Alexis was stunned. On her previous cruise with Merlin, the pirate ship Grappel had been deemed her prize by a fluke of the Prize Court’s misunderstanding, to have another prize submitted so was astounding.
“Quite,” Piercy said. “Can see from the look on your face you hadn’t expected that. Don’t count it too quickly, though, there’s a chance Captain Neals might appeal any award. He’s that right, you know.” He busied himself with his tablet. “See Dawbers outside, he’ll complete the submission on that.”
“Aye, sir. Thank you for your time, sir.”
Alexis left his office and paused by the marine sentry just outside. “Dawbers?” she asked. “I assume he’ll be a lieutenant?”
The marine nodded toward a nearby desk where a harried looking lieutenant was hunched over his desk.
“Thank you.” She approached the desk and waited for a moment, but the lieutenant appeared not to notice her. Finally she cleared her throat gently. The lieutenant looked up.
“Yes?” His voice was resigned.
“Lieutenant Dawbers, sir? Carew, midshipman off of Hermione. Admiral Piercy said that you’d be the one to submit a prize on my behalf.”
Dawbers drew a deep breath and let it out in a prolonged sigh, as though he were most put upon.
“Of course he did,” he said. He slid his fingers over his console rapidly. “What is the ship name?”
“Sittich,” Alexis told him. “Brought in this morning, in company with Captain Crandall and Lively.”
“Here it is.” Dawbers frowned. “Yourself and … twenty-five men? No other claimants?”
“Admiral Piercy said it should be submitted so.”
“Hmph,” Dawbers snorted, sounding remarkably like his admiral. “Well, if he’s said.” His fingers flew over the console again. “Very well. A Hanoverese cutter, one hundred fifty tons burthen … no cargo to speak of, I see.” He looked up. “We’ll submit it with a value of a thousand pounds for the agents. The Prize Court may raise that, of course, if they see fit.” He frowned. “I’d advise you not to rely on getting all of your share, Mister Carew. If your captain should challenge the award …”
“No, sir, I shan’t.”
“Good.” He smiled suddenly. “Though if you were to sell your certificate to an agent, you’d come out well ahead, I think. Even at ten percent, you’d receive a tidy sum and the risk would be on the buyer. Be nice to see one of those sharps stick himself for a change!”
“Yes, sir, it would,” she agreed, smiling herself.
The less reputable prize agents haunted the naval stations, looking for spacers and less well-off officers who hadn’t the patience or means to wait for the Prize Court to make a final determination. They’d purchase the initial certificates, rights to what the award would eventually be, for a much reduced rate — sometimes even less than the ten percent Dawbers had mentioned — then collect the full amount when the Prize Court finally paid out.
Of course, if the Prize Court found that the ship was not lawfully a Prize or valued it lower than the initial estimate, the agent might receive significantly less or nothing at all. Generally, though, they paid so little that their profit was quite high.
“Well, here you are, then.” He ran a finger over his console and Alexis’ tablet pinged. “Yours and those for your men. You’ll have to release those, in lieu of your captain being here.”
“Yes, sir. And thank you.”
Dawbers waved a hand in acknowledgment, already back at work on some other task.
Alexis left the offices and walked up the station corridor to where she’d left Nabb in charge of the men. They were clustered nearby, keeping out of the traffic moving up and down the corridor. She pulled out her tablet to review the certificates and froze. She’d known what the amounts would be, but seeing them was somehow different. Sittich was submitted to the prize court with her as the only officer. At six full eighths of the thousand pound value, the claim was for seven hundred fifty pounds. A sizable amount. Moreover, the two eighths that went to the crew, two hundred fifty pounds, amounted to ten pounds for each of the two dozen men of her division and Hearst, the pilot.
A year’s pay for most of the spacers. Or a few days’ drunkenness if they sold them to an agent — which they’d likely do. Her own certificate she’d simply deposit with her agent, or their branch on Penduli, a reputable firm recommended to her by Captain Grantham on Merlin. They’d charge her ten percent and handle all of the dealings with the Prize Court for her, simply adding any award to her holdings already in their accounts. Cupples, Beesley, and Stokes, though, were prize agents for officers — and officers with a certain amount of coin to put on account to start with — not for common spacers.
