Alexis scanned the cutter’s deck. There was so much yet to be done. First get into darkspace and on their way back toward New London space. If Hermione was still in sight, then they’d have to hurry to catch up. Hopefully the ship would see their signals and wait for them — a nice little cutter as a prize might make Neals more willing than the ship’s boat alone had. If the ship wasn’t in sight, then they’d have to make their own way home, which meant plotting a course. Alexis shuddered. At least she’d have a solid starting position, but the thought of their lives and freedom hinging on her ability to navigate chilled her to the bone.
She’d need an inventory of supplies, Penduli was four weeks sail from here — not an insurmountable range for a cutter, but only if there was adequate food and water aboard. Supplies of spare sail and cordage she’d need to know as well, and the state of the guns. How much shot there was aboard and what its condition was. All of the thousand things necessary to running a ship.
She caught sight of Isom seated against a bulkhead, a bloody cutlass still clutched in his fists. The man had been aboard Hermione longer than Alexis, but was still rated Landsman. The only reason he was in her division, working the masts, was because he was young enough and somewhat agile — someone aboard Hermione was convinced he could be made a topman. But he seemed to have no head for space and constantly complained that he shouldn’t be there, that he was a legal clark who’d been caught up in the Press by mistake when the war started. Given the state of his weapon, he might have at least made some good use of himself during the action. Alexis made her way over to him and crouched down.
“Are you hurt, Isom?” she asked. “Do you need the surgeon?” Not that they had a surgeon. A couple of the lads could do a bit more than apply the wound sealant that their suits sprayed out, but that was all.
“I …” Isom started to speak, but then trailed off. His eyes were wide and red-rimmed. His hands were white-knuckled and shaking where he clutched the cutlass.
Alexis draped an arm over his shoulders. “What’s wrong, Isom? What is it?”
“I … I killed a man, miss,” he said, voice quavering. Alexis tightened her hold on his shoulders, ignoring that he’d called her ‘miss’ instead of ‘sir’. “I stuck this sword right in him …”
She reached out and grasped the blade. “Let me take that, Isom,” she said.
“Stuck it right in … it was like …” He closed his eyes and shivered. “It popped when it went into him.”
Alexis tugged harder on the blade and managed to get it loose. She set it on the deck to her side and slid it away. Men were hurrying by, busy at the tasks to get the ship moving. One of them looked about to speak and Alexis shook her head sharply. Isom was not well-liked and she wanted no harsh words now.
“You did what you had to do, Isom,” she said.
“I heard him scream.”
Alexis wrapped her other arm around the man and he sank against her, head against her chest. She felt him shudder as he began to sob. The popping he’d felt would be the suit, she knew, and any screams were likely from his mates. With the compartment in vacuum he’d certainly heard no enemy scream unless he was helmet to helmet. It was likely he hadn’t killed anyone at all, merely wounded them, and not gravely at that. But telling him that wouldn’t be a kindness — he’d either not believe or it could make him hesitate in the next action. Better for him to think he’d killed once already, and that it was the right thing, so he’d be better prepared next time.
Nor could she really tell him it had been his duty — not when he’d been taken up by the Impressment Service. Not even the men who’d volunteered fought for that, really. Not when the guns were firing or the blades were out. No, they fought for themselves and their mates — to stay alive and so the others wouldn’t think them shy.
“You did right, Isom,” she said. “You fought beside your mates and we’re all alive, yes? We’re all safe and there’s not a one of them can say you didn’t stand and do your part.” She felt him nod, then held him until she felt the sobs start to subside. “I have to see to the ship now, Isom. I’m going to have your mates find you a place to rest, do you understand?” He nodded.
Alexis caught the eye of a passing spacer. “Ficke, find a place for Isom out of the way and let him get some rest.” She stood and grasped Ficke’s arm. “Be easy with him,” she whispered.
