“You are in command of a cutter, Mister Couchman, fore-and-aft rigged, with all plain sail and jib set — in pursuit of a merchantmen ignoring your signals to heave-to. To leeward are the system shoals of a heavy star, fairly visible to you they are so shallow, and to windward a squall is oncoming. What do you do, sir?”
“What?”
“What do you do, Mister Couchman? The squall approaches!”
“I —”
Alexis could see his bewilderment. Caught between his lechery and being addressed like the midshipman he’d likely been not so very long in the past, his own sitting for lieutenant and being set questions like this by the board of captains still fresh in his mind.
“The squall has struck, Mister Couchman, and your jib is torn through — in tatters and fouling your particle projector! Your orders, Mister Couchman!”
The poor man had drawn back in his chair, eyes wide, mouth agape in astonishment.
“Your quarry begins a turn to leeward, sir! Your orders?”
“What — I … damn you what is —”
“Your chase has fired! Your port bowchaser is struck and dismounted! Shot slices through your rigging!”
Couchman’s face was turning red, his initial astonishment becoming anger.
“The main force of the squall hits,” Alexis said. “Your standing rigging, cut through and tangled by your jib, gives way, sir.” She sat back and crossed her arms. “You are dismasted, Mister Couchman. Dismasted, adrift, and driven upon the shoals.”
There was silence for a moment — too much silence, and Alexis looked around to find that she might have miscalculated a bit in her use of that particular voice, for the entire pub was dead silent and staring at her table. Couchman’s face reddened further, then made a fair try at purple as the crowd burst into laughter. He stood abruptly, thrusting his chair back.
“You … you bitch!”
Alexis shook her head slowly. “Dear lord, man, go and see your bosun for a proper curse, will you not?”
Couchman sputtered, glared around the pub, then turned for the hatch, his shoulders hunched.
“Oh, Mister Couchman?” Alexis called and he had the poor sense to stop and turn back. “Do think of me as you caress that great gun tonight, will you?”
Nineteen
Alexis drove Mongoose hard toward the Barbary, exercising the crew and the ship itself as she had Nightingale in her first months aboard — and, now there was a full crew, putting everything to rights and doing away with the shabby façade of Dansby’s tenure. The difference with this ship, from her first days aboard Nightingale, was that the crew responded immediately — more so than she expected and more so than she’d seen aboard other ships.
“It’s the prize money,” Isom said, when she mentioned it. “Profit drives a man.”
Villar nodded. They were having dinner, something which became a regular event, though Alexis would sometimes invite a few of the master’s mates and the bosun himself.
She wondered for a moment if bosun was even the proper term for that position aboard a private ship – but had no time and less inclination to find out. There were too many new things about this environment out of the Navy to keep track of.
There was no use of the cat for discipline — the men wouldn’t accept it, despite most having served years in the Navy where it was common. Instead, much of the discipline was handled by the bosun and his mates, with the most grievous punishment to be simply kept in irons until Mongoose called at some system and then be put in-atmosphere.
Losing their place, and the chance at that prize money, was a more effective threat than any bosun’s cat, it seemed.
One thing Alexis didn’t care for was the lack of marines aboard. Not because she needed them to maintain discipline, but because there was no group of them to work out with every day. The spacers themselves thought little of exercise, much less unarmed combat drills — their idea of a fight was the brawling, wide-armed swings of a drunken melee in some pub.
Still, she had mats aboard and she practiced what she could. Villar sometimes joined her, but found it not to his liking. Many of the crew, while not joining in, took the time to stop and watch — some, she thought, were busy ogling one of the only women aboard, dressed as she was in shorts and a sweat-stained shirt, while others might have had an interest in learning if only their mates hadn’t mocked it so.
“Looks a pretty dance, that,” one of the hands had commented after they were a few days from Penduli.
“Belay that, Askins,” Nabb said.
“Easy, Nabb,” Alexis said, stopping her movements and stepping to the side of the mat. “It is very like a dance in ways, Askins. Would you care to try?”
“Not much of a dancer,” Askins said. “Outside of the sheets, that is.”
The watching men laughed and Alexis smiled, shaking her head at Nabb’s scowl. The laxer discipline aboard a private ship extended to interactions between officers and crew — the captain, she’d learned, was not so much in command, as leading. These men were aboard for profit — partners, to an extent, in her enterprise, and not entirely subordinates.
She found that a bit easier than the strict discipline of the Navy as well, though she did wonder what it would mean should she have cause to give an order they might balk at. Would they follow or refuse?
“This is a different sort of dance than that, Askins — a bit more risk of injury, I think.” She grinned. “Unless the lady’s husband comes home, that is.”
“Never saw no use in all that movin’ about,” Askins said when the laughter died. “Rush at ‘em bellowin’ an’ pummel them’s as haven’t the sense to run — that’s what my pap always said.”
“Well, you’ve the size for that, no doubt.” In truth, Askins was one of the larger men aboard — as tall as Nabb and broad-shouldered. He worked the heaviest tasks with no complaint.
