HMS Nightingale (Alexis Carew Book 4)

by J. A. Sutherland

  “It’s only that the crew, sir, were feeling a bit bad for him being locked up.”

  “Indeed.”

  “Especially so after the Owl, sir,” Isom added.

  Alexis raised an eyebrow. “What would the Owl have to do with the creature?”

  Isom ducked his head and darted into the pantry. “Perhaps it’s best Mister Villar explained, sir.”

  She turned her attention Villar, who was watching the creature with an amused smile on his face He quickly sobered and straightened in his chair.

  “The tale, Mister Villar? And that of the Owl itself, if you please?”

  “They’re rather one and the same, sir.”

  “How’s that?”

  “Ah … perhaps if I were to tell it from the beginning?” The creature finished the small piece of beef and was looking at Villar expectantly. Villar nodded to it and patted his pocket. “But if I may first?”

  “Very well, but then let’s hear it.”

  Villar nodded, withdrew another piece of beef, this one larger, and gave it to the creature. Alexis wondered at what must have happened to result in a Naval officer being willing to put vat-grown beef in his uniform pockets – the smell in the midshipmen’s berth must be horrendous.

  “We were some distance behind the Owl when we transitioned, sir,” Villar began, “but Nightingale wasn’t damaged as she was in our last encounter. I saw fairly soon that we were the faster.

  “As we closed, I had Oswell and Mares laying the bowchasers – they did fine work and laid the shot well. Put more than one right through the Owl’s sails and into her stern as well.”

  Alexis nodded, acknowledging it and making a note to single the two men out in her own report to Admiralty.

  “I kept the gundeck aired until we closed further, wanting the men to have time without their helmets,” Villar went on, “but when I did call for vacuum, there was … well, a commotion.”

  Villar glanced at the creature and Alexis followed his gaze with a glare.

  “A commotion which, I presume, delayed vacuum long enough to round up this thing?” She supposed she’d have done the same – much as she might like to be rid of the creature, she didn’t think she’d go so far as to space it deliberately if she had the choice.

  “Yes, sir. Boots … that is … “ Villar pointed at the creature who gazed back impassively. “He … it? Well, he was rushing about the gundeck like he was crazed by something. All of the hands chasing him about, some shot went off the garlands and rolled about loose. They were all rushing about, trying to catch him, and no one was willing to put the deck into vacuum, what with him being loose.”

  Alexis took a deep breath, but nodded.

  “Then, all at once, he stopped his mad dashes and climbed up on the number six gun -- Garbett’s crew. I’d reached the gundeck myself at that point, to see what the commotion was about, and he –“ Villar pointed at the creature again. “—the mongoose, I mean. Well, he’d gone up on the gun itself and was rubbing his face on the barrel, then he crawled down into the breech itself.” Villar shook his head. “Old Garbett pulled him out – Isom arrived and took him back to his cage in the hold.”

  “Swear I don’t know how wee Boots manages the latch, sir!” Isom called from the pantry.

  Alexis winced as he named the vile thing again, but supposed she was going to have to get used to it if the crew had taken to the beast, which it was sounding as though they had.

  “And the crew’s taken to the creature over that?” Alexis asked.

  “That … and what happened later, sir.”

  “Later?”

  Villar nodded. “We closed with the Owl further, sir. The gundeck was in vacuum, guns run out. Mares and Oswell sent several more shots into them from the bowchasers. The Owl tried to maneuver away – they seem to have had no stomach for a straight up fight. Not one where they hadn’t got in the first broadside by surprise, at least.

  “Given our speed, I felt we could well-afford to come off the pace and present our broadside a time or two. We put two broadsides into her stern – well-laid, I’ll say of the men – and I think the Owl was then prepared to turn and face us. They’d taken some damage, though their rudder and planes were whole and working, and we’d shown that Nightingale could keep up and harry them from astern at will, you see?”

  Alexis nodded. No captain could stand to allow that for very long, eventually, Nightingale’s broadsides would have damaged the Owl’s vulnerable rudder or planes, rendering her less able to maneuver and an even easier target.

