Alexis Carew: Books 1, 2, and 3

by J. A. Sutherland

  She regarded herself in the mirror, though Isom would have ensured she was presentable. The French were even more concerned about a proper uniform than the Royal Navy’s regulations — anything out of place would be noticed and remarked on, probably as further proof that the New Londoners were vulgar and uncivilized. She suspected the common folk of the Republic were more serious and less judgmental than those at Court — Probably much like the people of Giron, and Delaine himself — but the attendants at Court were … a chore.

  She eyed her uniform again, eyes falling on her rank insignia, and her lips curled upward.

  Perhaps a flechette to the arse is what they need after all. Her eyes strayed to her baggage. Something to spark a conversation, at least.

  Sixteen

  “Lieutenant Ca…” The majordomo at the Great Hall’s doorway broke off, eyes widening then narrowing as he took in her uniform collar.

  Alexis had never heard him pause or hesitate before. He seemed to know at a glance everyone who might attend the night’s festivities — their rank, their lineage.

  Probably knows their bloody ancestors to the fourth generation.

  He looked her over again, shrugged, and slammed the butt of his staff into the marble floor forcefully — more forcefully than she’d heard him do so any night before and four times in rapid succession. The sharp crack of the impacts echoed through the room, cutting across conversation and drawing eyes to the entrance.

  “Lieutenant d'Honneur Carew!” he announced loudly.

  Alexis blinked. That wasn’t at all what she’d expected and she wasn’t sure what to think of it. She’d hoped that by exchanging her own rank insignia for those given to her by Delaine — an archaic set of gold lieutenant’s bars, similar to New London’s, but crossed with the fleur de lys instead of a fouled anchor, that she might start some sort of conversation. A question or two about their source that might give her the opportunity to tell these people about Delaine, about Commodore Balestra, and the people of a dozen systems who still thought of themselves as French, no matter how long they’d been occupied by the Hanoverese. Surely if they were aware, they’d want to help? Do something to free them and bring them back to the Republic?

  What she had not expected was such a change in the announcement of her arrival, nor to be greeted with blank, silent faces and narrow, almost menacing, looks.

  Alexis made her way into the hall, trying to remain calm. She met the dark looks with a nod and a pleasant smile, all the while wondering just what she’d done.

  I thought they were just outdated.

  “Can you use that sword at all, Miss Carew?”

  Alexis jumped, gasping as Eades appeared at her shoulder. The man had the infuriating ability to appear as if from nowhere, no matter how alert she thought she was.

  “Sir?”

  “Your sword?” Eades nodded to the blade. “Is it ornamental only?”

  “I … I am not unskilled, Mister Eades.” To herself, though, she began to curse her decision to accept the ornamental sword that came as part of the uniform and to have put off finding one that would make a more serviceable weapon. She’d been so rushed since her promotion, what with being shipped off first to meet Shrewsbury and then the trip to Nouvelle Paris that she’d had little time to think about such things.

  Now, looking around at the glares of those in the crowd, she could wish that New London’s formal dress called for officers to wear sidearms, as she’d heard Hanover’s did. She’d feel far more comfortable with a rapid-fire flechette pistol at her side.

  Eades grunted. “Good, then I’ll not lose future entertainments from you.” He retrieved two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter and handed one to her. “The French have a slightly less liberal code duello than New London, but they are willing to settle differences with the blade. Most of these fops are unskilled, though, so do try not to kill anyone important when the firestorm you’ve just invited arrives, eh?”

  “Sir,” Alexis whispered, “what exactly have I done?”

  Eades eyebrows rose. “You don’t know?” At her shaken head he threw his head back and laughed. “Oh, you are a treat, Carew! Well, imagine your reception in the wardroom if you’d just wiped your arse with the battle ensign while farting God Save the Queen … off-key. That will give you an idea of what you’re in for.” He took a sip of champagne and backed away from her, raising one finger in admonition. “No one important, remember … and not too many bodies on the floor, please.”

  “Sir?”

