Alexis Carew: Books 1, 2, and 3

by J. A. Sutherland

  Eades shook his head. “Children!”

  Alexis and Dansby looked at Eades, then back at each other, and Alexis felt a disturbing instance of kinship with the man. Not enough to offset her dislike, but she felt certain Dansby would join her in beating Eades senseless if she suggested it.

  The enemy of my enemy is not my friend, but he might be willing to hold the bastard down while I kick him, and there’s something to be said for that.

  Dansby raised an eyebrow, as though sensing her thoughts, and turned back to Eades.

  “And the cost of this farce?” he asked. “Who’s to cover that?”

  “Her Majesty will, of course, reimburse you for all proper expenses you incur.”

  “Up front.”

  Eades frowned. “Are you suggesting that Her Majesty is not, as your peers would put it, ‘good for it’?”

  “Her Majesty I trust,” Dansby said. “Her Buggering Clerks who view the paperwork, I do not. Ten thousand pounds … up front and no accounting.”

  Alexis gasped. Ten thousand pounds would buy an entire ship and more. Apparently Eades felt it was an outrageous demand as well.

  “We wish to hire one of your ships, Mister Dansby, not purchase your entire fleet. Five hundred pounds and an accounting at the end.”

  “Nine thousand. I’ve a crew to pay, as they won’t be able to go about their normal business.” He took a long drink of his wine. “And they’re not stupid. They’ll know this is some odd bit of doings and want more for it.”

  “Are you suggesting they’re untrustworthy?” Alexis asked, becoming even more nervous about what Eades was getting her into.

  Dansby laughed and even Eades grinned a bit.

  “’Course they’re untrustworthy. That’s why I have to pay them.”

  “Mister Dansby’s crews are pirates, smugglers, thieves, and murderers, for the most part, Miss Carew. Trust is not a factor.”

  “Former,” Dansby said. “Well … for the most part.”

  “Mister Eades,” Alexis said, “I find myself becoming a bit more concerned about this business. Surely there’s some other transport —”

  Eades grunted. “We exaggerate, I assure you.” He reached over and patted her hand, making Alexis shiver. She began to feel a bit like a small rodent caught at dinner with a serpent and a crocodile, only wondering which of the two would make a meal of her first. “A bit of bargaining, no more.”

  The two finally settled on a sum that Alexis still felt was ridiculously high, but Eades seemed satisfied with, and no accounting, which satisfied Dansby.

  “Now we’ve settled that —” Eades pulled a bag from under the table and slid it toward Alexis. “— you’ll want to change into these.”

  Alexis opened the bag and found the sort of ship’s jumpsuit she was quite used to, but this one worn, a sort of light brown color, and decidedly not Navy issue. She’d had doubts about this entire plan from the beginning and nothing she’d heard had eased her mind. She sighed. Whatever her feelings, though, she had her orders.

  “Yes, I suppose I must.”

  Twenty-One

  Alexis followed Dansby down the station corridor. She felt very out of place without her uniform and fought the urge to stare at passersby who, she was sure, were carefully noting her. She’d spent over two years in the Service, wearing nothing but the Navy’s dark blue ship’s jumpsuit or her more elaborate dress uniforms, and everything about the jumpsuit Eades had provided seemed wrong. It was the wrong color, the wrong material, certainly the wrong fit, as her proper uniforms had been tailored to her small frame by a variety of hands aboard ship. Most distressing was how bare her head felt from the lack of the beret she’d worn every day for so long. Though she knew it wasn’t so, she was convinced that everyone aboard the station could tell at a glance that she belonged in different garb.

  Dansby gestured at her impatiently.

  “Hurry along now, Rikki. I haven’t got all day.”

  Alexis bristled. “I should like to know where we’re going, before I blindly follow you, Mister Dansby.” She frowned. “And what do you mean by calling me that?”

  “Rikki?” Dansby asked, as though surprised she didn’t understand. “Tavi? Kipling?” He sighed. “Did they teach you to read at all on your pig farm?”

  Alexis started to retort, but Dansby cut her off.

