Alexis Carew: Books 1, 2, and 3

by J. A. Sutherland

  She’d explained to him more than once that she did not know Commodore Balestra well. She’d only met the woman a handful of times while she was a prisoner on Giron, one of the worlds Hanover had taken from the French Republic a century before.

  That the people of those worlds, and Commodore Balestra who commanded the fleet drawn from there, still thought of themselves as French was indisputable. But Alexis doubted whether the leaders of the Republic would take her word for it.

  And if they do, she thought, how will Balestra even know?

  The last reports Eades had said the fleet from the Berry March, La Baie Marche as the French called those worlds, had been ordered deep into Hanover space and replaced with ships from Hanover proper.

  At least that places Delaine far from the fighting.

  Delaine Theibaud was the Frenchman Alexis knew far better than the commodore, and Alexis smiled at the memory. The flamboyant lieutenant could make the most outrageous statements and then beg her forgiveness with a grin and, “You must forgive me … I am French.”

  Odd as it sounded even to her, her time as a prisoner on Giron had been the happiest she’d known since leaving her home on Dalthus, solely because it was time spent so much with Delaine.

  So, we must convince the French, then find the Berry March fleet, then somehow get a message to Commodore Balestra which convinces her of the Republic’s intent … and even then we must still convince the various worlds of the Berry March of all this.

  Alexis shook her head. It all seemed quite complicated and more than they could hope to accomplish with just the one ship, Named or no.

  She slid the hatch to the wardroom open and entered. Lieutenants Hollingshed and Nesbit were there at the wardroom’s table, sharing a bottle of wine with Major Howey, who led Shrewsbury’s marines.

  Isom, a spacer who’d attached himself to her as a sort of personal servant during her captivity on Giron, stood by the wardroom cupboards with Bonsall, the wardroom’s regular steward. He raised his eyebrows in enquiry and she nodded slightly.

  Alexis seated herself at the table with the others and Isom brought her a cup, which Hollingshed filled for her, drawing a glare from Nesbit who usually assigned himself that task. The bottle ran out, though, leaving her with less than half a glass.

  Isom returned in a moment with a warm plate of beef. Real beef, as the captain had been as good as his word and sent a plate from his own table for her.

  “Bring us one of the reds we brought aboard at Hartleigh, will you Isom?” she asked. Lord knew after an evening with Eades she’d need more than a glass.

  “Aye, sir.”

  Strictly speaking, lieutenants did not bring their own servants aboard ship. Oh, they could, but usually only if their name ended with a peerage. One or more of Shrewsbury’s regular crew typically performed stewards’ duties in the wardroom and gunroom, receiving a small remittance from the officers. Isom, though, had apparently found some way to follow Alexis aboard Shrewsbury and then made some arrangement with Bonsall. She supposed that so long as he performed other duties aboard ship and his remittance for the extra work came from Alexis herself, there was no cause for anyone to complain.

  Isom returned with the bottle and Nesbit took it from him with a wink before filling Alexis’ glass. It mixed the two wines, but none of the wardroom residents had bottles so fine left aboard that mixing would do them harm.

  Alexis took a sip of her wine.

  “Does it meet m’lady’s approval?” Nesbit asked.

  “Anything that dulls my senses and sears my nostrils would meet with my approval after the last few hours work.”

  “Then my day is complete. I live but to serve your whim, you do know.”

  Alexis chuckled. Nesbit was a match for her own age of seventeen and Shrewsbury’s fifth lieutenant. Since she’d first come aboard, he’d treated her with outrageous courtesy and flirted extensively. At first she’d been concerned. Not only was any fraternization aboard ship forbidden by the regulations, but her experiences aboard her last ship, HMS Hermione, had left her leery of her peers. She’d been a midshipman aboard that ship, not a lieutenant, and the other midshipmen had been both lecherous and cruel toward her.

  She’d quickly determined, though, that Nesbit was in no way serious about his attentions. He seemed to be doing it mostly to relieve his boredom and entertain himself; at worst he thought of her as a foil to hone his wits for runs ashore.