Alexis considered for a moment. She’d already decided that she’d find a place for the lads to wait out the next fortnight. The thought of sending them into the Assize Berths was more than she could bear. And she hated to see them cheated out of the prize money, but if she advised them to put their certificates aside and wait out the Prize Court’s findings, they’d likely not listen. For a spacer, a pound in the hand while in port was worth far more than ten at some later day. And with no guarantee the award wouldn’t be split with all of Hermione’s crew in the end, if Neals challenged the award and won.
And it’s sure and certain he’ll challenge it when he hears. She had a sudden thought.
“Nabb,” she said, feeling for how much coin she had with her and pulling out several shillings. “I’ve one last thing to do. Find the lads a pub and buy them a pint or two. No more than two, mind you, and watch them so no one runs off.”
“Aye, sir.”
“Watch Isom, especially. Now we’re back on a station … well, the temptation might be too great.”
“I’ll have Matheny sit with ‘im, sir. Steady lad, he is.”
“Thank you. I shouldn’t be more than an hour or two.”
“Aye, sir. Sir?”
“Yes?”
“I’ll watch ‘em, sir, but there’s not a one who’ll run.” He looked down at the deck then back to her. “They’d be in a Hannie prison if it weren’t fer you and know it. They’ll not run on your watch.”
“Well, without them I’d be in one myself, so we’ll call it even all around, shall we?”
Ten
“Are you quite well, Mister Tapscott?”
Alexis watched the man with concern. Small, no more than a few centimeters taller than Alexis was, and nervous looking, he was walking close to her, his eyes darting quickly from place to place. More than his eyes, really, for he seemed to be unable to look somewhere without moving his entire head to point at it.
She could understand his nervousness. There were no pubs near the Port Admiral’s offices that would welcome two dozen common spacers, nor that the spacers would choose to frequent, come to that. Nabb had led the men down two levels to an area where they’d be more comfortable. Though the corridor here had just as many lights as the others, it seemed dimmer and narrower. Or, perhaps, it was that the many tables and food carts the merchants had set up outside their shops, or someone else’s shop, simply took up the space. Regardless, it was not a place that a representative of Cupples, Beesley, and Stokes, Registered Prize and Investment Agents, would normally frequent.
Tapscott licked his lips, head never stopping. “Quite all right, Miss Carew! Very well, in fact. A part of the station I’ve never visited — fascinating! Simply fascinating.”
Alexis smiled. Well, he’s not nervous, then. “We’re here, then,” she said, stopping short of the pub’s hatchway. “You’re quite clear on the way of this, Mister Tapscott?”
“Absolutely, Miss Carew!” The man actually rubbed his hands together. “A spot of intrigue, yes?”
“But important, Mister Tapscott. Please do remember that.”
Alexis thought she’d found a solution to the men’s prize certificates, but it would take a bit of deception. She knew they’d not accept any funds from her — a pint of beer, perhap
s, but nothing more. She’d likely even have to hide that she planned to pay for their berthing while on the station from her own funds, or they’d march themselves straight to the Assize Berth on their own. No, they were proud men and looked poorly on what they considered charity from anyone, even officers they liked.
The amounts of the prize awards, even at a bit over ten pounds each, were too small for most reputable agents to bother with. In fact, her own accounts, at well over a thousand pounds now, were smaller than what Cupples, Beesley, and Stokes would normally handle, and it was only Captain Grantham’s referral that had gotten her an account. Luckily for her, their resident agent, Mister Tapscott, was enamored with the intrigue of her request and willing to go along with her.
“I will, Miss Carew. Have no fear.”
“All right, then,” she said, sliding the hatch open and entering.
The pub was small, barely large enough to hold the two dozen spacers of her division. Nabb had chosen it well, since it made keeping an eye on the men easier and the large crowd would keep the pub owner happy. Tapscott followed her in and Alexis made her way to the center of the room. The men had been loud when she entered, but they quieted quickly and looked at her.
