Winds of Marque

by Bennett R. Coles

  “No, not at all, Amelia,” he replied. “I think you’re an amazing individual—very talented, and beautiful.”

  Liam had always been amazed at how easily most aristocrats could slip into flattery, but the apparent sincerity in Highcastle’s words was in its own class.

  Virtue, to her credit, wasn’t so easily convinced. She patted her coat where the pistol was hidden. “Talented enough to stay armed through an entire port visit.”

  He looked at her for a moment, then dropped his gaze with a nod. “I truly apologize for what I said those weeks ago, Amelia. It was uncalled for and completely out of line. I was very tired and not behaving as a gentleman should.” He reached out to take her hand, looking her in the eye. “I beg your forgiveness.”

  She shook her head, but she couldn’t quite keep the smile from her face. “Thank you,” she said. “I’m sure you can understand the challenges of learning a new profession.”

  He returned her smile, making some self-deprecating remark that Liam found irritating, mostly because it was genuinely funny. Virtue laughed appreciatively, and Liam, who didn’t really want to watch her flirt with the lordling any further, turned to Sky.

  “Does the room look secure to you?”

  “Yes, sir,” she said, eyes still moving in a slow sweep. “No one’s paying us any attention, but I’d recommend getting this snotter back to the ship before he takes it upon himself to impress Virtue with his bravery or some other stupid stunt.”

  “Agreed. I’ll take a look at the street in a few minutes to see if it’s clear.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He sat back and took a sip from his tankard. The beer was thick and dark, and packed quite a wallop. Glancing over, he saw Highcastle had already drained half his cup.

  “How was your visit ashore with the captain today?”

  “Without incident, sir.”

  “Where did you go?”

  “We went to the upper levels of the station.”

  “Did you meet with anyone?”

  Sky paused, then turned her gaze fully on Liam.

  “Sir, I don’t appreciate these interrogations. I am loyal to Commander Riverton and I will not betray her confidence.”

  “I’m loyal to her as well,” he snapped. “But I’m also the second-in-command of our vessel. I need to have the full picture, in case anything was to happen to Commander Riverton.”

  “Then ask her yourself, sir.”

  Liam felt a rush of frustration, mixed with embarrassment as the truth of the situation became clear. Riverton apparently trusted her assaulter more than her executive officer, and now both of them knew it.

  Virtue laughed at another of Highcastle’s jokes, swatting playfully at his chest. It was suddenly too much, and Liam rose from his seat. When all eyes turned to him, he took a moment to straighten his coat. “I’m going to see if it’s clear. Be ready to move if it is.”

  Despite his frustration, he was careful to meander through the tavern, taking care not to rush or seem perturbed in any way. All around him the drunken conversations of sailors continued without pause. The talk was mainly gripes about ship conditions, half-baked theories about local politics, or tales of romance, real or imagined. In short, much the same as would happen among Navy sailors.

  He reached the front door and peered out to the promenade. The augmented military presence of armed sailors still lined the docks, but the commotion around the Cup of Plenty had quietened. He saw a group of Navy officers clustered just outside the café’s patio. Captain Silverhawk was easily visible, towering above the rest, and even from this distance Liam recognized his mood as one of petulant frustration. The mood of the officers was calm, though, and he suspected that the incident was winding down. He’d have to keep Highcastle out of sight for another few minutes at least.

  Looking back at his table, and Highcastle flirting away with Virtue, Liam wondered if it might be less unpleasant just to wait here at the door. But, he knew, that would eventually draw suspicious glances and with one last look out to the street he turned to make his way back. He took his time, though, idly listening to the chatter around him.

  “. . . happened to Golden Wind . . .”

  He froze, then forced himself to take another step, turning his head with enforced casualness to where he’d just heard those words. The table to his left was large enough for six, but only three sailors remained, practically shouting at each other across a brewery’s worth of tankards littering the wooden surface.

  “She’s overdue,” one of the sailors griped. “And Red still owes me twenty crowns! And now we have to sail—when am I going to get paid?”