  “If you’ve a mind to serve,” she said, “taking a scrub brush and cake of soap to Monsieur Courtemanche wouldn’t go amiss. Barring that, waylay him some evening and dunk him in a tank of rum until it’s killed whatever it is must be growing somewhere on the man?”

  She’d caught Hollingshed in mid-drink and had to grin at the coughing and choking that came from behind his suddenly raised hand.

  “More of his dancing lessons?” Major Howey asked, face showing his amusement.

  Alexis gave a mock shudder. “Interminably more. I fear I’ll never have the way of it.”

  “Nonsense!” Nesbit said. “Surely you must move across the floor with the grace of a swan.”

  Alexis raised an eyebrow. Harmless as Nesbit was to her, she did wonder if he ever achieved his ends with the ladies on-station.

  “Do swans dance, then?” she asked. “I was quite unaware.”

  “I have faith you will stun the gentlemen of Nouvelle Paris, as you have laid waste to Shrewsbury’s wardroom.”

  Alexis eyed him for a moment. “Laying it on a bit, aren’t you?”

  Nesbit frowned. “Do you think so?”

  “I’ve been flirted with by the French before, you know,” Alexis said. “I fear you’ll have your work cut out for you on Nouvelle Paris.”

  Nesbit gave her a hurt expression. “Are you saying I don’t measure up?”

  “Well —” Alexis smiled at the memory of her time on Giron, possibly the most pleasant prisoner of war experience one could have. “They do have a certain way about them.”

  Nesbit narrowed his eyes, drawing his brow down. “Then I shall be the brooding New Londoner and the girls will find me all exotic.”

  Alexis laughed. “A plan for all contingencies?”

  “Of course,” Nesbit said. “One must go into action prepared for any eventuality.”

  “Still,” Hollingshed said, “I’ve heard these dances the French hold go all night a’times. Do you truly find it so distasteful?”

  “For those dances with set movements, I’ll allow myself adequate.” Alexis shook her head. “But these partnered dances where … where I must follow another’s whim, it seems, I find I have no ability.”

  Alexis realized even as she spoke the words what she’d just let herself in for, but she was too fatigued to stop her mouth. Nesbit was on his feet before she’d finished speaking, hand extended.

  “Utter nonsense. Come, show me this lack. I believe you not.” He gestured at Hollingshed. “Music, please.”

  “Of course, yes,” Hollingshed said immediately with an evil grin for Alexis. “Certainly if such a lack exists, it is our duty to assist a fellow officer in her deficiency.”

  Alexis sighed. She was horribly tired after such a long day, but now the idea was in their heads, especially Nesbit’s, there’d be no getting it out. She could only hope that if she played along now and let them have their fun they’d forget about it — better just the two lieutenants and Major Howey to witness her embarrassment than if they brought it up again before the entire wardroom. Likely then she’d wind up with all five of the other lieutenants vying to show her how it was done.

  It wasn’t as though they singled her out for the teasing, of course. Nesbit was a constant target for his schemes to meet ladies while on leave, Barr took more than his share for being the wealthiest of those in the wardroom, and Slawson’s ears … well, Alexis would much rather be singled out as the prettiest of the wardroom, rather than for those ears. It was almost affectionate.

  No, this teasing is how they show af
fection for one another, rather than simply say it.

  “I think I want no part of this,” Howey said with a smile and a nod. “I’m off to my bed.”

  With another sigh Alexis took Nesbit’s hand and rose, while Hollingshed played appropriate music on his tablet. At least Nesbit didn’t stink, though he was taller than Courtemanche and that was awkward as well — he towered over Alexis’ bare meter and a half by a full thirty centimeters or more and Alexis found herself staring at his chest. The reach to place her hand on his shoulder was uncomfortable, and Nesbit flushed as his own natural placement of his hand found something quite a bit higher than her waist.

  Didn’t think of that, did you? I’m simply not built for this sort of thing.

  Nesbit cleared his throat and slid his hand down to where it belonged.

