Moberly hesitated as though deciding whether to speak. “Only that, well, is he, sir? Still the captain, I mean … with him giving parole and all?”
Now it was Alexis’ turn to hesitate. She hadn’t considered that. Parole was an agreement not to escape, after all — could Captain Neals and the others accompany them or would it violate their parole? Would the trip into town and its danger of discovery be for nothing? And what would the captain’s reaction be if he must stay while she left?
“Let me and the captain worry about that, sergeant,” she said.
* * * * *
Alexis led Moberly and four other marines out of the warehouse. The night was cool and quiet, with only the occasional buzz of an insect to break the silence. The guards from town had arrived in an old, decrepit ground-truck with an open bed, rather than the ship’s boat the fleet guards had used. And wouldn’t it make things easier to have that for our use? But, of course, if the fleet was still guarding them they’d have no opportunity to escape.
“Can any of your men drive this, Moberly?”
“I can, sir,” one of them spoke up.
“Well, get to it, Simcoe,” Alexis said. She took a seat in the driver’s compartment with Simcoe while Moberly and the others clambered into the back. They’d taken the time to arm themselves with the stunrods and pistols of their former guards, but Alexis dearly hoped they’d not have the need to use them. In and out, then back here with the officers to meet the hauler. After that …
Well, after that she had only the vaguest of plans. Cram the men into the hauler and make for the nearest port. Hope that a ship’s boat from some merchant was on the landing field and could be taken. Hope further that they could take the merchant ship itself and that Delaine had told her the truth about all of the local fleet’s ships having left the system to meet the Hanoverese.
The quiet whine of the truck’s motor and the soft sound of its tires against the road barely disturbed the night as Simcoe pulled away from the warehouse and headed toward town. In a surprisingly short time they pulled to a stop in front of the building that housed Hermione’s officers. It had been a vacant shop and residence when they’d arrived and had been rented to house the officers much as the warehouse had been converted into a prison for the men.
“We should go to the back, sir,” Moberly advised. “If there’re servants they’ll be housed back there and might think it’s a tradesman come early, or a servant from another house.”
Alexis nodded. “Lead the way, sergeant,” she said. “This is your bailiwick.”
The six of them made their way to the alleyway behind the building and Moberly knocked sharply on the rear door. When there was no response for several minutes, he knocked again, then a third time. Finally they saw a light in the window and heard a shuffling behind the door before a voice called out.
“Que?”
Moberly opened his mouth and looked at Alexis, eyes wide and panicked. Alexis met his gaze, heart beating wildly. No, we didn’t consider that bit, did we? She stepped beside Moberly and leaned close to the door, wracking her brain for what French she’d picked up from Delaine and the guards. And hope it’s more than ‘my little hen’.
“Pardonnez-moi, madame. Je suis tombé …” I’ve fallen and … oh, hell, what’s the word for leg? “… ma cuisse est blessé.” She blushed and bit her lip. Have to go with ‘thigh’ and not just leg … and you’d think with all the body parts Delaine murmured in my ear … No, Delaine’s murmurings were quite a bit more … specific. Alexis flushed, knowing it wasn’t the time for such thoughts.
“Oh cher!”
Alexis heaved a sigh of relief as she heard the rattle of the lock and stepped back from the door. “Don’t harm her,” she whispered to Moberly.
He nodded and as the door started to open pushed forward, shouldering the door open and grasping the old woman behind it. He spun her around and clasped a hand over her mouth before she had time to more than gasp in surprise. The four other marines hurried past him, Alexis following behind.
“Calmer. Non blessé. Calme. Nous serons partis,” she whispered to the old woman, trying to calm her and assure her that they’d be gone soon and not harm her. The woman’s eyes were wide and darting around the room and she was breathing harshly behind Moberly’s hand. Alexis was certain she was butchering the words, but her meaning seemed to be getting through. “Calmer. Sil vous plaît? Nous voulons …” Well, no, I don’t actually want them, I suppose. “Les New London hommes.”
