Mutineer

by Sutherland, J. A.

  But the rest of the crew clearly had and she was surprised that it had been so many. She would have expected, as she’d overheard in the hold, that it would be a much smaller group.

  She took a deep breath.

  “So what should I speak to, lads? You’ve taken the ship and there’s no going back from that,” she called out. She tried to meet each man’s eyes in turn, noting who looked away and who glared back at her. She waved a hand at the kneeling officers. “Is it this lot you’re deciding on?”

  She could tell from their silence that this was it. With the actual fight for the ship over, there’d be some who’d be eager to take their revenge on the officers and others who’d have had enough of the violence. Could she appeal to the latter and how? She scanned their faces again. The hard cases, the ones from the gaols, would be no help — they’d not care, might even relish the killing. And they’d, none of them, want to hear about the right or wrong of it. She wasn’t sure of that herself. For Neals, at least, she could see the justice in it for the men to have their revenge.

  But that would be all it was, revenge. Not killing in the heat of a fight, but cold with the victim unarmed and defenseless. And she knew from her dreams that it was a thing that haunted you, even when it was needful as it had been with Horsfall. She’d not want Captain Neals haunting any of her lads’ dreams. But that wasn’t a thing they’d want to hear, either. They’d not welcome the suggestion that they’d one day regret the act — it would seem cowardly to men like this. No, the reason would have to be something else.

  “You can’t kill them,” Alexis said simply. “Not now they’re taken.”

  “After all they’ve done it’s only just!”

  “Even little Ledyard, there?” she asked pointing.

  “He’s the worst of the lot!”

  “And look at what example he had!” she cried pointing at Captain Neals. “Will you kill a child for doing as he’s taught is right?”

  “Neals then!”

  “Not even him!” she yelled back. “Look, lads, you’ve taken the ship and you’ll be known for that now, but don’t make it worse with more killing.”

  “Hang for the ship or hang for the ship and killin’ them! It’s all the same!” one of the men called out.

  Alexis hopped down from the platform and rushed forward to confront him, the other men standing quickly out of her way.

  “It’s not all the same, Waller Campton! Not one bit! It’s one thing to kill a man in heat, but to do it cold, as this would be? That’ll be looked on differently and you well know it!” She turned slowly looking at the men around her, singling out those she knew sent part of their pay home. “You all have families. Wives, children, fathers, mothers … what you’ve done will affect them, too. Annis, what will your mum think when she hears?”

  “You leave me mum out o’ this!”

  “Well, and it’s you who brought her into it, didn’t you! When the word reaches her, what will she think of you? What will her neighbors think of her?” She tried to remember what she knew of the men around her, who had a wife and children and which sent money home to an elderly parent each month, singling them out one by one.

  “‘There goes old Mrs. Whitehurst, there, aye — you know her boy, Halden, was part of that business on Hermione, poor lad to be serving under that bastard of a captain, just couldn’t take it no more.’” She turned to another. “‘Poor Mrs. Ficke, her man Dunleigh had no choice but to run, the way he were treated.’

  “But kill them in cold blood, lads, and you know it’ll be different. It’ll be the busy neighbors whispering and the cuts from the shopkeepers and the parson’s ladies talking. ‘Oh, Mrs. Hatchell, her boy went bad, you know. Fair bathed in blood on that ship.’”

  She froze as she turned, seeing Nabb in the circle around her. Oh, Nabb, not you. She felt her chest clench at the thought of what would be in store for him now. He’d have to run far, for any of the mutineers caught would surely hang. There’d be no more of his pay sent home to wife and children, and surely there’d never be enough coin for them to join him wherever he made his way.

  “‘Look at Mrs. Nabb, there,’” she continued, hardening her gaze, “‘walking bold as brass with her little ones, and the oldest just the age of the boy her Wallis strangled with his own hands on that Hermione.’ Is that what you want for them, lads? Is it?”

  “Why’re ye trying to save ‘em, Mister Carew? They treated ye bad as us, the lot of ‘em.”

  Alexis stepped up to Nabb and raised her hands to cup his face tenderly.

