Whatever is it with these surgeons and their talk? We never got that sort of thing from the surgeons aboard Merlin or even Shrewsbury.
Of course, those men were older and had been in the Navy quite a long time. Moreover, she supposed, she had no way of knowing what might go on between a captain and the ship’s surgeon behind closed doors.
“It’s sometimes helpful to say some things aloud —”
“What is it with you lot and your bloody talking!” Alexis snapped.
Poulter raised an eyebrow.
Alexis took a deep breath and closed her eyes. She’d been feeling so good about things since leaving Zariah with the intent to actively hunt down the pirates. There was work for her to do and that work drove off the memories and shadows — now Poulter’s words, for she knew exactly what he, and the bloody Lieutenant Curtice before him, wanted her to talk about.
Things happened. Horrible things. But, as the men say after a flogging, “Over, done with, and forgotten.” What possible use is there in dredging the bloody memories up on purpose when they come unbidden so damned often?
She opened her eyes to find Poulter staring at her calmly.
“I’ve upset you,” he said.
Alexis took another deep breath, forcing memories and shadows away. She regretted her outburst — something she knew she was doing far too often. Not least because it likely reinforced whatever thoughts Poulter already had of her state of mind, but also because she did have to work with the man. There was no telling how long she’d command Nightingale, and she couldn’t very well spend the entire time sending “afters”-soaked spacers to him for care … much as she might like to.
At some point, they’d have to settle his place aboard ship, and this might be the best time. In addition, Poulter was a part of Nightingale’s crew, and she’d determined to get to know them all better. She’d managed a start at that, she thought, with regular walks about the ship, stopping now and then to have a word with each man from time to time. She supposed she owed Poulter the same courtesy.
She sighed.
Over, done with, and forgotten — if I can manage it.
Settle it now and move on.
“I’m sorry for my outburst, Mister Poulter. Sit down, please.” Alexis sat with him and caught Isom’s eye. “I’ll have a bourbon, Isom, and something more for Mister Poulter.”
“Nothing for me, thank you.”
“Just the bourbon, then, Isom.”
She remained silent, watching Poulter, as Isom brought her glass and poured.
“Just leave the bottle, Isom,” she said, “there’s no need for you to wait on just the two of us. You can finish up with Garcia and then turn in.”
“Aye, sir.”
Poulter nodded at the bottle. “That helps, I suppose?”
Damn the man, but he does make it hard.
Had he no knowledge of the Navy at all? Every officer she’d ever encountered drank like a veritable fish.
“Helps with what, Mister Poulter?”
Poulter smiled, then his smile fell a bit.
“You know, I fear we got off on quite the wrong foot from the start,” he said.
Alexis nodded. She could acknowledge that, at least. And that it might be more her fault than his. She’d reacted to meeting him as though he were an extension of Lieutenant Curtice back on Lesser Ichthorpe, and there may have been nothing the man could have said to get them off on the right foot at all. That lieutenant had been tasked with evaluating her after Giron. She’d found him an insufferable prat, full of nothing but question after question about the battle at Giron and how Alexis felt about it.
“What is it you wished to speak of, Mister Poulter?”
Poulter smiled. “I suppose I should tell you that I’m acquainted with Lieutenant Curtice. I believe you know him as well.”
Alexis froze. It was as though every time she took a step with Poulter, she was stepping in something very like one of the creature’s messes. Speaking of the creature, in fact, she found herself suddenly wishing it might slip its cage once more and claw its way up Poulter as it had at their first dinner aboard.
She cocked her head, hopefully listening for the telltale chittering that told the creature was about, but heard nothing.
“I’ve made the lieutenant’s acquaintance,” Alexis said.
Perhaps the Jadiqis are correct. Perhaps there is a God … and he is vengeful. I certainly must have done something horrid to deserve this.
How else to explain that the surgeon aboard her ship, out of all the ships and all the surgeons in the fleet, should be acquainted with the man who’d said she shouldn’t have the command in the first place?