The woman stopped struggling and stared hard at Alexis. She made muffled noises behind Moberly’s hand, trying to speak. “Calme, oui?” Alexis whispered and the woman nodded. Alexis nodded to Moberly and he took his hand away from her mouth.
“Vous venez pour les hommes?” she whispered.
“Oui,” Alexis said, nodding. “We’ve come for the men, the New London men, oui.”
The woman jerked her head to the side, spitting on the floor. “Vous êtes les mutins? Bon! Prendre les! Les tuer, les brûler avec le feu, bon débarras!”
Moberly’s eyes widened in surprise at her tone and his grip must have slackened, for the woman shrugged out of his grasp and leaned back against the tall kitchen counter. She crossed her arms and raised her chin. “Bâtards! Imbécile!”
Alexis raised an eyebrow. She’d caught only a little of that. Something about killing them and … fire? I see Hermione’s officers have endeared themselves as always. She laid a hand on the woman’s arm. “Bientôt,” she said. They’ll be gone soon.
The marines were returning to the kitchen, having searched the ground floor, but she wanted to ensure it was only the officers above stairs. “Domestique?”
The woman snorted, nostrils flaring wide. “Un!” She grabbed her breast and waved a hand at the door. “Pfft! Et deux!” She grabbed her bottom and flung a hand at the door. “Pfft! Et trois! Pfft! Pfft!”
Alexis nodded, motioning for her to be quiet. She didn’t fully understand what the woman was saying, but took it to mean that there were no other servants in the house.
“Well,” Alexis said. “Now all we have to do is decide who’ll wake Captain Neals.”
* * * * *
In the end, she sent a marine to wake Lieutenant Williard, who woke the midshipmen and Mister Rochfort, and then sent Ledyard to wake the captain. He agreed with Alexis that the captain would not react well to being awakened by her or one of the marines, not after the mutiny and given his dislike of her personally. Ledyard soon returned with Captain Neals, who’d taken the time to dress himself in his full uniform before deigning to come downstairs, Wrigley and Patridge, his personal servant and his clerk, trailing behind.
Reina, the housekeeper, had introduced herself while they waited and busied herself with putting out plates of bread, cheese, and pastry for the marines. She even brewed coffee and spoke pleasantly to them as she poured. She understood some English, but spoke mostly French and Alexis was just as glad the marines spoke none of it as she overheard the woman pleasantly whisper, “Tuer le petit bâtard premier.”
‘Kill the little bastard first’? Good lord, what’s gone on in this house these last few months? She was almost afraid of what might happen if the woman realized they weren’t here to harm Hermione’s officers as she seemed to think. And what were they to do with her when they left? She’d have to discuss it with Moberly and find some way to restrain her until they were well away.
“What nonsense are you about now, Carew?” Neals demanded as he entered the kitchen. His gaze slid to Reina. “Coffee, you stupid, Frog bitch, and be quick about it!”
“Captain Neals,” Alexis said. “I’ve found out that a Hanoverese fleet is coming. All the ships that were here have sailed to meet them and we’ve a chance to escape, sir.”
Neals looked at her for a moment, then shook his head. “A Hanoverese fleet? There’s already a Hanoverese fleet here, Carew. Many ships and a commodore, do you recall? That’s a fleet, girl.” He sighed heavily. “You’ve interru
pted my sleep for this nonsense?” At the counter, Ledyard and Timpson smirked at her.
“Captain,” Williard said. “Mister Carew’s explained it to me while you were dressing, sir. Commodore Balestra’s fleet isn’t properly Hanoverese. It’s more of a … a local defense force, do you see? And the people of these systems, herself included, it seems, think of themselves more as French.”
“That much was obvious from the first, Mister Williard,” Neals said, “since the entire town speaks nothing but Frog.”
“Yes, sir,” Williard said, “but Commodore Balestra’s been called to meet a fleet from Hanover proper, do you see? All of her ships, sir, and all of her men.”
