Denholm snorted. “Sauce, eh? No. No time for courting, not with the lands to manage.” He paused, as though deciding what to tell her, then went on, “To tell the truth — I just can’t bear the thought. There’ll never be anyone like your grandmother for me again, I think.”
“Is it not lonely?”
“Brandon and Mercia come up to the house to pass an evening now and then, and there’re the Mylins, of course. See them nearly once a month, I think.”
Alexis had meant something more than an evening’s talk with the farm’s foreman and wife, or the rare dinner with a neighbor. She had the sudden decision that her grandfather had been alone long enough — Julia, as well, if she judged things correctly, for it seemed to Alexis that the woman was waiting on her grandfather to see what was right before his eyes all these years.
“And Julia, of course,” Alexis said.
“Aye. Don’t know what I’d have done without her. Your father was a handful as a lad, and you got a double portion of it yourself.”
“She was, is, like a mother to me — to my father, as well, I imagine.”
Denholm nodded. “We’re all lucky she made her way here.”
Alexis winced as she bit her lip a bit too hard, wondering at her next words.
“Have you ever considered it?”
“Considered what?”
“Well, that you and Julia do get on quite well.”
“Near forty years together, we’d have to.” Denholm grinned. “She’d have trussed me like one of her chickens long since, else.”
“I meant,” Alexis said carefully, “that getting on so well, for so long … perhaps there might be … something there?”
Denholm stopped walking.
“What ‘something’? Are you suggesting —” He frowned at her. “Now don’t you go poking around in what’s not your business, Lexi-girl. Julia and I’ve worked out all the ‘somethings’ we might need over the years without any help from you or anyone else. Besides which, the thought’s laughable — I’m nearly twice her age.”
“There’s only a dozen years between you!”
“Well —” Denholm cleared his throat and resumed walking. “I was nearly twice her age when I bought her indenture, so it’s quite the same thing.”
Nine
Her second meeting with Eades aboard the station at least started without the drama of a slap, much as she might have liked to repeat that. Despite his explanations, she still blamed him for Giron, and didn’t trust him in the least.
“So how will this work, then?” she asked as the last of the servers left the private room. Eades had, at least, offered dinner for this meeting, and the plate before her was full of good food. “Do you have some writ to take Nightingale out of ordinary and put her back into service?”
“Nightingale?” Eades asked.
“My ship —”
Eades laughed and Dansby shook his head.
“That thing?” Eades asked. “No, far too small for this undertaking.”
“You’ll need more than a little cutter for this, Ricki,” Dansby said. “The Barbary worlds may not have frigates — they’re limited to gunboats and an occasional xebec — but a cutter’s not enough.”
Alexis frowned. “What will I be commanding, then?”
“Elizabeth,” Dansby said.
“Your ship? Are you planning to come as well?” She didn’t know how she might feel about that. Her last voyage with Dansby had been … difficult. What with shooting Anya Mynatt and having to hide her status as a Naval officer from the crew. She didn’t relish the idea of sailing with any of Dansby’s crew again, come to that. They were a hard lot and none too reliable, she thought — at least not in any way she valued.
Dansby’s gaze hardened. “Never. I had my fill of the Barbary long ago and I’ll never return. Nor will any of my crew.”
Alexis raised an eyebrow. What was she getting herself into, that a crew of Dansby’s, smugglers and the next thing to pirates themselves, wouldn’t go for?
“You’re giving me one of your ships?” Alexis took a moment to let that sink in. She’d been expecting all along that Eades had Nightingale in mind — it hadn’t occurred to her that she’d be commanding a different ship entirely, much less one of Dansby’s.
“Loaning, Rikki, I expect her back.” Dansby’s eyes were flint. “Back and whole, I’ll hold you to that.”
Alexis nodded. She knew how Dansby felt about his ships.
He grinned suddenly. “Back, whole, and with my share of the profits, mind you.”