“Had a good wet, lads?” she asked. When they’d settled down again, she pulled a free chair from underneath a table and stood on it so they could all see her. “I’ve news of the prize submission, so settle in and listen well.” The room was suddenly dead quiet, with only the gentle clink of the pub tender washing glasses. “They’ve submitted Sittich at a thousand pounds value — moreover, they’ve said our boat was the only ship In Sight for the action. Hermione isn’t in it.” She waited while those who realized what that meant cheered. “Yes, the whole lot’s to go to us in this room.” More cheers and she held a hand up. “But—”
“Quiet up, you lot!” Nabb yelled.
“Thank you,” she said, smiling at him. “But, and you know there’s always a ‘but’ with the Prize Court, isn’t there? Captain Neals could still challenge it for Hermione and all her crew.”
“Quiet!” Nabb yelled again into the shouts.
“Nothing’s set, lads,” Alexis said. “But the certificates are out and yours are each quite a bit — ten pounds even.” She waited a moment for the new cheers to be silenced. “So I’ve your certificates here and you can take them out to some sharp who’ll give you, what, one or two of ten? Well, that seems a poor bargain when you mean to give some lubber a full eight pounds you risked your lives for, doesn’t it?”
She gestured Tapscott forward. The little man looked around at the spacers and raised one hand to give a shaky wave. “This is Mister Tapscott of my own prize agents. A proper prize agent, one that officers, even my last captain, use, right? Tell them the offer, Mister Tapscott.”
Tapscott cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable being the center of so much attention. “Yes, so, the offer is that my firm will hold your certificates for the fee of ten percent—”
“What! We can get ten on the bloody corridor out there! Make it twenty!”
Tapscott looked around bewildered.
Nabb made his way through the tables and smacked the spacer on the back of the head. “Allmond, ya stupid git, it’s him what gets the ten!”
“Who gets the rest then?” Allmond asked, rubbing his head.
“We do!” Nabb shook his head in disgust.
“But —” Allmond furrowed his brow, then his eyes opened wide. “That’s nine tens, that is!”
“Ah, yes,” Tapscott said. “So, a ten percent fee and we will hold the certificates until the Prize Court makes its final determination, but we will advance you two pounds now and indemnify you against any loss should the Prize Court’s final award be less than that.”
There was silence for a moment, then, “What’s that mean, then?”
Isom stood up. “It means,” he said, “that it’s two pounds for each of us now, the rest, less his ten percent, when the Prize Court finally decides, and he’s the only one gets buggered if they send it sour.”
“Well that’s all right then!”
“More’n all right! Let’s hear it for Mister Tapscott, lads!”
Tapscott looked around, grinning and eyes wide at the sudden cheers.
Alexis smiled too as Tapscott pulled out his tablet for the men to sign over their certificates and receive their two pound advance in coin. Smiled, at least, until it was Isom’s turn and she watched as he carefully read the contract then looked up at her in surprise. She shook her head, willing him to remain silent. Of course it would be Isom, the legal clark, who’d be the only one of the crew to actually read the thing and see that it’s my money for the advance and me taking the risk. Ten pound accounts were far too small for Cupples, Beesley, and Stokes to bother with, but they’d manage just about any sort of arrangement for a fee.
Isom signed the contract, accepted his two pounds, and stepped aside for the next man. He paused by Alexis. “Thank you, sir.”
Alexis squeezed his shoulder gently, then hopped back onto the chair. “All right, lads! One last round here, then it’s off to find a berth for you. Nabb, do you have any thoughts on that?”
Alexis stood in the crowded civilian corridor, uncertain as to whether she really wanted to do this. The smaller corridor branching off this one was much as she remembered … as much as she could remember it, given her state the last time she was here. Where the main corridor was clearly commercial, with well-lit storefronts and signs for each establishment, the side corridor was narrow, narrower than she remembered, with no signs, only numbers, above each hatchway. She clenched her hands tightly, running her thumb over the smooth glass of the bottle she held and wondered at her nervousness.
