Alexis Carew: Books 1, 2, and 3

by J. A. Sutherland

  Alexis might have been mistaken, but she was quite sure she saw the lieutenant wink at her as the commodore replied.

  “But, Capitaine Neals, you have no ship.” She paused, allowing that to sink in. “So, the parole, yes? Capitaine Neals?”

  “Yes, of course, my officers and I give our parole.”

  “Non, Capitaine Neals, the parole is a personal decision. An agreement of honor — each must make his own, oui?”

  Neals looked aggravated and as though he simply wanted to get out of the cabin and on with whatever was next. “Very well. I give my parole. All proper now, commodore?”

  “Oui. And you, Lieutenant Williard?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  And on down the line with each officer agreeing in turn and Alexis wondering just what it was they were agreeing to. She understood that parole had something to do with an agreement between a prisoner and captor, but not the details and she didn’t want to agree blindly, even if it did appear to be a formality.

  “Aspirant Carew?”

  Alexis blinked, both from confusion at what to answer and as it had been some time since she’d been addressed as anything other than “mister”. And how was she to address the commodore? She seemed to grow irritated as each officer addressed her as “sir”, but what was appropriate to the Hanoverese? And would doing so irritate Captain Neals even more … which, having thought about it, might not be a bad thing. What more can he do to me now we’re prisoners?

  “I’m sorry, Commodore Balestra, I don’t understand this ‘parole’.”

  “Oh, just agree, Carew!” Neals said. “Do let us get on with this!”

  Alexis started to answer, but was cut off by Balestra, who stood and slammed her palms down on the desk.

  “Ta gueule, capitaine!” Neals blinked and looked shocked. “Her décision! Her accord! Her honneur! Mon dieu, vous cul arrogants … Delaine! Show these others away, I will explain to Aspirant Carew the parole.” She waited until the lieutenant had led Hermione’s other officers away and then muttered under her breath, “Connard.”

  She took a deep breath and looked Alexis in the eye. “Pardonner, mademoiselle. I have not the patience with these men.” Another deep breath and she smiled. “So, the parole, yes? It is an agreement between us. You, all of you, will go to the town of Courboin — a small town, but it has … the comfort, yes? With the parole, you will have the freedom of the town. You may shop in the market. You may walk in the hills. You will have a room in a house with the other officers. Very nice, yes?” She frowned. “Perhaps you will have a room in a house without the other officers. No matter. Without the parole you will stay in the prison. Not so very nice. No market, no hills, always under guard, yes? For this we ask very little — you do not fight us, you do not plan the escape, you do as we ask of you. It is a small thing.”

  “So it means I just … give up?” Alexis didn’t understand how to reconcile this, and how quickly the other officers had agreed to it, with the exhortations of the Naval Gazette — to fight on, to never give up. Neither, though, could she reconcile the Gazette’s description of the Hanoverese as the vicious instigators of the war with this woman and her lieutenant.

  Balestra frowned. “Aspirant Carew, you are the prisoner now. The parole is … the word, courtesy, yes? You do not fight with us and we do not guard you. Until comes the release or le échange, the trading of officers, or—” She smiled. “— la délivrance, some great rescue, yes?”

  “And the men, Commodore Balestra? Do they also give parole?”

  “Non. Le ordinaire? Only officers. The crew, they go to the prison … or what we may make a prison here.”

  “I’m sorry, Commodore Balestra.” Alexis wasn’t sure of the reason, but it simply didn’t feel right. Perhaps it was the speed with which Neals and the other officers had accepted the offer — she had little respect for them or what they thought was the right course of action. Perhaps it was the feeling that whatever effort went into guarding her would mean that much less effort available to fight New London — not so much that she cared about the course of a war she didn’t truly understand, but what if those who could have been guarding her were then free to attack others? Better, she thought, for them to be guarding her than shooting at Captain Grantham or Philip or even Roland. And, more so, it would feel like she was abandoning her lads, if they went off to prison while she remained free. “I’m afraid I cannot agree to this parole.”

  Balestra regarded her for a moment, then pursed her lips. “So. Very well then.”