  “Oh, very well.” He stepped close to her and whispered. “Will you at least slouch a bit, Miss Carew? You walk as though you’ve a yardarm up your arse.”

  Alexis glared at him, but let her shoulders fall a bit lower as they resumed walking. That only increased her self-consciousness, for it forced her to think about how she was walking, and surely any onlooker would be able to tell it wasn’t her natural gait.

  I must get better at this before we reach Hanover.

  Dansby glanced over at her and shook his head. “Something between a Queen’s Officer and a chimpanzee if you can at all manage it?”

  She bit back a retort but straightened her back. They walked along and Dansby led her down several levels until she noticed that it was he who now looked out of place. Her bearing might not be as casual as that of those around her, but at least the low quality of her jumpsuit fit in better. Dansby, in his tailored suit and clearly expensive grooming, was drawing speculative looks from those around them — looks that Alexis noticed quickly turned away when Dansby met them with his own glare.

  Out of place or not, they see him as a danger.

  “Perhaps, Mister Dansby,” Alexis said, “as we’re to play these parts, it were best if we decided upon what we’re to call each other?” She set her feet and glared at him. “And it shan’t be this ‘Rikki’, or what have you.”

  Dansby grimaced. “Oh, very well, yes, the parts,” he said. “In truth, I find it a silly bit of business, but you’re too young — and look younger — for me to have any other reason to have you aboard my ship.”

  “That is not a part I believe I would willingly play in any case, Mister Dansby,” Alexis said.

  Dansby cast her a sidelong glance. “Meant you’re not old enough to be someone I’d hire aboard,” he said. “Not old enough to have made any reputation to speak of that would warrant it.”

  Alexis flushed. “I see.”

  His eyes moved over her. “‘Course it’s a long trip,” he said, “and if you were to get lonely …”

  Alexis ground her teeth for a moment. “If you were the last man alive, Mister Dansby, we might, perhaps, discuss which species should best replace humanity … but no more, I assure you.”

  Dansby laughed. “Perhaps the snakes, Carew?” He paused. “But you’re right, really. ‘Uncle’, I suppose, is best for you to call me, but for you … is there some endearment your family uses?”

  Alexis felt her gorge rise at the thought of Dansby using any endearment at all, much less one her grandfather might have called her. “You may use my given name … uncle. And no more. We are not close relations, after all, and the charade is that we’ve only recently met, yes?”

  “Very well. Alexis it will be then.”

  Alexis shuddered. Even that allowance was far more familiar than she wished to be with Avrel Dansby.

  Dansby stopped them at a disreputable-looking chandlery and motioned for her to enter. It had none of the order and organization she’d grown accustomed to in chandleries catering to Naval ships. Dark and dirty, with samples scattered everywhere and little order that she could see. Dust rose from the shelves as they passed and tickled her nose.

  They were met by an abrupt, “What do y’want?” from the proprietor as they entered.

  “To take my money elsewhere, if that’s how I’m to be greeted, you surly sot!” Dansby yelled.

  Alexis looked at him in shock, as did the chandler. There was a long pause, then the chandler cocked his head to one side.

  “Dansby?” he asked. He smiled widely and hurried out from behind his counter to embrace Dansby. “Damned if it ain’t! Good lord, man, look at ya! Y’do
clean up proper nice!”

  Alexis waited, prepared for Dansby to introduce her, but the two men simply continued chatting. She moved on to browse the items for sale. She would have to, effectively, outfit herself from scratch, as none of her Naval gear would be appropriate — even the underthings she’d kept on after changing into the jumpsuit Eades had given her would have to go, she realized. They were clearly Navy issue and would certainly raise the suspicions of a smuggler’s crew if seen. At least this chandlery, as it catered to civilian crews, had … How was it the Navy chandler, Doakes, described it when I was going aboard Merlin? ‘Items of a feminine nature.’ She would even need a new vacsuit. Sizes, though …

  “Excuse me,” she called. “Uncle?”

  Dansby paused his conversation and smiled. “Yes, dear niece?”

  Alexis inhaled deeply and stopped her first response before smiling as sweetly as she was able. “Would you please ask your friend, to whom you’ve failed to introduce me, if he might have any smaller sizes in the back?”