  “So, then, now —” he said, nodding in time to the music and starting to move her through some steps. “It’s not so — ow, bloody! No, no, it’s quite all right, just let’s try again. Simply move with — damn! Not that way, with me. Stop trying to — ow! Are you bloody stomping on me? Just turn to the right — no, my right, damn your eyes! Ow! You don’t bloody weigh enough for it to hurt that mu — ow!”

  Nesbit stopped, released her, and held up his hands. He gave Hollingshed a wounded look at his barely contained laughter and shook his head.

  “You’re a bloody menace!”

  “I did warn you,” Alexis said, resuming her seat.

  Nesbit limped back to the table. “It’s dance, Carew, not bloody wrestling!”

  Alexis poured him a fresh glass of wine and slid it across the table to him. “I’m not at all certain why I have such trouble with it.”

  Nesbit drained his glass. “If a simple dance is such a struggle, I shudder at the thought of what an effort bedding you would be …”

  He froze, glass halfway to the table, and blanched. Hollingshed was equally silent, staring from Nesbit to Alexis.

  “Oh, hell, Carew, I’m sorry for that.” He set his glass down and spread his hands. “I wasn’t thinking —”

  Alexis cut him off hurriedly. “I’m not one to take offense at what’s clearly a jest, Nesbit,” she said, “even a crude one.” She laid her hand on his arm. “I know the sorts of jests young men make amongst themselves, at least those of an age.”

  She nodded at Hollingshed who was only a year older than she and Nesbit. She didn’t include Lieutenants Barr and Slawson, the first and second lieutenants in that. They were both much older more properly restrained. But Nesbit and Hollingshed, even Brookhouse to a certain extent, were only a little ways from midshipmen themselves, and no matter their upbringing they had little more couth than the village youths when their elders weren’t around.

  “And I’d rather you made them,” she continued, “rather than being forever on your guard to avoid offending me.” She squeezed his arm. “I’ll draw my own lines, if you please, and that was nowhere near one. In fact, I think that may be the first time you’ve given up playing the gallant and simply spoken as yourself and, dare I say, a friend?”

  “In my tongue-tied colleague’s defense,” Hollingshed said, holding the wine bottle to the light before pouring, “we’ve only seen a little of you off-watch. Difficult to know someone that way.”

  Alexis nodded.

  Damn Eades for that as well, she thought. She’d been aboard Shrewsbury for nearly two months, but he’d taken so much of her time that she’d truly not had the chance to know the other officers, and that was good for neither herself nor the ship. They’ve seen me on watch and may trust my skills, but they don’t truly know me.

  “Well now you know, and I’m quite able to tell you if you cross a line, without it becoming some sort of dire event.”

  “That’s good to hear,” Hollingshed said. “We were a bit unsure what to think when you came aboard. Shrewsbury’d just come from the Core, you know, and we’d had several women aboard there, but we’d heard the Fringe was, well, different, I suppose.”

  “The Fringe or Fringe women?” Alexis asked with a smile.

  “Both, to be honest,” Nesbit said, finally speaking again. “I’d expected all the girls out here to be locked away in cloisters.”

  “Skirts never above the ankle,” Hollingshed added.

  Nesbit nodded. “Veils.”

  “Virtue guarded every moment.”

  “And none too bright, truth to tell.”

  “Vaporish,” Hollingshed said with a gleam in his eye.

  “Prone to hysteria.”

  “Not to be bothered with such things as voting or finance or property matters, of course.”

  “Horrid dancers.”

  Alexis had been looking from one to the other as they’d laid out their expectations, sad that, much as they were teasing her, there were plenty, if not most, of the Fringe Worlds that were exactly like they described. Perhaps not all of them, nor all the same, but of all the prejudices on the Fringe Worlds, women tended to be the most universal target.

  Part of that was due to the natural divisions of work in a developing colony, she knew, and part to a certain over-protectiveness when a new colony’s limited medical care made childbirth a surprisingly dangerous proposition for those raised in the Core, but there was also something else to it that bewildered her.

  She’d encountered it in her former captain, Neals, aboard Hermione, and couldn’t entirely dismiss the man’s attitudes as coming solely from what she was certain was insanity. Still, she’d seen not a bit of that in the officers or crew of Shrewsbury.

