Likely it was just talk, but no good could come of them knowing she’d heard. If she did nothing it would seem like she condoned it and if she reported them they’d likely face the lash themselves. After what she’d just witnessed, she’d have no hand in sending someone else to that fate. In fact, though she knew it was her duty to put an end to such talk or report it, she couldn’t help but empathize with the two men. Hermione being what it was, life on the run as a deserter might seem preferable to many.
“Not runnin’, no … takin’.”
“Taking what?”
“The ship, boyo, what’d y’think?”
Alexis’ breath caught in her throat. The two weren’t discussing desertion, they were talking mutiny. She froze and ducked her head. It was a much more serious matter now if the two men discovered her and knew she’d heard them. Desertion was serious, but mutiny, even the plotting of it with no action, which was how Neals would view even the barest mention, meant death.
“You’re daft,” Hacker said, whispering now. “I’d not say that on any ship … on this one, bugger me if I’ll listen to another word!”
“Have ye not had a enough, then? Two deaders fer no cause, an’ the whole lot flogged fer afters!”
“Keep your bloody voice down, Carville! What if someone hears you?”
“Like Ledyard, the pissy, pox-ridden bastard? Did ye see the look he had? He’s a taste fer seein’ the lash, he does — you know he’s put men up fer Captain’s Mast just t’see it happen!”
“Carville—”
“Look,” Carville said, his voice lower. “We could do it, we could. Most o’the crew’d stand aside an’ see which way things blew. No more’n twenty men movin’ at the right time and the ship’s ours.”
“To do what with? Can you navigate enough to get anywhere? Didn’t think so. You haven’t thought this through.”
“Need one o’ the officers, then. Carew might — she’s no great love of the captain, neither, her. Williard’d want t’save his own skin any way he could. One o’ t’other snotties, once we’d scared ‘em proper.”
“And do what with the rest of them? Have you even thought about after?”
“Too bloody right I’ve thought about after! Bloody dreamed about it! Neals gets his and that little shit, Ledyard, too!”
“Shh! Damn you, Carville, you’ll get us both hung!”
“It’s comin’ ‘ave no doubt. Weren’t the onliest ones headin’ off fer a private talk, us. Never seen a ship this bad — it’s comin’.”
There was a long pause.
“You may be right—”
“You mark me, Morrey Hacker, it’s comin’.”
The two men were silent for a time and Alexis began to wonder if they’d left without her hearing their footsteps. Then Hacker spoke again and his words sent a chill through her.
“If it’s coming, Carville, I’ll not want to just be towed along in it.”
The two men walked off, still murmuring to each other. Alexis waited in the shadows until she was certain they were gone and then emerged. She straightened her uniform and bit her lip, wondering just how many other secret meetings were taking place deep in the ship’s hold. And what was she to do now?
She couldn’t imagine telling Captain Neals — his reaction would be something she’d not wish on any of the men. The First Lieutenant, Dorsett, was who she should tell, according to all propriety. It was his responsibility to see the captain’s orders carried out and to manage the crew, but Dorsett was a non-entity aboard the ship, so overshadowed by Neals that he rarely left his cabin when not on watch. Ostensibly Williard was in charge of the midshipmen and was who Alexis should go to for advice, but she’d thought more about what he’d said over dinner on the station. She didn’t feel that he would know how to handle what she’d heard. There were, in fact, no officers aboard Hermione that she felt enough respect for to confide in.
Maslin, she thought. The bosun stood in an odd place aboard ship, neither an officer nor fully one of the crew. The men might hate him for his role in enforcing discipline, but they respected him too. Yes, I’ll speak to Maslin.
* * * * *
“Lads, there’s something I’d like to say before we head out.”
The chatter in the sail locker quieted, though it hadn’t been that great to begin with. Alexis had spoken to Mister Rochford about the men in her division, but to no avail — he’d already suggested to the captain that they be excused from duty while the wounds from their floggings healed, but Neals had rejected the idea out of hand. By the time Alexis had approached Rochford after supper, he was quite put out about it, but there was nothing he could do.
