Alexis Carew: Books 1, 2, and 3

by J. A. Sutherland

  “‘Little Bit o’ Bosun’. That’s what we call her, aye. She’s as hard a hand as one.”

  “Oh?” the bartender asked. “She strike the hands? Them as can’t hit back?”

  “No, ya daft git! It’s ‘cause she …”

  “Tell him about her an’ old Alan, mate!” another Merlin cried out.

  “Well, an’ I’m about to, ain’t I? So shut yer gob an’ let me! But, first, let’s ‘ave some real beer out ‘ere, aye?”

  Alexis crept to the corner again and peered out. All of the merchant spacers had moved to the bar, clustering around the group of Merlins to hear the exchange. She bit her lip nervously, wondering what they’d say, how the crew had really taken her confrontation with the spacer. She watched as the barman filled mugs and passed them to the Merlins. In the dim light, she could tell that there were five men from the crew at the bar, but not who they were.

  “So Alan’s a good mate, he is,” the spacer started, smiling widely when he saw that he was the center of rapt attention. “A fine topman, pulls sail like a bugger, an’ fast up a mast.” Alexis’ heart fell for a moment at this, thinking the crew would take Alan’s side and expecting them to express dislike for her over what had happened.

  “But he’s a bloody mean drunk, he is. Mean an’ hard. Got ‘im in deep trouble more’n once. So one fine day, Alan’s in the hold, drunker’n piss wi’ some mates, an’ who should come along, but Mister Carew, herself. Now Alan’s mates, they scurry off quick as they hear her comin’, but Alan, ‘e’s too drunk ‘n mean to run. An’ it’s two months a’ship, he’s been, so ‘is wind is up, if ya catch me meanin’”

  The listeners muttered darkly at this.

  “Aye, y’ ken where the drunk bastard went next, then. So, Alan grabs on to our Mister Carew, an’ nex’ thing ya know is the bosun a’comin’ round the corner, an’ what d’ye suppose ‘e sees?”

  The bartender gave a loud snort. “An’ so she calls fer the lobsters an’ ol’ Alan, he’s trussed up fer a hangin’.”

  “Wrong, y’are! Never called fer the marines a’tall. What t’bosun sees is our Lil’ Bit, standin’ straight, she is, no muss, no fuss, an’ lookin’ like she jus’ step onto the quarterdeck fer watch!”

  “But old Alan …” one of the other Merlins broke in.

  “Is it me what’s tellin’ it ‘er you? ‘Cause if’n it’s you, then why you been speakin’ out o’ my mouth, this time past?” There was silence for a moment. “A’right, then, where was I? Right. So our Lil’ Bit’s standin’ there, nary a hair out o’ place, mind you, but Alan, why he’s a’layin’ on the deck a’moanin’ and a’groanin’ somethin’ fierce!”

  “What?” the bartender demanded. “She put down a growed man?”

  “Growed an’ twice or more ‘er size, she did! An’ down hard, he was. The bosun, now, he ain’t no fool, bastard that he may be.”

  “Aye, a right bastard, him,” several Merlins agreed.

  “An’ he kens what were ‘appenin’ right off, so ‘e goes to Alan, an’ the bosun’s right pleased, ‘cause he’d like naught better’n to see Alan hang.”

  “The bastard.”

  “Aye, an what d’ye think our Lil’ Bit says a’when she hears the bosun tell ol’ Alan he’ll hang fer assaultin’ an officer?” He paused dramatically. “Now, y’ keep in mind, ‘ere, the bosun, he’s a lookin’ at Alan, an’ Alan’s on deck wit’ ‘is knee all busted …”

  “Swelled t’size o’ caseshot, it was,” one of the Merlins interjected.

  “… an ‘is arm broke …”

  “She broke ‘is arm?” the barman asked.

  “… an ‘is face a bloody mess, wi’ teeth all scattered on t’deck …”

  “She never!” the bartender objected.

  “Did!” several Merlins insisted. “Teeth an’ all!”

  In the shadowed hallway, Alexis covered her mouth and suppressed a giggle at how the story had grown.

  “So t’bosun, he’s lookin’ at Alan like this, an’ our Lil’ Bit, she says t’im, she says … ‘He fell.’”

  There was silence for a moment, then the whole crowd roared with laughter. “‘He fell’!” someone yelled, and the laughter doubled.