  Both the chandler and Dansby looked at her oddly. “Those’re the ready-mades, miss,” the chandler said. “For spacers in a grand hurry, you might say. Just pick out what y’like an’ it’ll be made up for your size.” He turned back to Dansby. “Bit provincial, is she?”

  “Colonial, even,” Dansby said, grinning. “Likely expects a needle and thread to be involved.”

  Alexis flushed, but went back to examining the shelves, quite convinced that Dansby had expected her question and been waiting for it just to discomfit her.

  Well, at least I’ve not to worry about the cost, she thought, moving to what appeared to be the most expensive ship’s jumpsuits in the shop.

  She fingered the fabric, which promised to be quite a bit more comfortable than those the Navy issued. The Foreign Office might never see the funds Eades had advanced to Dansby again, but with him footing the bill for her outfitting she’d not feel at all bad about spending his money.

  Alexis continued to shop while the two men talked quietly over the counter. At first, she thought to worry what they were discussing, but she overheard snippets as she moved about and it seemed to be no more than two old friends catching up after some time apart.

  She moved the last of her selections to the shop’s counter and waited while Dansby and the chandler continued to talk. She had to admit the pile was quite impressive, even with only one of each item being on the counter itself. She assumed, like most chandlers, this one would take the order and quantities and have most of the items delivered directly to the ship.

  After a time, the two men wandered over.

  “All ready, dear niece?” Dansby asked.

  Alexis nodded, determined to have some words with Dansby about his form of address. She thought they’d agreed he’d use her given name.

  “I am,” she said.

  “This is my niece, Alexis, Bickham,” Dansby said, finally introducing her.

  Bickham nodded to Alexis, then returned his gaze to Dansby. “Thought y’had no family?”

  “A distant relation,” Dansby said. “Grandfather’s brother’s line, really. Quite forgotten about them, until dear Alexis contacted me.” He grinned. “She was about to be married off to a pig farmer on some colony world, you see, and fair begged me to become her savior. Isn’t that right, dear niece?”

  Alexis kept her thoughts off her face as much as she was able. “For the most part, uncle,” she said, “though I’m sure Mister Bickham isn’t at all interested in such things.”

  “Nonsense,” Dansby said. “Bickham’s an old friend of mine and always one for a tale.” He rested his elbows on the counter and leaned toward Bickham. “I sent her some money, of course, for though I’ve had no contact with that branch of the family, I felt my obligation to her sorely, and dear Alexis here hopped aboard the very next merchantman to make her way to me.” He shook his head. “Not too much for planning, though, the dear girl. Fled with naught but the clothes on her back and what money I’d sent her. Had her pockets picked at the first station they stopped at and lost all the coin. Lucky she’d paid in full for her passage or she’d have been stuck there, isn’t that right dear niece?”

  “Yes, uncle,” she said, staring at him. “It was quite naive of me to be so trusting. I shan’t make that mistake again, I assure you.”

  “See that y’don’t, miss,” Bickham said, nodding. “Lots o’untrustworthies around.”

  “Indeed,” Alexis agreed, not taking her eyes from Dansby.

  “Had to sell even the clothes she’d fled in,” Dansby went on, seemingly oblivious to Alexis’ growing anger. “So as to have even a few pence to supplement the ship’s meals, you see, and so arrived with nothing at all but this second- or third-hand jumpsuit. Not quite the sight I expected when I met her ship, I can tell you.”

  “No doubt,” Bickham said. He patted Alexis’ hands where they rested on the countertop. “Well, yer uncle’ll take care o’ya now, miss, y’just wait and see.”

  “I’m sure he will, Mister Bickham.” The corners of her lips curled up a bit. “Uncle Dansby was quite distraught when I arrived and he saw the state I’d been traveling in for so long. He was most profuse with his promises that I suffer no such deprivations now that I’d arrived.” She slid the first pile of items — jumpsuit, underthings, and boots, all the finest and most expensive she’d found in the store — toward Bickham. “I shall never be able to express my full gratitude for Uncle Dansby’s generosity.” She saw Dansby’s face tighten. “A round dozen of each of these, I think — save the boots, of course. A single pair of those.”