  “Damn you, Wallis Nabb, are you so blind? It’s not them I’m trying to save.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  “Wait. Commodore Balestra, she will come soon,” the Hanoverese lieutenant said as he slid shut the hatch. The two armed guards stayed behind, one to either side of the hatchway.

  Alexis shuffled nervously into line with the other officers from Hermione, not at all certain she should be there with them. Though the crew had kept her with the officers since the mutiny, Neals had not spoken to her — not a word, and the other officers had followed his lead. So not only was she at loose ends as to her status amongst Hermione’s crew, she was even more confused about her status with the Hanoverese.

  After her appeal to the crew aboard Hermione had been successful in quelling their desire for revenge, the officers had been locked in Neals’ cabin for the duration. Alexis had gone with them and so knew little more than they did about the decisions the crew made, but she did feel their decisions made a certain sense. Left with control of a warship, they had few choices of where to go — two, really. Or only one, if one considered that the ship was in a border area between only two nations and staying in New London space would see them taken up and hanged for mutiny.

  Instead, they’d sailed for the nearest Hanoverese port.

  In the end, they hadn’t needed Alexis or any of the officers to navigate the ship. It had only taken a very bright helmsman who had his eye on one day becoming a sailing master, and, so, had listened intently to the navigation lessons the midshipmen were given while he was at the helm. After successfully proving himself by sailing to the nearest uninhabited star system, he’d plotted Hermione’s course toward the border.

  What the Hanoverese had thought of a New London frigate sailing into their system with her colors doused and signaling surrender without a single shot being fired, Alexis couldn’t imagine. She did know that many amongst the crew, even amongst the mutineers, were unhappy with the decision — it was one thing to rebel against Neals, it was quite another to turn the ship over to the enemy in time of war.

  Alexis didn’t approve, but she also couldn’t see an alternative that would leave the men alive and free, for the butcher’s bill from the mutiny was already greater than she could bear. Fully half her beloved marines and their officers, down to the last sergeant, were dead, along with two dozen of the crew. None of her own lads were dead, thankfully, but she’d lost Nabb forever, no matter what the Hanoverese had in store.

  At least for her, Rochford had been allowed — ordered by the crew, really — to treat the wounds from her flogging. The pain was mostly gone now, though her back still felt tight and odd, something the men told her she’d get used to in time.

  The Hanoverese lieutenant slid the hatch open and gestured for them to enter. Alexis was at the end of the line, behind even Ledyard. The Hanoverese had insisted on keeping her with the officers so far, despite Neals’ attempts to tell them she belonged with the crew.

  As she entered the commodore’s day cabin, Alexis felt her mouth open in shock and quickly closed it. It wasn’t the commodore’s rank, nor even the uniform, which was rather more ornate than Alexis felt strictly necessary — no, it was the fact that Commodore Balestra was the first other female naval officer Alexis had ever seen. Tall and blonde, with sharp, striking features, and a uniform covered in gold braid, medals, and a gaudy sash.

  The woman sat down at her desk and began reviewing her tablet
without a glance at those assembled before her. After a moment, Neals’ face began to redden and he cleared his throat. Balestra held up one hand, index finger extended in a “wait a moment” gesture, never looking up from her tablet. Alexis saw Neals’ face redden further and she suppressed a smile of satisfaction. I shouldn’t like her — she’s the enemy, after all — but it’s worth a bit to see the captain put in his place.

  Finally, Balestra took a deep breath and looked up.

  “Capitaine Neals, I have reviewed the situation and I am prepared to dispose of you.”

  Neals’ eyes widened, as did those of Hermione’s other officers. The Hanoverese lieutenant cleared his throat.

  The commodore leaned back. “Que?”

  The lieutenant whispered in her ear and Balestra frowned.

  “Merde. Non. I make the … disposition? Of your status, yes?” she said. Seeing them relax, she continued, “The mutins, the ones who take the ship, they are free to go where they will.” Neals opened his mouth to speak, but Balestra held up her finger again. “Non, this is decided. I have no love of mutins, but we are at war with you. It is decided. They will go free. The others, the crew who stay with you, and yourselves, you are now prisoners of le Hanovre. Do you understand?”

