“We will walk, yes?” Delaine said, nodding down the road to the town some kilometer away. “It is a pleasant day.”
“It is,” she agreed. The air was cool, Courboin was well into autumn and harvest time, but the sky was clear and the sun warm. The sight of the town reminded her of Dalthus — it was a bit the size of Port Arthur, seeming to be struggling with the transition from agriculture to commerce. Large enough to need a warehouse the size of the one she and the men were housed in, but not so large that it had lost the feel of a farming village.
The walk was quite nice and Alexis found herself enjoying herself a great deal. It had been ages since she’d seen the sky for any length of time. The lighting aboard ships and stations never wavered, except inside the cabins. There was no night and day, only the schedule of the watches. She’d once complained that she couldn’t tell night from day aboard ship and been told, “Day is when the captain’s awake.”
She took a deep breath of the air and felt a pang of longing for home. The scents were subtly different, but much closer to Dalthus than the dry, stale air aboard ship.
Delaine led her to the center of town where an outdoor market thrived throughout the town square.
“That is where the other officers from your ship reside, Alexis,” he said, pointing to a nearby building. It was a tall building for the town, three stories with a vacant storefront on the ground floor and a residence, intended for the shop owner, behind and above. It was certainly a step up in accommodations from a converted warehouse, and Alexis felt her anger at Captain Neals and the others grow again. She fought it down, determined not to think about it. If she’d given her parole as well, she’d be more comfortable, but she never would have known that the men were being so neglected, nor that she could do anything about it.
They entered the market area and Alexis began shopping in earnest. The first stop was a butcher’s stall, where she asked to have an entire side of beef delivered immediately. She had confidence that the cook would find the fairest way to divide it between the men. Though what he’d do when faced with beef that looked like a cow instead of a pudding, she didn’t know. The shock may do him in, poor man.
She assured Delaine that she had more funds than just a midshipman’s pay to draw upon, as all of the costs would be fronted to the merchants by the Hanoverese Navy until New London was notified of their capture and her accounts became available to her. The full side of beef was an extravagance, a treat from her, given the time the men had done without. For future deliveries she arranged for only less expensive cuts, as well as pork and chicken to provide some variety. Those the men would likely not thank her for, thinking beef, even from the vat, was their due, but she wanted to hold the ongoing costs down as best she could, not knowing how long the war would last. There’d certainly be no more prize money flowing into her accounts while she was a prisoner.
She also arranged for fruits and vegetables to be delivered regularly and bought a bag of apples to take with her, opening it and biting into one before she’d even left the vendor’s stall. The sweet tang filled her mouth and she sighed with delight. Real Fall apples, fresh from the trees and not boxed for cold storage for weeks on end.
“You have been long aboard ship, Alexis?” Delaine asked.
She swallowed hurriedly and held the bag out to him in offering. He selected one and bit into it, nodding his thanks.
“Ships and stations,” she said. “Very little time on planets since I joined, and less even since I went aboard Hermione.” She looked around the market, realizing that she had placed orders for everything she thought she and the crew might need. Disappointment set in that she’d have to return to the warehouse so soon, but she didn’t want to take advantage of Delaine’s good will. “I suppose that’s everything. We can go back now, I’m sure you have other duties you should be attending to.”
Delaine smiled. “Ah, but I wish to see the rest of the market myself,” he said, “and I am told there is a pastry at the cafe there which I should not miss, so you must accompany me until I have the time to return you, yes?”
* * * * *
The days turned into a comfortable pattern. Lain had the men hard at work on building the new heads. They broke up the concrete floor to expose the piping for the current heads, then Delaine arrived with new pipes and fixtures for them to install. Walls went up with surprising speed, and Alexis had the men divided into three watches, each of which she escorted outside for two hours’ time during the day. They even organized a bit of sport, and she thought she might ask if she could be allowed to bring all the men outside at once for one day each week and have a sort of competition between the watches.
Every third or fourth day, Delaine would escort Alexis down to the town market. There was little for her to do there, frankly, as the deliveries she’d arranged arrived on schedule each week with no issue, but Delaine insisted it was best for her to confirm them periodically with the shopkeepers, something she suspected was not entirely true. She appreciated their days together, but felt a bit guilty that she was taking him away from his other duties to escort her.
“I appreciate the time with you, Delaine, I truly do, but I wonder at it. It seems to me I shouldn’t have this much freedom without giving my parole.”
They were walking back from the market, taking a roundabout route along the edge of town. The houses were far apart here, separated by expansive fields and gardens. They’d lingered long in the market and at the cafes and the sun was low, sending long shadows over the path.
“Ah, ma fifille, but that is exactly why, you see.” Ever since their first trip to the market, he’d begun referring to her in different ways that she suspected were quite French and quite not the way to refer to an officer, but she didn’t object.
I played that card, won, and then spent the winnings on toilets.
