Mutineer (5 page)

“Yes, well one would almost have to be a bit mad to be a first settler,” Williard said. “Without offense to your grandfather, the thought of being dropped on a bare planet with nothing but the goods I could ship there is more than a bit unsettling.”

“It was very difficult, I’m told,” Alexis agreed.

The rest of the meal passed in idle talk as course after course was brought, and more than one bottle of wine.

“You did not exaggerate, sir. Not at all.” Alexis sat back from the table as the last of the dishes was cleared. The meal had been truly spectacular. A thick, juicy slab of real beef, charred black on the outside and rare in the middle. So far removed from the provisions aboard
Hermione
that she could not credit them being called the same. The side dishes had been equally well prepared, and Alexis had allowed her enjoyment of the food to lull her into also enjoying far more wine than she should have — and this on top of her newfound love for the Scotch whiskey. The servants quickly scraped the tablecloth clean and set two glasses and a decanter of port between them.

“I never exaggerate about fine food and drink, Mister Carew,” Williard said. “It is far too important.” He poured them each a glass of the port.

Alexis took a sip and bit her lip. The conversation over dinner had remained innocuous, not touching on
Hermione
or Captain Neals, but both were still much on her mind.

“About our … phantasm, lieutenant? You truly believe there’s nothing to be done?”

“I truly believe it should not even be spoken of, Mister Carew. But as you seem determined.” He sighed and drained his glass. “There are, in truth, two Navies. The first, which if I am to believe all I’ve heard of him, you encountered aboard
Merlin
with Captain Grantham. It is a Navy of honor and duty, where your worth is measured by merit and your deeds.” He twirled his empty glass between his fingertips, watching the light through the remaining drops of port. “The other Navy is quite different, I’m afraid. It has gained much sway over the whole during the last few years of peace, and it measures worth in quite a different way. It is one of patronage and power, and it cares not for the rest. Our hypothetical captain would belong to the latter Navy, and he would certainly have many friends. Friends who, in addition to the Navy’s own desire to avoid scandal, would go to great lengths to protect him personally.”

He refilled his glass.

“Even when the nation is at peace, Mister Carew, our two Navies are at war, the one against the other. And as with any war, those of us in less exalted positions —” He smiled. “— and I assure you that lieutenant, no matter how far removed from your own position it may seem, is far from exalted. We must … survive. For we can do our side of the battle little good when we wield little power. No, Mister Carew, I will survive. I will do my time with … with any phantasm I am assigned to serve, and I will move on. When I am a Post Captain, myself, then I will have some influence over events, I think. This is what I recommend for you, as well.”

* * * * *

Alexis staggered a bit as she wandered the station’s corridors. Dinner with Lieutenant Williard had gone long, and it was later than she’d thought. She considered, briefly, returning to the ship, but Captain Neals had granted all the officers liberty not only for the evening, but “all night in”, with no one required to be back aboard
Hermione
until the forenoon watch. For the officers, at least — the hands were not so lucky, being confined to the ship, and the ship not even Out of Discipline for them to have some release from the pressures of constant sailing.

Her head was spinning more than a bit from the drink. Though dinner had been long, it hadn’t been enough for the effects to wear off, and she staggered as someone bumped her in the still busy corridor. She needed to find a room for the night and relax away from the ship. Someplace fine, not one of the many pod-complexes where one could rent a coffin-like, enclosed space to sleep for a few hours. No, it had been entirely too long since she’d slept in a proper bed and she wanted something larger than her shipboard bunk, someplace where she could stretch and roll about. Perhaps even a proper bath all to herself.

There was a sharp tug at her sleeve and she looked down to find a young boy at her side.

“You looking?” he asked.

“Looking for what?” She paused and bit the inside of her cheek then blinked rapidly to try and clear her head a bit.

He smiled widely. “You tell me, I help you find it!”

Alexis smiled back. “How old are you? Should you be out so late?”

“Station runs all the time. I’ll sleep later. Now, what you looking for?”

Alexis looked around, she didn’t see any place that looked likely to rent a room for the night, and she could see the boy, like those in any village back on Dalthus, was anxious to earn a coin or two.