  “Just as I’d determined that the Owl’s captain must certainly fall off the winds to meet us with his own broadside, she did start to make the turn. I ordered Busbey to put the helm over hard and bring our own broadside to bear once more, hoping to get in one last strike at their stern, you see?”

  “As I would do,” Alexis allowed. One last blow where the enemy was most vulnerable before Nightingale would have to take a blow herself.

  Villar paused, raised his glass, and drained it. He glanced at the creature, who’d stopped gnawing on its beef and sat with its head cocked at Alexis. She looked from it to Villar.

  “And then?”

  Villar cleared his throat, raised his glass to his lips, and set it down as he found it empty. He took a deep breath, as though steeling himself to speak.

  “All of the guns fired, sir, and struck the Owl squarely on the stern.” He glanced at her, then back to the creature. “All but the number six, that is.”

  It took Alexis a moment to make the connection and realize why Villar kept glancing at the creature. What had it done to the number six gun? It had gotten into the breech – if that wasn’t cleaned enough, any shed fur might interfere with the shot’s transfer from the lasing tubes in the canister to the guns barrel. Enough, and the gun itself might burst.

  “Is that what happened?” she asked. She knew from Villar’s initial message that one man had died in the action, but not yet who or how. “Did the gun burst?”

  Villar shook his head. “No, it was … I know how this will sound, sir, but I reviewed the log, so I was able to see what happened and not rely on the crew’s account alone.”

  “And what was it?”

  “Well, sir, it’s … as the broadside fired, all but number six, old Garbett slipped. He went to one knee on the deck, his head and body hit the gun and knocked it askew – altered his aim, how he’d already laid the gun, by a bit, you understand?”

  Alexis nodded warily.

  “Garbett reached out a hand to the gun’s top – to steady himself or pull himself up, one – I can’t be certain which – but as he did so, his hand came down on the firing button.” Villar swallowed and shrugged. “The gun fired and old Garbett went down flat to the deck. Dead, sir.”

  “Dead? From a mere slip?”

  “Mister Poulter says it was the blow to his head, sir, even through the helmet. The men aren’t so certain.”

  Alexis shook her head, bewildered. “They’ll not take the surgeon’s word for it? What do they think –“ She broke off as she saw Villar staring at the creature again. “What is it, Mister Villar, I fear there’s a great deal more to this.”

  Villar nodded. “It’s the shot, sir – that last shot from number six, you see? The one Garbett set off before he died.”

  “And?”

  “Well, sir, Dancy says he saw it clear as day – I reviewed the quarterdeck logs, the images of the Owl, but I couldn’t be certain. Dancy swears he saw it though, and Wooldridge as well …”

  “Saw what, Mister Villar? Out with it!”

  “The Owl just exploded, sir. Fusion plant went up all at once. Dancy swears it was that last shot. Says he saw it clear as day – go through a small breech in the stern made by that last broadside.” He shrugged. “Must have, in fact, to strike her fusion plant and breech that.”

  Isom chose that moment to return and refill their glasses.

  Alexis took a sip. It was certainly an astounding feat, if wh
at Dancy had seen was true. A lucky shot, indeed. “A lucky slip,” she said. “For Nightingale, if not for Garbett. I’d not have lost him so.”

  “Not to hear the crew talk, sir,” Villar said.

  “Not what? Lucky for the ship or unlucky for Garbett?”

  “Oh! Lucky for the ship, sir, certainly – but the talk of old Garbett is more … well, there’s why Garbett slipped, you see?”

  Alexis followed Villar’s gaze back to the creature.

  “No,” she breathed in realization. Her jaw clenched in anger as she realized what Villar meant. It was one thing for the creature’s proclivities to soil her boots, quite another for it to have caused the death of one of Nightingale’s crew. She was amazed, frankly, that the thing was still alive and hadn’t been spaced by the ship’s crew immediately after they’d discovered it. “Damn. Well, we’ll see the thing well dealt-with, I assure you, Mister Villar – and assure the crew as well.” She glared at the thing, but it merely gazed back calmly, sharp teeth ripping another shred off of the length of beef it held – and why Villar might be feeding it after what it had caused, she couldn’t fathom. “Well dealt-with, indeed.”

