HMS Nightingale (Alexis Carew Book 4)

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HMS Nightingale (Alexis Carew Book 4) Page 21

by J. A. Sutherland


  “If that will be all, lieutenant?” he said, gesturing toward his cabin’s hatch.

  Alexis nodded and stood. “Thank you for your time, captain. I’m sorry to have delayed you.” She cleared her throat. There was no need to antagonize the man, she supposed, as she’d likely be encountering him again along her route. “As we’re both traveling to Al Jadiq next, may Nightingale offer you escort?”

  Lounds stared at her quizzically for a moment, then laughed outright, causing Alexis to flush.

  “That’s a fine jest, lieutenant, but the Gale is well able to protect herself,” he said, rising to show her out. He paused at the hatchway. “Though, perhaps, I should offer you a bit of advice on the way of things. There are some complaints, especially from the more backward colonies, which are best left unaddressed, I think you’ll find.”

  “Addressing the colonies’ concerns is part and parcel of my Naval duties, captain.”

  Lounds’ eyes narrowed. “There are those who would suggest the Navy’s should be to open those worlds to trade, not assist them in remaining isolated. Trade is the lifeblood of the Kingdom. The taxes and duties on trade goods fill the Queen’s coffers — coffers, I might point out, which pay your salary, girl.”

  Twenty-Eight

  23 November, aboard HMS Nightingale, darkspace, enroute to Al Jadiq System

  “Sail!”

  Alexis glanced toward the speaker in her tabletop. She’d discovered her cabin aboard Nightingale had a fine relay to the quarterdeck, allowing her to hear what was said there even when not on watch. That was something she hadn’t had aboard other ships, or hadn’t been aware of — she flushed as she thought of the occasional thing she’d said, or muttered, while on watch that she wouldn’t be entirely comfortable with her captain at the time hearing.

  “Where away, Dorsett?” Villar’s voice sounded from the speaker.

  “One point abaft the port beam, sir, down twenty. Beating to windward, looks like.”

  Alexis pictured the space surrounding Nightingale. She could just as easily echo the quarterdeck’s tactical console to her table, but it was currently covered with reports and logs of their travels since leaving Zariah and she didn’t want to interrupt that work.

  Nightingale was on the starboard tack, sailing almost perpendicular to the prevailing winds on her way from Man’s Fall to her next stop at Al Jadiq. The other ship was downwind, one point — just a few degrees — behind the midships point on Nightingale’s port side, and twenty degrees “below”. There was no true “up” or “down” in either darkspace or normal-space, so all such directions were relative to Nightingale’s keel and mast.

  “Man the sails and wear to running, Mister Ousley,” Villar said. “Down twenty on the planes. We’ll run down to her and have a look. Notify the captain, Creasy.”

  The chorus of “aye, sirs” came along with the soft ping of Alexis’ tablet.

  “Yes, Creasy?”

  “Sail to leeward, sir. Mister Villar’s ordered us about to close.”

  “Thank you, Creasy,” Alexis said. “Call me when we’re within range to signal them. Is the Gale still within sight?”

  “It is, sir.”

  Captain Lounds and the Dark Gale had flirted in and out of view with Nightingale repeatedly as they neared Al Jadiq, depending on the winds and each ship’s tack, but there’d been no further communication between the ships. Lounds seemed intent on ignoring Nightingale, and Alexis was content to let it be so. Still, two ships owed each other a certain courtesy.

  “Make a signal to Captain Lounds and the Gale as to our intent.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  Likely Lounds wouldn’t bother to respond, but it was the thing to do.

  Alexis returned to reading the logs, but was distracted about what to do about Villar and the crew.

  There was now no doubt in her mind that Villar was a good officer — his orders to the crew were crisp and on point. In the interaction she’d just heard he’d followed Nightingale’s standing orders to the letter, but still she couldn’t shake the feeling of mistrust in him their first encounter had set in her. He seemed to feel it as well and it made him hesitant and seemingly unsure of himself when she was around. She’d noticed that in him mostly when they’d been around Marie, so perhaps he was simply uncomfortable dealing with women, but it was there nevertheless.