Her lads were all off carousing with their newfound coin and the inn Nabb had found for them was empty. Well, pub, really, for they’d discovered that none of the inns in the Naval section of the station would cater to common spacers, only to officers. Spacers were rarely granted more than a watch or two stationside and then expected back aboard their ship — if they were between ships the Navy housed them in the Assize Berths to keep them from running.
They’d had to settle for a pub that offered a few sleeping pods available for those who merely wanted a quick nap before resuming their carouse. Ten pods between them, so Alexis had assigned one each to herself, and the pilot, Hearst, then placed the lads onto three watches to split time in those remaining. But with so much coin in their pockets, none had felt the need to sleep or relax the first night, so the pub was empty and Alexis left at loose ends.
She’d realized suddenly, sitting by herself in the empty pub, just how alone she truly was. Not just on the station, where she knew no one but her lads from Hermione — and an officer certainly couldn’t simply sit and talk to them, they wouldn’t stand for it — but even aboard the ship itself.
The hatchway she was watching slid open and a woman in a merchant ship’s uniform came out. She ducked her head and hurried to the main corridor, quickly easing herself into the flow of people. Alexis shook her head in wonder.
The lads make a visit to a bawdy house and it’s a public event, with three cheers and slaps on the back, but I’ve yet to see a woman leave there with her head up. She hesitated, realized she was doing the same by hanging around uncertainly, and squared her shoulders.
Alexis strode across the corridor, down the narrower side corridor, and tapped her finger to the hatchway’s call button. In a moment, the hatch slid open and Alexis recognized the woman who opened it from her previous visit.
“Navy?” the woman said, then her eyebrows went up and she stood aside. “Come in, dear, I remember you. Six … eight weeks, has it been?”
Alexis entered, flushing a bit and clearing her throat at being remembered. She nodded, uncertain what to say, and realized that she didn’t recall the woman’s name from her first visit.
“And what can we do for you tonight, dear?”
“I …” Alexis swallowed hard. �
�I was wondering if Mister Blackmon might be available?”
The woman smiled. “‘Mister Blackmon’, is it?” she asked, causing Alexis to flush more as she realized patrons of the establishment would almost certainly be on a first name basis with its inhabitants. The woman glanced at the screen of red and green circles. “As it happens, ‘Mister Blackmon’ is indeed available for you.” She raised an eyebrow again. “Will it be all night in again, then?”
Alexis felt as though her face might burst into flames at any moment, but nodded. She fished in her pocket for the coins, not wanting the transaction to appear on her accounts, even though she was the only one who reviewed them. “One pound …” She cleared her throat again on hearing an odd catch in her voice. “One pound seven, yes?”
The woman nodded and took the coins. “Room seven, dear.”
Alexis climbed the stairs and paused outside the hatch to the room, then clutched her bottle tightly and rapped softly on it. She flushed again, remembering how she’d simply walked in the last time, thinking it would be an empty room. What if he’d just been standing there in …
The hatch slid open wide and Alexis realized her nervousness had her gazing down at the deck, which was not such a demure thing to do when a man opens the hatch to his room wearing only a very short silk robe that barely covered his … Does he own any trousers at all, I wonder?
She jerked her gaze upward to his face.
Cort Blackmon’s face broke in a wide grin. “Alexis?”
She cleared her throat. “Yes, I …”
“Come in, lass,” he said, standing aside. “Come in.” Alexis hurried inside and he slid the hatch shut behind her. “Ha’ye been well, lass?”
“I have, I suppose,” Alexis said, then hurried on, wanting to make herself clear. “I thought we might … talk again? That is to say, the last time … you said it was not uncommon.” She bit her lip. “To talk, that is.”
“Aye, talkin’s common enow,” Cort said, his lips twitching. He reached out and took the bottle from her hand. He held it up and raised an eyebrow. “Bourbon? An’ ‘ere it was the Scotch whiskey y’were goin’ on aboot so, last y’were here. Been a fair bit since I was home an’ tasted it m’self.” He took two glasses from a nearby table, gesturing to a chair next to it, and opened the bottle.
Alexis Carew: Books 1, 2, and 3 Page 39
