He eyed the assembled men and then looked to Captain Neals who gestured for him to get on with it. He drew a deep breath nodded to his mates. “Seize one of them up, lads.”
The bosun’s mates looked uncertain and Nabb stepped toward them, fists clenched.
“Nabb,” the bosun warned.
“Ease off, Maslin,” Nabb said. He met Alexis’ eye and nodded curtly. “Someone’s got to go first and show ‘em how it’s done. Form a line, lads,” he called over his shoulder as he angrily stripped open his jumpsuit and shrugged out of it. “Captain’s pleasure to see it in job lots today, so best be about it.”
“Three dozen for that one, Mister Maslin,” Neals said.
Nabb snorted and stepped over to a grating two of the bosun’s mates had rigged to stand upright against a nearby column. He raised his hands to the corners and they bound him there with a thick cord.
The bosun looked down at the deck, shook his head once, and then lashed out with the cat. The strands struck Nabb’s back with a sharp crack and drew lines of crimson across his flesh. The second blow followed closely on the first, the bosun not wanting to delay.
Alexis felt herself trembling. She’d stood through floggings before, far more often than she liked since coming aboard Hermione, but this was quite different. The crowd was strangely silent and she flinched as the crack of the next blow echoed through the quiet space. Usually there were shouts and calls from the assembled men — catcalls if they felt the offender deserved the punishment or, more common aboard this ship, shouts of encouragement if not. This time, though, there was no sound other than the cat landing across Nabb’s back. The crew stood silent, faces set and staring, not at Nabb nor even the bosun, but at Captain Neals and the assembled officers.
When the last blow was dealt, the bosun’s mates released Nabb’s arms and he sank to his knees, blood flowing down his back and soaking his jumpsuit. The ship’s surgeon started forward, but Neals held up a hand.
“No, Mister Rochford, I don’t think so. He and his mates can care for one another when this is done, leave him there.”
Rochford looked as though he might object, but then lowered his eyes and resumed his place.
Alexis grasped her hands, trying to stop their shaking.
I should have let them run when we were on Penduli. Should’ve walked every last one of them onto a merchantman myself and seen them well away.
The silence continued as the next man was bound in place and Alexis watched, horrified, as his back too was laid bloody by the bosun’s cat. At some point, she felt wetness on her cheeks and realized that she was crying, tears flowing down her face as a third man took his place at the grating.
Blood was beginning to pool on the whiteness of the deck where the men who’d already been flogged knelt and the bosun was forced to run the strands of the cat between his fingers, stripping the blood from the strands for they’d become soaked with it and begun sticking together and landing as a solid clump. When the third man was cut down and allowed to collapse next to Nabb, the bosun tossed the cat angrily aside and jerked his head at one of his mates.
“Get another,” he said quietly. “Bring them all.” He looked to those waiting their turn. “And get to making more.”
The wait was agonizing, though only a few minutes before the mate returned with three red bags and then rushed off again. Isom was bound up next and he was visibly terrified. He struggled with the bosun’s mates and had to be dragged to the grating, thrashing and throwing his head from side to side. His struggles were so great that the bosun had to use his belt knife to bare the man’s back, slicing his uniform open down its length. Isom’s screams, shrill and panicked, when the first blow landed seemed to break the spell of silence and the murmurs of the crew could be heard between blows.
Alexis’ vision blurred and she swayed on her feet as one after another the men of her division, the men she was most responsible for, went under the lash. She heard a soft noise to her left and looked over to see Lieutenant Williard swaying on his feet, pale and with one hand to his mouth. Ledyard caught her gaze and one corner of his mouth raised in a smirk. Through it all, Neals stood immobile, watching every blow.
Thirteen
When it was over and Captain Neals dismissed the hands, Alexis barely made it into the companionway before she ran. She leapt down the steep ladder, hardly letting her feet touch the narrow steps, past the gundeck, past the orlop deck and deep into the ship’s hold. She slammed the hatchway open and then closed behind her and ran forward through the narrow aisles between the ship’s stores. She didn’t stop until she was far forward — as far from the quarterdeck and Neals as she could possibly get.
