“This is the Barbary, girl,” Wheeley said. “It was Barbary ships what spotted ‘em and the Barbary don’t share — not without reason. What the few merchants passing through might’ve seen, well, a merchant who wishes to last here learns to keep his visions to himself.” He grunted as the dealer took his bet and paid Alexis, then he placed more chips for the next deal.
“Can you tell me where?” Try though she might, Alexis couldn’t quite keep her excitement in check. If she could track down the battle sites, she might be able to find survivors in surrounding systems.
“Most were lifeless hulks,” Wheeley said, eyes on his cards. “Some were salvaged before they broke up, but it’s certain they’re all gone by now.”
“Where?” Alexis’ heart skipped. They wouldn’t be there still, as they’d have been broken up by the darkspace winds driving them against dark matter — without fusion plants or intact hulls, the ships would have been wrecked, torn apart, and the pieces compressed to nothing by those forces — but knowing where could help with finding any survivors. There were worlds in the Barbary where merchants seldom stopped and survivors, set down there in ships’ boats, could still be waiting for rescue. It was a long chance that Delaine’s ship might be one of those wrecked there, longer that he’d be among the survivors, if so — she pushed that thought aside — and longer still that she might locate him, but she’d do everything in her power to try. And any survivors might have further word — any word — of where Delaine might be.
“I’ve a list in my head this very minute, you think?”
He grunted again as the dealer took his bet. Alexis noted that the dealer had stopped asking her about the “pressing” matter, which she now took to mean leaving one’s winnings in the betting circle. The stack there had grown considerably and Wheeley grunted yet again as the cards fell and the dealer added to Alexis’ total without even asking if she’d like another — the total of the cards was the target from the start this time.
“Give us a new deck!” Wheeley said.
“Of course, sir.” The dealer began shuffling a fresh deck of cards.
Alexis hoped the respite would give Wheeley the opportunity to talk, uninterrupted by the game.
“How long do you suppose it might take you to get me that information, Mister Wheeley?”
“Before you can get back to your ship, I suppose — what was it? Mongoose?”
“Yes.”
“All right then. Now about this prize of yours, at least there’s some profit in that for me.”
Twenty-Three
“Did that go … well, sir?” Villar asked.
His eyes were on Alexis’ hands, which held a number of the betting chips. She and Wheeley had settled on a price for their prize, the Beneghem — a fair price, and fairer than she’d expect from a New London prize court. It had taken some further bargaining for him to agree to make the payment in coin rather than his casino’s scrip, though. Both of them knew that exchanging scrip for coin at one of Wheeley’s own agents would only profit the man further, and that her crew, knowing this as well, would be further tempted to spend it all here in any case.
It had taken another of those instances where the dealer paid her on the initial two cards dealt, and the stack of chips before her more than doubling, for Wheeley to stop insisting on scrip.
“All right, girl, coin!” he’d fairly shouted. “And then off with you — the profit’s not worth the cost of having you at my tables, and if the rest of your crew’s as bloody lucky, then take the coin and sail! Good bloody riddance!”
Their business done, she’d thanked him, but he’d refused to let her leave the chips behind, taking back only his initial bet on her behalf.
The dealer had exchanged the rather large stacks of chips for others of a different color and size — fewer, but still more than she could comfortably carry.
“Carry some few of these for me, will you, Mister Villar?”
“Aye … uh, sir.”
Villar stared at the handful of colored clay for a moment.
“So … well, sir?”
“Aye. We’ll have information on the fleet battles before we sail, and full value for Beneghem and her cargo — in coin and in hand this very day.”
“The crew’ll be glad to hear that, sir.”
Alexis nodded. She scanned the area, trying to remember where the center of the place was with all the food, as she found herself quite hungry. Around her, machines buzzed and blinked while crews from a dozen ships sat before them or at tables.
For a moment, she considered seating herself at another table and having a go while she wasn’t distracted by her conversation with Wheeley, but then her stomach rumbled angrily.