  She blinked as Isom came to the table and hovered over the creature protectively.

  “You’re mistaking it, sir,” he said, “the men aren’t angry with Boots, not at all. They say he’s lucky.”

  Alexis stared at him in shock, then at Villar who was nodding agreement. That certainly made no sense to her.

  “Lucky? A man’s dead!”

  “Well, and it was Garbett, after all,” Isom said. “He was a dour bastard, come to that.”

  “But –“

  “It’s that the Owl did still outgun Nightingale, sir,” Villar said. “In both weight and number. The men knew they’d face a fight – a hard one – and some of them would fall. But Boots, see, made that unnecessary.”

  “Took out that ship with one shot,” Isom said.

  “It did not!” Alexis stared at the two for a moment. “You said yourself, Mister Villar, that you’d put more than one broadside into their stern! If their hull was breached, any shot of the next broadside might have done the same!”

  “As may be,” Isom said, “but it’s what the men think – the Owl was turning to fight, remember, and we’d likely not get another chance at her stern.”

  “And Garbett? They’ll just forgive that – for the ‘luck’ of it?”

  Villar scratched his neck and grimaced. “To tell the truth, sir, they’re talking of Garbett as more of a … well, sacrifice, I suppose. Not as a victim.”

  “What?” Alexis stared at him in disbelief. “What utter nonsense!”

  “A willing sacrifice,” Isom said, “for what it’s worth. His mates took him out of the suit after and said old Garbett had a smile on his face for the first they’d known him to.”

  Villar nodded. “I did see it myself.” He shrugged. “Garbett did love his gun, but he was getting on in years. Likely be put in atmosphere one day soon.”

  “His mates’re sure he have rather gone as he did,” Isom said. “Putting one last shot up a pirates arse and taking the lot to hell with him.” He flushed. “As they said, sir.”

  Alexis sat back in her chair and took a deep breath, held it for a moment, then exhaled.

  “What utter rubbish.” She stared at the creature, which swallowed the last of its beef and began licking its forepaws. “So they’ve settled it in their minds that the thing’s lucky, have they?”

  “Most.”

  “Most? Well, at least some have some sense.” She sighed.

  Villar held up a hand and winced. “As to the others, sir …”

  “What? They have a lick of sense and want the creature spaced?” That wouldn’t be good – if part of the crew thought the creature lucky and the others blamed him for Garbett’s death, then she’d anger some no matter what she did with the thing.

  “Not exactly, sir. There’s … talk. Not a great deal, but some.”

  “What sort of talk?”

  “It was Creasy said it first, I think, sir,” Isom said.

  Alexis closed her eyes. Creasy and his talk of Dutchmen, which she thought they might finally have settled. Now what had the man come up with? She closed her eyes and waved for the two to continue. Whatever came next was best over quickly, she thought.

  “Well, there’re more uncanny things than Dutchmen said to inhabit the Dark, sir,” Villar said, “and with the talk of Garbett as a, well, sacrifice …”

  “Dear lord.” Alexis opened her eyes and stared at the creature. Was it her imagination, or did the furry little shoulders square and did its eyes contain a glint of challenge? “They think it’s some pagan god?” Perhaps she could leave it, and those of the crew who’d follow it, behind on Man’s Fall. It would serve the colonists right to have a mongoose-worshipping sect set up shop next door.

  “Oh, no, sir!” Isom said. “That would be foolishness. No better than those Man’s Fall fellows, to believe that.”

  “Thank –“

  “Creasy says there’s only spirits in the Dark – no gods at all.”

  Alexis closed her eyes again, counted ten, then glanced at the creature. She shook her head slowly, carefully stood, and made her way to the hatch without looking back.

  “I’m returning to the planet to see about the last of the rebuilding assistance, gentlemen.” She shook her head. “I feel I need some … time.”

