“And the crew will tell you all this but not the bosun?”
“I’m your clerk, or near as never-mind to it — not proper crew, but not an officer neither. There’s looser talk around me.” He looked at her pointedly. “The clerk’s a captain’s ears … and the coxswain’s her fists, which I’ve said you’ve need of already.”
“So you’ve said, but do you see anyone likely aboard Nightingale?”
Isom pondered that for a moment. “Well … Ruse and Sinkey aren’t a bad sort, really. They’re healthy, know their way about a ship, and keep their own messmates clear of those four bastards easily enough.”
“Yes, they’re strong enough to fend for themselves and their mates, but do they have the judgment and discretion to act as coxswain?”
She could tell from Isom’s look that he didn’t think either of those two truly suitable, which left Alexis no closer to filling that role than she had been before. The captain’s coxswain would lead her boat crew and, as Isom had said, act as her fists below decks where even the boson and his mates didn’t have eyes. Judging when and how to act, though, without bringing it to the captain’s official attention, which was a delicate balancing act.
Bloody byzantine, the politics aboard a proper ship.
Nine
23 September, aboard HMS Nightingale, darkspace near the Remada Straits
The sheer amount of records to review in properly taking command of a ship surprised Alexis. She’d known there’d be more to it than just going aboard and meeting the crew, but there were simply too many documents to keep straight. She’d stayed up late, all the nights since they’d left Zariah, pouring over the records.
First there were the purser’s records, which she’d looked at, but really required more study if she wanted to ensure herself they were entirely accurate.
An accountant wouldn’t go amiss there, either — one of those fellows they bring in to untangle it all when a confidence artist’s on his way to a stretched neck.
Though Isom would take a closer look at those — he was acting as her clerk, after all.
Then Nightingale’s log, at least for the last few months, to familiarize herself with what the ship had done in that time. This showed her that Nightingale had kept a regular patrol schedule amongst the systems she was supposed to visit.
Quite regular — perhaps too much so.
Nightingale had kept to the same route over and over again, so far as Alexis could tell, never varying the order of destinations. That would have to be one of the first things she changed — a regular route might make things easy on the crew, but to be so predictable when the ship was supposed to be on the lookout for smuggling and piracy?
Nightingale had also stopped fewer ships for inspection than Alexis would have expected, and taken far fewer smugglers, much less any ship engaged in piracy. That gave her cause to wonder what Villar, and Bensley before him, had been about out here all this time.
As well, she must review the standing orders entered by both Villar and Bensley, so that she knew how the ship had been run and what she might like changed.
The ship’s current muster book gave her some sense of the crew and she found it much changed since the copy Admiral Cammack had supplied her on Lesser Ichthorpe along with her orders. Nightingale, it seemed, had been used as a veritable employment service by nearly every other Naval ship she’d encountered. Captains, all superior to Villar or Bensley, of course, had both taken and traded hands when they encountered Nightingale.
As a result, Alexis’ new ship was both shorthanded, she only had two thirds of her expected complement, and had a mix of crew who’d really spent very little time together.
Her review of the punishment log, the list of those in the crew who’d been sent to captain’s mast for discipline over some offense that couldn’t be handled by a petty officer’s fist told another story of the crew.
Her first review of it upon coming aboard had been to determine if Villar or Bensley had acted the Tartar, being too free with the lash. She’d been aboard one ship with an abusive captain and wanted no officer under her who might have similar predilections. She was happy to find that wasn’t the case with Villar, but when Alexis plotted the number of men appearing at each captain’s mast on a graph and saw a steady increase in incidents, it told a different story. She doubted Bensley or Villar had changed their own ways over time, so suspected that the crew those other ships had “traded” into Nightingale had not been their best or most well-behaved.
She was happy to note, though, that neither Bensley nor Villar after him appeared to have been too free with the lash. There were floggings in the log, of course, but none too severe nor for offenses that didn’t warrant it. Much as she hated the practice, and she’d been subjected to it herself, she understood the need.
Nightingale, at her farthest, would be ten weeks’ sail from the nearest permanent Naval authority — and that she’d have to leave her patrol area entirely to reach. Any discipline for infractions must be handled aboard ship, and with an immediacy that didn’t leave Nightingale even more shorthanded than she already was. The ship did have a brig, of sorts — a single locking compartment in the Marines’ berth, but that was more for keeping a man segregated from the crew until a proper punishment could be performed, not at all for long-term imprisonment.
Lastly, she had her own orders, the ship’s orders, to review.
And what a tangle those are.
Nightingale, it seemed, was to be everywhere and do everything all at once.
She was to:
Inspect and Identify all Ships engaged in the Avoidance of Due Custom amongst and between the Systems of the Patrol Area, Destroying or Taking those Ships and Cargoes for the use of the Crown.
Harass, Take, Drive off, or Destroy any and all ships engaged in acts of Piracy amongst and between the Systems of the Patrol Area.
Harass, Take, Drive off, or Destroy any and all ships of Powers with whom a State of War exists amongst and between the Systems of the Patrol Area.