And so, the very day after being flogged, all twenty-two men left in her division were crowded into the sail locker, shifting uncomfortably as the heavy vacsuits settled against their backs, preparing for a watch Outside working the sails. Alexis was grateful for a chance to go out on the hull herself, for it would give her an opportunity to speak to the bosun in private, but she did wish that her men could be spared the work until they healed.
“I know yesterday was hard, lads.” She hesitated, not sure of how far to go or what to say, then pushed on. “It was horrible, and I wish I could have done something—”
“Never blamin’ you, Mister Carew, it’s that bastard Nea—”
“That’s what I mean to speak about, Nabb. You must all watch your tongues and not give him any excuse. I’ve … I’ve heard some things that others aboard are saying.” She looked around the compartment, meeting their eyes in turn and noting which faces had gone still and guarded. “If there’s talk aboard this ship, dangerous talk, then I should be very put out if any of you were to be involved.”
“Only so much a man can take, sir,” Nabb said, staring down at the deck.
Alexis nodded. “I think a man might take quite a lot more than he expects, if he’ll only look ahead to where another course might land him.” She shifted her vacsuit’s helmet in her hands in preparation for donning it. “Just think of the consequences before acting, lads, and don’t disappoint me, will you?”
She settled her helmet over her head to a chorus of “Aye, sir.”
They’ll trade a pound’s worth of prize certificates for a three-penny upright and I ask them to think through the consequences?
Once they’d all donned their helmets, Alexis dumped the air from the sail locker and they filed out onto the hull. The men who’d had the sail watch before them waited impatiently to reenter the ship. Alexis walked to the base of the mast and looked around. Being Outside normally calmed her, the roiling, black shapes of darkspace in the distance and the cerulean glow of the charged sails were something she eagerly awaited the chance to return to, but not today.
She caught sight of the bosun’s distinctly colored vacsuit and swallowed hard. She did not relish the thought of this conversation — surely no good would come of telling anyone of what she’d overheard, but she couldn’t think of any good that would come of not doing so either.
Consequences, indeed.
She made her way to the bosun’s side and gestured that she’d like to speak with him. He leaned toward her and touched his helmet to hers.
“Yes, Mister Carew?” he asked, voice echoing in her helmet.
Alexis opened her mouth, but found that she simply didn’t have the words. She’d tossed and turned most of the night wondering what to say to him, how to describe what she’d heard. Should she just come right out and say, “Hacker and Carville and some others I don’t know are plotting mutiny?” Or, perhaps, try to hide their identities, but would Maslin believe that at all? And what about the hypocrisy of why she, herself, had been in the hold, what if he asked about that?
Why, yes, Mister Maslin, I was down there cursing the captain’s soul to Hell itself and quite wishing the vat of nutrients I was pounding my fists on was, indeed, his vile, toadish face … but, please, do focus on two men I overheard.
“Mister Carew?”
Perhaps th
ey were only venting their spleens, as I was. But, no, the closed faces of the men back in the sail locker told her that things had gotten further than two mates talking. She could, possibly, try to talk to the other hands — start with Hacker and Carville, then move on to others, and appeal to them take no rash action.
“Mister Carew?”
“I’m sorry, Mister Maslin, my thoughts flew away with me for a moment.” No, the bosun was the only choice. “There’s talk I think you should be aware of, Mister Maslin. Amongst the men. No names, but I —”
Alexis grunted as she was suddenly shoved forward, stumbling and almost losing contact with the hull. She spun around and saw Ledyard standing near the bosun, his vacsuit recognizable by the midshipman’s stripes and the fact that it was only a little larger than her own and his arms still outstretched from shoving her. He gestured abruptly to her and she touched her helmet to his.