Neals narrowed his eyes and looked at Alexis. “Well, why didn’t you say so, Carew? All their warships are gone? You’re certain of this?”
Alexis fought down the urge to snap at him that she had, indeed, said so. Her time away from Neals, it seemed, had gotten her used to being in command of her men and not at all prepared for Neals’ abuse again. “Such is the information I have, sir,” she said, trying to keep her voice calm and respectful. “Bosun Lain has taken a few hands and some of Sergeant Moberly’s marines to take a hauler from a nearby farm. It’s my hope that —”
Neals’ face had grown pinched and red as she spoke. “Bosun Lain, Carew?”
Oh … bugger it, I’m done for now. She hadn’t even thought of his reaction to the promotions she’d made, not in the middle of trying to escape.
“Lain is a bosun’s mate, Carew, and a poor one at that!” He turned his attention to Moberly. “And what’s this ‘sergeant’ nonsense, corporal? Kill off your superiors and make a jump for yourself, is that it?”
“No, sir,” Moberly said, clearly shaken at Neals’ words.
Alexis stepped forward. “Sir, the men were idle and needed direction, sir.” She thought frantically of how to phrase it. “I did the best I could as the only officer present, sir. I’m sure you’ll wish to review everything yourself, sir, as captain, but —” She glanced at Williard, hoping he’d step in.
“Yes, sir,” Williard added. “I’m sure you’ll wish to review everything Carew’s done in your absence … and correct what messes she’s made, sir, but with the time we have …” He shrugged. “The very little time we have, sir?”
Neals clenched his jaw. “Yes, I suppose.” He glared at Alexis. “I’ll expect a most thorough report of all your actions, Carew, once we’re aboard a ship and away from this bloody system. Now how many men do I have and what is our situation.”
Alexis started to answer, but Williard cut her off.
“Sir,” he said, his voice sounding unsure. He was reviewing his tablet. While Alexis’ had been taken from her, the paroled officers had retained theirs. They’d have no access to the Hanoverese networks, but could use them to authorize purchases and for any information stored on them. “Sir, there is a … difficulty.”
“What?” Neals snapped.
“Sir, I’ve been reviewing the regulations and, well, we, all of us except Mister Carew … well, we gave our parole, sir.”
“What of it, Mister Williard? Speak up, damn you, it was just a moment ago you spoke of limited time!”
Williard’s eyes remained on his tablet as he slid a finger over the screen. He swallowed heavily, as though not wanting to speak. “It’s only, sir, that our parole was to neither escape nor take up arms against Hanover for the duration of the war.”
“What are you saying, lieutenant?”
“Well, sir —” He cleared his throat. “— I’m reviewing the regulations as they pertain to parole, and … well, we gave our word not to escape …”
“That agreement surely doesn’t hold when the entire fleet of guards has flown off and left the system to us,” Neals said.
“I believe it does,” Williard said. “We agreed, sir, upon our honor, not to escape.”
Neals smiled. “But once we have,” he said, “what will the Hanoverese do about it, eh?”
Williard looked shocked — even the midshipmen looked askance at Neals. A gentleman’s word, a naval officer’s word, was supposed to be inviolate. Their honor had been pledged to the parole they’d agreed to.
“It’s not just our honor, sir,” Williard said. “If we break our parole … well, why would the Hanoverese trust the word of the next set of officers they capture? And what of the Queen, sir? As officers we represent Her Honor as well, do we not?”
“Damn you, Williard!” Neals almost shouted. “Are you telling me I should stay on this bloody rock because of some words I said to that jumped up whore Balestra?”
Williard took a step back from Neals. He looked around the room at the others. “Sir …” He trailed off and swallowed heavily. “Sir, as an officer and … and in my person as Lord Ashcroft, sir, I may not break my parole.” He paled but met Neals’ eye. “And I must advise you the same, sir.” He glanced down at his tablet again and hurried on. “But there may be a way …”
“Speak up!”
“Sir, we may not, none of us who gave our parole, escape. Not with our honor intact. But …” He looked at Alexis and then back at Neals, as though dreading his next words.