  Neals clenched his jaw tightly and his nostrils flared. “Yes.”

  Balestra’s eyes narrowed and she raised a hand to her shoulder. She tapped two fingers sharply on her rank epaulet. “Do you understand, Capitaine Neals?”

  Neals flushed again. “Yes, sir.”

  Balestra frowned and turned to the lieutenant. “‘Monsieur’, Delaine?” The lieutenant whispered to her again. “Porcs sexistes,” she muttered and shook her head. Alexis watched this with gleeful fascination. Neals was clearly in a position he hated and she was relishing his discomfort.

  “Your crew, of course, will be under guard, but you, the officers, may give your parole, yes?”

  Neals nodded. “You should know, Commodore Balestra, that Carew there is no longer an officer.”

  Balestra turned to look at Alexis. Alexis met her eyes for a moment, but wasn’t at all sure how she felt that the foreign commodore had known exactly who she was when Neals named her.

  “Oui,” Balestra said, “I have seen your log.” She smiled thinly as Neals blanched white. Bad enough he’d lost his ship, Alexis knew, but he’d not had an opportunity to purge the logs or other systems. In addition to Hermione, the Hanoverese had received all of her logs and signals, as well. Until Admiralty was notified and able to change them, the enemy would be able to read all of New London’s private signals. “And seen your … Delaine, the word, un enfant pétulant agissant en colère?”

  The lieutenant looked at Neals with a slight smile. “Tantrum,” he said distinctly.

  Neals’ face turned scarlet. “How I run my ship, Commodore Balestra, is none of your concern, I think.”

  Alexis might have been mistaken, but she was quite sure she saw the lieutenant wink at her as the commodore replied.

  “But, Capitaine Neals, you have no ship.” She paused, allowing that to sink in. “So, the parole, yes? Capitaine Neals?”

  “Yes, of course, my officers and I give our parole.”

  “Non, Capitaine Neals, the parole is a personal decision. An agreement of honor — each must make his own, oui?”

  Neals looked aggravated and as though he simply wanted to get out of the cabin and on with whatever was next. “Very well. I give my parole. All proper now, commodore?”

  “Oui. And you, Lieutenant Williard?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  And on down the line with each officer agreeing in turn and Alexis wondering just what it was they were agreeing to. She understood that parole had something to do with an agreement between a prisoner and captor, but not the details and she didn’t want to agree blindly, even if it did appear to be a formality.

  “Aspirant Carew?”

  Alexis blinked, both from confusion at what to answer and as it had been some time since she’d been addressed as anything other than “mister”. And how was she to address the commodore? She seemed to grow irritated as each officer addressed her as “sir”, but what was appropriate to the Hanoverese? And would doing so irritate Captain Neals even more … which, having thought about it, might not be a bad thing. What more can he do to me now we’re prisoners?

  “I’m sorry, Commodore Balestra, I don’t understand this ‘parole’.”

  “Oh, just agree, Carew!” Neals said. “Do let us get on with this!”

  Alexis started to answer, but was cut off by Balestra, who stood and slammed her palms down on the desk.

  “Ta gueule, capitaine!” Neals blinked and looked shocked. “Her décision! Her accord! Her honneur! Mon dieu, vous cul arrogants … Delaine! Show these others away, I will explain to Aspirant Carew the parole.” She waited until the lieutenant had led Hermione’s other officers away and then muttered under her breath, “Connard.”

  She took a deep breath and looked Alexis in the eye. “Pardonner, mademoiselle. I have not the patience with these men.” Another deep breath and she smiled. “So, the parole, yes? It is an agreement between us. You, all of you, will go to the town of Courboin — a small town, but it has … the comfort, yes? With the parole, you will have the freedom of the town. You may shop in the market. You may walk in the hills. You will have a room in a house with the other officers. Very nice, yes?” She frowned. “Perhaps you will have a room in a house without the other officers. No matter. Without the parole you will stay in the prison. Not so very nice. No market, no hills, always under guard, yes? For this we ask very little — you do not fight us, you do not plan the escape, you do as we ask of you. It is a small thing.”