“Damn you, Ledyard!” she said. “I’m senior to you and I’ve had enough of your games! This isn’t the time for them.”
“Captain Neals sent me for you, as you seem not to be watching the lights. His compliments and he’ll see you on the quarterdeck instanter.”
Her irritation at Ledyard’s disrespect vanished, replaced by worry. If she’d missed a signal to report, Neals would be furious, but what on earth could he want when they’d only just come out onto the hull?
She followed Ledyard back to the airlock and through onto the quarterdeck.
“Carew,” Neals said as soon as she entered, “your division is suited and on the hull?”
“They are, sir.”
“Very good.” He looked down at his tablet, tapped it a few times, and then looked back to her. “I should like them to unstep the mainmast, Carew. Please report back to me the moment this is done.”
Alexis blinked, uncertain she’d heard correctly. The masts were normally unstepped, folded down to lie flush against the hull, only when the ship was in normal space — and even then only when they’d be using the conventional drive. The fore- or mizzen-mast might be unstepped in darkspace to clear a way for another ship to come alongside, but rarely the main. Unstepping the mainmast while still in darkspace and relying only on the fore- and mizzen-masts would cut their speed by almost half.
“Unstep the mainmast and report back instanter, sir,” she repeated to ensure she’d heard correctly. “Aye, sir.” She went back out onto the hull, still wondering at the purpose, but relayed the order to her men.
They set about the complex task, first furling the mesh sails and taking them down to be stored in the sail locker, then lowering the long, bulky yards for storage as well. Though there was no gravity, the sails and yards still had mass and controlling them, each tens of meters long, was grueling. Following the yards, the men had to release and coil the rigging, both standing and running — hundreds of meters of cable that secured and braced the mast and yards to the hull and each other. And finally the mast itself, where they had to unlock and lower each of the telescoping segments carefully into the one below it and, at last, unlock the base of the mast to let it hinge back onto the hull and lock into place.
All told, it took the twenty-two men of her division over an hour to complete the process. Alexis watched them through every step, lending a hand where she could and ensuring that no step was overlooked. She could see the men were moving slower and more carefully than they normally would, their backs painful from the flogging the day before.
When the last clamp was in place around the now folded mast, she returned to the quarterdeck.
“The mainmast is unstepped, sir,” she reported.
Neals consulted his tablet. “Your men are slow, Carew. Unhappily so.” He frowned. “Please step the mainmast and set all plain sail. Report back here when it’s done.”
“Aye, sir.” She left the quarterdeck and went out onto the hull once more, relaying the order to her men. She could see their shoulders slump even through the bulky vacsuits as they, too, came to understand the reason for Neals’ orders.
The flogging wasn’t enough for the bastard, was it? She clenched her jaw, furious. No, he’d make them work the day after, reopening the cuts from the lash let their sweat from the effort add to the sting.
Alexis watched as the bulky mast was raised again and extended, the rigging made fast and the yards hoisted up, before the sails were brought out. All plain sail, he’d ordered — main, top, topgallant, and royal sails sent up the mast, made fast to their yards and let go. Even the sight of the sails glowing with azure light and sparks of white as they were charged and filled with the darkspace winds to pull the ship along couldn’t alleviate her anger.
“Mainmast stepped and all plain sail, sir,” she announced, restraining the urge to slide the airlock hatch closed with as much force as she could muster.
“Far too slow, Carew,” Neals said, not bothering to look up from his tablet. “Again, if you please.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Alexis closed her eyes and slumped under the stream of hot water. She’d be using most of her water allotment for this shower, but felt the need to wash away the last several hours. Neals had kept her division working throughout their watch and on into the next, never letting up — the only respites they’d had were brief trips into the sail locker to charge the air and water in their suits and then return to the masts.
As soon as she’d realized the captain’s purpose, Alexis had joined in the work, lending a hand wherever she could to lessen the load on the men of her division. Always rushing from the mast to the quarterdeck hatch when they were nearly done, so that she could report to Neals as quickly as possible. She truly had no idea whether they were completing the tasks faster or slower each time, for Neals never said — he responded to each of her reports with a grunt and, “Again and faster, if you please.”