She’d wanted to rush to her men when it was over and see to their care, but they’d want their mates around them now, not an officer. Any officer.
“You bastard!” she cried, slamming her fist into the side of a container. “Vile, bloody, bastard!”
Over and over again she slammed her hands into the container until, finally exhausted, she sank to her knees. She wrapped her arms around her legs and buried her face in her crossed arms. The thought that she should have done something kept entering her mind, but what? And what good would it have done? If she’d said or done anything that stirred the men, then surely someone would have hung. She’d seen the desire to do so in Neals’ face, he’d simply been waiting for an excuse. She certainly couldn’t have stopped him herself, the marines would have simply dragged her off to quarters or the brig.
Nothing had ever made her feel this helpless before, not even the inheritance laws on Dalthus that would keep her from her family’s lands. At least those she could speak out against and try to change — here she had no power at all.
She sat for a long time, trying not to think about what she’d just witnessed — trying to think about nothing, really — when she heard footsteps approaching. Blinking and sniffing, she realized that she shouldn’t be seen like this — the men should not see an officer behaving so and she certainly didn’t want any of the other officers to see her.
Perhaps being found by Lieutenant Williard would not be so bad, he might have some advice or insight, though it would most likely be to simply ignore it all in the hopes for future advancement, but none of the others. She scrambled quickly to her side and eased her way into a narrow opening between two containers, vat nutrients to one side and thermoplastic precursor to the other, she saw. The shadows deepened the farther she went back and she crouched down, hoping that no one would notice her.
“This’ll do, then.”
“Can’t be far enough away from that lot to suit me.”
“And that’s what I wanted to talk to ye about — gettin’ far away.”
“Ah, bollocks, Carville. More of that? I’ve told you before, running’s a bad bet — and Neals’ll give you no chance, besides.”
Alexis recognized their voices now, Hacker and Carville, two men in Ledyard’s division. She edged farther back into the recess, wanting even less to be seen now that she’d heard the men speak of running, deserting the ship at some opportunity.
Likely it was just talk, but no good could come of them knowing she’d heard. If she did nothing it would seem like she condoned it and if she reported them they’d likely face the lash themselves. After what she’d just witnessed, she’d have no hand in sending someone else to that fate. In fact, though she knew it was her duty to put an end to such talk or report it, she couldn’t help but empathize with the two men. Hermione being what it was, life on the run as a deserter might seem preferable to many.
“Not runnin’, no … takin’.”
“Taking what?”
“The ship, boyo, what’d y’think?”
Alexis’ breath caught in her throat. The two weren’t discussing desertion, they were talking mutiny. She froze and ducked her head. It was a much more serious matter now if the two men discovered her and knew she’d heard them. Desertion was serious, but mutiny, even the plotting of it with no action, wh
ich was how Neals would view even the barest mention, meant death.
“You’re daft,” Hacker said, whispering now. “I’d not say that on any ship … on this one, bugger me if I’ll listen to another word!”
“Have ye not had a enough, then? Two deaders fer no cause, an’ the whole lot flogged fer afters!”
“Keep your bloody voice down, Carville! What if someone hears you?”
“Like Ledyard, the pissy, pox-ridden bastard? Did ye see the look he had? He’s a taste fer seein’ the lash, he does — you know he’s put men up fer Captain’s Mast just t’see it happen!”
“Carville—”
“Look,” Carville said, his voice lower. “We could do it, we could. Most o’the crew’d stand aside an’ see which way things blew. No more’n twenty men movin’ at the right time and the ship’s ours.”
“To do what with? Can you navigate enough to get anywhere? Didn’t think so. You haven’t thought this through.”
“Need one o’ the officers, then. Carew might — she’s no great love of the captain, neither, her. Williard’d want t’save his own skin any way he could. One o’ t’other snotties, once we’d scared ‘em proper.”