“How did you find Lieutenant Curtice?” Poulter asked.
“Tedious,” Alexis said without thinking, then quickly, “Forgive me for speaking so of your friend, Mister Poulter, but Lieutenant Curtice and I did find ourselves at odds while on Lesser Ichthorpe and I spoke in haste.”
“Nothing at all to forgive. We’re acquainted and colleagues, but I wouldn’t name him friend.” Poulter smiled. “Far too tedious for that, I think.”
Alexis took a bit of heart at that, but warily, waiting for her foot to encounter the next bit of mess.
Poulter shrugged. “I felt it was time, perhaps past time, that I told you he and I were acquainted. Certain documents come aboard ship, you understand, with transferred men and officers.” He paused. “You have records on the men and your officers, of course, but some of these documents are for the ship’s surgeon’s-eyes only.”
“Documents about me, you mean.” Alexis reached for her glass, saw Poulter’s eyes follow her hand, and stopped, going for the bowl of nuts left over from dinner instead.
Poulter raised an eyebrow, but nodded.
“Medical records, reports, that sort of thing.”
“From Lieutenant Curtice.”
“Some, yes.”
Alexis sighed, she could only imagine what those reports might include.
“Curtice’s notes indicated you were quite reluctant to speak about the events you’ve been through.” He sighed. “I’ve tried to draw you out, but it seems that might have been the wrong way to go about it.” He shrugged. “So, then, a more direct approach, yes?”
Alexis stared at him for a moment — this kept getting worse and worse, but she didn’t know how she might end it without simply ordering Poulter to leave and, possibly, never speak to her again. She strained her mind, willing the little beast to appear, but, of course, the creature didn’t cooperate.
“I’m truly at a loss to understand your, and Lieutenant Curtice’s, fascination with my thoughts, Mister Poulter.”
Poulter chuckled.
“Do you think the answers are for us, lieutenant?” He chuckled again. “No, we ask the questions, but only to suggest you think about the answers. Much like you prompted young Mister Spindler just a few minutes ago. The questions, and their answers, are meant to help you deal with the matter, not for myself or Lieutenant Curtice.”
“I ask myself these questions all the time, Mister Poulter. I’m aware that this, the Navy, is a dangerous occupation and that men will die — I, myself, might die. I’m even, come to that, aware that my orders and decisions will result in those deaths.”
“Well, then.” Poulter rose, surprising Alexis. She’d thought he might push further. “I’ll take my leave of you.” He made his way to the hatchway but stopped and turned back.
“I will point out, though, lieutenant — knowing a thing and accepting it are two entirely different matters.”
Alexis felt him watching her as she refilled her glass and sipped the bourbon.
“I know of the events at Giron, and I’ve been with the Navy long enough to imagine what wasn’t in the official releases. Even a bit of your previous ship, Hermione — oh, the records are sealed, but I can imagine some of that, as well. There are few enough things which would bring about a judgment of ‘groundless’ on mutiny charges and send that ship’s cap
tain to a posting in atmosphere.”
He looked at her and, for the first time, Alexis found his gaze sympathetic, rather than. He smiled and made his way to the hatch.
“Everyone takes different demons from events such as you’ve been through, lieutenant, and I do understand the reluctance of … well, people, such as yourself to seek out an understanding ear, but whether with me or someone else, I do encourage you to exorcise them as best you may.” He nodded at her bottle and glass. “Most find merely keeping them at bay is not nearly enough.”
Forty-Four
10 May, Carew Farmstead, Dalthus System
Alexis tossed her bag onto the bed. A few days at home would do her good and a bit of liberty would do her crew no harm. There were shipments of gallenium going out soon and Nightingale would be heading out to trail them.
She’d granted Villar a full day’s leave, and he and Marie had gone off to the village, where there was a small inn, for the time Nightingale would be in-system, so she’d have her room to herself.
