Alexis tried to scream, but no sound emerged. She tried to turn and run, but her legs felt rooted in place.
The figures grew closer, far closer than they ever had before and Alexis felt her heart hammering in fear. She knew this was a dream and tried desperately to wake herself, but failed. What would happen if they reached her? This darkness, so like darkspace yet so different, terrified her.
Closer. Shadowy, outstretched hands reached for her. She thought to sway her body from them, even if her feet were rooted to the ground, but they were all around her. Surrounding her and moving ever closer.
Alexis woke with a gasp, heart hammering and breath ragged. Her undershirt was drenched in sweat and every movement brought a chill from the damp fabric. She lay for a moment, trying to control her breathing.
Need for the head drove Alexis from her cot. She pulled the fabric partition that made up her doorway to one side and stepped out. The men were lying about, some pacing aimlessly, others gathered in small groups. She made her way to the head, acknowledging the nods of those nearby. Those in line moved out of her way and she thanked them, though why she should be in any hurry to enter the little compartment was beyond her.
Seventy men and two toilets is not a pleasant spectacle. The condition of the head had gotten worse and worse as time went on, until Alexis dreaded having to use it. She considered cleaning it herself, but hadn’t the energy. She washed her hands in a sink not much cleaner than the rest and looked at herself in the grime-covered mirror. She had dark circles under her eyes and her hair hung dank and limp.
When was the last time I brushed it, let alone washed? Of course the thought of bathing in this room was somewhat terrifying to begin with. And the effort it would take.
Her mouth, though, felt fuzzy and it might be time to brush her teeth. Despite the terror of the dream, fatigue dragged at her. Later, perhaps, after she’d eaten. She’d surely feel hungry enough to eat a bit later — just a brief nap first, perhaps an hour or two.
She stepped out and nodded thanks to the men again, then made her way back to her cot. Across the warehouse, there was shouting and a two groups started shoving each other. Alexis looked around, expecting the bosun or one of his mates to break it up, but of course Maslin was dead along with one of his mates back on Hermione and a second mate had been one of the mutineers. There was only Lain left with them of the bosun’s mates, and he likely had no authority here in the prison. Her throat constricted and her eyes burned. She picked up her pace, despite how very tired she was. Once back in her cot she could sleep and not think so much about things. The dream surely wouldn’t come again so soon, would it?
“I heard you were about, Mister Carew. I’ve a bit of soap and a fresh uniform, if you like?”
Alexis turned and found Isom waiting beside her, one of her uniforms held out.
“No, Isom, I don’t believe that’s necessary. I’ll just lie down for a bit.” Her attention turned back to the scuffle, which had broken up, but she could see that one of the men was sporting a bloody nose.
“I’ve been talking with the lads, sir. This lot aren’t meant to be idle. Hard to go from working all day to loose ends, it is.”
“I suppose, yes.”
“Captain should see to that.”
“I suppose so, yes, Isom.” She started walking again, but his words nagged at her. It wasn’t like Isom to mention the captain, not at all. “Wait, what do you mean?”
“The idleness, sir, it’s not good for the men. They’re used to being set their tasks — left on their own like this, it’s like a too long holiday. The captain should see to that. And to the other things.”
“What do you mean? What other things?”
“What needs doing. Those heads for one, they’re a right mess. But more than that, we’ve need of a few more of them. He should tell the Hanoverese what we need.”
“The captain’s given his parole, Isom, he’s off in town with the others.”
“Well, yes, but it’s still his responsibility.”
Alexis turned to him. “What makes you think this?”
“Spoke to the others, sir. Some were taken in the last war and know the way of it. Captain’s supposed to check in on us, see we’re keeping up as we should, and have what we need.”
“He’s not been here even once, has he?” She looked around the large space, noting the disarray and clumps of men idling about. Plates of half-eaten food and dirty clothing strewn everywhere. Even the marines’ area was a cluttered mess.