“A place to spend the night,” she said. “Someplace nice.”

“Yes, nice,” the boy said, tugging her arm to get her moving. “Not here though — nothing nice on the Navy side. We go to the civvy-side. Nice places there for the nice lady, yes?”

“All right, yes.”

The boy led her down the corridor and up several levels to leave the pubs and shops that catered to Navy crews. She saw more and more women in civilian ships’ uniforms as they went, crew and officers on the merchant vessels in-system. Alexis nodded and smiled at those that met her eye and they nodded back, though some looked askance at her naval uniform.

They turned into a small side corridor with hatchways that looked more residential than commercial and the boy stopped before one and held out his hand, palm up.

“Nice place for the night. Very nice.”

Alexis swayed a bit and eyed the hatchway. There was no signage to indicate it was a business or had rooms to let.

“Are you certain?”

“Very nice. Customers always pleased. Come back many, many times.”

Alexis laughed. “All right, then.” She took a few coins and placed them in the boy’s outstretched hand. Apparently it was enough, because he clenched his fist tightly and smiled. “Nice lady have nice night,” he called and dashed away grinning.

She watched him go, then looked at the hatchway again. If she had not had quite so much to drink she might go in search of another place. She pressed the call button beside the hatchway, expecting to find that it was, indeed, someone’s home and the boy had taken her coins for naught. Though why he might do so, instead of leading her to an inn of some kind, she couldn’t fathom. She smiled again.
Well, and if he has, then I’ll look up the nearest inn with my tablet and be done with it.

The hatch slid open and a well-dressed woman of middle-age peered out. “Yes, dear?”

Alexis tried to look apologetic for bothering her. “Pardon me, ma’am, but I was told you might have a room for the night?”

The woman smiled and slid the hatch fully open. “Of course, dear, come in.” Alexis entered into a nicely appointed sitting room and the woman slid the hatch shut behind her. “What did you have in mind?”

Alexis felt herself sway, possibly the last glass of port catching up with her, and she closed her eyes to a wave of dizziness. “Just something nice for the night, before I have to go back aboard ship.”

“Something nice?” the woman asked and Alexis opened her eyes to find her smiling curiously. “Nothing more specific for me to work with, dear?”

“Well, no, I suppose. It’s just for one night, after all.”

The woman reached out and took one of Alexis’ hands in hers. “Is this your first time, dear?”

Alexis blinked. “I suppose it is, yes. I went straight from home to aboard one ship or another, and haven’t spent much time in port, you see. Is that somehow important?”

The woman’s face softened. “Oh, dear, yes, I think it is.” She smiled. “But you just trust old Chelsea here, I’ll see you right.” She turned to a screen hanging on the bulkhead which showed rows of red and green circles. “Yes, that’ll do nicely,” she said, tapping one and changing it from green to red. “The whole night, you said?”

“Yes, I’ve to be back aboard for the Forenoon Watch.”

“All right, then. One pound seven and we’ll see you on your way in time to meet your ship.”

Alexis stared at her in shock. A full pound and seven shillings for a night’s stay in a room?
Well, I did ask for something nice, I suppose
. She’d never before even priced a room, so had no idea what it should cost. And she was definitely feeling the effects of the drink, her head felt stuffed with cotton and she wanted nothing more than to lay her head on pillow and sleep the night away.

And it’s not as though I’ve aught else to spend my pay on otherwise.
Without taking new stores aboard ship with her, and there was only so much she could eat and drink in port on those rare occasions she was allowed off
Hermione
, her accounts had accumulated a tidy sum on top of her earlier prize money. She’d also saved what she would have spent that night, what with Williard treating her to a fine dinner and finer drink. Nodding, she pulled out her tablet and made the payment.

“Compartment seven, dear, just at the top of the stairs there.”

“Thank you.”