“Your share?”
“As ship-owner, yes — sponsoring your enterprise, as it were.”
“Of course, there’d be some profit for you in this.”
Dansby shrugged. “Profit for all, if you do it right.”
Alexis frowned. She took the moment to eat a bite of food, realizing that she really had no clear idea of what she was about to embark upon.
“What … No, pardon me, how exactly does one profit in this endeavor? If I’m not under a Naval commission, that is.”
“Mightily,” Dansby said, taking a grin.
“If done properly,” Eades added. He slid fingers over his tablet and Alexis’ pinged in response. “Here is your Letter of Marque and Reprisal, authorizing you, Alexis Arleen Carew, as a private person, to equip, command, and sail a private vessel in furtherance of the Crown’s campaign against certain enemies. Very specific enemies, in this case — any and all ships, private or of local government charter, of the worlds of the Barbary, which you may reasonably believe to have engaged in the acts of piracy or in the slave trade.”
“Slavery?”
“Oh, yes,” Dansby said.
“The worlds of the Barbary are remote,” Eades said, “some very much so, and sparsely settled, with little to entice new settlers or merchants. As such, the pirates there, attacking the ships enroute to Hso-hsi and back, found an easy outlet for some of the merchant crews.”
“Black-hearted devils, the lot of them,” Dansby added.
“As may be. Slavery is not uncommon there.”
Alexis took a moment to read the document.
“This bit — ‘Any allied Court of Prize, foreign or domestic’? What does that mean, exactly?”
“Working, as you will be, far from New London space, it would be impractical for you to bring prizes back to New London worlds. This authorizes foreign prize courts to reach a determination on any ships you take, awarding you accordingly.”
“I see.”
Alexis read through the document. There were bits that bothered her, but she’d looked up the whole concept and it was legal … just. The Crown, at least, endorsed it.
“What is Elizabeth, then?” she asked, wanting to know more about the ship she was to command.
“Topsail schooner,” Dansby said. “Fast enough in a following wind, with fore-and-aft rigs to sail close. Pierced for twenty-four guns — more than her size warrants, but —” Dansby shrugged. “She’s had a checkered past, our Elizabeth.” He took a deep breath. “You’ll want to rechristen her something, though — the name and ship are known in those worlds.”
“I thought you didn’t frequent the Barbary?”
“There’re some have long memories. So many guns at her size is a thing people mark, so I’ll show you how to rechristen her so she’ll respond as whatever name you choose — she’ll not mind. She’s used to wearing a disguise or two. Best not to mention my name in those worlds, either — save to one or two contacts I’ll leave you.”
Alexis raised her brows at that. “It sounds as though there’s a tale there.”
Dansby shrugged. “Some things were done to me and there were things done in return.” His eyes gained that hard look again. “There’s no need to dredge up the past, though. Elizabeth’s a fine ship, the best for these purposes in that region. Better by far than a frigate, getting caught up in shoals there — you’ll want to review your sailing notes, by the way, for they’ve some tricky systems.
More heavy stars than you’d expect — far apart, so the dark matter collects more readily about them. That makes for difficult sailing. The shoals will be more fully-formed there, you’ll find, and quite a bit shallower than you’re used to — Elizabeth spreads her mass out well-enough, but you’ll still find trouble if you look for it. More than one system in the Barbary has a full halo, and you’ll only be able to approach at all along the ecliptic.”
Alexis nodded, still curious about Dansby’s history with the region, but feeling this wasn’t the time to ask more. His words about the shoals bothered her more. There was a reason the Navy’s lieutenants’ examinations went on about shoals to leeward so very much.
In darkspace, the dark matter tended to collect around normal-space masses, forming shoals that interacted with ships in distressing ways — miring them in place and crushing hulls if the collection of dark matter were great enough. Since normal-space masses generally meant stars and planets, the shoals formed mostly in systems — to a greater or lesser degree, depending on how many other systems were nearby. Since the dark energy winds tended to blow toward normal-space systems, the shoals were nearly always to leeward of an approaching ship.
