Mutineer

by Sutherland, J. A.

  He drew his finger along the tablet where the two areas met and it turned red. “And here we fight.” He highlighted another section of space that bordered both of the first two. “This, then, La Grande République de France Parmi les Etoiles … The Grand Republic of France Among the Stars.” He took a deep breath and shook his head. “Yes, I know, but … we are French. Still, these —” He indicated a cluster of systems hanging down from that French Republic and between New London and Hanover. “— all the way to Giron, here, where we are, were once French, le Baie March, and are now of le Hanovre.”

  Alexis frowned. “If they conquered you, why are you fighting for them?”

  He shrugged as though to dismiss the thought. “Oh, this was long ago. We are of le Hanovre since my father, my grandfather, his grandfather.” He shrugged. “But, too, we are Français. Others go to the stars and are of New London or Hanovre or Ho-hsi. For us, no matter the star that is in our sky, we are of la belle France.”

  “And what of who claims to own that star?”

  Theiebaud’s face tightened a bit. “We are loyal to le Hanovre, of course, mademoiselle.”

  They walked along in silence for a while, then he stopped in the hold near the lower airlock.

  “Before we go to the planet’s surface,” he said, “these men have asked to speak to you before they go and my commodore has agreed.” He opened the hatchway and gestured for her to proceed him.

  Alexis entered a large space in the hold. A group of about thirty men were gathered at the far side all with heavy bags beside them. They looked up as she entered.

  “The other mutins have gone on, but these, they insisted to see you.”

  “Please stop calling them that,” Alexis said quietly as she crossed the compartment. There was only Nabb from her division, as none of the others had joined in taking the ship. She recognized men from all over the ship, though, some she only knew a little and didn’t understand why they would have waited to see her. She stopped short of them and waited, unsure of what to say, but the men quickly formed a line and approached her.

  “Jus’ wanted ter tell yer it weren’t about you, Mister Carew,” the first one said. “The ship an’ all, I mean. You was always fair.”

  He lowered his eyes and Alexis nodded, unsure of what to say other than, “Thank you.”

  He nodded to her, nodded to Theiebaud, then shouldered his bag and walked off to the open hatchway. The next man took his place.

  “Wisht I were in yer division, sir. Been a better sail if I were.”

  The line moved on with each man having his say and quickly leaving. Alexis found her chest tightening further as each man spoke and could hardly stand it when only Nabb was left.

  “Oh, Nabb,” she said sadly.

  “Sorry, Mister Carew. I disappointed you.”

  “Why? Whyever didn’t you just stay out of it?” She took his hands in hers. “Your family … you can’t ever go home again.”

  Nabb looked away. “Some of the lads, the younger ones, were hot to join in. Worried about after and where it’d leave ‘em if they didn’t, you see? Others were after seein’ as no one went fer you in it.” He shrugged. “You’d said you didn’t want us in it, soes I told ‘em I’d go an’ they hang back. Call ‘em in, like, if it were needful.” He shrugged. “Only ways I could think to keep ‘em out.”

  Alexis stared at him in shock as understanding dawned. She wrapped her arms around him and buried her face in his chest. “You protected my lads,” she whispered.

  Nabb patted her back awkwardly. “Weren’t but what were needed, sir.” Alexis stepped back from him and he shouldered his bag. “Best be going.”

  “Wait!” Alexis grabbed his arm to stop him. “Your family!”

  “Can’t go back to —”

  “If they must, if things get too hard for them —” She considered. Yes, her grandfather would understand. She’d write to him and if the holding hadn’t a need for hands, a little of her prize money could be used. “Dalthus. Carew Holding. If they can make their way there, even as indentures—” She held up her hand to stop Nabb’s objection. “Even as indentures, Nabb. My grandfather will make it right for them.”

  Nabb nodded. “Aye, sir.” He walked on.