  Damn, but she need to be able to rely on her first officer, and he on her — not forever be tiptoeing around each other as though afraid to step on one another’s tails.

  And both of them must be able to rely on Nightingale’s crew, something she was slowly running out of hope for.

  At first she’d thought the crew’s performance was something to be laid at Villar’s feet, or even Bensley’s before him. Perhaps a laxness in previous commanders the men had taken advantage of, but she was beyond that suspicion now.

  Or all three of us, myself included, have the same failing.

  Oh, there’d been a bit of improvement in the gunnery and sail handling — the extra work she’d set the men couldn’t help but improve things somewhat.

  And lord knows there was little room for anything but improvement when I first came aboard.

  She sighed and looked over the reports again. They were still lucky to get off two broadsides in four minutes, where she’d prefer, and expect, two in three. The sail handling wasn’t quite the shambles it had been when they’d left Zariah, but it was still shoddy. She was almost tempted to call the quarterdeck and have Villar pass by this latest ship without inspection, if only to avoid the half-hidden sneers and snickers of another merchant crew after they’d watched Nightingale’s laborious attempts to put herself within range to dock with the other ship.

  With our luck, the Gale would drop back to observe and have a bit of a laugh at us as well. She sighed. They’ve no pride in themselves. They know they were cast off into this ship, so why bother?

  It was up to her — along with Villar and Spindler — to change that, to bring back the pride and sense of purpose that should exist on a Queen’s ship.

  But Villar seemed to lack that pride himself — or at least the confidence needed for it, if his uncertainty around Alexis were any indication — and Spindler was but a boy still, and unrecovered from Alexis’ tongue-lashing as well. He should be learning that sense of pride from the experienced crew, not the other way around.

  And from me, though I’ve mucked that up well and truly.

  She sighed again and slid those reports to the side of her table, filing them to look through again at some later time when she might get some glimmer of an idea for how to fix things aboard Nightingale. She had other things, just as important, to think about — such as her certainty that there’d been an aircar or ship’s boat and modern weapons involved on Man’s Fall, the missing ore carriers, and even Edmon Coalson’s seeming change in heart.

  She couldn’t shake the feeling that the Coalsons were rotten to the core. They’d been involved in piracy before, so if anyone on Dalthus might be in league with those who were taking ore carriers, Coalson was the first she’d suspect. And yet Edmon had seemed quite sincere in his feelings. Alexis could hardly imagine what it might be like to grow up with such a father as Daviel Coalson, and it wasn’t inconceivable that Edmon would feel relief to be out from under the man’s control. Still, underestimating that family had cost her own dearly over the years.

  Man’s Fall only added to the quandary. Stoltzfus’ insistence that it was an internal matter and refusal to believe that she’d seen an air vehicle of some sort was maddening. If pirates were attacking his settlements, why wouldn’t the man want the Navy’s help? If it really was an internal matter, then, again, why wouldn’t he want the Navy’s help with what would be rebels violating the colony’s charter proscriptions against technology?

  Alexis rubbed her forehead. It seemed every system on this patrol added some new worry to her load — what would Al Jadiq bring?

  Her tablet pinged and she glanced at it,
surprised to find that hours had passed with her worrying and it was the quarterdeck signaling again.

  “Yes, Creasy?”

  “Mister Villar’s compliments, sir, and we’re coming close enough to signal.”

  “Thank you, Creasy. Fly Heave-to and Inspection, if you please, then beat to quarters. I’ll be there instanter.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  As Alexis stood, Isom was there with her coat. The distinct sound of the call to quarters sounded over Nightingale’s speakers.

  “Do you expect trouble, sir?” Isom asked.

  “No, I don’t think so.” Alexis shrugged her shoulders, settling the coat, and fastening it. “They would have run when they saw our colors if they were up to no good. I suspect they’re a smaller merchantman risking the run to Al Jadiq in hopes of some profit — and’ll be grateful to see us out here. Less grateful when we tell them of the Gale and Lounds arriving before, as no doubt the bloody Marchants will undercut some smaller carrier on the price of goods or carriage.” She rose. “We’ll meet them at quarters, in any case, just to be prepared.”

