Alexis Carew: Books 1, 2, and 3

by J. A. Sutherland

  Walborn was an inveterate gambler, though for small stakes, and had roped Blackmer into his bets. The younger boy had likely lost a month’s pay since joining Shrewsbury. It was a practice Alexis discouraged, but couldn’t stop. Not because of Blackmer’s losses, but because they were betting on the actions of their crews.

  As though they were nothing more than horses in a race.

  The last gun captain’s arm went up, Blackmer’s following quickly.

  “Aft ready!” Blackmer’s voice sounded over the radio.

  “Upper ready!” Alexis called, her own arm going up. The quarterdeck would hear her report, but if the radios became inoperable due to radiation creeping inboard there was a spacer at the aft hatch to relay the signal as well.

  “Fire!” came the order from the quarterdeck.

  Again shot flowed across the space separating the two ships and struck the enemy.

  Alexis eyed the damage to the other ship. There were several holes in the frigate’s hull where Shrewsbury’s shot had penetrated. Three masts projected outward from the ship’s bow, not quite equidistant, as the Hanoverese preferred to rake their fore and mizzen masts a few degrees closer to the mainmast that projected straight up from the bow.

  Metal mesh sails on the main and mizzen masts gleamed with the azure glow of the charged particles that allowed them to harness the dark energy that flowed through darkspace like winds.

  Most of the foremast, though, was missing, shot through and cut away early in the action.

  The Hanoverese frigate was much smaller than Shrewsbury, a 74-gun third rate, and no frigate had any business tangling with a ship of the line. It was just the Hanoverese captain’s bad luck that had allowed the engagement.

  The frigate had been trailing the convoy of merchantmen Shrewsbury was escorting for some time, always staying far enough astern or to windward so that Shrewsbury, a much larger and slower ship, couldn’t bring it to action.

  Then it had tried sneaking in on the convoy of merchantmen Shrewsbury was escorting under cover of a darkspace storm, hoping to make off with a prize or two. But the storm had cleared with the two ships surprisingly close together, putting paid to the frigate’s plans and leaving it no choice but to engage Shrewsbury at least long enough to escape. Though that hope for escape hadn’t survived the first broadside, when Shrewsbury’s fire had shot through the other ship’s foremast and left its rigging a deplorable mess.

  The action had really been decided then, but the frigate’s captain had refused to strike his colors and surrender.

  Another broadside or two and he’ll have no choice but to strike, Alexis judged.

  The frigate’s hull was pocked with holes where Shrewsbury’s guns had eaten away at it. Four of its gunports were merged into a solid line of open space, where the hull between them had been burned away by Shrewsbury’s guns. The frigate fired and Alexis noted that at least three of the other ship’s guns were no longer firing, though they were still attempting to fire in broadside.

  Soon now, and Captain Euell will have a prize to join the convoy.

  “Load, lads, load!” she yelled. “They’re all arse-up and begging for it!”

  She straightened from the port just as the other ship’s broadside arrived. Perhaps the frigate’s guncrews had adjusted their aim, or perhaps just bad luck, but the shot found Shrewsbury’s upper gundeck for the first time.

  One bolt flashed through the number two gun’s port, narrowly missing a spacer examining the gun’s tubes. The man froze for a moment, as though not believing what had just flashed between his face and the tube, then resumed his examination as though nothing had happened.

  The other shot, though, struck through the number nine port aft. There was a flash of vaporizing metal as it came through the netting that covered the port, then it struck Midshipman Blackmer full in the chest.

  The energy of the heavy laser burned a hole the size of Alexis’ hand through the boy’s vacsuit, body, and out the other side to finally strike and dissipate against the darkly colored starboard bulkhead.

  Alexis rushed to Blackmer’s side, but saw that there was no point. The vacsuits could seal against something small that pierced nothing vital, but this had killed Blackmer outright. She grasped his body by the arms and dragged him to the starboard side of the gundeck where he would be out of the way of the gun crews.

  “Ready forward!” Walborn’s voice echoed in her helmet.