  “From what I hear,” drawled another from across the table, “she joined a pack to jump some fast courier with gold bullion. When we meet them next Red’ll have enough to pay you double what he owes you.”

  “If not, I’m gonna thump him.”

  “Whatever—drink up. We have to get back to the ship.”

  Liam kept moving, sliding into his seat and leaning toward Sky.

  “See that trio of sailors—one of them has a blue-and-white bandanna, the other with that silly mustache?” he said.

  “Yes.” She straightened, hearing the urgency in his tone, and her eyes narrowed toward the table.

  “They’re pirates. We need to follow them back to their ship.”

  “How clear is the street?”

  “Not very, yet.”

  “I can slip out unnoticed.”

  “I’m coming with you. Two sets of eyes are better than one, and this is our only lead.”

  She nodded. “Virtue can keep our youngster in here.”

  “So long as he doesn’t know why we’re leaving. If he hears it’s pirates, we’ll never contain him.”

  “Agreed.”

  They watched the trio of drunken sailors finish the last of their beers then stagger up and head for the door. Sky slipped from her seat and began to move for the exit. Liam rose a second later, leaning in to Virtue and Highcastle.

  “The chief and I are going to check the street again and see if everything is clear.” He gave Virtue an imploring stare. “Don’t move from this table, either of you. We’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  “We’ll be here,” she replied. She seemed to want to ask more, but taking in his expression, turned back to Highcastle and resumed their conversation.

  Within moments he was outside, lengthening his pace out to the promenade, where Sky was already following the three drunks at a nonchalant distance. Their rambling chatter softened to muttering as they noted the Navy guards along the docks, but their shuffling progress soon took them well clear of the military berths. Half a dozen ships floated beyond the jetty shielding, and it was to a bulky, nondescript tub that the pirates staggered. A lone watchman greeted them at the brow with a caustic joke, and with hearty replies the three drunks disappeared through the airlock.

  “Berth Ten,” Liam noted quietly. “We’ll have to set a watch to discover when she slips, and be ready to follow.”

  “I can suit up and float over for an external look,” Sky replied. “I’d like to know what we’re up against this time. Now, during the night watch, would be the best time to do so.”

  “Make it so, but take someone with you.” He looked back down the jetty, to where the armed Navy presence was starting to thin as sailors were stood down and recalled aboard their ships. “Looks like things are getting quiet here. I’ll retrieve the other two and see you back on the ship.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Liam left his assaulter and strolled back to the tavern. The group of officers outside the Cup of Plenty had dispersed, and Captain Silverhawk was nowhere to be seen. Liam felt a moment of panic as he imagined the lord wandering into the tavern and finding Highcastle, but he reminded himself that a man of such noble birth would never willingly debase himself in such a common place. As he entered the tavern once again, a quick scan revealed that his instinct was correct—no Silverhawk.

  But wh
at he did see stopped him dead. Highcastle and Virtue were still at their table, but it seemed the time for flirtatious chatter had ended. She was practically in his lap, arms wrapped over his shoulders as she kissed him. His hands roamed hungrily across her figure, and even as Liam pushed forward across the room it looked like the cadet might lift Virtue right up and lay her out on the table.

  Liam grabbed them each by the shoulder and wrenched them apart. Virtue stumbled back into her own chair and Highcastle looked up in shock. As recognition dawned, though, the shock gave way to a smirk.

  “I say, Blackwood, there’s no need to butt in.”

  Liam’s fist collided with Highcastle’s face before he even knew it was flying. The force was enough to upend the cadet’s chair, sending him sprawling back across the wooden floor. Liam stepped forward, grabbed the youth by the collar, and hauled him up.

  “We are going back to the ship this instant,” he hissed, “and if I hear one word of complaint I’ll run you through.”

  Highcastle’s eyes were glazed from the blow, and in stunned silence he steadied himself against the table. Liam turned his gaze to Virtue. She was also on her feet, her expression one of regret—but regret at what she’d done or regret at being caught Liam couldn’t tell.