  Eades turned and walked away, still laughing.

  Alexis took a gulp of the champagne, wishing it were something quite a bit stronger.

  Perhaps I should leave …

  “Do you mock us, anglaise?”

  One of the courtiers had stepped forward into the empty space that surrounded her. Others watched from nearby as he placed a hand on his sword hilt and tilted his head back to look at her down the length of his nose.

  “Pardon me?” she asked.

  The man’s nostrils flared and he tossed his head, sending long, curly hair flying over his shoulder.

  “Ah, now it is pardon.” He shook his head. “Do. You. Mock,” he repeated, slowly and distinctly, nodding at her collar and the offending insignia.

  Alexis inclined her head, choosing to ignore his attitude. She truly hadn’t expected to anger or offend anyone.

  “I do not mock, sir, I assure you.”

  “You wear le Fleur,” he said. “By what right?”

  Alexis raised a hand to touch the insignia gently, drawing gasps and looks of astonishment from those watching.

  Oh, bloody … are you not even allowed to touch the thing?

  “Sir,” she said, keeping her voice level and calm. The crowd around them was growing as more and more people came to watch the confrontation. “I was given these by a friend upon my promotion. I did not know their import to you —” And still don’t. “— and did not mean to offend you.”

  “Ah, I understand now” the man said, nodding. Alexis had a moment to think that the whole thing might be settled before he continued. “You are stupid.”

  “Sir!”

  “You wear those here? Without knowing the meaning?” He snorted. “Stupid.” There was a twitter of laughter from the crowd. “And some friend gives? Très stupide!”

  That was too far, too much. It was one thing to call her stupid for not thinking or bothering to find out the full meaning of the insignia before wearing them, but how dare this popinjay speak so of Delaine!

  “You go too far, sir,” she said, voice low.

  “Moi? Le Fleur is for le héros, the Hero of the Republic! Leave to wear it is granted not these last seventy years! To no one! But you … you Bloody, you Bifteck, you wear it here among us? I go too far?”

  “Seventy years, sir?” Alexis snapped, her temper flaring.

  He had a point, she supposed, and perhaps she shouldn’t have worn the insignia, but, damn him, they’d been eight weeks in the Republic and no closer to an agreement.

  All the while men were dying. New London men, Hanoverese, and men of the Berry March, possibly even Delaine.

  All while this dandy and his like drank their champagne and prattled on.

  “That’s quite a long time, isn’t it?” She took a step toward him. “Produced no heroes in seventy years, you haven’t?” She looked him up and down. “I can see why.”

  The man made to speak, but Alexis cut him off.

  “This insignia was given to me by a good and decent man on Giron in La Baie Marche,” Alexis said.

  “Le Hanovre!” the man spat. “Those worlds are no more Français!”

  “You utter fool,” Alexis said. She knew she should probably shut her mouth and back away. Eades had told her repeatedly how important it was for her to impress these people, but she was simply fed up with their inaction. “The men and women of those worlds are more French than you, you strutting, little peacock!”

  She advanced on him, fuming. />
  “Three bloody generations under Hanover and they still think they’re French and long to come home — though what they’d make of you lot I shudder to think on.

  “The man who gave me these, sir? They came from his many-times great-grandfather, who fought le Hanovre! To his grand-père who fought le Hanovre! He would fight le Hanovre himself, if given the least bit of support from you lot! And I, sir, I, and the rest of us Bifteck, will fight le Hanovre!” She looked him up and down, putting as much contempt as she could manage into her stare and voice. “You, sir, will drink champagne.”

  The man stared at her, eyes wide. He’d alternately flushed, then paled as she spoke. His lips curled in a snarl and his hand tightened on the hilt of his sword. “Merde!”

  Alexis steadied herself in case he drew, but she wouldn’t back down now. She looked him over again and wrinkled her nose in disgust. “Indeed.”