“Spit it out, man!”
“Sir, we may not escape, but we may be rescued.”
* * * * *
“Captain Neal’s mad, sir.”
Alexis nearly cried out with relief when Moberly squeezed in beside her and closed the door to the ground-truck’s driving compartment. With Simcoe set to drive them all back to the warehouse, she’d been afraid that Neals would insist on riding up front, but Moberly had announced that he’d need to supervise Simcoe — with the two of them, there was just enough room for Alexis in the middle. Neals and the other officers had been relegated to the truck’s open bed with the marines.
“Moberly ...” Alexis warned.
“Barkin’ mad, sir,” Moberly said. “I expect we’ll see him running wild and howling at the sky come the next full-moon night.”
Alexis struggled to maintain her composure. The stress of the day, the night, and, not less, the last quarter hour of listening to Captain Neals rant and harangue Lieutenant Williard over the thought of being ‘rescued’ by her — all of it had come together to put her on the very edge. The image of Neals baying at the moon was almost enough to put her over into hysterical laughter.
“That’s enough of that, Moberly,” she said instead. “He’s still the captain.”
“Not as Lieutenant Williard tells it, sir, least not as I heard him.”
No, Williard had been quite clear on the point, standing up to Neals no matter how angry the captain had become. None of the officers could participate in the escape, they could only follow. They could not be armed, could not fight, could give no orders, could not even offer advice — not without breaking their parole. The entire responsibility for getting them back to New London space would fall upon Alexis and the crew.
In a way she was grateful to Williard, for she had little confidence that Neals could manage it if he were in command. At the same time, she held no illusions about Williard’s motives. The man wanted to get home, and with his honor intact — he cared not one whit about Alexis or the men. In fact, the insistence that they “be rescued” protected not only the officers’ honor, but their very lives.
If the group was recaptured, Alexis and the men could be executed as escaped prisoners while Neals, Williard, and the midshipmen would at least have the argument to make that they were still on parole and only being “rescued”.
Alexis’ own status as an unparoled prisoner complicated things even more. If a New London force had stormed the system and released them, they’d have been free to arm themselves and fight from that moment. But Williard’s reading of the regulations and the wording of their parole was that Alexis didn’t qualify — only making contact with a free New London force would free them from the terms of their parole.
For Neals the prospect of having to stand aside and follow Alexis’ directi
on until they reached a New London system or made contact with the Fleet … well, Alexis had feared the captain would fall to the ground in an apoplectic fit before he’d finished venting his spleen on Williard. And so much the easier for all of us if he only had.
If anything, Neals had been even angrier upon being informed that he would have to leave most of his personal effects and cabin furnishings behind. They’d been brought down from Hermione for him, along with the other officers’ chests and belongings, but there was no way it would all fit in the ground-truck — and no way Alexis would take the risk of bringing the hauler into town. Instead all of the officers had been limited to what they could stuff in makeshift bags and carry along with them.
“Get us back, Simcoe,” she said.
“Aye sir.”
She settled back for the ride, only now that her own part in retrieving the officers was done she began to worry about the men who’d gone off after the hauler. They should have arrived at the fields where she thought the hauler would return by now. Their return trip, if they were successful, would be much quicker. Quicker even than her little group in the ground-truck. If they hadn’t been successful then … well, that didn’t bear thinking on. For her and the men there was no turning back now. They had no choice but to succeed.
She breathed a heavy sigh of relief as she saw a hauler’s lights ahead of them, landing at the warehouse. Simcoe picked up the pace and sent the ground-truck speeding forward without having to be told. Neals would probably have something to say about the jostling as the truck careened up to the warehouse and rocked to stop, but Alexis was too relieved to care.
The men left in the warehouse had heard the hauler or one of the lookouts had informed them, and they poured out, lining up to board. Alexis crowded past Moberly and rushed to the hauler, finding Lain as he clambered out of the hauler’s massive, box-shaped cargo compartment.
“Trouble?” she asked.
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