The fact was, she didn’t object because the attention was flattering. On Dalthus, her interactions had always been colored with her grandfather’s position. Boys from the village were quite proper and respectful, at least once she’d reached a certain age and throwing each other into mud puddles was no longer appropriate. Her suitors, from the class of landholders like her grandfather, and their attentions held the unspoken knowledge that her grandfather’s lands were far more interesting than she herself was.
With Delaine, it was different. She had no position or lands here, in fact, she was simply an enemy prisoner. It was probably not appropriate or officer-like for him to pay her such attention or for her to accept it, but she found herself not caring. It was the first time someone was so clearly interested in her for herself alone, and the knowledge filled an emptiness she hadn’t realized existed.
“The others,” Delaine continued, “they have given parole, so we cannot question them. You, though, I may ply you with my charms and soon you will give to us all the secrets of New London. Do you see?”
Alexis felt a moment’s alarm that he might be serious, but saw his eyes and his lips twitched, and relaxed with a smile. He was simply being outrageous — which was either very Delaine or simply very French. She had yet to discover where the one truly ended and the other began. She laughed. “I’m a midshipman but two years in. I doubt I have any secrets for you.”
Delaine’s face was very serious, but she could see his eyes dancing. “But how am I to know this until I have plied you? And then —” He shrugged, a gesture that seemed to have a language all its own for him. “— secrets, no secrets … still I am the winner, mais oui?”
“Hmm,” Alexis said, fixing a stern look on her face. “I think you will find, sir, that I am not so easily plied.”
Delaine reached out and took her hand as they walked. Alexis almost stumbled as her fingers warmed within his. The sensation seemed to flow up her arm into the rest of her. She shivered, though not from the chilling air.
Oh, dear, perhaps I am …
Delaine stopped walking and turned her to face him, taking her other hand in his. Warmth flowed throug
h her from his touch and she found herself trembling. Delaine moved closer to her, not touching, but she could feel the heat of his body. Her vision narrowed until all she could see was his face, leaning closer to hers and then her eyes closed.
Why did I close my eyes? His lips touched hers and she gasped. It seems I am disturbingly pliable after all … what an odd thing to discover.
Delaine’s lips left hers and she opened her eyes to find his face still close to hers. She blinked rapidly, trying to clear her thoughts. She felt the circumstances called for her to say something, but she wasn’t at all sure what might be appropriate.
“That was … quite pleasant,” she whispered.
Delaine’s brow furrowed. “Plaisant?”
Alexis cleared her throat. “Yes, well you may be French, but I am of New London and we are not … unduly expressive.”
He grinned and leaned toward her again. “‘Pleasant’ is all I am due?”
Her eyes closed again.
How very odd … it’s like a reflex, I’m simply not in control of …
Delaine’s lips touched hers again. This time she felt a warm, soft, wetness and her lips parted with his, again without any conscious thought. What thoughts she did have blurred and she lost track of time. His lips left hers again and she opened her eyes, breathing deeply.
“Very nice?” she ventured.
Delaine’s arms went around her, one hand behind her back and the other cupping the back of her head. He pulled her to him forcefully and she found it was time for her eyes to close again.
I believe I’ve found something one does not tease the French about …
Reality narrowed to where Delaine was touching her. Which was quite a lot of places, really, as her knees buckled and she found herself remaining upright only with his support.
No … no, teasing the French about this is actually quite productive, I think …
Her eyes opened again and she stared at Delaine’s face inches from hers. She swallowed hard and braced herself.
“Adequate.”
* * * * *
“Yes, Isom?”
“The men’re finished with the head, sir. They’d like to show it to you.”
Alexis laughed. She could understand them being proud and satisfied that they’d done good work, but being asked to tour a head was certainly new. “I’ve seen most of it every day, Isom. Used a bit, in fact. But, yes, I’ll come see it finished.”
She crossed the warehouse floor to the area they’d walled off to create the new head. It seemed as though all of men who’d worked on it were gathered there, grinning widely.
Can’t imagine them being so pleased with a toilet.
The crowd made a lane for her to the new head’s doorway and she entered. It was much as she’d last seen it the day before, though they’d cleaned up all the signs of construction. The tile and pipework fairly gleamed, in fact. At the end, they’d somehow gotten far more material from the Hanoverese than they’d asked for. Down one lane from the doorway were a full two dozen toilets and down the other stood the same number of sinks and shower stalls. Each with far more privacy than the men were used to aboard ship. At the end of the showers, a group of two dozen men stood, grinning even wider than those outside.
Nicer than they had aboard ship, come to that — but what are they so pleased about?
“All right, lads,” Alexis said, smiling. “What’s the joke, then?”
The men parted and what yesterday had been a bare wall at the end of the lane now had a new doorway.
“Open ‘er up, Mister Carew, and ‘ave a look!”
Alexis walked to the door, still smiling but eyeing them warily. They were up to something, and a spacers’ joke could be quite crude. They’d not normally play jokes on an officer, but the close quarters and laxer discipline of the prison might have made them forget that.
She pulled the new door open, stepped through, and froze, mouth agape.
