Ahead of her, the bosun had entered the quarterdeck airlock. Alexis kept her speed up along the hull, barely slowing as she closed on the hatch herself and finally slammed bodily into the closed hatch.
She slid it open and then closed behind her, leaping across the small room for the valve that would fill the lock with air. She unsealed her helmet, grimacing as the difference in air pressure made her ears pop painfully. When the pressure in the lock had equalized with the quarterdeck she slid that hatch open and rushed in.
She froze as she saw the bosun facing Captain Neals. The bosun’s face was set, the muscles in his jaw clenched and his eyes tight. Alexis saw his eyes narrow as he spoke, voice low and the only reason Alexis could hear his words was because the rest of the quarterdeck crew was deathly still and silent. The spacers at their stations stared fixedly at their consoles and even Lieutenant Dorsett and the marines stationed at the airlock and ladderway looked pointedly away from the two.
“Sir,” the bosun said, “they’re just behind us — it’d take no time at all.”
Neals’ nostrils flared and he clenched his own jaw. “Are you deaf, Mister Maslin? I believe I was clear.” The bosun swallowed and started to speak, but Neals cut him off. “The answer is no.”
Alexis couldn’t believe what she was hearing, the captain couldn’t be talking about stopping for the two men who’d gone overboard. He could not possibly be refusing to come about and pick them up. Hermione wasn’t facing the enemy, she was on no urgent errand — coming about for the two who’d gone over would affect their speed less than the pointless sail evolutions he’d been putting Alexis’ division through. Behind her, she was dimly aware of the lock cycling again and the hatch slid open.
“That is an order, Mister Maslin,” Neals continued.
The bosun squared his shoulders and took a deep breath. “Aye, sir.”
“No!”
All eyes on the quarterdeck turned to her. She knew it was a pointless, but couldn’t stop herself. She couldn’t let those men die without protesting the decision.
“You forget yourself, Carew,” Neals said.
“Captain, please, you can’t just leave them out there! It would take but a little time to come about!”
“This ship is on course and making good time. Come about and waste that for two lubbers who couldn’t be bothered to clip on a line? I think not — worthless, the lot of them.”
Alexis opened her mouth, but couldn’t find the words to respond. She’d known Neals was cruel, heartless even, but to leave men to die like this? To call them worthless and lubbers, a deadly insult to experienced spacers, when they were, in truth, the most skilled sail handlers aboard? Her eyes burned as she tried to think of some argument, some words that would change the captain’s mind.
Neals looked over her shoulder and his face grew angrier. “What are you lot doing in my quarterdeck lock?”
Alexis glanced behind her and saw that a half dozen spacers had crowded into the lock, their faces dark as they’d clearly heard what the captain had said about their mates. “No one sets foot on the quarterdeck without my leave — clear out!”
Despite the angry looks, discipline held and the spacers began affixing their helmets in preparation to return to the hull when a voice echoed from the airlock.
“Bastard!”
Everyone on the bridge froze. Neals’ eyes widened and his face flushed red.
“Who said that?” He spun on the bosun. “Mister Maslin, take that man’s name!”
The bosun swallowed heavily and took a step back. “Sir, I was looking away … I didn’t see who spoke.”
“Damn you!” Neals’ face grew redder. “Carew! Those men are of your division! Whose voice was that?”
Honestly Alexis had not been able to tell, with the voice’s harshness and echoing from within the airlock combined with her own distraction at the captain’s cruelty she hadn’t recognized it. “Sir, I couldn’t say …”
“What are you men still doing there?” Neals yelled. “Clear the quarterdeck this instant! Marines!”
The marines reached for their sidearms, but the airlock hatch was already being closed by the men inside. Just before the hatch slammed shut, the voice sounded again.
“Bloody bastard!”
Neals stood still for a moment, staring at the hatch. His breath was ragged and Alexis could see the muscles of his jaw working. His lip curled up in a sneer.
“Carew,” he said.
“Sir, I’m sorry,” she said hurriedly. “The men are distraught, you understand … their mates …”
“Those men are of your division, Carew?”
“Yes, sir. I’m sorry, but I did not recognize the voice. I’ll look into it, though, I swear —”
Neals raised a trembling hand to point at the airlock. “Get back out there, Carew, and bring them in through the proper lock, then assemble those men on the mess deck.” He turned to the bosun. “Mister Maslin, pipe All Hands to the mess deck to witness punishment, then pass the word for Lieutenant Blowse — I want the marines turned out, every one, for I will surely hang the next man who speaks so to me.”
* * * * *
Alexis left the quarterdeck airlock and stepped out onto the hull, waving to get the attention of the men in her division even as Hermione’s hull lights began flashing to call the full crew inside. She hurriedly made her way to the bow and gathered her men around her, ensuring that they entered the sail locker together and with no others.
She faced the inner hatch while the compartment filled with air, not wanting to turn around and see the others. Not wanting to see who was missing. Finally, the air stopped hissing in and she couldn’t delay it any longer. She unsealed her helmet and lifted it over her head, turning to face the men.
“Matheny and Urton,” she said dully, seeing who was missing.
“Yes, sir,” Nabb said.