“Shall we have ourselves a bit of a proper supper, Mister Villar? My treat — Mister Wheeley’s, rather,” she corrected holding up the chips she still held.
Yes, a fine meal would sit better than more gaming, though she did wonder if she might do even better if she weren’t distracted by a conversation. It did seem to be an easy game to profit at.
Twenty-Four
Whatever else Enclave had to offer, its food was top notch.
Alexis, Villar, and Nabb found a place with nearly every dish she could think of set out for the taking, and many she’d never heard of. In fact, the only thing she’d not seen them offer was currywurst — and she’d looked more out of curiosity to see the thing than any real desire to try it.
Stuffed to bursting, they’d returned to Mongoose, by which time Wheeley, who was nothing if not efficient, had sent his own men to take possession of Beneghem and transferred the agreed upon amount to Mongoose’s accounts. She’d added to those accounts the coin from cashing in her handfuls of chips — a goodly sum in itself.
She’d barely made it through the announcement to the crew of their share, and that they’d have it in hand, in full, for their liberty, as the rumble of their shouts seemed to resonate in her overfull stomach.
It was with a great deal of relief that she’d sent the starboard watch off for a full day on Enclave and finally settled into her cot. She was entirely certain her denim trousers must have shrunk between leaving the restaurant and arriving in her cabin, and it was a joy to be out of them.
“Will you take some wine before bed, sir, or a bit of bourbon?” Isom asked, retrieving her clothes from where she’d dropped them.
Alexis groaned, easing herself into her pillow and placing a hand on her stomach. “No, I believe I shall not eat or drink again for a fortnight.” She took a deep breath — well, as deep as she had room for — and closed her eyes.
“When you take your own liberty, Isom, I do highly recommend the buffet … only do be wary.”
It seemed Alexis had only just closed her eyes and managed to get to sleep before a hand on her shoulder woke her.
“Word from planetside, sir,” Isom whispered.
Alexis groaned. She wasn’t yet ready to give up on sleep, nor had her overfull stomach had time to settle, and word from any planet where a ship’s crew was on leave could hold no good news. She rolled her shoulders to work out the kinks, eliciting a low chitter of irritation from the creature curled up in a warm ball on her chest.
Idly, she reached a hand up to stroke its fur. There were times she thought the thing might not be so vile as others. In truth, she did sleep better when it was loose in her compartment and chose to curl up with her — not dreamless, but without the horrifying nightmares she’d experienced in the past.
She opened her eyes to find Isom watching her pet the creature with an amused look on his face.
“Off!” she said, turning her stroking into a prod. It wouldn’t do for Isom to begin thinking she wouldn’t space the thing if it became too much trouble. “Bloody thing looks to steal my breath in my sleep.”
The creature grudgingly leapt from her chest, planting a disapproving foot in her gut as it did so.
“That’s cats, sir,” Isom said. “The breath and all.”
“I�
�ll put nothing past the vile thing, Isom.”
The creature made its way to a covered box Isom had convinced it to use — enough of the time to keep it from being spaced, at least — by the disturbing but expedient idea of including a pair of Alexis old, well-worn boots inside. There was a scratching sound and a spray of dried clay scattered across her deck.
“Sorry, sir,” Isom said. “I’ll get that cleaned up. Thought Boots’ aim was getting better in there.”
“I think its aim is better than we give it credit for.” She slid out of her cot and began pulling on her uniform. “Who’s locked up?”
If the planetary authorities were calling them, rather than Mongoose having to contact them to locate wayward crew, then the brawl must have been so egregious that the citizens wanted her spacers off-planet immediately.
“The starboard watch, sir.”
“Yes, I recall it’s the starboard on leave just now, but which of them are in cells?”
She put her arms through her linen shirt and began buttoning, thinking once again that she had need of some sort of proper uniform, but was uncomfortable at many of the designs she’d seen. They were too reminiscent of the Navy and seemed as though the wearer was playing dress-up — like some fringe world constable covering his chest with ribbons and badges in an effort to prop up his authority.