  Alexis watched the aft guncrews, waiting until the last gun captain flung his hand up.

  “Upper ready!” she yelled.

  “Fire!”

  Two

  “Wine, sir?”

  “Thank you, Littler.” Alexis nodded her thanks as Captain Euell’s steward filled her glass. Hers was the last, she being the junior officer at the captain’s table. The men at the table quieted as Littler stepped back with the wine bottle and looked expectantly at Captain Euell.

  “Gentlemen,” he said, raising his glass. “Fine work and a successful action.”

  “Fine work and a successful action!” they all chorused, Alexis included. She raised her glass and took a sip.

  The captain’s day cabin seemed almost spacious with just the seven of them. Captain Euell, his steward, Alexis, and four of Shrewsbury’s other lieutenants were the only occupants.

  Lieutenant Slawson, the second lieutenant, was off with the prize crew getting the Hanoverese frigate in hand. The others, Lieutenants Barr, Brookhouse, Hollingshead, and Nesbit, in order of their seniority, had been invited to dine with Captain Euell in celebration of taking the Hanoverese frigate.

  “A shame about young Blackmer, Carew,” Euell said. “He had the makings of a fine officer.”

  Alexis nodded. “He did, sir,” she said, her throat a bit tight.

  “Bad luck, that,” Lieutenant Barr, the first lieutenant, added. “Not another man lost but him.”

  The others murmured agreement and Alexis raised her glass as she knew was expected.

  “Absent friends,” she said.

  The others raised their glasses in turn and there was a moment’s silence.

  “A fine lad and he’ll be missed,” Captain Euell said.

  And that will be the last said of him, Alexis thought, a bit bitterly.

  She understood the need; with the war on so many men fell in bloody actions that it was best not to think on them too long. Not from callousness, but because there were still the living to care for.

  The other midshipmen in the berth would have their own toasts to Blackmer tonight. The best of his friends in the berth would go through his things and select a memento or two before his kit was sealed and struck down into the hold to be sent back to his family. His body would be reduced to ash in the fusion plant and those ashes packed away in his kit as well. It was a sad package to think of sending home.

  “We’ll cover a bit of business before dinner, I think,” Euell said, “as Carew will be dining elsewhere again.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Alexis said. “I’m sorry about that.”

  Euell waved her apology aside, but Alexis could tell he didn’t find the situation aboard Shrewsbury at all to his liking.

  No more than I do, she thought.

  “What do you suppose your dinner will be tonight, Carew?” Lieutenant Brookhouse asked, grinning.

  “Yes,” Lieutenant Nesbit said. “I can’t wait to hear your description of the next dish that Eades fellow feeds you.”

  “I shudder at the very thought, sirs,” Alexis told them. “He’s not told me what’s next and I daren’t ask. But after that last one … well, I suppose that’s the reason we call the French ‘Frogs’, after all.”

  Brookhouse laughed and gestured at her glass. “Fortify yourself well, is my suggestion.”

  Alexis took a healthy swallow. “There are some things that shouldn’t be faced sober,” she agreed.

  The others laughed and Alexis took another drink of wine to hide a sudden emotion. How different the laughter aboard Shrewsbu
ry was from that on her previous ship, the ill-fated Hermione, with her tyrannical Captain Neals and a midshipmen’s berth full of toadying bullies.

  “I’ll have Littler send a plate to the wardroom for you,” Euell said. “In case you can still stomach good, planet-raised beef after whatever Mister Eades places in front of you.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Alexis said. “That will be welcome, no matter what Mister Eades’ cook has prepared for us. It seems the French are incapable of serving a simple bit of any meat without they cover it in some sort of … goop.”

  The others laughed again, but the laughter turned to amused looks at Alexis as her tablet pinged. She grasped it through her jumpsuit, frowning because she was certain she’d turned it off before coming into the captain’s cabin. No officer wanted a meeting with the captain interrupted by a midshipman asking questions.