  “We’re going back to the ship,” he said to her.

  “Sir . . . milord,” she began, but Liam was already turning away to direct Highcastle’s unsteady form toward the door.

  There were a few glances that followed their progress through the tables, but Liam suspected that bar fights and lovers’ quarrels were hardly uncommon in this establishment.

  He knew it was hardly his best effort to maintain a low profile, but hopefully no damage was done. Except to Highcastle’s face, which he was immeasurably pleased about.

  Chapter 16

  The silence in Riverton’s cabin was broken only by a creak in the outer hull as Daring leaned into a freshening wind. Liam stood beside the captain, staring across at the table where Highcastle and Virtue both stood at attention. His anger at their conduct still smoldered, but it was nothing compared to the rage Riverton had just unleashed. He’d had no idea her voice could be so deafening, and her usual, icy demeanor had melted into a white-hot fury.

  Her last words of contempt still hung in the cabin. Virtue withered in her stance, unable to lift her eyes. Highcastle stood perfectly straight, gaze fixed and unmoving on the far bulkhead.

  “I’m very tempted,” Riverton finally continued, “to have you both publicly flogged. Perhaps I need to make an example of you in case anyone else in the crew is thinking of jeopardizing our entire mission for their own selfish desires.”

  Liam remained still and silent. Often, as executive officer, he would speak to support his captain, but this time he had no idea what was going on in Riverton’s mind.

  “But I need my crew focused on our upcoming assault,” she concluded, “and not whispering about illicit activities ashore. Both of you are docked one week’s pay, and you are forbidden to discuss this incident with anyone. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” both replied.

  “Get out of my sight.”

  Virtue practically fled the cabin, with Highcastle only a few steps behind. The door shut behind him and Liam turned to the captain.

  “As for you,” she snapped before he could say a word, “I’m furious. You disobeyed my order of no alcohol ashore, and you left two inebriated sailors alone. And don’t use the fact that you uncovered a new pirate lead as an excuse for your actions. That lead is the main reason why I’m not taking disciplinary action against you, but it doesn’t change the fact that you displayed poor judgment. You risked the safety of two of my sailors, and also the integrity of our mission.”

  She crossed her arms and stared at him. Her expression suggested that he was allowed to speak.

  “When I discovered Highcastle ashore,” he said carefully, “I had to act fast to get him out of sight, and the tavern was the only refuge. We ordered the drinks to fit in, but we sipped at them—except Highcastle, who was already drunk when we found him.”

  “From the sounds of things, Petty Officer Virtue was also fairly intoxicated.”

  “Yes,” Liam said, his anger quietly rising again. “Her behavior was . . . disappointing.”

  “You’ve lectured me in the past about the unpredictability of missions ashore,” she said, her gaze penetrating. “I suggest you listen to your own words and take better care with the Human variables. Ours is not a profession where personal feelings can intrude.”

  His gaze flicked up at that. Riverton continued to stare at him with the intensity of cold fire.

  “We can’t afford any more mistakes,” she continued, “and I need you free of distractions. Including personal distractions. Sort yourself out, Mr. Blackwood. Now.”

  The anger in his heart mixed with fear, and even a bit of shame, as he endured his captain’s stern gaze. He forced himself to meet that gaze, and in her dark eyes he saw wisdom, and even a touch of compassion. Despite her youth and lack of battle experience, this was no oblivious noble dandy who commanded him. He still didn’t know really what she was, this enigma named Sophia Riverton.

  “Yes, ma’am. You can count on me.”

  “Carry on.”

  Liam left the cabin, hesitating in the passageway outside as he faced the door to his own cabin. He was tempted to seek refuge there, but Riverton’s words rang in his ears. He needed to sort himself out and time was not on his side.