Nine
Hermione wasn’t visible when they transitioned to darkspace, but the little cutter — Sittich, Alexis found she was called — made good time. She was a joy to sail, well-kept and far more agile than a frigate or other square-rigged ship. Once she was sure they were out of Hanoverese space and safely within New London’s borders, Alexis took to spending at least one watch each day experimenting with her. The fore-and-aft rig was so much simpler than Hermione’s sail plan that Alexis almost felt she’d be able to sail the ship herself — certainly it was no hardship doing so with such a large crew aboard.
She stood at Sittich’s bow, one arm upraised as she watched the sails. They were close-hauled on the port tack, the darkspace winds streaming over the port bow, filling the sails and making their azure glow spark and flash with white. She’d never seen a ship sail this close to the wind’s eye before and she resisted the urge to order her just one more point closer — she thought she might be able to, if she rolled Sittich just a bit and took the winds against her sails at an angle, but then they might also end up in irons again. Head on into the wind, dead in space until they were able to thrash and flog the sails around to catch a bit and move again. No, the watch was almost over and she’d soon have to go back inside and stop her playing.
She flung her arm down and the waiting men went into action. Her order was relayed inside to the quarterdeck and the helmsman turned the ship. Men on the sails hauled on lines, far fewer than there were aboard Hermione, to bring the long boom that anchored the bottom of the sail across the deck.
Sittich’s bow came up into the wind, slowing as the sails hung loose for a moment and the winds played along both sides, then the bow continued on, faster and more agilely than Alexis would have credited it if she hadn’t seen it for herself. The sails shuddered, lifted, then filled with a snap Alexis swore she could hear through the vacuum, and Sittich seemed to leap forward again, now on the starboard tack.
Alexis cried out with glee, glad that her vacsuit’s radio wouldn’t transmit in darkspace and that none of the crew could hear her. A vacsuited figure came toward her, gliding over the hull as he pulled himself along the guidewires that ran the length of the ship. Alexis went aft to meet him and recognized Nabb as they came close enough to touch helmets and speak.
“Sail, sir,” Nabb said. “Fine on the starboard bow, near dead ahead.”
Alexis turned to look, even though she knew she’d likely see nothing at this distance, not without the optics that brought images inside the ship.
“Thank you, Nabb,” she said. She sighed. The time she’d spent sailing Sittich back to New London had been so different, almost a joy, and now it was likely over. Whoever captained the ship ahead of her would likely put his own prize crew aboard and start her and her lads back to Hermione.
When they were close enough to exchange signals, Alexis found that the other ship was H.M.S. Lively, a 32-gun frigate commanded by a Captain Crandall. Alexis signaled that Sittich was a prize and Lively ordered her to heave-to. The larger ship came alongside after her crew unstepped the foremast so that her starboard side was clear of rigging and made fast.
Once the two ships were side by side and a boarding tube extended, Alexis crossed to the frigate. She faced forward as she exited the tube and saluted the ensign painted on the bulkhead there to represent the colors lit on the masts. A lieutenant stepped forward to greet her.
“Welcome aboard. Carew, is it?” he asked. Alexis nodded. “Waithe, Third Lieutenant. Captain Crandall’s in his day cabin, just this way.”
He gestured aft and Alexis followed him, pausing for the marine sentry
outside the captain’s cabin to announce them. She entered to find Crandall seated at his dining table which was clearly doubling as a large desk, given the number of displays showing on its surface.
“Have a seat, Carew,” Crandall said. He was a large man, muscular not gone to fat, with light hair. “You have a written report, have you?”
“Yes, sir.” Alexis raised her tablet and sent the report to his. She sat in the indicated chair, edging forward on the seat so as to keep her back straight. She was unsure of how her report of the action would be received.
“Wine? Something else?” Crandall offered.
“Thank you, sir. Tea, perhaps?” She wanted to keep her wits about her for this interview.
Crandall nodded to his steward, who set about pouring a cup of tea, then he lowered his eyes to his tablet and began reading. “Tell it to me, as well, Carew,” he said, not looking up.