  Lord knows the men need the practice at even clearing for quarters.

  “I’ll just strike Boots and his cage down to the hold where he’ll be safe, then,” Isom said.

  Alexis froze in place and turned her head to stare at Isom, who, similarly frozen in midstride, seemed unwilling to turn and meet her gaze.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Sir?” Isom asked, still not looking at her.

  “What did you just call it?”

  “Call what, sir?”

  “The creature, Isom. The vile creature foisted on me by Avrel bloody Dansby. What did you just call it?”

  Isom cleared his throat. “It may be, sir, that one or two of the crew’ve taken to calling him by a name.” His tone turned disapproving. “Seems wrong for the poor beasty not to have one, you see.”

  “And what is that name?”

  Isom sighed. “That would be Boots, sir.”

  Alexis looked down at her boots and wrinkled her nose. Isom swore he’d cleaned them thoroughly after the last incident and could detect no odor and that Garcia thought the same — though what the cook thought of being asked to sniff his captain’s boots Alexis couldn’t imagine — but she felt certain they still smelt of … creature.

  “I see.”

  Now, along with all her other troubles with Nightingale, the crew was aware she couldn’t even keep order within her own quarters.

  “So I’ll seal the cage and see he’s safe in the hold, shall I?” Isom asked.

  “Of course, yes, do that,” she said instead of suggesting they strap the vile beast’s crate to the barrel of a gun and fire a warning shot, no matter if the other ship hove to as requested. “Safe in the hold.”

  “Poor fellow doesn’t like all this rushing about and being trundled back and forth,” Isom said, heading for the hatchway. “Affects his bowels, it does.”

  Alexis winced. Poor fellow or not, she vowed once again to insist Isom find a different home for the creature and its affected bowels, other than in her pantry. Perhaps, if the crew saw fit to name the horrible thing, they could welcome it to their berth as well. It would serve them right to find its little gifts in their own bloody boots.

  She made her way from her cabin to the quarterdeck and took in the scene. Villar stepped away from the navigation plot, ceding the place to her. Through the bulkhead she could hear the muffled sounds of the crew rushing to quarters and preparing the guns — Spindler would be on the maindeck supervising and passing along her orders. Just as well they were still some distance away from the other ship and had time to spare, as the crew was none too speedy in their tasks.

  Alexis took her place at the navigation plot and eyed the ships’ positions and images of the other ship. She was a bit larger than Nightingale, but fore-and-aft rigged as well, flying New London’s colors and lights flashing in response to Nightingale’s signals.

  “The Lively Owl, out of Grasmere,” Villar said. “Says she’s bound for Al Jadiq in hopes of a cargo or commission for one and would welcome sailing in consort with us.”

  Alexis nodded. This far into the Fringe a merchant captain would welcome any company, there was strength in numbers, but especially a Navy vessel which would provide protection without competition.

  “Reply that she’s welcome to sail with us, Creasy, but I note she’s still on a sailing course. Repeat Heave-to and Inspection, if you please — we’ve tasks other than just escort to be about.”

  Alexis watched the plot as lights on Nightingale’s hull and mast made the requested signals, then waited. After far more time than would be acceptable from a Naval vessel, but not too much so for a civilian merchant, the Lively Owl’s masts flashed in acknowledgment. The other ship turned toward Nightingale, putting her bow into the wind, and doused her sails. Alexis nodded with satisfaction as the azure glow of the other ship’s sails faded in the images on the plot.

  “Bring us along her port side and extend a docking tube — and inform Mister Spindler to take a party across for inspection. This Owl’s not too very large and the experience will do him good.”

  And perhaps show him I’ve confidence in him. Repair some of the damage I’ve done.

  “Aye, sir,” Villar said.