Somehow, without her noticing, they’d enclosed one end of the newly built head and installed a single toilet and sink. They’d even acquired some thick rugs to lay on the tile floor. And, most amazing, there at the far wall.
“A bath,” she breathed, hardly believing it. “A proper bath.”
She spun around to thank them, but found that someone had quietly closed the door behind her.
“I’ll not be disturbed for an hour, Isom!” she yelled, wiping her eyes.
* * * * *
“What is it, Delaine?” His face was quite serious and she felt her stomach drop. Whatever the news was, it could not be good.
“I am sorry this did not come to you sooner,” he said, “but it has only just been told to my commodore.” He pulled out his tablet. “On your ship, the Hermione, yes? Our men did the investigation. In the système de communication, for the messages? They found … the word … a thing through which things pass? But only some of the things?”
“A filter?”
“Oui, I think it is this word. A filter of the messages.” He held his tablet out to her. “My commodore, she says this was an evil thing.”
Alexis took the tablet and her heart fell.
“No,” she whispered.
It was a list of messages. All addressed to her, with timestamps ranging from the day she’d boarded Hermione to when they were last on Penduli Station. Messages from her grandfather, from Philip, even from Roland, Captain Grantham, and others. All marked as received, so that they’d be removed from the messaging systems and she’d not get them from other sources, not even when on a station. “No,” she breathed, seeing that her own messages were there as well. Dozens of them — every message she had sent while on Hermione.
“None of them were sent?” she asked.
“Non. Alexis, I am sorry.”
She scrolled quickly to the last message from her grandfather. He started, as he always did, by letting her know that everyone was well, so there was that, she supposed. But then she could fairly hear his worry that he hadn’t heard from her in so long. And longer now — it’s been nearly a year since I boarded Hermione. She clenched her eyes shut tight. He must be frantic.
It was the last message from Philip, though, that broke her heart.
Alexis,
Not at all sure what I did wrong — thought we were mates and all. I know my messages have made it to Penduli and Hermione’s been through there three or more times — gotten receipts that you’ve received them, even — but I’ve heard nothing from you. I guess you don’t want to hear from me, so I’ll not bother you more. I’m truly sorry — whatever it was. You can hit me, if that’ll fix it?
Philip
“Delaine, you must let me send a message. Just one, please?”
“Alexis, I cannot. Until my Navy is certain that your ship’s loss is known.”
The tears finally overwhelmed her. “Please, Delaine … my family, my friends, my … please?”
He shook his head slowly.
Alexis sank onto the cot and covered her face with her hands. Delaine sat beside her and gently placed an arm around her shoulders. She leaned into him, burying her face in his chest and sobbing. “Please?”
“I cannot, Alexis,” he said, voice rough. “The very moment we have word that your Navy is aware, I will come to you. I swear this to you, my honneur upon it.”
She sat up, sniffing and wiping at her eyes. “I should like to speak to Commodore Balestra.”
“My commodore has foreseen this request, Alexis.” He shook his head again.
Alexis closed her eyes and swallowed hard. If she couldn’t fix one thing, then she’d deal with another. “Who?” She opened her eyes, breathing deeply. “Who did this, Delaine?”
“Alexis—”
“There’s no filter that didn’t have the name of who set it up, Delaine. Tell me.”
“It is best, perhaps, if you did not —”
“And there’s no commissioned officer would waste his time on this. Only one of the midshipmen would be this petty and crue
l. I’ll have the name from you.”
Delaine sighed. “Oui. This I can do for you, but—” He looked at her for a moment, then sighed again and shrugged. “You will do what you will do. Aspirant Timpson.”
Timpson. Her berthmate. Probably the midshipman she should have been closest to, if Hermione had been a proper ship with decent officers. She clenched her teeth and stood. She was dimly aware of Delaine following her. She saw the guard at the door hold up a hand as she approached, but behind her Delaine called out and he stepped aside, eyes wide as she drew near.
She burst through the door and across the lot to the road down to the town. Delaine had arrived by ship’s boat, as usual, but there’d be no where to land it in the town, so she’d have to walk the kilometer. Timpson would be near the town square, probably in a pub or whatever they called it here.
Delaine said something to her, but she ignored him and started walking. If anything her rage grew during the walk. How could they? For so long? She could see it as a joke for a time, perhaps through the first return to Penduli Station, then allow all the messages through and have a laugh about it. Would they have ever ended it?
As they got further into town the traffic on the road increased and Alexis moved to the side of the road, then on to the sidewalks when they began. With only a short distance left before the town square she stopped and turned to Delaine.
“Where do they drink? I’m certain you know.”
“The cafe, across the square by the market. This is where they spend their days.”
“Thank you.” She started walking again.
“Only, please, do not kill the boy, mon loup,” Delaine said. “There would be many questions for such a thing.”
Alexis wasn’t sure what she intended, only that she knew she had to confront Timpson. She strode across the square and through the market to the cafe. The sight of Hermione’s midshipmen there enraged her further.
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