Alexis clenched her eyes shut, feeling them burn, but she didn’t have time for tears. Matheny and Urton were gone, likely dead by now for they’d surely dumped their air when they saw that Hermione hadn’t turned back for them. But the men in this room were still alive and she vowed to keep them so. She opened her eyes and met theirs in turn. Their gazes were hard and angry, red-rimmed and some with tears mixed into the sweat on their faces, but more angry now.
“The captain —” she began.
“That —”
“Goodnowe!” she barked harshly. “Not a word!” She took a deep breath and let it out, shuddering. “Not a single word from any of you, do you understand me? The captain, whatever else you may think of him, is the captain and he’s promised to hang the next man who says a word against him.”
“He can’t —”
“Shut up, Goodnowe! Are you mad?” She looked around at the others desperately. “He will hang you, then put it in the log and go to his dinner with never a second thought.” There was a pounding on the hatchway into the ship and she knew that she hadn’t much time. “Please, lads, hold your tongues.” She met each of their eyes in turn. “Matheny and Urton are gone, but I cannot bear to lose another of you this day.”
“Aye, sir,” Nabb said nodding and the others followed suit.
Alexis took another deep breath and slid the hatchway open then led the men up the companionway to the mess deck. The marines were already assembled, as well as most of the hands. She made her way aft to the wardroom hatch where the other officers waited. After a short wait while the rest of the hands made their way inside the ship and assembled, Captain Neals stepped forward. He surveyed the assembled men.
“Lieutenant Blowse,” he said.
“Sir—”
“As I ordered, Lieutenant!”
“Arms!” Blowse ordered and the marines drew their sidearms. There was a collective intake of breath from the men, followed by muttering.
“Silence!” Neals yelled. “Lieutenant Blowse, the first man who moves from his place without orders is to be shot down, do you understand?”
“Si
r—”
“Do you understand, Lieutenant?”
Blowse nodded to his marines who readied their weapons. “Aye, sir.”
Neals took a deep breath. “Carew, bring your division forward — here in front.”
Alexis stepped forward, wondering what Neals had in store. “Come on, lads, form up in front.” The men of her division stepped forward, nervously eyeing the marines, and formed into lines in front of the officers. Neals stepped forward and jerked his head at her to stand back with the other officers.
“Two men short, this division is.” Neals narrowed his eyes. “Two useless lubbers who couldn’t be bothered to look to themselves Outside!”
Alexis concentrated on keeping her face impassive. She looked from man to man, meeting their eyes in turn. Please, lads, hold your tongues. He’ll do what he will, but, please, don’t give him cause for more.
“And someone in this division is an insubordinate cur!” Neals’ face was turning red again. “Mister Maslin!”
“Aye, sir?”
“Every man in this division … two dozen. Every man left, that is.”
Alexis was stunned and she could tell by the silence on the deck that the others were as well. She looked around at the other officers and saw that their eyes were wide. Williard was pale and his mouth had fallen open. There were over two hundred men gathered on the deck and not a sound was heard for several seconds, then there a soft murmuring. Not from Alexis’ division, she was relieved to see. All of them stood still, faces blank and jaws set. The murmuring grew louder and some of the gathered men shifted in their positions.
“Silence!” Neals bellowed. “I will have order on this ship! I will have discipline and attendance to my orders!”
The bosun cleared his throat and started to speak. “Sir, is this—”
“Be about it, Mister Maslin, you have your orders! And do not shirk, or I will see you at the gratings yourself, and your backbone bared this very day!”
“Aye, sir.” The bosun jerked his head at one of his mates who rushed off to fetch the cat. He returned in a few minutes, all the while the assembled men stood still and silent, but Alexis watched their faces. Hermione had never been a happy ship and floggings were common. It was rare for a Captain’s Mast to go by without at least one spacer finding himself bound to the gratings for some offense, but this … a full division flogged at once? Twenty-two men?
The bosun took the red baize bag he stored the cat in from his mate and reached inside. He withdrew the cat o’ nine tails, made from length of ship’s cable. The cable was unwound to free its three cords, each made from three strands of braided line. Almost a meter long, its nine strands were knotted to add weight and stiffen the blows. Half its length was left solid, the better for handling. The boson grasped the handle and shook his arm loosely.
He eyed the assembled men and then looked to Captain Neals who gestured for him to get on with it. He drew a deep breath nodded to his mates. “Seize one of them up, lads.”
The bosun’s mates looked uncertain and Nabb stepped toward them, fists clenched.
“Nabb,” the bosun warned.
“Ease off, Maslin,” Nabb said. He met Alexis’ eye and nodded curtly. “Someone’s got to go first and show ‘em how it’s done. Form a line, lads,” he called over his shoulder as he angrily stripped open his jumpsuit and shrugged out of it. “Captain’s pleasure to see it in job lots today, so best be about it.”
“Three dozen for that one, Mister Maslin,” Neals said.
Nabb snorted and stepped over to a grating two of the bosun’s mates had rigged to stand upright against a nearby column. He raised his hands to the corners and they bound him there with a thick cord.