That last she doubted she’d have cause to concern herself with, as these systems were far from the border with Hanover and she didn’t think any enemy ships would turn up. Of somewhat more worry to her, were the orders regarding the star systems themselves. On the one hand, she was ordered to visit each system and ensure that the terms of their colonial charters, with regard to the Kingdom at large, were being properly carried out. On the other hand, she was to “make no action with regard to Colonial Worlds which shall incur Offense or Slights toward Their Customs and Beliefs.”
And all with the admonition that I succeed in all of it or I “shall Answer the Contrary at my Peril.”
Alexis rubbed her eyes. She didn’t see how one undermanned revenue cutter could conceivably accomplish all of that, especially given the size of her patrol area. When she’d first joined the Navy, this area had been served by a sloop-of-war, and that was before the newly settled systems of Al Jadiq and Man’s Fall were added. Nor did she see how she herself could both carry out her orders to enforce the colonial charters on those worlds and avoid giving offense to their customs and beliefs.
With at least two of the worlds in her patrol area, Man’s Fall and Al Jadiq, her very presence in a Naval uniform would likely give offense. Zariah would be no problem; despite their origins they’d recently requested a Crown Magistrate be appointed and were rapidly bringing their own laws into full accord with the Kingdom at large. Eidera as well, for she’d visited that system aboard her first ship and they were an incorporated world, where the settlers mostly just wanted to be left alone. As was Dalthus, her own home — oh, there might be a few who remembered her as no more than the teenager she was when she’d left, but she doubted there’d be much in the way of offense at her turning up in charge of a Queen’s ship.
The last two, though, and the newest colonized, were both cultural worlds, settled by religious sects who found the constraints of the Core worlds — or in Al Jadiq’s case, even Zariah —
too much to bear.
Villar was not exaggerating when he said that those two would balk at her being in command of Nightingale. The briefing material on both told her that they had very definite and constrained ideas about the proper place of women — and none of those places included command of a Queen’s ship.
It made her wonder, a bit, about Admiral Cammack’s intent in giving her command of Nightingale. He’d had the same information available to him when he’d made the appointment, and the Navy was generally quite accommodating of Fringe World attitudes. Even going so far as to shuffle entire crews about to accommodate the beliefs and prejudices of the worlds that ship might visit.
Cammack must have known that Alexis would unwelcome on those worlds, yet he’d appointed her anyway.
Of course, Cammack was from Core Fleet and certainly not used to the ways of the Fringe. It was entirely possible he’d made a mistake and not even considered Fringe Fleet’s practices. On the other hand, Cammack had not struck her as a man who made decisions without understanding the circumstances … and he was Core Fleet. Had not Captain Euell, of her last ship, Shrewsbury, mentioned to her that many officers in Core Fleet found this particular practice distasteful? He’d even gone so far as to say that Core Fleet officers felt it was well past time Her Majesty told the Fringe Worlds to “suck it up” and accept the men and women of both fleets as they were.
Would an admiral from Core Fleet go so far as to deliberately ignore that custom? Was Cammack using her as some sort of cat’s paw to force the issue?
She rubbed her eyes again then looked up as there was a rustle of bedclothes from the rear of the cabin.
“You work too long,” Marie said softly so as not to wake Ferrau. “How will you do the works tomorrow, if you do not sleep tonight?”
Alexis took a deep breath, then closed the documents.
“You’re right. Time enough tomorrow.” She rose and stretched. “I’ll have a bit of bourbon before bed, Isom.”
She ignored the looks both of them gave her at that and made her way to the head to change. Neither Isom nor Marie approved of her nightly tot, she knew, but she felt it did help her sleep and avoid the nightmares which had been plaguing her more and more often since Giron.
It’s not as though I drink so much as anyone else in the Navy.
Ten
24 September, aboard HMS Nightingale, darkspace, the Remada Straits
Alexis came awake to a whispered, “Sir?” and a light touch on her shoulder. Isom was bent over her cot, leaning across Marie who, Alexis had discovered, was extraordinarily grabby in her sleep and had somehow draped herself over Alexis.
“Mister Villar’s at the hatch for you, sir,” Isom continued. “Three bells of the middle.”
Alexis groaned, only an hour and a half past midnight.
“Let him in,” she said. It must be important for him to interrupt her sleep.
Isom nodded and Alexis began the process of extricating herself from a sleeping Marie. She’d realized the first night that her thought to simply share a larger bunk instead of mounting an upper bunk on the bulkhead was not, perhaps, her finest. True, she didn’t have to climb in and out of an upper bunk, but Marie had a tendency to drape herself over all of the available space and anything else that might be in it, trapping Alexis against the bulkhead and underneath an astonishing variety of limbs. Unfortunately, to have an upper bunk mounted now would likely hurt the girl’s feelings and Alexis didn’t want to do that.
She eased Marie’s arms and legs off her and slid from under the bedclothes on the bulkhead side, then crawled to the end of the bunk. Marie let loose a rattling snore and settled back to sleep.
Isom had turned the compartment lights on to a dim glow, so she could see Villar standing near her dining table. His eyes were wide and kept darting between her and Marie. He met Alexis’ eyes, then cleared his throat and looked pointedly at the bulkhead.