  “Nabb!” she called out as he reached the hatchway. “Tell the others,” she continued when he turned. “For their families. Carew Holding on Dalthus, if they’ve need.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  Thiebaud waited until he had left. “I do not understand why you do this for the mutins, they have—”

  “Stop calling them that!” Alexis rounded on him. “You weren’t there! You don’t understand what they went through on that ship!” She shoved him away from her, at a loss for how to explain the months she’d spent aboard Hermione. “You do not know.”

  Theiebaud looked from her to the empty hatchway then back.

  “You love them very much.”

  “No, it’s not that … well, I care about them, certainly —”

  “Non, you love them and they love you. One does not argue with the French about this matter, it is a thing we know.” His brow furrowed as he looked toward the hatchway. “Très fidèle. Pardon. I was mistaken. I should wish for such a crew, I think.” He looked back at Alexis. “Or such a captain as you.”

  Alexis frowned. “I am not a captain, Lieutenant Thiebaud. Only a midshipman … if even that.”

  “There are captains of ships, mademoiselle,” he said, nodding, “but also captains of men.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  “Dinner, sir?”

  Alexis rolled over on her cot and opened her eyes. The light was muted by blankets draped over upended spare cots to form a sort of room for her. The Hanoverese “prison” was actually a converted warehouse in the town of Courboin. The small town of Courboin … barely more than a rural village, really, and the warehouse was the only one in the town.

  The men had been herded into the warehouse with a stack of cots and blankets, their bags and chests dumped through the doors, and left to make the best of the empty space. Hanoverese marines — or French, as Alexis had noted they all spoke that language and not the German of Hanover — guarded them. The guards were stationed at the doors and some walked a catwalk midway up the high walls of the warehouse, but, other than being watched, the New Londoners had been left to their own devices.

  “And is it a good, thick chop today, Isom?” Alexis asked.

  “Ah … rice and them beans, sir,” Isom said.

  Alexis rolled on to her back and stared up at the warehouse ceiling far above. “Of course.” There was ample food sent up from the town, but only that. It’d been rice and beans since they’d arrived, and little in the way of seasoning for flavor. Certainly none of the beef the men expected and were used to, not even beef from the vat. And, worse from the men’s perspective, no wine, beer, or spirits. If that wasn’t corrected soon, the Hanoverese would face their own mutiny, for the spacers cared not at all how fresh the water was if they were being denied their daily tot.

  “I find myself not at all hungry, Isom.” She rolled back onto her side to face away from the blanket “doorway” where Isom stood.

  “You should eat, sir … been three days since you ate more than a bit.”

  Alexis frowned. Had it been so long since she’d eaten? It didn’t seem so … and she wasn’t hungry. She was just so very tired. She closed her eyes.

  * * * * *

  Alexis jerked awake. There was shouting and banging from the main room outside her blanketed partition. She sat up partway, then fell back to the cot. Her limbs felt leaden and her head hurt — or, rather, it both felt as though it were wrapped in cotton and pained her at the same time. A dull ache at the back and a pressure around the sides and front that made her want to lay back down and close her eyes.

  “Mister Carew, sir,” Isom said, coming in. “Askren and Durand are fighting, sir, you’ve got to come.”

  She started up again and then fell back with a sigh.
“I’m not one of the officers any longer, am I, Isom? There’s little I can do.”

  “I …”

  “We’re not aboard ship, Isom, nor even a station. It’s prison.” Alexis rolled on to her side and clapped a pillow over her head. “The guards will handle it, I’m sure.”

  * * * * *

  “Mademoiselle?”

  “She just lays there anymore, Lieutenant Thiebaud, sir. Eats a bit now and then, but …”

  Alexis sighed and rolled over. She wanted nothing more than to be left alone and sleep a bit longer. Sleep seemed to dull, at least for a time, the sharp ache of uselessness she felt.

  Thiebaud and Isom were beside her, looking down with concern on their faces. She closed her eyes again, wishing that they’d be gone when she opened them, would leave her be. Couldn’t they see that there was no point? She’d be stuck here for the duration of the war — her and the lads. And there was nothing more to be done. This was their lives now.