The bosun looked down at the deck, shook his head once, and then lashed out with the cat. The strands struck Nabb’s back with a sharp crack and drew lines of crimson across his flesh. The second blow followed closely on the first, the bosun not wanting to delay.
Alexis felt herself trembling. She’d stood through floggings before, far more often than she liked since coming aboard Hermione, but this was quite different. The crowd was strangely silent and she flinched as the crack of the next blow echoed through the quiet space. Usually there were shouts and calls from the assembled men — catcalls if they felt the offender deserved the punishment or, more common aboard this ship, shouts of encouragement if not. This time, though, there was no sound other than the cat landing across Nabb’s back. The crew stood silent, faces set and staring, not at Nabb nor even the bosun, but at Captain Neals and the assembled officers.
When the last blow was dealt, the bosun’s mates released Nabb’s arms and he sank to his knees, blood flowing down his back and soaking his jumpsuit. The ship’s surgeon started forward, but Neals held up a hand.
“No, Mister Rochford, I don’t think so. He and his mates can care for one another when this is done, leave him there.”
Rochford looked as though he might object, but then lowered his eyes and resumed his place.
Alexis grasped her hands, trying to stop their shaking.
I should have let them run when we were on Penduli. Should’ve walked every last one of them onto a merchantman myself and seen them well away.
The silence continued as the next man was bound in place and Alexis watched, horrified, as his back too was laid bloody by the bosun’s cat. At some point, she felt wetness on her cheeks and realized that she was crying, tears flowing down her face as a third man took his place at the grating.
Blood was beginning to pool on the whiteness of the deck where the men who’d already been flogged knelt and the bosun was forced to run the strands of the cat between his fingers, stripping the blood from the strands for they’d become soaked with it and begun sticking together and landing as a solid clump. When the third man was cut down and allowed to collapse next to Nabb, the bosun tossed the cat angrily aside and jerked his head at one of his mates.
“Get another,” he said quietly. “Bring them all.” He looked to those waiting their turn. “And get to making more.”
The wait was agonizing, though only a few minutes before the mate returned with three red bags and then rushed off again. Isom was bound up next and he was visibly terrified. He struggled with the bosun’s mates and had to be dragged to the grating, thrashing and throwing his head from side to side. His struggles were so great that the bosun had to use his belt knife to bare the man’s back, slicing his uniform open down its length. Isom’s screams, shrill and panicked, when the first blow landed seemed to break the spell of silence and the murmurs of the crew could be heard between blows.
Alexis’ vision blurred and she swayed on her feet as one after another the men of her division, the men she was most responsible for, went under the lash. She heard a soft noise to her left and looked over to see Lieutenant Williard swaying on his feet, pale and with one hand to his mouth. Ledyard caught her gaze and one corner of his mouth raised in a smirk. Through it all, Neals stood immobile, watching every blow.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
When it was over and Captain Neals dismissed the hands, Alexis barely made it into the companionway before she ran. She leapt down the steep ladder, hardly letting her feet touch the narrow steps, past the gundeck, past the orlop deck and deep into the ship’s hold. She slammed the hatchway open and then closed behind her and ran forward through the narrow aisles between the ship’s stores. She didn’t stop until she was far forward — as far from the quarterdeck and Neals as she could possibly get.
She’d wanted to rush to her men when it was over and see to their care, but they’d want their mates around them now, not an officer. Any officer.
“You bastard!” she cried, slamming her fist into the side of a container. “Vile, bloody, bastard!”
Over and over again she slammed her hands into the container until, finally exhausted, she sank to her knees. She wrapped her arms around her legs and buried her face in her crossed arms. The thought that she should have done something kept entering h
er mind, but what? And what good would it have done? If she’d said or done anything that stirred the men, then surely someone would have hung. She’d seen the desire to do so in Neals’ face, he’d simply been waiting for an excuse. She certainly couldn’t have stopped him herself, the marines would have simply dragged her off to quarters or the brig.
Nothing had ever made her feel this helpless before, not even the inheritance laws on Dalthus that would keep her from her family’s lands. At least those she could speak out against and try to change — here she had no power at all.
She sat for a long time, trying not to think about what she’d just witnessed — trying to think about nothing, really — when she heard footsteps approaching. Blinking and sniffing, she realized that she shouldn’t be seen like this — the men should not see an officer behaving so and she certainly didn’t want any of the other officers to see her.
Perhaps being found by Lieutenant Williard would not be so bad, he might have some advice or insight, though it would most likely be to simply ignore it all in the hopes for future advancement, but none of the others. She scrambled quickly to her side and eased her way into a narrow opening between two containers, vat nutrients to one side and thermoplastic precursor to the other, she saw. The shadows deepened the farther she went back and she crouched down, hoping that no one would notice her.
“This’ll do, then.”
“Can’t be far enough away from that lot to suit me.”
“And that’s what I wanted to talk to ye about — gettin’ far away.”
“Ah, bollocks, Carville. More of that? I’ve told you before, running’s a bad bet — and Neals’ll give you no chance, besides.”
Alexis recognized their voices now, Hacker and Carville, two men in Ledyard’s division. She edged farther back into the recess, wanting even less to be seen now that she’d heard the men speak of running, deserting the ship at some opportunity.
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