“And do what with the rest of them? Have you even thought about after?”
“Too bloody right I’ve thought about after! Bloody dreamed about it! Neals gets his and that little shit, Ledyard, too!”
“Shh! Damn you, Carville, you’ll get us both hung!”
“It’s comin’ ‘ave no doubt. Weren’t the onliest ones headin’ off fer a private talk, us. Never seen a ship this bad — it’s comin’.”
There was a long pause.
“You may be right—”
“You mark me, Morrey Hacker, it’s comin’.”
The two men were silent for a time and Alexis began to wonder if they’d left without her hearing their footsteps. Then Hacker spoke again and his words sent a chill through her.
“If it’s coming, Carville, I’ll not want to just be towed along in it.”
The two men walked off, still murmuring to each other. Alexis waited in the shadows until she was certain they were gone and then emerged. She straightened her uniform and bit her lip, wondering just how many other secret meetings were taking place deep in the ship’s hold. And what was she to do now?
She couldn’t imagine telling Captain Neals — his reaction would be something she’d not wish on any of the men. The First Lieutenant, Dorsett, was who she should tell, according to all propriety. It was his responsibility to see the captain’s orders carried out and to manage the crew, but Dorsett was a non-entity aboard the ship, so overshadowed by Neals that he rarely left his cabin when not on watch. Ostensibly Williard was in charge of the midshipmen and was who Alexis should go to for advice, but she’d thought more about what he’d said over dinner on the station. She didn’t feel that he would know how to handle what she’d heard. There were, in fact, no officers aboard Hermione that she felt enough respect for to confide in.
Maslin, she thought. The bosun stood in an odd place aboard ship, neither an officer nor fully one of the crew. The men might hate him for his role in enforcing discipline, but they respected him too. Yes, I’ll speak to Maslin.
“Lads, there’s something I’d like to say before we head out.”
The chatter in the sail locker quieted, though it hadn’t been that great to begin with. Alexis had spoken to Mister Rochford about the men in her division, but to no avail — he’d already suggested to the captain that they be excused from duty while the wounds from their floggings healed, but Neals had rejected the idea out of hand. By the time Alexis had approached Rochford after supper, he was quite put out about it, but there was nothing he could do.
And so, the very day after being flogged, all twenty-two men left in her division were crowded into the sail locker, shifting uncomfortably as the heavy vacsuits settled against their backs, preparing for a watch Outside working the sails. Alexis was grateful for a chance to go out on the hull herself, for it would give her an opportunity to speak to the bosun in private, but she did wish that her men could be spared the work until they healed.
“I know yesterday was hard, lads.” She hesitated, not sure of how far to go or what to say, then pushed on. “It was horrible, and I wish I could have done something—”
“Never blamin’ you, Mister Carew, it’s that bastard Nea—”
“That’s what I mean to speak about, Nabb. You must all watch your tongues and not give him any excuse. I’ve … I’ve heard some things that others aboard are saying.” She looked around the compartment, meeting their eyes in turn and noting which faces had gone still and guarded. “If there’s talk aboard this ship, dangerous talk, then I should be very put out if any of you were to be involved.”
“Only so much a man can take, sir,” Nabb said, staring down at the deck.
Alexis nodded. “I think a man might take quite a lot more than he expects, if he’ll only look ahead to where another course might land him.” She shifted her vacsuit’s helmet in her hands in preparation for donning it. “Just think of the consequences before acting, lads, and don’t disappoint me, will you?”
She settled her helmet over her head to a chorus of “Aye, sir.”
They’ll trade a pound’s worth of prize certificates for a three-penny upright and I ask them to think through the consequences?
Once they’d all donned their helmets, Alexis dumped the air from the sail locker and they filed out onto the hull. The men who’d had the sail watch before them waited impatiently to reenter the ship. Alexis walked to the base of the mast and looked around. Being Outside normally calmed her, the roiling, black shapes of darkspace in the distance and the cerulean glow of the charged sails were something she eagerly awaited the chance to return to, but not today.