  “Leave me be, please,” she whispered. Stuck here, couldn’t help the lads a bit and couldn’t do a thing about her grandfather’s lands. Not even a message from them. Useless … just useless.

  “Do you see, sir?” Isom asked.

  “Mademoiselle Carew?” Thiebaud asked. He sat on the edge of the cot and rested a palm on her forehead.

  “I’m not sick, lieutenant,” she said, rolling away from him and closing her eyes again. “I’m simply tired.”

  “Do you see, sir,” Isom repeated. He lowered his voice. “She’s not even —” He whispered. “She’s not bathed in some time, sir. Not like her at all.”

  Alexis wanted to scream at them to leave, but couldn’t find the energy. Of course she hadn’t bathed — the warehouse had no bath or shower, and only a pair of heads. Their condition, with seventy men in residence, was entirely unpleasant. It was all she could do to make her way there for necessary business, the thought of trying to bathe there was more than she could bear. And what would the point of it be, anyway?

  “Will you please take some food, mademoiselle?” Thiebaud asked.

  “I’m quite capable of telling when I’m hungry. Enough, please, the both of you,” Alexis said, eyes still closed.

  “Something from the market, perhaps, mademoiselle?” Thiebaud persisted. “There is a shop with the chocolat, oui?”

  That stirred her a bit, but probably not as Thiebaud intended. Alexis rolled to face them and raised herself on one arm. Even that little movement seemed to be too much, but the flash of anger she felt at his suggestion spurred her.

  “Chocolate, lieutenant? You’ll offer me this while my lads eat your beans morning, noon, and night?” The brief flash of anger faded, replaced by weariness. She collapsed on the cot, burying her face in the pillow. “Will you please just leave me be?”

  * * * * *

  The shadows were back. Black, swirling masses that spun around and around her before coalescing into shapes. The figures formed and moved toward her — pointing, accusing. More of them than ever before — how could she possibly have failed so many?

  Alexis tried to scream, but no sound emerged. She tried to turn and run, but her legs felt rooted in place.

  The figures grew closer, far closer than they ever had before and Alexis felt her heart hammering in fear. She knew this was a dream and tried desperately to wake herself, but failed. What would happen if they reached her? This darkness, so like darkspace yet so different, terrified her.

  Closer. Shadowy, outstretched hands reached for her. She thought to sway her body from them, even if her feet were rooted to the ground, but they were all around her. Surrounding her and moving ever closer.

  Alexis woke with a gasp, heart hammering and breath ragged. Her undershirt was drenched in sweat and every movement brought a chill from the damp fabric. She lay for a moment, trying to control her breathing.

  Need for the head drove Alexis from her cot. She pulled the fabric partition that made up her doorway to one side and stepped out. The men were lying about, some pacing aimlessly, others gathered in small groups. She made her way to the head, acknowledging the nods of those nearby. Those in line moved out of her way and she thanked them, though why she should be in any hurry to enter the little compartment was beyond her.

  Seventy men and two toilets is not a pleasant spectacle. The condition of the head had gotten worse and worse as time went on, until Alexis dreaded having to use it. She considered cleaning it herself, but hadn’t the energy. She washed her hands in a sink not much cleaner than the rest and looked at herself in the grime-covered mirror. She had dark circles under her eyes and her hair hung dank and limp.

  When was the last time I brushed it, let alone washed? Of course the thought of bathing in this room was somewhat terrifying to begin with. And the effort it would take.

  Her mouth, though, felt fuzzy and it might be time to brush her teeth. Despite the terror of the dream, fatigue dragged at her. Later, perhaps, after she’d eaten. She’d surely feel hungry enough to eat a bit later — just a brief nap first, perhaps an hour or two.

  She stepped out and nodded thanks to the men again, then made her way back to her cot. Across the warehouse, there was shouting and a two groups started shoving each other. Alexis looked around, expecting the bosun or one of his mates to break it up, but of course Maslin was dead along with one of his mates back on Hermione and a second mate had been one of the mutineers. There was only Lain left with them of the bosun’s mates, and he likely had no authority here in the prison. Her throat constricted and her eyes burned. She picked up her pace, despite how very tired she was. Once back in her cot she could sleep and not think so much about things. The dream surely wouldn’t come again so soon, would it?