Isom stopped his sweeping of the deck and shrugged.
“Near as the caller said, sir, it’d be the lot.”
Twenty-Five
Enclave’s casino security office was more like the rest of the settlement than the casino itself — dingy, ill-kept, and nearly freezing, with walls of sheer ice. Alexis supposed if one were to see the inside of it, then one’s patronage was no longer desired by Wheeley and his partners, so keeping up the pretense of luxury was no longer necessary.
Still, she thought, stubbing the toe of her boot against a raised bit of grime on the metal decking laid over ice, they might send a cleaning bot through once a fortnight or so.
There were one or two others in the security office’s waiting room seated on plastic benches — Alexis assumed they were picking up shipmates or loved ones, but was a little distressed at how resigned they looked. She hoped she wouldn’t be kept waiting as long as they seemed to have been.
Already, the wait had been longer than she expected. After the apparent urgency of the call that one of Mongoose’s officers was requested and required to attend to a security matter regarding the ship’s crew on the planet’s surface, her reception once she arrived was … disinterested.
She cleared her throat again, but the woman behind the glass partition never looked up — she merely kept her eyes glued to her tablet and held up a single finger, clearly meaning wait.
The officials hadn’t said exactly what happened over the coms, but she hadn’t been required to come herself, which, thankfully, meant no one was actually dead. She could have sent Villar, as he was already on planet for his own leave, but she’d given him all-night-in and didn’t wish to disturb whatever he was about — or know about it, if it was something Marie might disapprove of.
She didn’t think Villar was the sort to hunt up a doxy, but months in darkspace with more months ahead was a hard thing to take. He’d gone off on his own for leave at Penduli, as well, with no word of what he was about. She shrugged. Marie was her friend, but Villar was her first officer — and a good one. Whatever he got about was between the two of them and none of Alexis’ business.
She was still not sure enough of Hacking or Parrill to send one of them — they were decent officers for watch-standing, but Alexis didn’t think they had the feel of a private ship’s crew just yet. Parrill was still too much the merchant officer, not understanding the sort of men who’d seek out a battle, and Hacking had too much of the Navy in him yet. Alexis herself wasn’t certain how she’d handle half her crew’s being jailed.
The security officer behind glass finally looked up and edged closer to the glass.
“Ship or local?” she asked.
“Ship,” Alexis said. “The Mongoose.”
The officer’s eyes narrowed and she frowned. “Whyn’t you say so sooner? They’ve been asking to get your lot gone to free up space in the cells.” She tapped at her tablet and the door next to the glass buzzed. “Through, left, right, straight, follow the signs to holding.”
Her eyes returned to her tablet.
Alexis assumed those were some sort of directions, or what passed for them here, and led her group — Nabb and a few from the port watch who hadn’t had liberty yet — through the door, past which there was a counter. The officer looked up again once they’d closed the door and frowned at Alexis.
“Thought they’d asked for a ship’s officer — you his clerk?”
Alexis shook her head. “I am Mongoose’s master.” She held out her hand, thinking a bit of politeness might be in order — she’d found most magistrates and even station patrol or planetary constables found a bit of common courtesy from ship’s officers a pleasant surprise. “Captain Alex —”
“Don’t look like one.” The officer returned her eyes to her tablet in clear dismissal.
“Is it really the uniform?” Alexis wondered aloud, moving on.
“A uniform does add a certain something,” Nabb said.
“Speak me no somethings, Nabb,” Alexis said. “I had enough of ‘somethings’ from Isom and Villar with their bloody adverts on Penduli.”
“Aye, sir.”
Still, it was tiresome forever being assumed to be some sort of messenger or servant rather than Mongoose’s master.
She followed the officer’s directions, such as they were, as best she could through a warren of corridors, until she finally encountered a sign affixed to the wall which directed them to the holding area.