She scowled as Isom arranged the bloody creature’s cage in a corner. Each time she returned home, she imagined the thing somehow being left behind, often because she’d dragged it a day’s ride from the farmstead and left it there, but no matter how often she fantasized about such a thing, she somehow neglected to do so and the thing made its way back to Nightingale and her pantry.
Her tablet pinged and she pulled it from her pocket to see a new message. Her scowl grew deeper.
“Coalson or Arundel, sir?” Isom asked.
“Either. Both.”
This message was from Coalson, wanting yet another meeting between her and his coterie, but there’d be one from her cousin wanting the same soon enough.
Coalson and his bunch were intent on gaining more services from New London, but without giving up any sovereignty in return. For her part, Alexis had used their first meetings to feel out Coalson’s still too great wealth and try to determine if he was still involved with piracy to achieve it. She’d managed to achieve exactly nothing, she felt — and hoped Coalson hadn’t either. His group pressed her for commitments and agreements, which she suspected they intended to try holding New London to, as Alexis was the senior officer on station. Though she remained as noncommittal as possible, she still feared she might inadvertently give them some advantage.
It’s like fencing with a waterfall — my own blows do nothing, yet any misstep on my part would spell disaster.
Her initial joy at meeting her cousin had turned to dismay after the first few visits as well. Lauryn was not only in favor of changing the inheritance laws, but was the head of an entire gaggle of what Alexis could only deem suffragettes, intent on changing not only the laws of inheritance, but the entire voting structure of the colony.
As though the shareholders would ever vote to give any power to those who hold none.
They seemed to view Alexis as some sort of symbol or figurehead, and simply assumed she agreed with them on every point.
In fact, she might, but hadn’t the time to give it too much thought. Her time was too taken up with the running of Nightingale and the search for smugglers and pirates.
She sighed.
There was nothing she could truly do for either group, and yet they insisted in their demands for her time each visit home. When all she wanted to do in these visits was to relax, just for a time, from the duties aboard ship, and give her lads a brief respite as well.
Part of her wanted to fall into the bed that very moment and nap, but her grandfather had mentioned he had something to show her on this visit. Whatever it was, she decided to see to that first, and then relax.
She went down the stairs.
“Grandfather?” she called from the stairs, but she heard no answer, instead hearing voices from the kitchen.
Denholm’s back was to her, peeling a pile of potatoes, scowling at each one before placing it in a bowl of water, while Julia stuffed a chicken with herbs. Alexis had to smile at the sight, it was so homey and comforting. She’d spent most of her childhood, she thought, sitting in this kitchen watching Julia stuff one thing or another into chickens. It was odd the sorts of things one remembered.
She paused in the doorway for a moment, watching the two. Denholm said something quietly and Julia laughed, then he caught sight of Alexis and turned his head to her, still smiling, one eyebrow raised in query.
Alexis almost said nothing, the moment had been so sweet and reminded her, oddly, of her and Delaine nudging each other as they waited in meetings before the invasion of Giron.
“You said you have something to show me?”
Denholm sobered. He seemed oddly unsure of himself, then Julia squeezed his forearm and murmured something Alexis didn’t catch. He nodded toward the door.
“Come along, then.”
Alexis frowned, puzzled, but followed him outside. They walked across the farmyard to the gate to the road, but instead of turning toward the village, Denholm turned away from it.
Alexis realized where he was taking her and almost stumbled. She felt a moment’s dread — she’d rarely visited this place. Its residents were those she’d never really known, after all.
Past the gates the road narrowed and turned into a winding path through the trees, then up a small hill that overlooked a large pond. The village’s fields were on the other side of the pond and the village itself was visible far in the distance. Atop the hill was the small clearing that served as the Carew family cemetery. The village had its own, so there were only three stones in the space — Alexis’ parents and grandmother.
Or had been three, as Alexis followed her grandfather slowly toward the fourth. Plain and workmanlike as the others were.