“Aye, works for me,” he said. “Doubt yer prettified dance’d do you honest in the sorts o’ brawls we get on to.”
“Do you now?” Alexis’ interest perked. She hadn’t had an actual bout since Nightingale paid off. All of the marines had made their way home after, and none of the crew was at all interested — Nabb occasionally made to copy her movements, but was reluctant to spar with her. She grinned, feeling the familiar stir of excitement at testing herself — whether it was the guns, an action, or a boarding, the thrill of pitting her mettle against another stirred her blood. “Care to wager?”
Her casual tone and the hoots and catcalls of the watching crew virtually guaranteed that Askins would accept. He made only a token objection.
“Ah, sir, I’d not wish to hurt a gi … well, my captain. Not e’en on accident, like.”
Alexis gauged the watching men. They were good-natured in their egging Askins on, and he was a steady fellow — not the sort to take defeat badly. She thought this might be a good opportunity to grow closer to the lads — one she wouldn’t have aboard a Naval vessel. Whether she won or lost, and she was confident she could take the man, as she’d seen him move, so long as no one was angered it would be to the ship’s benefit, she thought.
Also, she was bloody tired of being referred to as a girl when she was very nearly twenty years old and in command of a vessel of war — even if only a private one.
She knew Askins meant no harm by his slip, but the thought was always there, hanging over her — had been her entire career.
Likely always will be — save when I’ve beaten it down … and so …
She turned from him and walked to the center of the mats.
“Just as well, I’d not want to take good coin from a boy … a member of my crew, that is.”
She turned back and gave him a grin to ease the sting of it and show she held him no ill will.
Askins flushed at the calls of the watchers. He looked at her for a moment, then nodded.
“All right then. What’s yer wager, sir?”
She’d already considered this and she wanted the terms to be dra
matic if she lost — if she won, that in itself would fit the bill, but a loss was possible as well. A few shillings wouldn’t be a tale the men told about their captain, and she wanted them to have a tale either way it went.
Much as she might hate to admit it, Villar and Isom had been correct about the advertisement and what would attract a crew. This crew, those willing to risk it all on a private ship, wanted more than a job — they wanted an adventure. Something larger than life and dramatic.
“Your share of the first prize,” she said, pausing as the watchers’ eyebrows raised. Askins frowned — it could be quite a large sum, depending on that prize, especially if there was a valuable cargo. Alexis waited until Askins seemed to be about to speak, and then continued, “Against mine.”
Now there were shouts from the watchers, and further shouts to call those who weren’t watching over. The stakes had just gone up considerably and in dramatic fashion.
The division of prize shares was spelled out in the ship’s articles and was much like aboard a Naval vessel, except that the owners — in this case Dansby and, Alexis presumed, some dark corner account of the Foreign Office, would receive four-eighths of the value. The master’s mates, bosun, and Villar, as her first officer, would share one-eighth amongst themselves. Not equally, but according to their station. And the crew would share two-eighths, also split according to their rating, be it ordinary, able, or some specialty. But the captain — well, the captain received one-eighth all to herself.
That could mean a thousand or more pounds, with little trouble.
Askins cracked his knuckles and flexed his neck, then spit in his hand and held it out to her with a wide grin. Alexis did the same, slapping her palm into his.
The sounds of the crew cheering and shouting, nearly all of them crowded into the space around the mats, echoed throughout the deck. Alexis suspected that even the quarterdeck watch was viewing on their monitors, and shrugged off the worry that they might miss something while the bout went on.
Mongoose was well away from any systems still, with no vessel in sight. She could take the risk.
Askins shrugged his shoulders to loosen them and stepped onto the mats across from her.
“There rules t’this?” he asked.
Alexis took the mouthpiece Nabb offered her and grinned at his worried look. He was about to have more to worry about, but her blood was up and she’d not miss a chance to spar as she liked to.
“As you would in the hold,” she said, slipping the mouthpiece in place.
Askins’ eyes widened, but then he nodded and grinned back.
The men would sometimes hold contests in the hold on long cruises, with simple rules — leave a man’s eyes and bollocks be, and leave him breathing at the end. All other than that was for the ship’s surgeon to patch up.
It might be a mistake on her part, but it did have her heart racing and her grin wider than she’d felt in months.
Askins moved lightly, squaring off and then circling her as the bout began, instead of rushing in with a bellow as his pap advised — it seemed the prospect of a captain’s share in their first prize had made him more thoughtful.
Alexis was thoughtful as well, for the man moved lighter than she’d expected, lighter than she’d seen him move before, causing her to wonder if she hadn’t just been taken in by the man.
They circled for a bit, edging closer.
Askins waved his left hand forward and she ignored it for the feint it was, still circling. She’d wait for him to make his move, which he did in a moment, rushing — without the bellow and quicker than she’d thought he’d be even after watching him.
His arms were stretched wide to catch her in a bearhug, which wasn’t such a bad strategy, come to that. If he did manage to get at her like that, she’d have a time getting loose, if she could at all. For sheer strength, there was no doubt the man outmatched her.