  “So it means I just … give up?” Alexis didn’t understand how to reconcile this, and how quickly the other officers had agreed to it, with the exhortations of the Naval Gazette — to fight on, to never give up. Neither, though, could she reconcile the Gazette’s description of the Hanoverese as the vicious instigators of the war with this woman and her lieutenant.

  Balestra frowned. “Aspirant Carew, you are the prisoner now. The parole is … the word, courtesy, yes? You do not fight with us and we do not guard you. Until comes the release or le échange, the trading of officers, or—” She smiled. “— la délivrance, some great rescue, yes?”

  “And the men, Commodore Balestra? Do they also give parole?”

  “Non. Le ordinaire? Only officers. The crew, they go to the prison … or what we may make a prison here.”

  “I’m sorry, Commodore Balestra.” Alexis wasn’t sure of the reason, but it simply didn’t feel right. Perhaps it was the speed with which Neals and the other officers had accepted the offer — she had little respect for them or what they thought was the right course of action. Perhaps it was the feeling that whatever effort went into guarding her would mean that much less effort available to fight New London — not so much that she cared about the course of a war she didn’t truly understand, but what if those who could have been guarding her were then free to attack others? Better, she thought, for them to be guarding her than shooting at Captain Grantham or Philip or even Roland. And, more so, it would feel like she was abandoning her lads, if they went off to prison while she remained free. “I’m afraid I cannot agree to this parole.”

  Balestra regarded her for a moment, then pursed her lips. “So. Very well then.”

  “I’m sorry, I just —”

  “Non, non. It is for you to know your heart, your honneur. If you cannot, then you cannot.” She looked toward the door and Alexis realized that the lieutenant had returned while they were speaking. “Ah, Delaine, bien. Aspirant Carew will not take the parole. See her to her place, will you? And to that other thing we discussed?”

  “Oui, yes. Mademoiselle Carew? This way?”

  Alexis was unsure of the courtesy due a foreign commodore, so she nodded to Balestra and followed the lieutenant through the hatchway. Once they were outside the commodore�
�s cabin, he led her through the ship and to the forward companionway before speaking.

  “Your Captain Neals, I do not think he approves of my commodore, Mademoiselle Carew.”

  “Captain Neals does not approve of women in the Service. It is entirely possible that he does not approve of women in the more general sense, come to think of it.”

  “Ah. This foolishness you have in your colonies still. I know it is not from your capital, for I have visited New London myself.”

  “I never have, only a few worlds on the Fringe and now the border.”

  “We here are not so foolish as to believe these things. Not so foolish as to believe that men and women are the same, you understand, but neither so foolish as to think they are so very different.” He shrugged, an eloquent gesture that seemed to communicate a great deal. “A man may do a thing, a woman may do a thing … so long as the thing is done well, who is to be concerned that it was a man or a woman who did the thing?”

  “I have cause to wish that belief were more widespread, Lieutenant Delaine.”

  “Non, Mademoiselle Carew … but I am remiss.” He stopped and faced her. “Lieutenant Delaine Thiebaud, at your service.” He held out his hand and she gave him hers, stifling her surprise when he raised it to his lips. “Enchanté, Mademoiselle Carew.”

  “Very well, Lieutenant Thiebaud, then,” Alexis said, retrieving her hand. The lieutenant’s behavior was, she thought, a bit exaggerated … and not at all appropriate for an escort to prison. “You are to take me to a cell, now, I believe? Or perhaps you have decided to escort me to a ball instead?”

  “Pardon me, mademoiselle?” he asked, looking downcast. “It is my nature. I am French, after all.”

  Alexis followed him as he resumed his way down the companionway. “French? Not Hanoverese?”

  “Oui, but …” He pulled out his tablet and held it where she could see as well. He brought up a star chart and did something that colored two areas of space, one quite a bit larger than the other. “Here we have your New London and Hanover, yes?”