Alexis climbed the stairs and slid the hatchway open on room seven. Though space was at a premium on board stations, it wasn’t so bad as aboard ships, and the compartment she entered was, perhaps, four meters square — a large compartment aboard station. Softly lit, with chairs and an inviting divan. The bed itself was larger than the entire midshipman’s berth she shared with Timpson.
And all to myself
. There was another hatch on the opposite bulkhead, which she assumed led to a private head. She smiled widely and slid the hatch shut behind her, then tossed her beret onto a chair and shrugged out of her uniform jacket and tunic.
A real bed again
, she thought, tossing her trousers after her jacket and climbing onto the bed in her underthings.
And a proper bath in the morning.
She spread her arms and legs to the corners, reveling in the space and the softness of the mattress.

“So y’ave me fer the night entire, eh, lass?”

Alexis sprang up. There was man standing in the now open hatchway to the head. The light silhouetted him from behind. He wore a towel wrapped around his waist and nothing else.
A short towel
. His long, curly, dark hair was tied back and his teeth shone brightly against his tanned skin. Muscles rippled under his skin as he stepped toward the bed and raised one leg to kneel on it.
A
very
short towel …

“Oh … dear.”

Alexis came awake slowly and reluctantly. Her eyes felt filled with grit and her head pounded. She moved her mouth slowly, grimacing at the feel of her coated tongue. She clenched her eyes shut and burrowed her face into the smooth, warm body next to her.

Her eyes flew open, blinking.

Her cheek was pressed against someone’s chest and she was looking down an expanse of brown, muscle-rippled skin to where her arm was draped over a blanket-covered waist. Her own legs were pressed against bare skin, one of them thrown over the man next to her.

Alexis froze, trying to make sense of the previous night. She remembered most of the dinner clearly, but things became quite … blurry thereafter. She remembered looking for a room and following a boy who’d promised her something nice.
And wasn’t that a brilliant thing to do.
A vague recollection of falling into a soft, warm bed. And, curiously, a towel, which made little sense. She blinked again and the clearer view of the swathe of skin she rested against brought a much more vivid image of the towel, as well as a flush of heat to her face.

She pondered, for a moment, how she might gather her clothes, she still seemed to be wearing her underthings, at least, and escape without waking …

Oh … my … did I ever learn his name, at least?

“Awake, lass?”

Alexis clenched her jaw and swallowed as the blood drained from her face.
So much for that, then
. Now all she had to do was decide if she’d be less likely to die of embarrassment by sitting up and looking him in the eye, or staying where she was. The man shifted position and the blanket started to slide down his waist. Alexis bolted upright, spinning her legs around to face the wall behind the bed’s headboard. Her eyes widened and her mouth dropped open at the sight of the man’s face.

Black, curly hair framed a rugged face with a strong chin. For a moment, she focused on his eyes, a deep, brilliant blue that drew her in, until he smiled and her gaze dropped to his mouth and his even, white teeth surrounded by full lips.

He raised an eyebrow. “Something, lass?”

Alexis felt herself blushing again. “Um, yes, last night …”

“A bit muddle-headed aboot things, are ye?”

Alexis nodded.

The man smiled again. “It were a bit awkward at the first, I’ll admit, but after the cryin’ and the carryin’ on were over, it’s settle in to a fine evening, we did, lass.”

Alexis felt herself blanch, the blood draining from her face.
And if it would only pick a place and stay there, instead of ever moving about, I might find a way through this.

“I … that is to say, we … and, by that, I mean you …”

The man threw his head back and laughed. “We talked, lass. After you explained yer … misunderstandin’.”

Alexis swallowed again. For as dry as her mouth was, she seemed to be doing a lot of that. “Talked?”

“Well and it’s you who did the talkin’, fer the most part, and me the listenin’. We’re right good at that bit, we are.”

“We?”

“Us who work the houses.”

Alexis flushed again.
Oh, sweet heavens, he said it. I spent the night in a house, there’s no denying now. But talking?

“What … did I …” She couldn’t imagine what she might have said, about Captain Neals or
Hermione,
perhaps, and what might happen if anyone found out.

“A bit o’ this and a bit o’ that. It’s nae a happy ship yer aboard, an’ that’s the truth.” He brought his arms up and laced his fingers behind his head and Alexis found her eyes drawn from his face to the very interesting things this did to his chest muscles. “Lass?”

Alexis shook her head, tearing her eyes away. She bit her lip. “I … should not have spoken so, I think.”

