — until even Mongoose’s finest optics and computer enhancement could barely make out the lights of Delight’s masts and hull.
It made darkspace, somehow, lonelier than she’d experienced before, to have just that one bit of light in view. The full, featureless expanse of it, with nothing but the far off, roiling storms to break the other darkness, was somehow more intimidating with another ship just barely in sight.
Or, perhaps, it was that pinpoint of light offset against one of those rolling masses of dark matter clouds that did it. Pointing out just how small her own ship must be in the vastness.
Worse than monotony and lack of profit the failure to take any prizes brought was the corresponding lack of information about the fleets. With no merchant captains to question, Alexis was left to ponder the possibility that this whole venture – at least the possibility of finding Delaine, which was what had drawn her to it – was a wild goose chase. So far, there’d been nothing but rumors as to the warring fleets and their passage here – rumors which gave her no clear direction to take her inquiries.
Privateer (Alexis Carew Book 5) Page 24