“Elizabeth’s not massy — she’s a shallow enough draft to get you through most, though you’ll have to find channels.”
Alexis nodded. She’d have to take his word for now, at least.
“And a crew,” she asked, “if yours won’t go?”
“That,” Eades said, “is for you to arrange.”
“What?” Alexis was liking this less and less. “I’ve less than three dozen former Nightingales on Dalthus — barely enough to make sail on a schooner, let alone fight her.”
Eades gave her an odd look. “This is not a Naval operation, Miss Carew. You are a private ship and responsible for your own crew — there’ll be no levies from the hulks nor impressment service helping you in this. Recruit a crew in various ports as the merchantmen do — there are always men who think prize money is preferable to wages.”
“Zariah’s flush with men off ships put up in ordinary,” Dansby said. “Penduli and Lesser Ichthorpe more so, and they’re all much on your way to the Barbary, as well. You’re not unknown there.”
“Unknown?”
“A reputation, Miss Carew,” Eades said. “Men won’t want to sail into danger such as privateering with just anyone — they want some reason to expect a profitable journey, after all.”
“I have a reputation?”
Eades smiled. “In some quarters.”
Alexis wasn’t at all sure how she felt about that. What quarters and what her reputation was were questions she’d like to ask, but she suspected neither Eades nor Dansby would be able to resist the urge to tweak her with some tale. She’d endeavor to find out some other way.
“Taking ships when we’re not at war,” she said instead, “selling them at foreign prize courts, recruiting a crew by dint of profit … this privateering sounds more and more like piracy by the moment.”
“You’re missing the crucial difference between them, Rikki.”
“What’s that?”
“There’s one of the two what doesn’t get you hanged.”
Dansby walked her from meeting with Eades to her boat, seeing her off, she supposed.
“When will you leave?” he asked.
“The evening the Conclave ends. I owe it to my grandfather to stay through that, I think.”
Dansby nodded. He seemed almost pensive now, not his usual ebullient self.
“Why are you helping Eades in this?” she asked. “I’d thought you were done with him before.”
“The man has hooks and lines set everywhere, Rikki. He’ll snag you and reel you in, no matter how you try to evade it — just as he did with this tale of your young man.”
“Tale? Do you think he’s being dishonest about it?”
“No, one thing about Eades is everything he tells you will turn out true — whether it’s the entire truth is quite another matter, but it will be true.”
“Why is it you won’t go back to the Barbary yourself, Mister Dansby?”
Dansby shook his head. “Still a tale for another day, and nothing to do with yours.” He paused. “I do have a bit of advice for you, if you’ll take it.”
“I’ll hear it.”
Dansby grinned. “That’s my Rikki — a skeptical thought’ll do you well where you’re going.” He sobered. “You’ve never sailed aboard a private ship before, Rikki, so know this. There’s no fleets, no admirals, and no Admiralty to this — you’re answerable to no one but yourself.” He grinned again. “And the ship’s owner, which is me, so keep an eye toward profit, will you.”
“As much as I may.”
“Oh, I know where your priorities lie — with that Frenchie, no doubt. But you’ll need to pay your crew and supply your ship — my ship — so profit’s needed. Quite a lot of it — none of your crew will be satisfied with the Navy’s rates. They’ll want prizes and the promise of more.”
Alexis nodded. She’d caught that already in the expectant mutters amongst her Nightingales — they were loyal to her, she had no doubt of that, but they were also looking forward to a cruise that would fill their purses.
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
“See that you do. And take care of my ship — she’s one of my first, named after my mother, and I’ll have her back sound, if you don’t mind.”
Alexis raised an eyebrow at that.
“Why, Mister Dansby, I’d thought you named all your ships after women you were trying to bed.”