  “Aye! Jus’ like any good hand when t’bosun catches ‘em in a brawl … ‘He fell’!”

  “An’ then …” the Merlin who’d been telling the story said when the laughter died down.

  “What? An’ there’s more?” the bartender asked.

  “Oh, aye! So then the cap’n ‘ears about ol’ Alan bein’ all banged up an’ such, never mind drunk an’ all, so ‘e calls in the bosun. An’ then he calls in Mister Carew an’ says to ‘er, he says, ‘What ‘appened to that man, there?’ an’ Lil’ Bit, calm as can be, like butter wouldn’t melt in ‘er mouth, she says … ‘He fell, sir’!”

  More laughter, even louder than before.

  “To the cap’n?”

  “Aye, straight t’ the cap’n’s face, she did! So that’s our Mister Carew, who’s a lil’ bit o’ bosun in ‘er. Beat that man bloody, then spared ‘is life, she did.”

  The crowd muttered appreciation and Alexis had to smile.

  “Ah, well,” the barman said then. “So she can beat a man, but be a officer?”

  “A’right, then,” one of the other Merlins spoke up. “So we’re three days out into the Dark an’ I’m brailin’ t’topgallants, but who’s up there with us? Our Mister Carew, she is.”

  “Skylarkin’ amongst y’r work like snotties do?” the barman scoffed.

  “Why, no, ya’ bugger! She’s a’draped o’er the yard an’ pullin’ sail like any good tar, she is!”

  “What? Workin’?”

  “Aye, as ‘ard as any. Worked sail t’whole watch, she did.”

  “And gun-drill, too!” another Merlin added. “Hauled cartridge, loaded, ‘n fired.”

  “Looked t’First Lieutenant in t’eye an’ said, ‘I’ll not order men t’work I ain’t done m’self’ … only she said it all right an’ proper-like, as she does.”

  “Right an’ proper-like’s fer sure,” another added. “Ladylike.”

  “Aye, ladylike. Always wi’ a ‘please’ an’ ‘thank you’ fer the lads, not like Mister ‘fetch-me-this, fetch-me-that’ Roland an’ ‘is ilk.”

  “An’ always wi’ a smile,” another chimed in. “A smile an’ she’ll look ya’ in t’eye, she will. Makes a man feel appreciated, that.”

  “Aye,” another agreed.

  “Well … less’n yer a laggard … t’bosun comes out o’ her then, it does.”

  “Aye, an rightly.”

  Alexis leaned against the wall and wiped her eyes. For the first time since boarding the ship and leaving Dalthus, she felt confident that she’d made the right decision. That the men seemed to like her, respect her, even appreciate here, gave her the same feeling of usefulness she’d had working her grandfather’s holdings. They defended me, she thought, smiling wider. Like I belong.

  Philip finally came out of the head, grimacing. “So sorry, Alexis,” he said, then caught sight of her as she wiped her eyes again. “Are you all right?”

  She smiled at him, eyes bright. “Why yes, Philip. I do believe I shall be.”

  “Well, let’s find somewhere for a proper dinner then?”

  Alexis’ heart fell suddenly. They’d have to walk out through the pub and past the bar where the spacers from Merlin were drinking. She took a deep breath. Well, there’s no way around that, is there.

  She squared her shoulders and followed Philip into the main room. As the spacers caught sight of the two midshipmen, and then realized that one of them was Alexis, all conversation ceased. Alexis merely smiled and nodded to them, but midway across the room she caught sight of the bar itself and the mug of pink beer still sitting there.

  On an impish impulse, she touched Philip’s arm to stop him. “A moment, please, Philip.”

  She smiled wider and walked toward the bar, spacers parting before her, until she stood in fr
ont of the mug. She reached into her belt pouch and considered. She’d taken five shillings from the purser when she’d left the ship — after paying for her bath earlier, she’d enough for the dinner, show and bit of shopping she’d planned with Philip, but it was a full quarter of the guinea her grandfather had given her when she’d boarded ship. She could always access her shipboard account if she ran out of hard coin, but that guinea was all she’d have until her grandfather could send more or her own pay arrived. Still, she knew, the men had far less.