He reached out and wrapped his hand around one of hers. “Nae fear, lass. Were us in the houses to speak aught o’ what were cried into our bosoms, the Navy’d come a’screechin’ to a halt, an’ that’s no lie.” He smiled as her eyes widened. “What? And it’s thinkin’ yer the first midshipman to find a bit o’ comfort an naught else? Nor lieutenant nor captain, neither, come to that.”

Alexis glanced sideways at the bosom in question.
And was that a fancy or is there aught I’ll wish I could remember clearer?

“So …” Alexis cleared her throat and glanced away. “So, we didn’t …”

“Nae, lass, yer Philip-lad’s nae to worry aboot.”

Alexis froze, eyes wide again.
What on earth else did I say last night?
Philip Easley from
Merlin
was a friend and nothing more. Yes, there’d been a moment or two and a bit of thought, but they’d never so much as spoken about anything more. He was far away, on another ship — and if they ever did again serve on the same ship, well, nothing could come of any feelings that might exist, for such things were forbidden between officers serving together.

A chime started sounding, gradually increasing in volume.

“That’s my tablet.” Alexis slid off the bed and dug through her uniform for the tablet. “It’s time I went back to the ship.” She started dressing quickly, blushing as she saw the man watching her. “Must you?”

The man laughed and slid off the opposite side of the bed. He was, Alexis was relieved to note, wearing a bit more than the towel she remembered from the night before, then her gaze rose to his back and she gasped. The expanse of brown skin was marred with a crisscross mass of scars. He turned and saw her shocked look.

“Oh, aye, spent a bit of time afore the mast, I did.” His face split in a wide smile. “Then found I were far too pretty to spend my days in a vacsuit.” He pulled a loose, white shirt from a drawer and slid it over his head. “I’ll say this aboot our talk, lass. Your lieutenant’s a worse man than that Captain Neals you told me of.”

Alexis froze in buttoning her uniform jacket. Had he really just suggested that Lieutenant Williard was worse than Captain Neals?

“That captain? He don’t know what’s wrong, or flat don’t care. The lieutenant, though? He sees the wrong and does nae a thing? How much worse is that?”

Alexis frowned. “No lieutenant can stop a captain doing as he likes on his own ship.”

“Nae what I’m saying, lass. Nae at all.” He pursed his lips in thought. “A man meets yer captain,” he said finally, “and he’s the worse fer it. Same man meets yer lieutenant, is he the better?” He frowned. “His way seems t’be just givin’ up. I dinnae ken givin’ up in the face o’ that. Fightin’ what y’can, e’en a wee bit, that I ken.”

Alexis considered this. She wasn’t entirely sure that she remembered Lieutenant Williard’s words at dinner all that clearly, but she did recall being uncomfortable with them at the time. So much of what Williard had suggested to her seemed to be about protecting himself until he was in some better position to do something, with little thought to helping others, such as the crew, who had no such option. Still, she wasn’t at all certain what she could do.

“I’ll think on that, thank you.” She smoothed her jacket and set her beret atop her head. “And thank you, as well, for … listening.”

He came around the bed and slid the hatch to the hall open. He met her eye and grinned. “You paid for the time, lass. How we spend it’s up to you.” He raised his eyebrows. “Though, perhaps, next time …”

Alexis flushed and hurried through the hatch and down the stairs. In the main room, she saw the woman she recognized from the night before speaking to another woman, younger and looking uncertain, dressed in the jumpsuit of a merchant shipping line. Alexis caught the younger woman’s gaze and they each looked away quickly as she hurried to the hatch back to the corridor.

“Lass!”

She turned at the hatchway to find the man from upstairs — now wearing a long robe, but having left it untied — on the stairs.

“Cort,” he said, grinning broadly at her look of confusion. “Cort Blackmon. Case you were wonderin’ … or fer next time yer in port, if you come askin’.”

* * * * *

The chandler eyed the list of stores she’d transferred to his tablet and nodded.

“Aye and I’ve most of this lot I can have aboard afore your ship sails, but not the last bit. Not if it’s the actuals you’re after,” he said.