Dansby frowned for a moment, then laughed. “No, Rikki, what I told you was that it’s remarkable what a girl will do when she thinks you’ve named a ship after her — the actual naming isn’t all that necessary.”
Alexis shook her head at that, but had to smile. The man was a rogue, no doubt.
“Just be easy with her — I’ve seen what you do to ships.”
“My last ship is right out there, all in one piece, thank you.”
“And I note you weren’t actually aboard her in her last action, so …”
Ten
The last day of the Conclave ran later than expected, with several measures becoming unexpectedly contentious. It was after dark when the meetings ended, and Alexis walked with Denholm and the Mylins back to their hotel. Her grandfather would be returning to the farmstead in the morning, but Alexis planned to leave for the station, and thence the Barbary, that very night. She’d already returned to the farmstead to say her goodbyes there the day before, and it was only her new position as her grandfather’s heir that kept her at the meetings.
It wouldn’t do to rush out of the Conclave when I’ve just been granted reason to attend, after all.
Isom was waiting in the hotel lobby, an antigrav cart with their belongings beside him. She was disheartened to see the creature’s pressure cage atop the pile of her chests and spacebag. Wishful thinking and a hint or two had clearly not been enough to convince Isom to leave the vile thing back at the farm.
“You’re set on leaving tonight, then?” Denholm asked on seeing Isom and the baggage.
Alexis nodded. “The boat’s on the field now.”
The boat and nearly every Nightingale who’d stayed behind on the Carew farmstead when the ship paid off. Only two of those were remaining behind, taken with the colonial life more than spacing, once they had a taste of it — and, truth be told, in the process of courting girls in the village, so could hardly be blamed.
On the other hand, there were more than a few waiting at the field precisely because they’d been courting girls in the village — both for the courting becoming a bit more serious than they were entirely comfortable with or, in the case of some, where the girls had found out about each other.
Altogether, she had a core of nearly thirty men from Nightingale and another half dozen farmhands who’d signed on — enough to sail Elizabeth to Zariah, or anywhere reasonably civilized, but not enough to fight h
er, should it come to that.
Denholm turned to her, opened his mouth to speak, then closed it and sighed. Alexis laid a hand on his arm, knowing he wanted to ask her once more to stay, and grateful he’d made the effort not to.
She wrapped her arms around him and squeezed. “I’ll write often.”
Her grandfather sighed again. “Aye, as will I.”
Her excitement grew as they made their way toward the landing field. She might have hired a cart to get them there, but it was a pleasant night and her last in-atmosphere for some time. It was odd, she thought, how one could long for an open sky while aboard ship, yet equally long for close bulkheads when planet-bound.
The way to the field led them from the areas of Port Arthur catering to the colonists with finer shops and hotels to the few blocks surrounding the field which held the establishments meant for visiting spacers — and now miners in from the belt.
Oddly, Alexis felt more comfortable away from the finery — not perhaps, in the environs down some of the darker alleyways, but far more comfortable with the spacers’ pubs than some place where the host insisted on tossing a napkin in your lap as though you couldn’t accomplish such a feat for yourself.
With no warning more than a moving shadow, figures appeared in the alley beside her. Alexis turned, but before she could identify them, a bag of some sort was tossed over her head and cinched tight at her neck. Her fingers made it to the cord too late and could find no purchase.
She heard Isom cry out, and the crash of baggage tumbling from their cart.
Whoever had slipped the bag over her head had a knee or forearm in her back for leverage.
She swung at her attacker — hands, elbows, and even kicked back with her heavy boots, she connected, but not with enough force to drive him off. She raised a foot again, hoping to connect with a shin, but her other leg was knocked from under her and she went to the ground.
Breath driven from her, she was pinned beneath her attacker’s weight.
“Careful! Get her feet!” a voice whispered, and a second attacker did, catching her feet and holding them down while wrapping something around them.
Privateer (Alexis Carew Book 5) Page 7