Alexis took a deep breath. Her report covered the time from Hermione’s dropping her and her division in the ship’s boat, but she started telling it from when Hermione had captured the merchant vessel that had sent them there, so that Crandall would have the whole of it. Crandall interrupted only once, when she described Hermione’s last messages and transition to darkspace.
“Thought it was some kind of trap, he said?” Crandall asked.
“That is what Midshipman Ledyard relayed, sir.”
Crandall grunted. “Well, must’ve seen something that set him thinking that.” He lowered his eyes to his tablet again and gestured for Alexis to continue. She related the short action with the Hanoverese ship, glossing over, as she had in her report, the details of how she’d drawn him in to boarding range. The deception still left her a bit uncomfortable and she was unsure of how it would be received.
“And so we transitioned and made course for Penduli, sir,” she finished.
“Penduli? You’re four days past Penduli, Carew — missed it all entire!”
Alexis felt her face flush and looked down at the deck. “I … navigation has not been my greatest talent, sir.”
Crandall laughed. “I should say not, if you were trying for Penduli, no.” He took a long drink. “But practice will improve that for you. Though I’d not recommend another attempt like this one until you’ve improved.”
“No, sir.”
“Oh, chin up, Carew. Navigating isn’t the whole of it, lord knows. Ask Bligh!”
“Sir?”
Crandall raised his eyebrows. “Add some naval history to your studies, as well, Carew. Bligh. Salt-water, planet-bound sailor. Conned an open boat across seven thousand kilometers of ocean with no charts. Damned fine navigator.” He grinned. “Not so fine a captain, if why he was in that boat to begin with’s any sign.”
“No, sir,” Alexis agreed, feeling that was the safest course.
Crandall lowered his eyes to his tablet and frowned. “Still, Carew, you’ve not said, and there’s no mention in your report, of why that Hanoverese ship tried to board before you’d surrendered. Just ‘The Hanoverese attempted to board our boat and we took their ship.’” He raised his gaze to her again. “You didn’t attack after striking, did you?”
“No, sir!” Alexis hastened to assure him. “I didn’t strike our colors.”
“Then why did he approach to board instead of standing off and firing into you until you struck?”
“Sir, I —” She looked down at the deck, flushing. “— convinced him that the men were in no condition to resist.”
Crandall narrowed his eyes. “How, exactly?”
Alexis sighed and caught her lower lip between her teeth. “I told him that they were drunk.” She clenched her eyes shut, dreading his reaction. “And that I’d locked myself in the cockpit with no idea how to fly the boat or work the console … and that I was quite … frightened at being abandoned by Hermione.”
Crandall was silent for a moment, so long that Alexis became convinced he was furious, and then he laughed. And kept laughing, covering his mouth with one hand. Alexis opened her eyes, a bit relieved but still wary that it had been wrong thing to do.
“So … it was not a dishonorable thing to do, sir?”
Crandall cleared his throat, still chuckling occasionally. “You neither struck your colors nor surrendered?”
“He asked me to surrender sir, but I didn’t agree to.”
“What did you say, exactly?”
“That there didn’t appeared to be an alternative, sir.”
Crandall laughed again, a hearty, honest laugh from deep in the belly.
“No, Carew,” he said finally. “Not dishonorable. Not against the laws of war, at least.” He leaned forward to rest his arms on his desk. “War’s about deception, you see, Carew. Oh, there are rules — we respect surrender given or quarter asked for and such — but at its heart it’s about making the other bloke think you’re doing what you’re not, so he never sees the knife coming for him.” He shook his head. “No, you spoke to him in a naval uniform from a naval boat. If he chose to see —” His lips twitched. “— a little girl in pinafore lost on a street corner, well, more pity him, then.”
Alexis flushed at the description. “Thank you, sir.”
Crandall laughed again. “The beauty of it, Carew, is that you’ll be able to use that bit again if you have need.” He sat back. “After all, do you think the lad’ll ever tell anyone how you snookered him?” He sobered. “Now, the question is what to do with you.”
“Sir?”
“I’ll have my bosun transfer some stores to your ship, of course.”