What must they be thinking? He wasn’t much of a captain to begin with, but now even he’s abandoned them. A horrible thought occurred to her. “And if the captain’s not part of those captured, who’s to do it then?”
“Most senior officer, I suppose, as with anything.”
Damn me. Alexis closed her eyes. None of them, not Neals nor even Williard, nor any of them had bothered to come and check on the men. And I abandoned them, too, sulking in my cot — too sorry for myself to care for them.
“I’m sorry, Isom.”
“Sir?”
Who to start with? Her eyes fell on the marines. They’d lost their lieutenant, and both sergeants, along with so much of their company in the mutiny. She’d never known them to leave a thing out of place, but their cots were now covered with discarded uniform bits and twisted blankets, and not a one of them was properly in uniform.
Alexis strode over to them, Isom following her. “Sir?” he asked again.
“A moment, Isom, I need to—” Her eye fell on Moberly, one of the corporals she’d sparred with regularly. She knew the others respected him. She stopped near him.
“Help you, Mister Carew?” he asked, looking up from his cot.
Alexis was suddenly at a loss for what to say. Should she talk to him about what to do to correct things? No, most of them have spent their lives aboard ship — it’s what they know, all they know. They need a ship’s way of doing things. She clenched her jaw. Not Neals’ ship, though, a proper ship.
“Is that how you address an officer, Moberly?”
“Sir?”
“Moberly! Why are you on your arse when you’re speaking to me?” Alexis paused while he jumped to his feet. She ran her eyes over him, seeing him flush as he realized what a state he was in. “Is that proper kit for a marine, Moberly?”
“No, sir!”
“Is this how marines keep a berth, Moberly?”
He looked around desperately. “No, sir!”
“I’m naming you sergeant, Moberly!”
“Sir? Can you do that, sir?”
“Do you see anyone here who’ll stop me, Moberly?”
“No, sir!”
“Then you’re a sergeant until I say differently. You’ll be paid a sergeant if it has to come out of my own pocket. And you’ll behave a proper sergeant or I’ll bloody well know the reason why! Do you understand me, Moberly?”
“Yes, sir! Aye, sir!”
“I’ll inspect this berth in one hour’s time, sergeant! Do not disappoint me.”
“Aye, sir! No, sir!”
Alexis turned to the other side of the warehouse and found the rest of the crew still and staring at her. She ran her gaze over their faces until she saw the man she wanted.
“Lain!”
“Sir?”
“You’re bosun now, Lain! Pick two mates and do I need to tell you what I want in an hour’s time?”
“No, sir! Aye, sir!”
Alexis watched the sudden flurry of activity with satisfaction. “That’s what Lieutenant Thiebaud was here for, wasn’t it, Isom? None of the other officers would speak to him about the men, so he came to me?”
“I expect so, sir.”
Damn me for a self-indulgent fool. “All right, then.” She walked over to one of the guards. “I’d like to speak to Lieutenant Thiebaud when he’s time for it, if you please.”
“Que?”
“Oh, don’t you ‘que’ me. There’s not a one of you doesn’t understand every word
we say, I can see it in your eyes. Now my compliments to Lieutenant Thiebaud and I’d be pleased to speak to him at his convenience.”
The guard looked at her, swallowed once, and then nodded.
Alexis looked around, pleased to see that there wasn’t a man in sight who wasn’t involved in some task. Even the line for the head had disappeared.
“How much of that soap did you say you had, Isom?”
“You wished to speak to me, Mademoiselle Carew?”
Alexis nodded and gestured for Thiebaud to sit, she’d had a pair of chairs added to the space partitioned off for her in preparation for this meeting.
“Thank you for coming, lieutenant. Yes, there are some things I’d like to speak to you about.” She settled herself in the other chair. “First, I think, is this ‘mademoiselle’ business. I do not believe, Lieutenant Thiebaud, that you refer to fellow officers in your own service in such a way.” She hurried on as she saw him start to speak. “I do not mean that I think you intend any disrespect with it. I truly don’t. But I do believe that it … is a different sort of respect, and not at all what you would show to a midshipman in your own service. Am I mistaken?”