  Alexis settled into her stance beside the navigation plot, hands clasped at the small of her back. The rest was waiting — and trying not to express her impatience at Nightingale’s crew nor wince at the thought of what the Owl’s captain might be thinking at her ship’s antics.

  The Lively Owl was almost directly downwind from Nightingale and the maneuver should be simple. Sail toward the other ship and come about, dousing sails and using what momentum she maintained as the morass of dark matter permeating darkspace dragged at her hull to loop about and stop — ideally just close enough to extend a boarding tube.

  Instead Nightingale overshot, looped too late and too far, and wound up both downwind of the Owl and several hundred meters below the other ship.

  Alexis glanced at Villar who’d just hissed yet another order to Creasy for relay to the men on the sails in some attempt to correct the latest bungle. Villar flushed, but Alexis couldn’t fault his orders — it was the sloppy, lackadaisical way they’d been carried out which had put Nightingale in this position.

  “Ah … signal from the Owl, sir,” Creasy said from the signals console. He squinted at his screen. “Interrogatory, our number, and … ah … Heave-to, sir. I think they’re, ah —”

  “They’re bloody well asking if we’d like to sit still and have them come alongside us, since we’re making such a cock-up of it,” Alexis muttered. “Answer in the negative, Creasy — and inform Mister Spindler that I’ll be taking his place in leading the inspection party.”

  She’d not send the lad over to face a captain and crew laughing up their sleeves at Nightingale’s antics.

  Villar’s face became more and more stone-like as gave further orders. Alexis still couldn’t fault his ship-handling, the orders were all the proper ones, it was only their execution that fell short. In fits and starts Nightingale moved once more, righting herself in relation to the Lively Owl, then tacking upwind, and finally the sail crew outside hauled the sail boom around via the bowsprit to take the wind and fall back slowly to come in line with the other ship.

  Slowly and nearly too far away — the docking tube would be stretched to its utmost — but finally there.

  “You have the deck, Mister Villar,” Alexis said, “I’ll be about —”

  She stopped, eyeing the monitors and the images of the other ship displayed there. There’d been a hint of movement on the other ship’s hull. Not their own sail handlers, who’d gathered around the Owl’s mast to watch Nightingale’s antics, but along the hull. A twitch of one of the gunports, which were all closed as they should be — but a gunport shouldn’t move at all, unless the gundeck behind it was in vacuum, as Nightingale’s was. And there was no reaso
n for that unless —

  “Roll to starboard — ninety degrees!” Alexis called quickly.

  “What —”

  Villar was staring at her, brow furrowed. The helmsman frowned, shook himself, and reached for the controls. Alexis herself flung herself at the helm, seeing he was moving too slowly. Praying she was wrong, hoping this would be just one more in Nightingale’s long string of embarrassments this day … and knowing if it wasn’t she’d been too late.

  Twenty-Nine

  23 November, aboard HMS Nightingale, darkspace, enroute to Al Jadiq System

  Time seemed to slow in the next moments, like a nightmare she couldn’t wake from.

  “Roll ship, damn your eyes!” Alexis yelled again, stretching her hand futilely toward the helm.

  Finally, the helmsman moved, hands running over the controls.

  A moment later she saw the Lively Owl’s side ripple as gunports opened and wished she’d given the order to fire first, but she couldn’t have — not just on a hunch. Couldn’t fire into what was possibly an innocent merchant on a reaction to seeing a single gunport twitch. And now her Nightingale would pay the price for that. She could still get the first shot in, but her ship was closer than she’d like to fight an action, as well as out of position for the best results.

  “Fire!”

  Nightingale’s guns were already loaded and run out, the crew’d been at quarters and ready for action as they closed with the Owl, but undermanned as she was, that was changed as they drew closer and the Owl showed no signs of hostility. Most of the guncrews were either sent to the sails to help with the maneuvering, the rest to boarding tube in preparation for docking with the other ship. Only the gun captains were left at the guns.

  Creasy, on the signals station, was at least well trained. He relayed Alexis’ order to fire to the gundeck and the gun captains slapped their hands down on the buttons to fire.

 

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