  “I heard you were about, Mister Carew. I’ve a bit of soap and a fresh uniform, if you like?”

  Alexis turned and found Isom waiting beside her, one of her uniforms held out.

  “No, Isom, I don’t believe that’s necessary. I’ll just lie down for a bit.” Her attention turned back to the scuffle, which had broken up, but she could see that one of the men was sporting a bloody nose.

  “I’ve been talking with the lads, sir. This lot aren’t meant to be idle. Hard to go from working all day to loose ends, it is.”

  “I suppose, yes.”

  “Captain should see to that.”

  “I suppose so, yes, Isom.” She started walking again, but his words nagged at her. It wasn’t like Isom to mention the captain, not at all. “Wait, what do you mean?”

  “The idleness, sir, it’s not good for the men. They’re used to being set their tasks — left on their own like this, it’s like a too long holiday. The captain should see to that. And to the other things.”

  “What do you mean? What other things?”

  “What needs doing. Those heads for one, they’re a right mess. But more than that, we’ve need of a few more of them. He should tell the Hanoverese what we need.”

  “The captain’s given his parole, Isom, he’s off in town with the others.”

  “Well, yes, but it’s still his responsibility.”

  Alexis turned to him. “What makes you think this?”

  “Spoke to the others, sir. Some were taken in the last war and know the way of it. Captain’s supposed to check in on us, see we’re keeping up as we should, and have what we need.”

  “He’s not been here even once, has he?” She looked around the large space, noting the disarray and clumps of men idling about. Plates of half-eaten food and dirty clothing strewn everywhere. Even the marines’ area was a cluttered mess.

  What must they be thinking? He wasn’t much of a captain to begin with, but now even he’s abandoned them. A horrible thought occurred to her. “And if the captain’s not part of those captured, who’s to do it then?”

  “Most senior officer, I suppose, as with anything.”

  Damn me. Alexis closed her eyes. None of them, not Neals nor even Williard, nor any of them had bothered to come and check on the men. And I aband
oned them, too, sulking in my cot — too sorry for myself to care for them.

  “I’m sorry, Isom.”

  “Sir?”

  Who to start with? Her eyes fell on the marines. They’d lost their lieutenant, and both sergeants, along with so much of their company in the mutiny. She’d never known them to leave a thing out of place, but their cots were now covered with discarded uniform bits and twisted blankets, and not a one of them was properly in uniform.

  Alexis strode over to them, Isom following her. “Sir?” he asked again.

  “A moment, Isom, I need to—” Her eye fell on Moberly, one of the corporals she’d sparred with regularly. She knew the others respected him. She stopped near him.

  “Help you, Mister Carew?” he asked, looking up from his cot.

  Alexis was suddenly at a loss for what to say. Should she talk to him about what to do to correct things? No, most of them have spent their lives aboard ship — it’s what they know, all they know. They need a ship’s way of doing things. She clenched her jaw. Not Neals’ ship, though, a proper ship.

  “Is that how you address an officer, Moberly?”

  “Sir?”

  “Moberly! Why are you on your arse when you’re speaking to me?” Alexis paused while he jumped to his feet. She ran her eyes over him, seeing him flush as he realized what a state he was in. “Is that proper kit for a marine, Moberly?”

  “No, sir!”

  “Is this how marines keep a berth, Moberly?”

  He looked around desperately. “No, sir!”

  “I’m naming you sergeant, Moberly!”

  “Sir? Can you do that, sir?”

  “Do you see anyone here who’ll stop me, Moberly?”

  “No, sir!”

  “Then you’re a sergeant until I say differently. You’ll be paid a sergeant if it has to come out of my own pocket. And you’ll behave a proper sergeant or I’ll bloody well know the reason why! Do you understand me, Moberly?”