  “I’m sorry, I just —”

  “Non, non. It is for you to know your heart, your honneur. If you cannot, then you cannot.” She looked toward the door and Alexis realized that the lieutenant had returned while they were speaking. “Ah, Delaine, bien. Aspirant Carew will not take the parole. See her to her place, will you? And to that other thing we discussed?”

  “Oui, yes. Mademoiselle Carew? This way?”

  Alexis was unsure of the courtesy due a foreign commodore, so she nodded to Balestra and followed the lieutenant through the hatchway. Once they were outside the commodore’s cabin, he led her through the ship and to the forward companionway before speaking.

  “Your Captain Neals, I do not think he approves of my commodore, Mademoiselle Carew.”

  “Captain Neals does not approve of women in the Service. It is entirely possible that he does not approve of women in the more general sense, come to think of it.”

  “Ah. This foolishness you have in your colonies still. I know it is not from your capital, for I have visited New London myself.”

  “I never have, only a few worlds on the Fringe and now the border.”

  “We here are not so foolish as to believe these things. Not so foolish as to believe that men and women are the same, you understand, but neither so foolish as to think they are so very different.” He shrugged, an eloquent gesture that seemed to communicate a great deal. “A man may do a thing, a woman may do a thing … so long as the thing is done well, who is to be concerned that it was a man or a woman who did the thing?”

  “I have cause to wish that belief were more widespread, Lieutenant Delaine.”

  “Non, Mademoiselle Carew … but I am remiss.” He stopped and faced her. “Lieutenant Delaine Thiebaud, at your service.” He held out his hand and she gave him hers, stifling her surprise when he raised it to his lips. “Enchanté, Mademoiselle Carew.”

  “Very well, Lieutenant Thiebaud, then,” Alexis said, retrieving her hand. The lieutenant’s behavior was, she thought, a bit exaggerated … and not at all appropriate for an escort to prison. “You are to take me to a cell, now, I believe? Or perhaps you have decided to escort me to a ball instead?”

  “Pardon me, mademoiselle?” he asked, looking downcast. “It is my nature. I am French, after all.”

  Alexis followed him as he resumed his way down the companionway. “French? Not Hanoverese?”

  “Oui, but …” He pulled out his tablet and held it where she could see as well. He brought up a star chart and did something that colored two areas of space, one quite a bit larger than the other. “Here we have your New London and Hanover, yes?”

  He drew his finger along the tablet where the two areas met and it turned red. “And here we fight.” He highlighted another section of space that bordered both of the first two. “This, then, La Grande République de France Parmi les Etoiles … The Grand Republic of France Among the Stars.” He took a deep breath and shook his head. “Yes, I know, but … we are French. Still, these —” He indicated a cluster of systems hanging down from that French Republic and between New London and Hanover. “— all the way to Giron, here, where we are, were once French, le Baie March, and are now of le Hanovre.”

  Alexis frowned. “If they conquered you, why are you fighting for them?”

  He shrugged as though to dismiss the thought. “Oh, this was long ago. We are of le Hanovre since my father, my grandfather, his grandfather.” He shrugged. “But, too, we are Franç
ais. Others go to the stars and are of New London or Hanovre or Ho-hsi. For us, no matter the star that is in our sky, we are of la belle France.”

  “And what of who claims to own that star?”

  Theiebaud’s face tightened a bit. “We are loyal to le Hanovre, of course, mademoiselle.”

  They walked along in silence for a while, then he stopped in the hold near the lower airlock.

  “Before we go to the planet’s surface,” he said, “these men have asked to speak to you before they go and my commodore has agreed.” He opened the hatchway and gestured for her to proceed him.

  Alexis entered a large space in the hold. A group of about thirty men were gathered at the far side all with heavy bags beside them. They looked up as she entered.

  “The other mutins have gone on, but these, they insisted to see you.”

  “Please stop calling them that,” Alexis said quietly as she crossed the compartment. There was only Nabb from her division, as none of the others had joined in taking the ship. She recognized men from all over the ship, though, some she only knew a little and didn’t understand why they would have waited to see her. She stopped short of them and waited, unsure of what to say, but the men quickly formed a line and approached her.