  Daring had slipped her berth first thing that morning, before Windfall Station had really awoken. Liam would have liked to have left earlier, to stay close in the wake of the pirate ship Bluebird, but Swift had argued desperately for more time to finish at least the most basic repairs. Abandoning any attempt to disguise the size of the crew, Swift had his propulsion team crawling over Daring’s hull like ants throughout the remainder of the night, sealing breaches and rebuilding shattered gunports while air and water supplies were continuously pumped on board.

  Farmer’s Paradise and its orbiting station were now behind them, and the bridge was tracking the distant form of Bluebird in the darkness ahead. Daring was more or less intact, but even now, at full sail, Liam knew that Swift and his crew were still making repairs. The propulsion officer had made his displeasure at their sudden and hasty departure fully known, but then had pushed his department to accomplish the impossible. Even so, as Liam moved forward he listened to the steady creaks as the ship strained against a strong stern wind. His ear could easily discern that they were not the usual groans of a ship in motion, which was not a good sign.

  Climbing down a ladder, he saw Highcastle in conversation with Able Rating Hedge. Her eyes widened as soon as she saw the XO, and Liam hardened his expression into a frown of disapproval. She knuckled her forehead to him and moved off, almost breaking into a run.

  “I was just telling her that we shouldn’t be seen together,” Highcastle mused. “Poor girl.”

  “She’s in a lot of trouble,” Liam warned, “and don’t think you aren’t. She’s had her brow’s-mate ticket revoked, and the coxn is considering laying a charge.”

  “Lesson learned,” Highcastle said, raising his hands in confession. “I regret that I caused her such trouble. But you have to admit, she’s one of the most darling of the crew.”

  His easy manner was grating. This was all a big game to him, and the loss of a week’s pay was in his mind just a point scored against him. He had no idea that Hedge’s career was in jeopardy. It made Liam want to knock him on his backside again, but he knew too well the mind-set of the nobility. Highcastle was genetically incapable of taking responsibility for his actions.

  “As officers,” Liam finally said, as mildly as he could, “we really should avoid fraternizing with the crew. You’ve already seen what trouble it can cause.”

  Highcastle nodded, assuming a look of sage resignation.

  “There are plenty of wellborn ladies worthy of your attention,
” Liam added. “Save your efforts for them.”

  “Yes, of course. But these sailing voyages can be long, and as men, we need a distraction.” He gave Liam a questioning look. “Is it all right for us to amuse ourselves with petty officers?”

  “Stay away from her.”

  Highcastle retreated a step, sudden surprise on his features. Liam only then realized that he’d stepped forward, and he carefully unclenched his fists.

  “Oh, my apologies,” Highcastle said with a slight bow. His expression was knowing in a way that set Liam’s teeth on edge. “I assumed you were dallying with Ava. I’ll keep clear of Amelia.”

  The shallow disregard of his words was shocking in its sincerity. People were nothing more than objects to him, playing pieces in a game of one-upmanship, and he truly saw nothing wrong with thinking that way. Liam fought down his contempt for the entire Imperial aristocracy and forced his words to be casual.

  “It’s best for all of us to stay clear of shipboard romance, Mr. Highcastle. It complicates things. While we’re under sail, focus your efforts on your professional development. When we get back to home port you can then impress all the ladies of any rank with your exploits.”

  “You speak wisdom,” he said. “I think I’ll go and help out with the gunnery repairs before my watch.”

  Liam watched the cadet stride off, wondering if he’d been such a toff himself at that age. He doubted Highcastle would actually follow his advice, but Liam knew that he, as an older and wiser man, had no excuse for ignoring the advice his own superior had just given him. He needed to sort himself out, and that meant speaking to a woman who might want nothing to do with him right now.

  But it couldn’t wait any longer. One way or another, for the good of the ship and for the good of them both, this had to get sorted, now. But first, he decided as he headed for the senior mess, he could at least prepare a peace offering.

  The senior mess was quiet, empty but for Charlotte Brown with a series of screens laid out on the table. She glanced up at his arrival.

  “Good afternoon, sir. I’m glad you are here, as I was just planning to come find you. I’ve been searching the transmissions from Windfall Station during our stay, and I’ve got something unusual.”