  The norm aboard Navy ships and most merchantmen was six, and Alexis saw Dansby frown and begin to speak.

  “I know, uncle, but …” She ran a hand over the jumpsuit she wore and looked up at him with wide eyes. “After so many weeks with just the one …”

  Dansby cleared his throat, made as if to speak, and then shrugged.

  “We’ll just get yer sizes, then, miss,” Bickham said.

  He gestured to a hatch behind the counter and Alexis went through it to find herself in a small room with a raised, circular platform in the center. Bickham had slid the hatch shut behind her and left her alone, so she stood silently for a time, waiting. Eventually she slid the hatch open and peered out.

  “Excuse me, Mister Bickham,” she said, “but what am I to do?”

  Alexis flushed as Dansby laughed out loud and Bickham looked at her curiously. “Be measured, miss?”

  “Stand on the platform,” Dansby said, still laughing. “It’ll tell you what to do.” He turned to Bickham. “Colonial.”

  Alexis slid the hatch shut, face burning, and stepped onto the platform. The room’s lights dimmed and she jumped as a series of lasers shone through the room, playing over her body, then again as a voice sounded.

  “Please remain still for proper measurements,” the voice said, a female voice, though clearly generated.

  Alexis snorted as she realized what it was, no more than a larger version of the device that could scan a part for replication aboard ship. She stood still and the lights played over her again.

  “Please remove all clothing for proper measurements,” the voice said.

  Alexis glanced once at the hatch, which was shut but didn’t seem to have a lock. She shrugged and undressed, shivering in the chill station air. The hard plastic of the platform was even colder on her feet. She resumed her place and the lights played over her again. The voice gave a series of instructions — where to stand, how to stand — and Alexis followed them. She sighed with relief when she was finally done and the voice said, “Measurements have been completed and transferred to your tablet. Have a nice day.”

  “Thank you,” Alexis said automatically as she stepped down from the platform.

  “You’re welcome.”

  She dressed quickly and slid the hatch open.

  “Order’ll be no more’n an hour,” Bickham said. “Here or delivered straight t’ yer ship?”


  “I’ve taken lodgings,” Dansby said. “Have them sent to The Glaive, if you please.”

  Bickham raised an eyebrow. “The Glaive, is it? Yer doin’ better’n I thought.”

  “Well enough,” Dansby said.

  “Excuse me,” Alexis said, not sure if she’d heard properly. “Did you say the whole lot would be run up in an hour’s time?” A dozen jumpsuits and underthings, plus boots, all to her size and in only an hour?

  Bickham laughed and shared a look with Dansby. She was quite certain they were both thinking the same thing, colonial, but it was a surprise to her. Clothing on Dalthus was still mostly hand-made and she’d had no need for anything but uniforms since joining the Navy — those were bought ready-made from the Naval chandlers and altered for her by the hands aboard ship. Many of the crew were dab hands with a needle and thread, for they’d much rather mend a torn uniform than purchase new — why waste the cost of a good beer, after all?

  “The manufactory for these is here on-station,” Bickham said. “Order’s already in their queue to be made.”

  “Of course,” Alexis said. Indeed, of course, for why shouldn’t there be a machine to make the clothing to order just as the carpenter aboard ship could tap a few things into his tablet and have a new halyard or pulley, or even an entire mast, printed by the replicators? Once a system’s infrastructure became large enough to support such a thing it would be common-place. But clothing had always been such a utilitarian thing that she’d never considered it. A thought began to form, but Dansby spoke before it became fully realized.

  “We’ll need to see your special room, as well, Bickham,” Dansby said.

  The chandler raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

  “If she’s to come aboard ship with me, it’s probably best.”

  Alexis looked from one to the other, but neither paid her any attention and she didn’t want to seem “colonial” again, so she simply followed. They went behind the counter and through another hatch, then down a dim corridor to where Bickham stopped facing a seemingly blank bulkhead. He tapped in a particular place and a portion of the bulkhead slid back to reveal another compartment.