  “I’m sorry, sir,” Alexis said, pulling her tablet out. “I’m sure I turned it —” She broke off and clenched her jaw at the sight of the message. “Mister Eades requests my presence, sir. I’m certain I turned the tablet’s alerts off, though. I’ve no idea how he manages it, but he seems to regard our communications systems as his personal playground.”

  Euell pursed his lips. “And Shrewsbury as his personal transport, come to that.” He sighed. “I can’t fault you for not controlling the man when that’s beyond me as well. Tell him you’ll be along shortly.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  “If I didn’t have orders to offer him and that Courtemanche fellow ‘every accommodation’, I’d have his accommodations in the bloody brig.”

  “And no one would be more glad of it than I, sir,” Alexis agreed as she sent the requested message and turned off the tablet’s speaker again.

  Captain Euell took a sip of wine and set his glass down.

  “To business, then,” he said. “Now that we’ve done away with that frigate that’s been dogging us, I believe there are no other Hanoverese ships in a position to threaten the convoy. If there were, they’d certainly have come in with the frigate to attack during the storm, or to its aid at the end there. So we should have a clear, two days’ sail to the border. Unless we run across some other ship by happenstance, of course.

  “Once in French Republican space, the convoy will begin to disperse, and we ourselves shall sail directly for Nouvelle Paris with our charges, Mister Eades and Monsieur Courtemanche.”

  “And may we soon be shut of them,” Lieutenant Barr said, giving a mock toast.

  “At least until the return trip,” Captain Euell reminded them. “We are to remain at Mister Eades’ … disposal —” He curled his lip on the last word. “— until such time as he has finished with whatever it is he does there.”

  Alexis looked down at the table as all eyes turned to her. All of the other officers were curious about their mission, but Eades had instructed her — threatened, really — not to speak a word of it. She could only be grateful that Shrewsbury’s other officers, and captain, were being so understanding that their most junior lieutenant knew more about their purpose than they themselves did.

  “Regardless,” Euell continued, “we’ll likely have some weeks idle in orbit around Nouvelle Paris.” He waited for the grins and excited murmurs to subside. “Yes, I’m rather looking forward to weeks of leave on a Core World myself. And they’ve a proper, naval station to grant the crew leave, as well, without the worry of them running.”

  With the war had come the return of the Impressment Service grabbing merchant spacers and even some civilians up in the Press for service in the fleet, not to mention those crewmen who’d come from the assizes with the choice of either Naval service or prison before them.

  Given the harsh conditions of sailing the Dark, the poor food, consisting mostly of a daily half kilo of “beef” grown in the purser’s nutrient vats, and miserly pay, often paid months in arrears, it was a wonder men didn’t jump ship in the midst of darkspace itself.

  The French naval station at Nouvelle Paris would have the pubs, shops, and other, more prurient, establishments the crew would be looking forward to, but in a sealed environment with guards at the planet-bound boats and around any merchant shipping. The added difficulty, and the certainty of losing what portion of their pay was in arrears, would make most of the men think twice about attempting to run.

  “Will the ships of the convoy not be running a risk when they disperse, sir?” Lieutenant Brookhouse asked. “Some of their destinations are quite near the Republic’s border with Hanover.”

  “To date,” Euell said, “the Hanoverese have limited their aggression to us. It’s an odd, disturbing turn of events, given their past propensity for attacking everyone in sight all at once. For the moment, though, New London appears to be their only target. We’ve heard nothing of conflict with the Republic, Deutschsterne, or Hso-Hsi.” He frowned. “Though why those others haven’t come to our assistance yet is beyond me, as well. Our shared history of conflict with Hanover, after all …” He shrugged. “It is beyond me.”

  “Perhaps, with such a long peace as we’ve had,” Brookhouse suggested, “they’re hoping New London will settle Hanover before the Hannies set their sights on other targets.”

  “Perhaps,” Euell allowed, “though even a cursory review of history should put paid to such hopes. In any case, we have a last bit of ship’s business before we bid our Lieutenant Carew good luck in her evening’s trials.” He raised a glass to her and the others followed suit.