“And why they couldn’t have just put up signs the rest of the way, I’ll not fathom,” she muttered.
“The plodders’re never helpful, sir,” Nabb said.
Alexis agreed, but perhaps couldn’t fault them. After all, their interactions with ships’ crews were always after the trouble’d started, weren’t they? And, while her own ship and crew might spend weeks between systems, the station patrols and constables knew that seeing the stern of one troublesome crew only meant the bowsprit of the next was rapidly approaching from the transition point.
She had to grin, though. Nabb might be coxswain of her boat crew, but he had little time aboard ship, and here he was talking about the local constabulary as “plodders” as though he’d seen a hundred systems.
“I hadn’t thought you’d been in trouble often enough to think that of the authorities, Nabb,” she chided.
“No troubles, sir, but it’s more’n the bosun off to collect any waywards when we had Nightingale. I’ve seen my share of lockups from the outside.”
Alexis nodded. Most often it would be the bosun and his mates who collected the drunks and laggards from wherever they’d been penned up for their indiscretions, but her boat crew’d brought their share back as well. It was only for something egregious that a ship’s officer was required, much less her captain.
“I wonder if they asked for me as Mister Dockett wasn’t aboard.” It was an idle hopefulness, but she’d also had Mongoose call Dockett’s tablet and he hadn’t answered, which was quite unlike the man.
Ahead of them was yet another doorway with a windowed cube beside it and yet another bored and surly looking officer of Enclave’s constabulary. Here the waiting area was somewhat removed from the window itself, so Alexis had Nabb and his lads settle themselves there while she approached the officer, fixing her face in what she hoped was an expectantly pleasant smile despite the early hour for her and having been dragged from her cot for this nonsense.
“Good … afternoon?” she began with an attempt at estimating the time on Enclave’s surface.
The officer looked up from his tablet — it seemed as though every security officer she’d ever seen sitting at a desk had their head buried in a
tablet of some sort and never doing any actual work — frowned at Alexis, then looked her up and down, lingering a bit, as she’d come to expect, in inappropriate places. His eyes returned to his tablet.
“No visitation by unaccompanied minors,” he said, voice flat and uninterested. “Come back with a parent or guardian. If your parent or guardian’s the one in lock up, an uncle’ll do.”
Alexis took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. She really did need to come up with a uniform of some sort — the denim pants and linen shirt she preferred at home didn’t identify her as a spacer, let alone a ship’s captain. Add, she had to admit, her slight stature, and she still did look quite young.
“I’m not a child. I’m here for the crew of the Mongoose.”
The man glanced up, shrugged, then returned to his tablet, mumbling, “No wives or sweethearts. Wives and sweethearts’re on Thursday. Five centimarks and twenty percent of your fee.” He looked her over, eyes lingering again, and shrugged. “Ten percent if you give a guard a go — first, mind you — but most of us like a bit more to hold on to, if you understand? Maybe Farnlea, he’s got the look about him that may like your sort, but he don’t work Thursday’s until next month, so —”
It took Alexis some time to catch up with the man and rein her temper in. He’d gone from thinking her a child to thinking her a doxy in an instant, and blatantly stating that the guards would take a fee for such a visit — in coin or in kind — stunned her. Not that they did, but that they’d be so comfortable saying so outright.
Enclave must be the most corrupt system she’d ever seen — then she paused and thought again. Was it more corrupt to state it openly or to hide it behind a veneer of smiles and innuendo as they did elsewhere?
Regardless of that, she fought the urge to slam her palm down on the little ledge of a desk jutting through the window and cut the man to ribbons with a few choice words. She wasn’t Navy and this wasn’t a New London world, for all that its people might have come from there. There was no Admiralty authority backing her up, only her own, her ship, and what influence she might have through Wheeley’s name and her association with him — something she hesitated to use, for such associations always came with a cost later.
Privateer (Alexis Carew Book 5) Page 16