Thiebaud hung his head. “Non, you are not mistaken. I have spoken to you not as the fellow officer, but as the beautiful woman.” He looked at her without raising his head. “You must forgive me, it is my nature … I am French.”
Alexis had to bite the inside of her lip to keep from smiling, even as she felt her face flush. The man was entirely irrepressible, it seemed.
“Tell me, lieutenant, this ‘I am French’ — does it work well on the girls in Hanoverese ports?”
Thiebaud raised his head, grinning broadly. “Très bien, Aspirant Carew. Very well.”
Alexis laughed despite herself. Irrepressible, entirely too handsome, and the devil himself was in that smile. “You are a bad man, lieutenant.”
Thiebaud shrugged. “I—”
“You are French. Yes, I begin to understand, I think.”
“It is good for you to laugh, Aspirant Carew. The day is brightened.”
Alexis felt herself blush again and took a deep breath. At least she’d won the first round and he’d stopped the ‘mademoiselle’ business. Aspirant was likely French for her rank. She sat up and squared her shoulders. “To business, I think, lieutenant?”
“Bien sûr, of course. What do you wish to speak of?”
“Toilets.”
Thiebaud blinked. “Les toilettes?”
“There are two.” She saw his shocked look. “For seventy men. And myself.” She lifted a bucket from behind her chair and placed it between them. “There are no showers. I bathed in that today.” She slid the bucket toward him and raised her eyebrows. “This is acceptable to the French?”
“Non,” he stammered. “No, not even to le Hanovre.”
“Did no one review these facilities before you put my crew here, lieutenant?”
“We asked the town for a place —”
“And received an empty warehouse with no facilities. This must be corrected.”
“It will take some time to find another place, I think.”
“No,” Alexis said. “My men have already suffered here. There’s room enough for more heads, bring in workers and have them built.”
“Non, this is not possible. So many are at the war, there are none to spare for this.”
“Then bring in the tools and supplies,” Alexis said. “My men are idle and it would do them well to have some honest work.”
Thiebaud looked shocked. “Give to prisoners the tools?” He shook his head. “Non, this is not done.”
“Well one or the other must be done, lieutenant. I want ten ‘toillettes’ out there within the fortnight and a dozen or more showers.”
“Aspirant Carew,” Thiebaud said stiffly. “You forget yourself. You are aspirant and I am lieutenant — it is not for you to give to me the orders.”
“I apologize, lieutenant. But I am, as I’m sure you’ve found, the highest ranked New London officer here who gives a bloody fig about those lads.” She sighed. No, there were likely all sorts of rules the Hanoverese had about such things. Thiebaud would have to want to help her, and that wouldn’t come as an enemy officer. Well … winnings are only worth it if you spend them on something useful, I suppose. “If my asking you as a fellow officer will not move you, then I am afraid you leave me no other choice but one.”
“And what is this?” Thiebaud asked.
“I will ask you as a beautiful woman,” Alexis said, grinning broadly. “You are French, are you not?”
Thiebaud regarded her for a moment. “You have just this moment demanded I address you as aspirant, not as the beautiful woman. And now you seek to use it for what you want?”
Alexis nodded. “Yes. Though it would have been far simpler if you’d just agreed to what I asked in the first place.”
The corners of Thiebaud’s mouth twitched then he nodded. “This thing, I cannot agree to, but my commodore, perhaps.” He stood. “Come, we will ask.”
“Now?”
“Deux toilettes? This very minute, I think.”
He led Alexis past the guards and out of the warehouse. It was her first view of the town, though a brief one as they immediately boarded Thiebaud’s boat. Like most ship’s boats, it had no windows in the passenger compartment, but Alexis was able to see a bit of the town as they walked to it.