  “With Mister Blackmer’s death, we are a midshipman short and, since we’ll be some time in Republican space, will have to look to other means of replacing him. Please give it some thought, gentlemen, and put forth the names of any of our master’s mates you think might have the makings of an officer. Lieutenant Carew?”

  “Sir?”

  “I should like to place Mister Artley with you on the upper gundeck. Do, please, see what you can make of him.”

  “Aye, sir,” Alexis said automatically, but inwardly wincing.

  Artley was the youngest midshipman aboard Shrewsbury at just twelve years old. It was his first time aboard ship and most of the officers were already despairing at his future.

  The boy was timid, almost mouse-like, with both the other midshipmen and the crew. She wasn’t sure what Captain Euell might expect her to “make of him”, given that she was the most junior lieutenant aboard herself.

  And with every waking moment I’m not on watch spent closeted with Eades and Courtemanche.

  “Better you than me, Carew,” Lieutenant Hollingshed said with a grin and a raised glass. “I wish you luck.”

  Three

  “Choose, Miss Carew! Quickly!”

  Alexis looked at the array of items on the table before her with a wary eye. Mister Eades, of the Foreign Office, was seated across the table from her with a similar array and she could detect just the tiniest indication of impatience in his expression and voice.

  “This one?” she asked, tentatively picking up a four-pronged fork.

  Eades sighed and shook his head. “No, Miss Carew, we’ve been over this. That is a salad fork.” He picked up an instrument with two long prongs. “This is for escargot.”

  Alexis set the fork down on the table with the others and eyed her plate with distaste. How Eades’ cook had managed it, with the limited space aboard ship to cook in as well as store provisions, she didn’t know, but he’d managed to produce yet another meal that she was certain even Shrewsbury’s hardest man would turn his nose up at.

  “If I must stab a giant snail, Mister Eades, I shall want something a bit more formidable, I think.”

  “One does not stab at a fine Court dinner,” Eades said. “One uses the tines to gently tease the meat from the shell.”

  Alexis grimaced. “Could we not, perhaps, leave the snails in their shells? Safe in the garden?” Alexis felt her stomach roll a bit at the thought. “And simply have the butter and garlic over toast?”

  “We may not, Miss Carew,” Eades said.r />
  Alexis sighed. After the morning’s battle and Blackmer’s death, then a long day of herding the convoy’s merchantmen back into a semblance of order, she longed for nothing more than a bit of rest. Perhaps even a small amount of time in the wardroom to speak to the ship’s other officers, men she had to work with, but had been given little opportunity to come to know.

  Instead she was once again in Malcom Eades’ cabin, being asked to learn what she considered utter silliness.

  “Should I wake Courtemanche, Carew? For another dancing lesson?”

  “No!” Alexis said quickly. “No, that won’t be at all necessary. It’s the two-tined fork for snails, you say?”

  Vachel Courtemanche, representative to Her Majesty’s Court from La Grande République de France Parmi les Étoiles, The Grand Republic of France Among the Stars, shared the cabin with Eades. It was his task to teach her some particularly French things, such as the dances currently popular at the French Court, and he was, so far as Alexis’ limited encounters could discern, a prototypical Frenchman — an outrageous flirt and certain that he was the universe’s greatest gift to women.

  This Alexis would have been able to accept with a tolerant smile, were he not also some four times her seventeen years of age and … well, the man had an odor about him. An unpleasant, almost unbearable, odor. That Alexis thought this after spending more than two years aboard ships — Shrewsbury herself having a complement of over eight hundred men, all limited to no more than a quart of water per day for washing — said much.

  How Eades could stand to spend his days in such close proximity to the Frenchman was something Alexis couldn’t fathom. Shrewsbury had been built as a fleet flagship and boasted a spacious admiral’s cabin, in addition to her captain’s, which Eades and Courtemanche had taken for their use. They’d divided the sleeping cabin between them and used the absent admiral’s day cabin for their teaching of Alexis.

  Torment, rather.

  Eades smiled the infuriating little smile that always had Alexis’ teeth clenching. The man loved to get his own way and was intolerably smug about it when he did so.