Alexis inhaled sharply. She’d expected Crandall would send his own prize crew aboard, but it appeared she’d be allowed to stay in command a bit longer. Hearing even the little cutter referred to as her ship did something odd to her insides.
“And you’ll follow us on to Penduli … back to Penduli.” He grinned. “I see that look on your face, Carew. Got a taste for command, did you?”
Alexis grinned back. “Yes, sir, I suppose I have.”
“Good — enjoy it while you have the chance.” He nodded. “But I’ll examine your navigation plot myself when we arrive, so mark it well.”
“Aye, sir.”
Crandall frowned, then sighed. “I’m sorely tempted to steal you and your lads for Lively, I must admit.” Alexis felt her eyes widen. Would he? Did they have a chance to get away from Hermione? But Crandall shook his head. “No, I’ve a full midshipmen’s berth and a full crew, coming out of the Core. Wouldn’t do to leave Captain Neals short an entire division — and such a capable one, at that. So, assuming Hermione’s not in system when we arrive, you’ll report with your men to the Port Admiral.”
“Aye, sir.”
Alexis stood in front of the wide desk in Penduli’s Port Admiral’s office. Admiral Piercy had not invited her to sit, nor had he offered her a drink. In fact, he seemed quite put out to be spending any of his time on her at all — a thing for which Alexis didn’t really blame him. It was not, after all, common for an admiral to have junior midshipmen underfoot. No, once you’re an admiral you have lieutenants to do your bidding.
The offices she’d passed to reach the admiral’s were, in fact, full of lieutenants busily working. The only reason Piercy had asked to see her personally, she suspected, was for news of Hermione. Why he couldn’t wait to bring me in until he’d read my report, instead of leaving me to stand here …
“Hmph,” Piercy grunted, putting his tablet aside. “Seems you did well enough, Carew, given the circumstances.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Clever business drawing that Hannie lieutenant in. Quite.”
“Thank you, sir.” At Captain Crandall’s suggestion, she’d added the details to her report, so as to make it clear she had not struck or surrendered before the action.
“So, now my only thing is what to do with you.” He pursed his lips. “I’m loathe to deprive Captain Neals, but there are any number of ships in port that have a dire need for men and officers.”
<
br /> Alexis’ spirits lifted. She’d been quite disappointed at the lost chance for her and her lads to join Lively and Captain Crandall, perhaps this was another. Any ship would be better than returning to Hermione.
“Hermione’s due soon,” Piercy went on, “if Neals keeps to his past patrols.”
“If I may, sir,” Alexis ventured, “I’d hate to be idle, on the chance Hermione’s out longer than before. Or even just the men, so that they get into no mischief aboard the station?” Even if she couldn’t find another ship herself, if she could get her lads away from Neals, it would be worth it.
Piercy was turning to another portion of his desk, as though already dismissing the matter and moving on.
“No,” he said. “Neals is due soon. We’ll give him a fortnight before I strip him of a full division.” He frowned. “Take your men to the Assize Berth to wait — they’ll be put up there and kept out of trouble.”
Alexis caught her breath. The Assize Berth was where the men brought from the gaols were kept until assigned to a ship. The thought of her lads locked up with thieves and murderers was intolerable.
“The Assizes, sir? These are good lads, is there not somewhere —”
“I’m running a station, not an inn, Carew! The Assize Berth is where there’s room for them. Take them there or put them up at your own expense, for all I care, but make sure they’re all accounted for when Hermione puts in or I call for them. It’s your responsibility.”
“Aye, sir.”
“Now about this little ship you brought in.” His frown deepened. “You’re certain Hermione had transitioned before you took her?”
“Yes, sir. By nearly an hour, sir.”
“Hmph. Well, I’ll have to put it to the Prize Court as yours, then. Neals won’t be happy, I’m sure, but it’s on his head.”
“Sir?” she asked, unsure of what he meant.
“It’ll be your claim, Mister Carew. You and your little band, as there were no other ships In Sight.”
Alexis Carew: Books 1, 2, and 3 Page 38