  She’d read in the Regulations what the men were paid. Nineteen shillings per month, and out of that came charges from the purser for their clothing, any odds and ends they might need and the small luxuries available aboard ship. More than that, they were often paid in arrears – up to six months – so that they’d have incentive not to run. Of what was left, nearly all the men sent some home to far off systems in support of families they rarely had the chance to see. With the little remaining, they spent their rare time ashore, seeking simple entertainments like a meal of meat not grown in a vat or the freedom to drink more than just the daily measure aboard ship. Though it wouldn’t be appropriate to acknowledge what she’d heard, Alexis wanted to let the men know, in some small way, that she appreciated them.

  Palming one of the shillings, she grasped the mug of pink beer and held it up. “What a lovely beer,” she said, smiling sweetly at the barman, who blanched visibly. She turned to the group of Merlins — five of them, she saw — and raised the mug. “To Merlin.” She raised the mug to her lips, watching as the spacers, eyes wide, muttered “Merlin” in return and raised their own.

  Alexis had grown up around her grandfather’s hands, men who worked hard, played hard, and especially, drank hard at the end of a long day. Though she lacked the body mass to drink a great deal, she’d had the curiosity to learn from them to drink well. She tilted her head back, upending the mug and pouring the pint of beer down her throat, ignoring the sourness and the acrid taste she hoped was simply whatever the barman had used to color it, to drain the mug in one draught. Finished, she slammed the mug onto the bar and slid the shilling across to the barman.

  “For mine and a round or two for the Merlins here,” she told him pleasantly. At tuppence a pint, the shilling would cover hers and two rounds for the five crew members, leaving nothing extra for the barman. And if the beer’s my message to the men, let that lack be my message to the barman. She nodded to the crew, smiling. “Gentlemen, enjoy your liberty.”

  She turned, motioning Philip to the door, following him. As they passed into the station’s corridor, she heard from behind her: “Well? Let’s hear it, lads! Three cheers for Mister Carew!”

  And if, in the cheering, she might have heard a man or two call out “Hooray for Lil’ Bit!”, well, that was all right with her, too.

  “That was quite generous, Alexis,” Philip mentioned as they walked down the corridor.

  “They have so very little, Philip, but we ask a great deal of them.”

  Philip seemed to ponder this for a moment. “I thought you didn’t care for beer, though?”

  Alexis stopped suddenly, putting one hand to Philip’s arm and the other to her stomach. The acrid tang of the beer had set her insides roiling.

  “Oh, Philip, I don’t.” She paused. “Do you think we might find somewhere quiet to sit for a time? A place with tea, perhaps?” She swallowed heavily. “And possibly some biscuit?”

  “You were right, Philip, the show was wonderful. I can’t imagine how they manage to do such stunts.”

  “I’m sure the null-grav field helps, but they are amazing. I’m glad they were still on-station so you could see them.”

  “So am I.”

  “And the dinner?”

  Alexis laughed and took his arm. “Yes and the dinner. Though after weeks of the food aboard ship, I’m not sure I’m much of a judge.”

  The two were walking along the station’s main corridor on their way back to the ship. Though the station was active at all hours, most ships that were stopping for any length of time tried to match their ship’s time to the station’s and it was quite late by that measure. The corridor lights were bright and all of the storefronts were open for business, but it was late in the station’s “night” and there were few others about.

  “It does have a lasting effect,” Philip agreed.

  Alexis stopped walking and turned to face him. “Truly, thank you, Philip. It’s been such a challenging time since I left Dalthus and I think this is the first I’ve truly been able to relax and enjoy myself.”

  “Alexis, I …” Alexis looked up at him and saw his face soften as her own smile faltered. Her pulse quickened and there seemed to be something wrong with the station’s environmental controls, because the corridor had grown quite warm. She caught her lower lip between her teeth and swallowed nervously as Philip narrowed his eyes and looked past her down the corridor. “Is that Roland?”

  What just happened and why do I suddenly want to feed Roland his own liver?

  She turned and looked down the corridor to see a figure in a midshipman’s uniform walking — staggering, really — between two others in civilian clothes.

  “I …” She paused, clearing her throat when heard how ragged her voice was. “I believe it is. Who is he with?”

  “I don’t know, but he’s so drunk he’s barely keeping his feet under him.” Philip laughed. “It’ll go badly for him if he’s taken up by the station patrol and delivered to the ship in that condition.”