Alexis knelt beside it and ran her fingertips over the engraving.
Sterlyn Artley.
Just the date he’d died, August twenty-second. Called the Glorious Twenty-Second in the newsfeeds by fools who could never understand the costs of such things.
“I couldn’t find his birth date,” Denholm whispered. “We can add it.” He cleared his throat and laid a hand on the stone beside it, her grandmother’s. “Your man, Isom, and I talked some that first night you were home.”
Alexis flushed at the memory of bellowing drunken shanties as she was hoisted up the stairs to her bed.
“He helped me with the names. Don’t rightly know it was the proper thing to do, but …” His hand caressed his wife’s headstone. “At times I’ve found comfort in a place to speak to those I’ve lost. Perhaps you’ll find the same.”
Alexis nodded, running her fingers down the stone. Below the date was the ship’s name that still pained her.
Belial.
And then two columns of other names. Alexis read them to herself, automatically adding their rating aboard ship. She found that she remembered them all.
Bain Ades, topman.
Renfrid Lathem, gunner’s mate.
Rod Morrall, able spacer.
“Your man, Isom, helped me with the names, as I said. From what he told me,” Denholm said, “young Artley seemed a good lad and might … might like the others’ who were there at the end to keep him company.”
“He would,” Alexis said. She ran fingers over the names again. She quite suddenly understood what Poulter had been on about with his talk of demons. “I killed them, you know.”
Denholm dropped to the ground beside her and wrapped his arm around her. “Lexi —”
“I did,” she insisted.
“It’s a war, you can’t —”
“It was my choice.” Her voice broke and she took a moment to steady herself. “Captain Euell gave me Belial and told me to pick the men I wanted. I picked the best he had, the very best. My whole division and any others I could have.” She could feel the tears streaming down her face, but couldn’t stop them. “I named them, every one, and marked them to die there on that ship. They stood because I told them it was needful, and they fell because I couldn’t find another way.”
Denholm tried to pull her up and away, but she stayed there.
“Alexis, you couldn’t know what would happen and … I read the news of that battle, of every story you’ve been mentioned in since you left, but especially of that one, and I know what was at stake.” He squeezed her shoulders. “They didn’t die for nothing, now did they?”
Alexis sniffed. “No. No, but you should have seen them.” She looked at him and smiled, eyes bright. “Not a man ran, not a man shirked … I loved them for that.” She sobbed and let Denholm pull her to him, burying her face in his chest. “I loved them, but, God forgive me, I’d take them to their deaths again if I had to, and I don’t know how to bear that. Nor their memory.”
“That will ease,” Denholm said.
“Will it?” Alexis pulled back and stared at him. “I’ve seen the look in your eyes when you speak of grandmother or my parents — has the pain of their loss eased?”
“That’s different, it —”
“Is it?” She shook her head and wiped her eyes. “Perhaps. There was a man, you know, while I’ve been away.” Alexis flushed. She felt awkward saying it, especially to her grandfather, but didn’t know how else to explain to him how her losses might not be different from his own. “I care for him a great deal — I may love him. I don’t know exactly.” She shrugged. “He may be dead as well, I don’t know that either — he sailed off with Admiral Chipley’s fleet in pursuit of the Hanoverese and there’s been no word for —”
“I’m sorry.”
“No, it’s not that I’m trying to explain.” She frowned. “I don’t know if I love Delaine or not — the uncertainty of it, where he is, pains me. It does. But I do know I love my lads — my Merlins, my Hermiones —” She swallowed and nodded at the marker, her hand going out again to caress the cold stone. “— my Belials.” She gave a pained chuckle. “Even my Nightingales, God knows why, the motley, shirking, tag-ends of the fleet that they are. They’re mine and I love them with all my heart, so don’t try to tell me the loss of a single one of them is made even a bit less.”
HMS Nightingale (Alexis Carew Book 4) Page 32