“The actuals?” With still several hours before she was due back aboard
Hermione
, Alexis had stopped into one of the many chandleries to have personal stores sent aboard. If they were to be pilfered by the others in the midshipman’s berth, then they’d be pilfered, but she’d no longer allow them to make her change her ways over it — or, at least, not in the way they might want or suspect.
Fight what I can and not give up, aye.

“Is it the actual Scotch whiskey you’re after? I’ve bourbons aplenty, rye if you want it, and Irish — well, anywheres there’re two brogues and a copper pot there’ll be the Irish made. But the Scotch now that’s different — there’s but three places it’s made, do you see? The home province back on Earth, a few areas of New London, and New Glasgow, a’course.” He ran his fingers over his tablet. “Now there’s Hendly & Sons, planet-side, they import a bit of it, but I’m not sure I could have it brought up a’fore your ship sails.” He paused and looked Alexis over. “Meanin’ no offense, sir, but it’d be right dear. An hundred or more pounds the bottle for the least …”

Alexis raised her eyebrows, eyes wide.
An hundred pounds for a single bottle?
That was outrageous. A bottle of perfectly fine claret cost less than a pound, though she knew there were many vintages that would cost more. Still she’d never heard of anything that cost so much as that.

It wasn’t entirely beyond her means. She still had over a thousand pounds on account from her time aboard
H.M.S. Merlin
and the Prize Court’s odd accounting of the captured pirate ship
Grapple.
Though
Merlin
had taken the prize, Alexis had been in command of the small prize crew that was sailing her back to port. The pirates left aboard to sail the ship had managed to retake her during a
darkspace
storm, making Alexis and the three surviving
Merlins
captive. One of them, Robert Alan, had pretended to go over to the pirates, and only through his actions were Alexis and the others able to retake
Grapple
a second time and sail her into port.

The Prize Court, in reading about the taking, retaking, and then reretaking of the ship, had so bollixed up the events that they’d thought Alexis had been in command of a ship named
Grapple
that had taken a second ship, also named
Grapple
. They’d then awarded all of the prize money for the capture to Alexis and the three others, though Robert Alan’s award had been to his estate, as he’d been killed in fighting.

Mister Gorbett,
Merlin’s
elderly sailing master, the surviving spacer, Peters, and Alan’s estate had each received over four hundred pounds in the award, while Alexis, having been placed in command, had received over two thousand — the three eighths of the award normally given to the commander of a ship under Admiralty Orders and not part of a fleet, as well as the two eighths that would have gone to any midshipmen or junior warrant officers aboard. Those two eighths she’d gotten the crew of
Merlin
to accept as their due, since they were the ones who’d originally taken
Grappel
, but the three-eighths remaining had still amounted to over twelve hundred pounds.

Even after making sizable donations to the families of two marines who’d been killed aboard
Grappel
before she was retaken, and thus received no award from the Prize Court
,
Alexis had been left with a considerable sum. Added to that was her share, quite a lot smaller, of the other ships
Merlin
had taken while she was aboard.

And the ships
Hermione’s
taken add up to a tidy sum, as well.
Though the Prize Courts, after a shocking display of alacrity just as the war with the Republic of Hanover had begun, had reverted to their more normal course of spending months in deliberation before rendering a judgment on each prize. Neither Alexis nor any of the other crew of
Hermione
had seen aught but promises and dreams from the frigate’s captures.
Naught but a stack of drafts promising a share of some future decision, though that doesn’t stop the crew from selling theirs at pennies on the pound to any prize agent they come across.
Perhaps the one bright point to Captain Neals’ habit of confining his crew to the ship was that they weren’t to be so easily cheated out of their future awards by the temptations of a moment’s pleasure.

“Sir?” the chandler prompted.

Ah, yes, temptations. And a ‘dark path’, indeed, Lieutenant Willard.
She considered the number of glasses that had been poured in Dorchester’s the night before.
Baron must pay quite a bit better than lieutenant
.

“Could you, perhaps, recommend something?” she asked. “That would be a bit dear, but I was only introduced to this last evening — I fear I have no experience at all with whiskeys.”