  The man seemed to stop breathing entirely, staring at her. In fact, she noticed, the entire hall was deadly quiet and the crowd around her had grown to include, she suspected, everyone in attendance. All of whom were equally still and staring at her. She flexed her fingers, making no move toward her sword’s hilt, but prepared to draw if he did.

  There was a sharp tap from somewhere in the crowd, then another, followed by the rustle of cloth as people began to move and slide aside. The tapping grew closer and Alexis saw an old man coming forward. He walked with a cane, something rarely seen, and wore a French naval uniform, chest as gaudily covered as any of the French officers she’d seen. As he reached the edge of the crowd she ran her eye automatically over his rank insignia, letting out a gasp of astonishment. Not just one, but three admiral’s rosettes adorned his collar, indicating that he had, at least once, for he was certainly retired at his age, commanded not just a fleet but the entire French navy. And each rosette bore the fleur de lys that crossed her own lieutenant’s bars.

  The admiral stopped at the edge of the crowd, took two, tottering steps further toward her, and stopped again. He raised his cane a few centimeters off the floor, swayed, and steadied himself.

  He’s going to strike me and I bloody well deserve it. Alexis watched him sway again as he raised the cane a few more centimeters. I only hope he doesn’t fall and die in the doing … he’s likely one of those important ones Eades would rather I not kill …

  A young woman hurried out of the crowd to the admiral’s side and grasped his elbow to steady him. He said something, far too low for Alexis to hear, and the woman took his cane from his grasp. He raised his hands and pressed them together, or as much as he could with fingers gnarled with age and clearly unable to fully straighten. A bit apart and then together again.

  Is he … ?

  He was. Clapping, or thumping, at least, as it seemed he couldn’t make his palms meet in a sharp clap. Alexis raised her eyes to his and found them surprisingly sharp and alert, though pale blue and watery with age.

  “Brava, mademoiselle, brava et bien dit.”

  Alexis straightened her back unconsciously and doffed her beret, the closest thing the Royal Navy had to a salute. She had a sudden, absurd wish that she could salute … or bow … or something to show greater respect. The man’s presence was so formidable.

  “Sir,” she said, “I truly meant no disrespect —”

  The admiral snorted and reached for his cane, settling it on the floor before turning his gaze to the courtier who’d accosted Alexis. “Tu!” he said before switching to English. “Puppy! Worry she wears a bauble? What have you done to earn one for yourself?”

  “Sir, I —”

  The admiral snorted again and looked around the crowd. “I wear le Fleur! I fought le Hanovre! I will share le Fleur with any who do the same!” He returned his gaze to Alexis and smiled. “Even le Bifteck.”

  He made a shuffling turn to walk back through the crowd. “‘Merde’ … ‘Indeed’ … Ha!”

  Seventeen

  Alexis sipped a glass of champagne in an alcove between two pillars trying to remain as unobtrusive as possible. No one else had approached her and the dark looks had lessened somewhat, but she still felt unwelcome in the hall. Both Eades and Courtemanche were nowhere to be found.

  Likely hiding in their rooms so they’ll have no association with me.

  “I owe you an apology, Miss Carew.”

  Alexis jumped, startled, and leaned out of the alcove to find Eades standing on the other side of one of the pillars.

  I do wish he’d stop that.

  His words registered and she stared at him in shock.

  “An apology, Mister Eades?”

  “Yes, Courtemanche and I have received no fewer than seven invitations to meetings since your little speech out there.” He gestured at the crowd with his glass, then looked at her. “I was worried bringing you here that your colonial ways might offend the French. Now I begin to wonder if you’re not a better asset when you’re allowed to just run about and do as you will. Come, let us go to meet Admiral Reinier.”

  “Admiral Reinier?” Alexis asked, puzzled and still trying to determine how she felt about being described as an asset. She rather thought Eades had not used the word in sense that was entirely complimentary.

  “The old man who came to your defense,” Eades said. “He’s one of three living holders of that bauble you decided to wear and the only one still able to get out and about. Come.”