But Alexis had no intention of trying to match Askins’ strength.
She waited for him to feint again, catching on that he liked to, then went to that side as he shifted back for his real attack. Too quick, though, he caught her at it and she barely ducked away from his grasp. His thick forearm met her cheek with a heavy thunk as she dodged and she blinked tears away from that eye.
Damn me, but he’s far faster than I thought!
She made the next move, darting in — using her size and quickness to avoid his grasp and get a blow in on this thigh, near enough to let him know where it would have landed if the fight didn’t have some rules to it.
A few boos from the crowd at that, but Askins laughed.
Now he bore in, as though the blow had told him how much damage she could do and he was willing to take it on to finish the bout. Arms spread wide and low, and his reach was such that it was nearly half a meter wider than Alexis was tall.
Alexis threw herself to the mat, rolling, but Askins’ foot lashed out and caught her in the hip as she went by. It was a hard blow and stung, but not enough to stop her from making her own in return. She caught Askins behind the knee with the side of her fist as she came out of her roll and the man’s leg buckled.
She was up and turned to follow through in an instant, but Askins spun as he’d fallen to his knee and managed to face her, ready to grapple again.
Alexis backed off and Askins rose.
They dodged and swung at each other for a time, neither gaining the advantage and each taking hard blows. Askins favored the knee she’d first struck, as she’d gone for it more than once, while Alexis’ eye was closing from a fist that’d caught her particularly hard.
By some unspoken mutual agreement, they each stepped back a pace and caught a bit of breath, then almost as one went back into their stances.
Alexis eyed him, set to end it on this pass.
There was a particular move she’d seen, then practiced, though never tried in a true fight — but it did have drama, and she felt this fight deserved to end as dramatically as it began.
And if it doesn’t … well, he’ll likely remember to stop squeezing me before my head actually pops off, so there’s that …
Askins neared her, arms still spread, ready to grab her and trap her. Alexis made to dodge, but had no intention of following through — instead she rushed forward as well, gaining momentum and leaping. Askins’ arms came together, but she wasn’t between them.
Instead, she’d grabbed his left arm like it was a swinging bar, and swung under it, sweeping her legs up and over then wrapping them around his neck.
Askins’ hand brushed against her leg, but only just missed the grip as she released his arm and twisted her body, using the full torque and leverage of her weight, slight though it was, to force him along, and, in an instant, Askins was on the mats, face bloodied from the impact, and Alexis’ legs still gripping at his neck.
The crowd was dead silent, stunned by what they’d seen.
Alexis released him and backed away.
Askins shook his head, half rose, and coughed, then sat back and nodded to her.
She reached out and helped Askins to sit, then took an offered mug and handed it to the man. She could see coin being exchanged amongst the watchers — quite a lot of it going in the direction of Isom, Nabb, and the other former Nightingales.
Askins hawked up a mouthful of blood, spat, and drained the mug. He blinked a bit and rubbed at his throat.
“Are you all right?” Alexis asked, taking the empty mug from him.
Askins nodded, blinked for a time, then nodded again.
“Aye, all right, sir.” He looked from her to the mats, then back again. “But I’ll learn your bloody dancin’, if you’ll have me.”
Twenty
“Sail!”
Alexis heard the call through the image of the quarterdeck displayed on her cabin tabletop. It was a mechanism which allowed her foreknowledge of what occurred when she chose not to walk the quarterdeck itself, but there was a still a formality and ritual to it, in case she might be occupied with something
else.
“Where away, Dorsett?” Villar asked, as he had the watch and was actually on the quarterdeck.
“Three points off the starboard bow and level, sir.”
Alexis brought the corresponding image from the ship’s optics up on her tabletop, as she knew Villar would be doing on the quarterdeck navigation plot.
Her tablet pinged.
“Aye?”
“Sail, sir, three points off the starboard bow and level,” Villar told her. “I make it a merchant brig of some sort.”
Alexis nodded. She tried to picture their course in darkspace in her head, but found it too much to manage. The calculations necessary to account for the warping of normal-space masses, as well as margin of error for the near dead-reckoning navigation darkspace required were best left to the computers in her opinion — not least because she could never get it quite right herself. There was something, she thought, about piloting a ship through bloody guesswork that her mind rejected as unnatural. Oh, certainly the ship’s computers took it all into account — where they’d started, each day’s charted progress of speed, winds, drift, and course changes, as well as expanding and shrinking the distances involved based on normal-space masses — but when one got right down to it, the uncertainty made her stomach churn.
Ships did get lost — especially in the bare space of the Barbary. Lost left a ship’s occupants with but one option — sail on, usually with the winds, and hope that those winds’ tendency to eventually blow directly toward a star system would bring one there. Then it was transition to normal-space where the stars were visible and try to determine one’s position from that.
Not a comforting backup plan at all.
The computer’s representation of Mongoose’s course and the space around them was far better than her mental image would ever be.
Privateer (Alexis Carew Book 5) Page 13