  Nesbit’s final comment registered and she shoved his shoulder, laughing. “Beast!”

  “So did you enjoy your evening with Mister Eades otherwise?” Hollingshed asked.

  “I’ll allow I did learn some things, but enjoyment isn’t in it,” she answered. “You gentlemen are awake quite late.”

  “I have the middle,” Hollingshed said with a grimace, referring to the middle watch which ran from midnight to four a.m. “Not much point in trying to sleep until then.”

  Nesbit raised his glass with a smile. “And I couldn’t leave the poor man to drink alone.”

  Alexis smiled in return.

  “And worse than the middle alone,” Hollingshed went on, “I’ve to share it with our young Artley.”

  Nesbit shook his head sadly. “That one’ll never make an officer.”

  “Is he truly that bad?” Alexis asked. She’d had little contact with Artley. Not surprising since there were more than a dozen midshipmen aboard Shrewsbury, along with the ship’s crew of over seven hundred men.

  Hollingshed grimaced. “You’ll see for yourself soon enough,” he said. “He’s not a bad lad, truly, but he’s timid as a mouse and clumsy.” He shrugged. “The hands are starting to lose respect for him, I think.”

  “I see,” Alexis said. That would, indeed, be bad. The men aboard were willing enough to take orders from midshipmen, even the youngest of them. They’d even take a likely youngster in hand and help him along if they thought he’d make a good officer one day.

  Lord knows what I’d have done myself, she thought, without the good opinion of Merlin’s crew.

  But if the crew lost respect for him, even the little bit they might have for a very young midshipman, then Hollingshed was likely right and the lad would never make an officer.

  And I’m to rely on him for my gundeck in action.

  Alexis took another sip of wine and grimaced. Perhaps it would be best to take the lad’s measure earlier, rather than later, and the quiet of the middle watch might make a fine time to do so.

  “Would you be at all interested in trading watches, Hollingshed?” she asked. “I have the first dog tomorrow, if you like.”

  “A full night’s sleep and a shortened watch tomorrow?” He nodded. “Aye, I’ll take that trade and thank you for it. Wish to get a better look at the bad bargain our captain’s given you?”

  Alexis shrugged. “I’ll not call it a bad bargain until I’ve worked with the lad,
but I’d rather have the boy’s measure before next gun drill … or, worse, an action.”

  “He’s not seen an action from the gundecks,” Hollingshed warned her. “Captain’s kept him on the quarterdeck.”

  Alexis winced. The quarterdeck was one of the safest places to be in action, with the thicker hull that protected it. That hull could be breached by enemy shot, but Shrewsbury hadn’t encountered such an action since either Alexis or Artley came aboard. If the lad hadn’t been to the gundecks, even during drill, how would he react to the chaos and danger?

  Five

  The muted tone of the ship’s bell began sounding as Alexis slid the hatch to the quarterdeck open. Lieutenant Barr looked up from the circular table of the navigation plot that comprised the center of the compartment and raised an eyebrow.

  “Hollingshed and I have exchanged watches,” Alexis said, crossing to his side.

  Barr nodded.

  Alexis studied the plot to familiarize herself with Shrewsbury’s course and speed, as well as the positions of the merchant ships in the convoy. Those positions were plotted based on images of the other ships brought inboard from Shrewsbury’s hull by a complex series of optics that kept the radiations of darkspace at bay. None of the ship’s other sensors were functional in the odd realm filled with dark energy and dark matter — they’d have to wait until they transitioned back to normal-space at a Lagrangian point in some star system before those could tell them anything.

  The spacers who’d be standing the middle watch with her were already present, waiting beside the consoles they’d be manning, some whispering with those going off watch to pass along anything important. Not that there would be much of that since they’d taken the frigate that had been dogging the convoy’s heels.

  All of the spacers for the next watch were present, Alexis noted, save Artley, but just as the final note of the bell sounded, the hatchway slid open and he rushed onto the quarterdeck smoothing his uniform and trying to control his gasps for breath.