The town of Courboin was larger than the village she’d grown up near on Dalthus, but smaller than the main port town there of Port Arthur. Based on what she saw of it, she estimated there were, perhaps, a thousand people living in the town itself. Set in a long, narrow valley, she could see fields stretching away in all directions, smaller near the town, for the workers, and much larger farther away where the more mechanized farms for export were. Much like Dalthus. She could look down the road from the warehouse toward the main street and see the town square no more than a kilometer away.
“Hermione’s other officers are there?” she asked.
“Oui,” Thiebaud said. “They share a house there, near the square.”
So close and couldn’t be bothered.
They boarded the ship’s boat and Alexis settled into her seat.
“Lieutenant?” she asked.
“Non.” Thiebaud sat next to her and adjusted his seat straps. He looked at her sternly. “You have decided to work your — the word, wiles, yes — upon me, mademoiselle. You cannot do this and still I am Lieutenant Thiebaud to you and you are Aspirant Carew to me. We must now be Delaine and Alexis, oui?”
Alexis narrowed her eyes. It was a bit surprising that he knew her given name. It was in her records, of course, but would he have remembered it from weeks before when she was first captured? Or had he looked it up more recently? And did she really care? It had been quite some time, since she’d left Merlin, in fact, since she’d been on a first name basis with anyone. Certainly she’d never met anyone who spent nearly as much effort trying to charm her, obvious and flamboyant as his efforts were. It was, in fact, a relief after the stiff formality and thinly veiled hostility of Hermione’s gunroom. Her earlier resolve that he respect her rank wavered. Is it so very wrong to want a friend?
“Very well … Delaine.” She restrained a smile and waved a finger at him. “But do not make presumptions or it will be right back to lieutenant and aspirant for you, understand?”
“I shall be always on the best behavior, Alexis.”
He very definitely — and deliberately, I’m sure — put more of his accent into her name than was absolutely necessary, something she found, to her surprise, that she rather liked. It is not so very wrong to want a friend. Or just someone that she could talk to. She realized suddenly that Delaine, a foreign officer — an enemy officer — was the first person she’d felt comfortable talking to in … How long? More than six months aboard Hermione and another month here. Nigh half a year with no one to speak to but those other midshipmen and not even a message from s
omeone else. How she longed for news from home. No one save a paid evening with Cort Blackmon?
“Your face is clouded, ma petite.”
“It has been a trying time. And odd that capture and imprisonment have been the least of it.” She forced a smile. “What was that you called me?”
Thiebaud shrugged. “It is a way of naming someone. It is no matter.” He gestured forward. “We will arrive at my commodore’s ship soon.”
Alexis studied him, but he looked steadily forward, betraying nothing. Which for someone so expressive, betrays quite a lot, doesn’t it. I shall have to find out what this ma petite actually means … and all his other French bits. What she’d just thought struck her and she felt her face grow warm.
“Are you well, Alexis? Your face has colored.”
She studied the seatback in front of her, face as expressionless as she could manage. “It is no matter.”
They sat in silence for a while until the boat docked with Commodore Balestra’s flagship. Alexis realized that she had been so concerned with other things that she had paid no attention to the ship when last she was aboard.
“Delaine, what is the ship? I should have asked before.”
Delaine smiled. “She is Forte, fifty guns, for your Navy they would be of twenty-four and eight pounds.”
Alexis followed him down the companionway and then aft to the commodore’s cabin. She noted the guns, larger and more numerous than those on Hermione. Half again as many, I’d not want to meet this ship in combat.
She also noted the looks from the crew, mostly suspicious or angry. She didn’t blame them, she was the enemy, after all, but listening to their muttered comments led her to notice something else. The crew, all of them that she heard, seemed to be speaking French — or, at least, as near to French as she could recognize — and not the German of Hanover.
“Delaine, the crew — are you all French?”
“Oui, we are the … the word, force for local defense, you understand?” He glanced at her, sliding a hatch open. “All are from these worlds nearby, le Baie March.”
Alexis Carew: Books 1, 2, and 3 Page 47