  Alexis followed Eades who led her to where Courtemanche was waiting. They left the hall and made their way to a lift that took them down several levels to where the city’s transport tubes intersected the building.

  “Mister Eades,” Alexis said, hesitating. “Might we take an aircar instead?”

  Eades pressed the button to call for a capsule and laughed. “Still not comfortable with the tube, Miss Carew?”

  Alexis swallowed and shook her head, but the capsule had already arrived and Eades motioned her toward the open door with an amused look. Reluctantly, she entered and took her seat. She clenched her teeth as Eades and Courtemanche entered. The capsule had seating for six and was shaped like nothing so much as a bullet.

  She didn’t mind aircars. They were a technology she well understood, not too much different than the antigrav haulers on Dalthus. She even enjoyed flying in them and seeing the world from high up, even in the pilotless versions they had on Nouvelle Paris. It had taken her a trip or two to grow accustomed to the fact that there was no pilot, but she’d adjusted.

  The tube was different. Where aircars might reach speeds of a thousand or more kilometers an hour going cross-country, they kept to more limited speeds within the city where there was more traffic. The tubes did not.

  The capsules’ inertial compensators allowed them to accelerate and decelerate almost instantaneously, without any effect on the occupants and, as the capsules traveled within a closed system of tubes kept in vacuum, there was no real theoretical limit on how fast they could travel.

  Their capsule launched itself from the boarding station into the main system and Alexis swallowed hard as her stomach lurched.

  They’d boarded at the fifty-story level and she had a moment to wish they’d at least entered underground. The maniac who’d designed the system had thought it wise to build the tubes themselves out of a clear material and place windows in the capsules. Underground, at least, she couldn’t see the blur of the city’s buildings and aircar traffic passing at insane speeds. She closed her eyes tightly and swallowed again.

  I do miss horses so.

  “Are you unwell, Miss Carew?”

  “You needn’t concern yourself, Mister Eades,” Alexis said, eyes still closed. She forced her hands, which were clenched on the seat’s armrests, to relax. Eades was, she was sure, much amused by her, but she was less concerned by that than by surviving the next bit of the ride.

  Alexis opened her eyes to see if they were at least out of the city yet, but they weren’t. There was another capsule about a hundred meters ahead of them in the tube, which wasn’t s
o bad. It was a stable, unmoving reference point she could keep her eyes on and ignore the lights of the buildings flashing by beside them. Then in an instant there was another capsule directly in front of them, a bare two or three meters away from the front of theirs. They must have passed a boarding station and the tube’s system had chosen the spot in front of theirs for it to enter.

  “Horses,” Alexis whispered, clenching her eyes closed again.

  They were soon out of the city and crossing open countryside, the tube now supported by pylons spaced hundreds of meters apart. At least away from the city’s lights it was harder to see the landscape pass by. Alexis opened her eyes but kept her gaze fixed far in the distance, certainly not to the left where a second tube for the opposite direction was visible. The occasional blur of a capsule’s lights flashing past was worse than the landscape.

  Alexis saw the sky lighten ahead of them and swallowed hard. That they’d sped their way to the planet’s dayside was only another disturbing reminder of the capsule’s speed. What would happen if even a tiny bit of the tube’s structure gave way and compromised the vacuum? She was certain the designers had taken that into account, but going from vacuum to air at this speed would do very bad things she didn’t wish to contemplate. She closed her eyes again, but opened them again a moment later when Eades nudged her.

  The world outside seemed to jerk to one side as their capsule switched from the travel tube to one leading to a boarding station. Their capsule slowed to a more reasonable pace as they approached the station, as though the designers wanted to give passengers time to appreciate their arrival.

  The tube curved gradually down to a large building on a lake with a view of mountains on the far shore. The building itself seemed to blend in with the landscape, though it was large, at least by Alexis’ standards. Two three-story wings swept away from a five-story main building.

  “Where are we?” Alexis asked.

  “Amiral d'Honneur Reinier’s home,” Courtemanche said.

  Alexis looked at the beautiful structure. “He has rooms here?”