She caught sight of the bosun’s distinctly colored vacsuit and swallowed hard. She did not relish the thought of this conversation — surely no good would come of telling anyone of what she’d overheard, but she couldn’t think of any good that would come of not doing so either.
Consequences, indeed.
She made her way to the bosun’s side and gestured that she’d like to speak with him. He leaned toward her and touched his helmet to hers.
“Yes, Mister Carew?” he asked, voice echoing in her helmet.
Alexis opened her mouth, but found that she simply didn’t have the words. She’d tossed and turned most of the night wondering what to say to him, how to describe what she’d heard. Should she just come right out and say, “Hacker and Carville and some others I don’t know are plotting mutiny?” Or, perhaps, try to hide their identities, but would Maslin believe that at all? And what about the hypocrisy of why she, herself, had been in the hold, what if he asked about that?
Why, yes, Mister Maslin, I was down there cursing the captain’s soul to Hell itself and quite wishing the vat of nutrients I was pounding my fists on was, indeed, his vile, toadish face … but, please, do focus on two men I overheard.
“Mister Carew?”
Perhaps they were only venting their spleens, as I was. But, no, the closed faces of the men back in the sail locker told her that things had gotten further than two mates talking. She could, possibly, try to talk to the other hands — start with Hacker and Carville, then move on to others, and appeal to them take no rash action.
“Mister Carew?”
“I’m sorry, Mister Maslin, my thoughts flew away with me for a moment.” No, the bosun was the only choice. “There’s talk I think you should be aware of, Mister Maslin. Amongst the men. No names, but I —”
Alexis grunted as she was suddenly shoved forward, stumbling and almost losing contact with the hull. She spun around and saw Ledyard standing near the bosun, his vacsuit recognizable by the midshipman’s stripes and the fact that it was only a little larger than her own and his arms still outstretched from shoving her. He gestured abruptly to her and she touched her helmet to his.
“Damn you, Ledyard!” she
said. “I’m senior to you and I’ve had enough of your games! This isn’t the time for them.”
“Captain Neals sent me for you, as you seem not to be watching the lights. His compliments and he’ll see you on the quarterdeck instanter.”
Her irritation at Ledyard’s disrespect vanished, replaced by worry. If she’d missed a signal to report, Neals would be furious, but what on earth could he want when they’d only just come out onto the hull?
She followed Ledyard back to the airlock and through onto the quarterdeck.
“Carew,” Neals said as soon as she entered, “your division is suited and on the hull?”
“They are, sir.”
“Very good.” He looked down at his tablet, tapped it a few times, and then looked back to her. “I should like them to unstep the mainmast, Carew. Please report back to me the moment this is done.”
Alexis blinked, uncertain she’d heard correctly. The masts were normally unstepped, folded down to lie flush against the hull, only when the ship was in normal space — and even then only when they’d be using the conventional drive. The fore- or mizzen-mast might be unstepped in darkspace to clear a way for another ship to come alongside, but rarely the main. Unstepping the mainmast while still in darkspace and relying only on the fore- and mizzen-masts would cut their speed by almost half.
“Unstep the mainmast and report back instanter, sir,” she repeated to ensure she’d heard correctly. “Aye, sir.” She went back out onto the hull, still wondering at the purpose, but relayed the order to her men.
They set about the complex task, first furling the mesh sails and taking them down to be stored in the sail locker, then lowering the long, bulky yards for storage as well. Though there was no gravity, the sails and yards still had mass and controlling them, each tens of meters long, was grueling. Following the yards, the men had to release and coil the rigging, both standing and running — hundreds of meters of cable that secured and braced the mast and yards to the hull and each other. And finally the mast itself, where they had to unlock and lower each of the telescoping segments carefully into the one below it and, at last, unlock the base of the mast to let it hinge back onto the hull and lock into place.
Alexis Carew: Books 1, 2, and 3 Page 43