  Fifty-Four

  12 June, Man’s Fall System

  The sound of saws and hammers echoed through …

  Alexis paused in her walk, realizing that she didn’t know what Man’s Fall’s port town was called, if anything. She’d have to make a point of asking Stoltzfus before Nightingale sailed.

  Regardless, Nightingale’s crew was happy-- most of them, as she’d brought more down from the ship to assist and she’d come to an accommodation with Stoltzfus and the other elders to allow them some liberty on Man’s Fall while they assisted with the rebuilding. That did make it seem less a reward to some, though — as well that those repairs were being performed with hand tools only, and that the town had no pubs or taverns. Not a drop of alcohol to be found, come to that, much to the chagrin of the Nightingales.

  Still, she was happy that her crew took the limitations with good grace.

  Perhaps it was the extent of the destruction itself, or the bare dirt of so many fresh graves in the town’s cemetery that kept them sober and reserved. She knew the battle and its aftermath would have an effect on her for a long time to come.

  She shook her head in bewilderment as she did every time she thought of it. All of this made no sense to her still. These colonists had arrived on Man’s Fall as one — one community with one set of beliefs — yet they’d turned on each other with such ferocity and hatred.

  Poulter tried to explain it to her, but she still couldn’t accept how such things could happen.

  He, Poulter, also tried to get Alexis to talk about the fight itself — her and all the men who’d been on Man’s Fall. She thought the whole of the crew’s opinion could be best summed up by Ruse, who’d stared at the surgeon for a moment, his left side still covered in medical patches as his wounds healed, then simply said, “It was needful. Now bugger off and let me drink, will you?”

  Alexis still wondered if she might have done something differently and avoided so much in the way of bloodshed. Perhaps pressed Stoltzfus more strongly about his “internal matter” on her first visit, or seen sooner that the “piracy” was something quite different.

  For today, though, she thought, eyeing the bright sky with gratitude, she’d simply be thankful that her lads were alive.

  All of them, save Garbett and Rasch -- but she pushed that thought aside, as it would force her to think of what to do with the creature as well. That bit of foolishness she didn’t want to deal with just yet.

  She took another bite of the dense, sweet pie she carried. Man’s Fall did have some skill with sweets, though,
and the town’s residents were perfectly willing to part with some in exchange for the crew’s labor. She started walking again — Isom, several boxes of additional pies for the crew still aboard Nightingale weighing him down, followed close behind.

  A horse-drawn wagon loaded with boards passed her, likely headed for the reliquary and the construction there. Alexis followed it with her eyes and noticed a woman and young girl of perhaps eight or nine on the wooden walkway across the dirt street. The girl was pointing at Alexis and the mother was bent over, speaking and glancing at Alexis as well.

  Likely the trousers, Alexis thought wryly, looking away and moving on.

  Her crew, even in their ship’s jumpsuits, fit in well enough with the men of Man’s Fall — at least until the subject of one’s proper behavior came up, at least — but Alexis stuck out. Her uniform was different in every possible way from the long, full skirts and round caps or shawls the women here wore. She shrugged and took another bite of pie. She could tolerate the odd looks for the time it took to finish Nightingale’s repairs and move on. When her patrol brought her back this way, they’d be back to meeting Stoltzfus at the remote landing field and not mingling with the world’s settlers.

  “Sarah!”

  Alexis looked jerked her head around, heart leaping in her chest for a moment as the girl darted across the street, dodging around the horses pulling another wagon. The woman, Alexis assumed the mother, came after her, but had to stop as the wagon kept moving.

  “You …” the girl said, gasping as she dashed up to Alexis. “You’re … the girl who … stopped the bad men.” She took a deep breath and her eyes scrunched up. “How did you do that? You’re not very big.”

  Alexis had to smile. She knelt down to look the girl in the eye.

  “I did have a number of friends with me at the time — that’s quite important.”

  The girl nodded, but her face grew somber.

  “My friend was Samuel Yoder,” she said, “the bad men made him dead and I can’t play with him anymore.”

  Alexis’ heart twisted at the thought of the Yoder farmstead and the state she’d found it in on her first visit to Man’s Fall.