Is he embarrassed to see Marie abed? She glanced back, but Marie’s form was nothing more than a lump of bedclothes with hair, not even her face was visible. It certainly can’t be me.
Despite the protestations of Delaine Theibaud, her French …
Well, whatever it is Delaine and I are to each other. And I do wish there’d be some word from him or about the fleet.
In any case, despite what Delaine had to say about it, Alexis had no illusions about how she looked getting out of bed in her Naval issue boxer shorts and undershirt. With her small frame and figure, she looked like nothing more than a young midshipman who’d let his hair grow halfway down his back.
Perhaps he’s from one of those worlds where seeing a girl’s knees and elbows is right out. Lord knows there’s enough of them. Or where wrists and ankles are all over shocking, come to that.
Well, both Mister Villar and the rest of the crew would have to get over that, as she had no plans to wear a full uniform whilst exercising or sparring with the Marines — something she reminded herself to begin the very next day, as she was already feeling out of sorts from lack of activity.
“Your report, Mister Villar?” Alexis prompted quietly.
“Ah, yes, sir, my apologies for waking you.” Villar continued to stare at the far bulkhead. “A sail’s been sighted. Lieutenant Bensley’s standing order was to be wakened for such. I kept that when I … well, before you took command, that is, and you’ve not changed it, so …”
“Quite right,” Alexis said. She’d reviewed Bensley’s standing orders and let them be for the time being. “I’ll be up to the quarterdeck presently.”
Villar left and Alexis found that Isom was already quietly laying out her uniform for her. She whispered her thanks to him, neither of them wanting to wake Ferrau, though if Alexis chose to close with the spotted sail, both Ferrau and Marie would soon be wakened by Nightingale’s call to quarters.
Alexis briefly visited the head and splashed a bit of water on her face, then ran a brush through her hair before capturing it in a tight ponytail. She dressed and made her way to the quarterdeck.
“Where away, Mister Villar?” she called as she stepped through the hatch.
“Fine on the starboard bow, sir, a fair distance, but looks to be two-masted,” Villar said. “We’re midway through the Remada Straits. The sail was in the Straits when we spotted her, but now she’s running fully downwind toward Greater Remada.”
Alexis scanned the navigation plot as Villar described the situation. Two masts would most likely make it a sloop or barque. Larger than Nightingale, and better armed if it wasn’t a merchant ship. The location and course were odd, though.
Nightingale was in the Remada Straits, an area of space named for its proximity to three uninhabited star systems, Deltiri and Greater and Lesser Remada. It was an oddity of darkspace navigation that a ship’s travel time was affected by normal-space masses such as planets and stars. The closer one was to a star system, the slower, or less distance, one traveled relative to normal-space.
Whether darkspace itself expanded and contracted in an exponential relation to normal-space masses wasn’t fully clear, only that it might take a ship a day or more to sail between Lagrangian points within a star system, but only a week or a fortnight to cover the light years between different systems — provided that ship avoided the slowing effects of any normal-space masses in between.
The shortest time between Zariah and Dalthus, then, wasn’t a straight line. It was a curving course that wended its way around intervening systems, trading distance in darkspace for faster travel relative to normal-space.
In this instance, the Remada Straits were the best-time course between those three systems, a sort of S-like curve which maintained as much distance from all three as possible.
The spotted sail, though, was not in the Straits. Its path on the plot showed it starting there, but sailing for the Greater Remada system and leaving the variable winds of open darkspace for the system winds that blew steadily toward that system’s star.
It was possible the ship wa
s a research vessel. The sailing notes said there were still such ships being sent to the Straits, even with the war against Hanover on, to study the nature of darkspace here. The currently popular theory being that, much as mass in normal-space warped space-time, it had an almost reversed, mirror-like effect on darkspace. If darkspace’s normal state was greatly compressed, accounting for short travel time between systems, and if the effect of normal-space mass were to stretch things, it would account for the greater distance/travel-time encountered in or near star systems.
Those research voyages were well known to the Navy, however, and Alexis had no notes of one in her logs or dispatches. They were also, generally, more than one ship and accompanied by a Naval vessel for protection against the pirates who sometimes thought the relatively narrow channel of the Straits a fine hunting ground.
Still, it could well be a research vessel or there could be some new find in one of the systems resulting in a settlement.
“Has there been some development in Greater Remada I’m unaware of, Mister Villar?” Alexis asked.
“No, sir, all three are uninhabited. We’d have had word if that were changing.”
Alexis frowned. It would take Nightingale some time to catch up with the strange sail, and when they did she suspected they’d find the stranger was up to no good. She’d encountered ships frequenting uninhabited systems before — aboard her first ship, Merlin — and there were few legitimate purposes for it.
“Bring us three points to starboard, Mister Villar,” she said, “and send the hands to an early breakfast. I have a feeling we’ll have business for the guns this morning.”
Villar snorted, but said, “Aye, sir,” and passed along her orders. Nightingale began to sound with activity as the crew was wakened.
HMS Nightingale (Alexis Carew Book 4) Page 7