  “Jus’ wanted ter tell yer it weren’t about you, Mister Carew,” the first one said. “The ship an’ all, I mean. You was always fair.”

  He lowered his eyes and Alexis nodded, unsure of what to say other than, “Thank you.”

  He nodded to her, nodded to Theiebaud, then shouldered his bag and walked off to the open hatchway. The next man took his place.

  “Wisht I were in yer division, sir. Been a better sail if I were.”

  The line moved on with each man having his say and quickly leaving. Alexis found her chest tightening further as each man spoke and could hardly stand it when only Nabb was left.

  “Oh, Nabb,” she said sadly.

  “Sorry, Mister Carew. I disappointed you.”

  “Why? Whyever didn’t you just stay out of it?” She took his hands in hers. “Your family … you can’t ever go home again.”

  Nabb looked away. “Some of the lads, the younger ones, were hot to join in. Worried about after and where it’d leave ‘em if they didn’t, you see? Others were after seein’ as no one went fer you in it.” He shrugged. “You’d said you didn’t want us in it, soes I told ‘em I’d go an’ they hang back. Call ‘em in, like, if it were needful.” He shrugged. “Only ways I could think to keep ‘em out.”

  Alexis stared at him in shock as understanding dawned. She wrapped her arms around him and buried her face in his chest. “You protected my lads,” she whispered.

  Nabb patted her back awkwardly. “Weren’t but what were needed, sir.” Alexis stepped back from him and he shouldered his bag. “Best be going.”

  “Wait!” Alexis grabbed his arm to stop him. “Your family!”

  “Can’t go back to —”

  “If they must, if things get too hard for them —” She considered. Yes, her grandfather would understand. She’d write to him and if the holding hadn’t a need for hands, a little of her prize money could be used. “Dalthus. Carew Holding. If they can make their way there, even as indentures—” She held up her hand to stop Nabb’s objection. “Even as indentures, Nabb. My grandfather will make it right for them.”

  Nabb nodded. “Aye, sir.” He walked on.

  “Nabb!” she called out as he reached the hatchway. “Tell the others,” she continued when he turned. “For their families. Carew Holding on Dalthus, if they’ve need.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  Thiebaud waited until he had left. “I do not understand why you do this for the mutins, they have—”

  “Stop calling them that!” Alexis rounded on him. “You weren’t there! You don’t understand what they went through on that ship!” She shoved him away from her, at a loss for how to explain the months she’d spent aboard Hermione. “You do not know.”

  Theiebaud looked from her to the empty hatchway then back.

  “You love them very much.”

  “No, it’s not that … well, I care about them, certainly —”

  “Non, you love them and they love you. One does not argue with the French about this matter, it is a thing we know.” His brow furrowed as he looked toward the hatchway. “Très fidèle. Pardon. I was mistaken. I should wish for such a crew, I think.” He looked back at Alexis. “Or such a captain as you.”

  Alexis frowned. “I am not a captain, Lieutenant Thiebaud. Only a midshipman … if even that.”

  “There are captains of ships, mademoiselle,” he said, nodding, “but also captains of men.”

  Seventeen

  “Dinner, sir?”

  Alexis rolled over on her cot and opened her eyes. The light was muted by blankets draped over upended spare cots to form a sort of room for her. The Hanoverese “prison” was actually a converted warehouse in the town of Courboin. The small town of Courboin … barely more than a rural village, really, and the warehouse was the only one in the town.

  The men had been herded into the warehouse with a stack of cots and blankets, their bags and chests dumped through the doors, and left to make the best of the empty space. Hanoverese marines — or French, as Alexis had noted they all spoke that language and not the German of Hanover — guarded them. The guards were stationed at the doors and some walked a catwalk midway up the high walls of the warehouse, but, other than being watched, the New Londoners had been left to their own devices.

  “And is it a good, thick chop today, Isom?” Alexis asked.

  “Ah … rice and them beans, sir,” Isom said.