  Alexis watched the approaching trio for a moment. “Do you suppose he’s all right with those two? They look a bit dodgy, don’t you think?”

  “Serve him right whatever happens …” He looked at Alexis and one corner of his mouth rose in a wry grin. “You’re going to insist we see he’s okay, aren’t you.”

  “Excellent thought, Philip,” she said, starting to walk toward the others. “I’m glad you suggested it.”

  As they approached Roland and his two companions, Alexis saw that Roland was, indeed, quite drunk, staggering along nearly held up by the other two men.

  “And you say the girls there are quite the thing?” she heard Roland saying as she got nearer.

  “The very thing,” one of the men said. “We’ve just to find that cash dispenser and get you some more coin, sir. No transfers from tablets in the best houses, only coin, you know.”

  “Quite right,” Roland agreed. “Only the best for me.”

  “Good evening, gentlemen,” Alexis said when she was close. “I see you’ve found our wayward shipmate for us.”

  The others stopped, the two men on either side of Roland, each grasping an arm. One of them smiled. “Showing your mate a good time, we are,” he said. “Nothing but the best for our new friend Ronald, here.”

  “I’m sure,” Philip said, stepping up beside Alexis. “Perhaps we should join you, then? Make a night of it?”

  “Oh, I don’t think so,” the other man said. He was not smiling. “Nothing where we’re going that would interest little boys and girls.”

  Roland laughed. “No, nothing in a house that would interest Misters Carew and Easely.” He looked at the first man. “And my name’s Roland. Told you that before, I did.”

  “Roland, how much money have you given them already?” Alexis asked.

  “Not so much. Bought a round or two, but I’ve still quite a bit …” He patted his pockets, looking confused. “Here now!” he said, straightening and jerking his arms free of the two men. “Have you lot pinched my coin?”

  “Just calm down, lad.” The two men stepped away from him, holding up their hands and making calming gestures.

  “Roland,” Philip said. “You’ve told me enough about these houses for me to know they all take payment by transfer. What do they need you to get more coin for?”

  “You mind your business, boy!”

  “Our shipmate is our business,” Alexis said, stepping forward. “Now off with you lot before we call the pat
rol and report this.”

  Three more men stepped out of a nearby corridor and the five spread out to surround them.

  “Takes time for them, even after they’re called. Time enough for you to hand over your coin, as well as your mate’s. Then no one need be hurt,” one of them said.

  Philip stepped up beside Alexis and Roland turned to face one of the men.

  Alexis looked the first man in the eye. “There’s really no need for this to go any further.”

  The man’s hand snapped out and grasped her arm. “Should’ve kept walking, little girl.”

  Philip started to reach forward, but the other man blocked him, then the other three reached them. Two squared off with Roland and the other with Philip.

  “Well, this went right down the crapper,” Philip muttered. “Look then, we can still …” He broke off as one of the men swung his fist and struck him square in the nose. As if that was the signal, the others attacked as well.

  “Looks like I got the easy one,” the man holding Alexis said.

  Alexis brought her hand up to her arm where the man grasped it, but instead of grabbing his hand or arm in a futile attempt to pull free, she remembered what the marine, Culmer, had told her. “Everyone’ll be stronger than you,” he’d said. “In fact, most men’ll have more strength in one finger than you’ve in your whole arm … so cheat and be vicious about it.”

  She dug her thumb deep into her own arm, ignoring the discomfort as she slid it under the man’s little finger to grasp it quickly. With a quick twist of her wrist, she bent just that finger back, hearing a quite satisfying sound. Not the crack of breaking bone, but a wet twock, the sort of thing one hears when wrenching off a chicken leg.

  The man screamed and released her arm, but Alexis didn’t release him. Instead, she shook her own hand back and forth rapidly, like a terrier with a rat, twisting and turning the man’s injured finger. His screams turned shrill and he lashed out with his other hand. Alexis ducked, but not quickly enough and the back of his hand caught her across the face. She let go and staggered back.

  Two of the men had Roland backed against the corridor’s wall and were trying to get to him, but even drunk as he was, he was able to lash out and keep them at a distance. Philip, however, was not so lucky. As she watched, one of the last two men swung his fist into Philip’s face and he fell to the ground where the last man drew back his foot to kick him.