When he finally ordered them back inside after stepping the mast for the last time and furling the topgallant and royal, the men collapsed onto the benches in the sail locker. Alexis slumped against the wall next to the inner hatch, for, by tradition, officers stood in the locker while the men sat, in recognition of their hard work. She didn’t even have the strength to feel moved when Nabb elbowed his neighbor to slide down the bench and motioned for her to join them. She simply sat gratefully and pondered that the men she commanded were so much more her familiars than the officers who were her peers.
“Two lads left behind to die soes we’d not lose time — and what was all this about, then?”
“Enough, Nabb,” Alexis said quietly.
“Can’t take no more,” Isom moaned, doubled over to rest his head on his knees. “I’m just a bloody clark!”
“No clark you! Yer in the Navy now!”
“Neals’ Navy! Which’re a damn sight harder than t’other one!”
Alexis stood and resumed her place by the inner hatch. Her legs were a bit weak, but she felt it best to be clear she was speaking as an officer.
“Look, you lot, I know a good whinge is a spacer’s natural right—” She glanced at the pressure gauges. Once all of the suits were recharged with air and ready for an emergency, they’d be going back into the ship, which gave her little time. “— and you’ve far more cause than most or ever, but watch your tongues. Give no one cause to call you out for it.”
“Sorry, sir,” Nabb said. “And you lot mark her, too. Best t’be still on this boat.”
The sharp trilling of a bosun’s whistle sounded from the speakers in the head and broke her out of her reverie.
All hands? she wondered as she shut off the water and hurriedly grabbed a towel. She quickly rung most of the water from her hair and tried to dry it as much as she could in the few moments she could spare, then threw on a new uniform and grabbed up the pile of her vacsuit and the sweat-soaked uniform she’d worn Outside. What could Neals possibly want now?
She dumped her vacsuit and uniform in a corner of her berth and tied her wet hair back in a ponytail before hurrying to the companionway and up to the
mess deck where the men were assembling. She’d come up forward and the space in front of her was blocked by the broad backs of the assembled men.
“Make a lane!” she yelled.
The crew moved to either side, clearing a space for her to hurry down the length of the deck to where the officers were grouped aft. She was beginning to count herself lucky that Neals hadn’t arrived yet when he stepped through the aft hatch and glared at her.
“Good of you to join us, Carew,” he said as she took her place in line with the other midshipmen.
Neals was in a vacsuit and carrying his helmet, which surprised her because he very rarely left the interior of the ship, relying on the officers and bosun to see to things on the hull.
“I’m sorry, sir,” she said, taking her place.
Neals handed his suit helmet to Lieutenant Dorsett. “As you’re here, call your division forward.”
Alexis swallowed heavily, dreading what he might have in store for them now, and stepped forward. “Port watch, main topmen, up front with you!”
“I’ve just been out to inspect the state of my rigging, Mister Carew, and what do you suppose it is I’ve found?”
“I could not say, sir.”
“I found the port-four gasket on the topgallant left untied, Mister Carew! That is what I have found!”
Alexis clenched her jaw. She wanted to scream at him. Work them for nigh seven hours and then go looking for aught to complain of? A single bloody gasket left undone?
“Who was responsible for that gasket, Carew? Name the man for me, please.”
Alexis froze. He’s looking to flog one of them again — he’ll not be satisfied until a man dies there before him.
“The name, Carew!”
She glanced toward the men and caught his eye. Isom, the little legal clark, caught up by the Press and who should be spending his days reading judges’ decisions instead of hauling on lines in the depths of darkspace. He knew it, as well, she saw in his face. He paled and might have fallen if the men to either side hadn’t grabbed his arms and steadied him. No, I’ll not give you another of my lads.
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