  Alexis rolled on to her back and stared up at the warehouse ceiling far above. “Of course.” There was ample food sent up from the town, but only that. It’d been rice and beans since they’d arrived, and little in the way of seasoning for flavor. Certainly none of the beef the men expected and were used to, not even beef from the vat. And, worse from the men’s perspective, no wine, beer, or spirits. If that wasn’t corrected soon, the Hanoverese would face their own mutiny, for the spacers cared not at all how fresh the water was if they were being denied their daily tot.

  “I find myself not at all hungry, Isom.” She rolled back onto her side to face away from the blanket “doorway” where Isom stood.

  “You should eat, sir … been three days since you ate more than a bit.”

  Alexis frowned. Had it been so long since she’d eaten? It didn’t seem so … and she wasn’t hungry. She was just so very tired. She closed her eyes.

  Alexis jerked awake. There was shouting and banging from the main room outside her blanketed partition. She sat up partway, then fell back to the cot. Her limbs felt leaden and her head hurt — or, rather, it both felt as though it were wrapped in cotton and pained her at the same time. A dull ache at the back and a pressure around the sides and front that made her want to lay back down and close her eyes.

  “Mister Carew, sir,” Isom said, coming in. “Askren and Durand are fighting, sir, you’ve got to come.”

  She started up again and then fell back with a sigh. “I’m not one of the officers any longer, am I, Isom? There’s little I can do.”

  “I …”

  “We’re not aboard ship, Isom, nor even a station. It’s prison.” Alexis rolled on to her side and clapped a pillow over her head. “The guards will handle it, I’m sure.”

  “Mademoiselle?”

  “She just lays there anymore, Lieutenant Thiebaud, sir. Eats a bit now and then, but …”

  Alexis sighed and rolled over. She wanted nothing more than to be left alone and sleep a bit longer. Sleep seemed to dull, at least for a time, the sharp ache of uselessness she felt.

  Thiebaud and Isom were beside her, looking down with concern on their faces. She closed her eyes again, wishing that they’d be gone when she opened them, would leave her be. Couldn’t they see that there was no point? She’d be stuck here for the duration of the war — her and
the lads. And there was nothing more to be done. This was their lives now.

  “Leave me be, please,” she whispered. Stuck here, couldn’t help the lads a bit and couldn’t do a thing about her grandfather’s lands. Not even a message from them. Useless … just useless.

  “Do you see, sir?” Isom asked.

  “Mademoiselle Carew?” Thiebaud asked. He sat on the edge of the cot and rested a palm on her forehead.

  “I’m not sick, lieutenant,” she said, rolling away from him and closing her eyes again. “I’m simply tired.”

  “Do you see, sir,” Isom repeated. He lowered his voice. “She’s not even —” He whispered. “She’s not bathed in some time, sir. Not like her at all.”

  Alexis wanted to scream at them to leave, but couldn’t find the energy. Of course she hadn’t bathed — the warehouse had no bath or shower, and only a pair of heads. Their condition, with seventy men in residence, was entirely unpleasant. It was all she could do to make her way there for necessary business, the thought of trying to bathe there was more than she could bear. And what would the point of it be, anyway?

  “Will you please take some food, mademoiselle?” Thiebaud asked.

  “I’m quite capable of telling when I’m hungry. Enough, please, the both of you,” Alexis said, eyes still closed.

  “Something from the market, perhaps, mademoiselle?” Thiebaud persisted. “There is a shop with the chocolat, oui?”

  That stirred her a bit, but probably not as Thiebaud intended. Alexis rolled to face them and raised herself on one arm. Even that little movement seemed to be too much, but the flash of anger she felt at his suggestion spurred her.

  “Chocolate, lieutenant? You’ll offer me this while my lads eat your beans morning, noon, and night?” The brief flash of anger faded, replaced by weariness. She collapsed on the cot, burying her face in the pillow. “Will you please just leave me be?”

  The shadows were back. Black, swirling masses that spun around and around her before coalescing into shapes. The figures formed and moved toward her — pointing, accusing. More of them than ever before — how could she possibly have failed so many?