Alexis jerked awake again at his bellow as Lieutenant Whitefield appeared in the hatchway.
“Sir?”
“Put Carew in a cabin until we can transfer her to Royal Sovereign. The admiral will want to speak with her.”
“Aye, sir.”
“Captain Hutchings,” Alexis said, “I don’t want to put anyone out of their cabin.”
Hutchings shook his head. “No trouble. We’ll be up with the flagship as soon as another frigate arrives here to take charge of the Hannie prize. No more than a watch.” He frowned. “I suppose Chipley will have all the prize money if he ever catches up with those that fled. With both Chipley’s fleet and mine In Sight here, the prize money for those that surrendered in this action will be spread thin as cucumber slices at tea.”
Alexis struggled to smile, knowing it was expected of her at a senior captain’s jest. The money for prizes was divided between the crews of all ships in sight of the action when the captured ship struck. With two New London fleets here near Giron there’d be many ships to divide what prize money resulted from the action, including whatever came of the frigate which had struck to Belial.
As for Belial herself? Alexis winced at the thought. With the damage so great, likely her ship would be scuttled in place, her fusion plant set to be breached and left to devour the hulk Alexis had turned her into.
It felt like she’d barely had a moment’s rest before she was shaken awake and sent through a boarding tube to the flagship. Dobb and the other survivors from Belial’s crew, Marie, Ferrau, and the other civilians included, remained aboard Magnanime, or possibly were transferred to other ships in Cammack’s fleet. Alexis was never sure.
Alexis was whisked straight from the tube to the admiral’s day cabin where she again told her story, this time to Admiral Cammack and Royal Sovereign’s captain, Captain Wixson. There she related her experiences on Giron and during the action once more. Word came from the prize crew sent aboard the Hanoverese frigate, and Alexis learned what had occurred there during her action.
Apparently, the Hanoverese captain, furious that a ship so small as Belial was standing up to his ship and that his guncrews were performing so poorly, had left his quarterdeck for the gundeck just as one of Belial’s broadsides had arrived. He’d been struck down in the midst of haranguing his guncrews. In the confusion after his loss, the frigate’s guncrews had become even more haphazard until Belial’s fire had destroyed fully half the frigate’s guns. Further fire from Belial had struck the frigate’s quarterdeck, penetrating it and killing both the first lieutenant, then acting as captain, and fourth lieutenant. The second lieutenant took command, but, seeing the arrival of Cammack’s fleet, had determined to put paid to a bad bit of business and ordered the colors struck.
Alexis listened to the report in silence. She was torn between satisfaction that the frigate’s captain was dead and disappointment that he’d escaped further justice for his actions.
Finally she was shown to a cabin and left to rest — and that was the worst of all.
Dobb and the others were quickly absorbed into the fleet’s crews. They had the support of new mates and tasks to keep them busy. Alexis was left idle — she had no place in Royal Sovereign’s watch schedule and no duties.
At least fatigue and having to make her report of the action had kept her either occupied or left her mind muddled. Once she had time to rest and her mind was clear, she found herself left idle and with far too much time to think about the action.
Worse, the other lieutenants aboard the flagship either treated her with kid gloves or avoided her altogether. They seemed unsure of her status or of how to deal with her, which Alexis couldn’t blame them for. She’d not only lost a ship, but the refugees aboard and nearly all her crew as well. What did one say to such an officer?
For the most part she stayed in her cabin — Royal Sovereign’s eighth lieutenant had been moved to a midshipman’s cabin and those worthies had evicted a master’s mate from his — or alone at the wardroom table. Both Admiral Cammack and Captain Wixson invited her to dine with them nightly, but she was poor company and knew it. Her thoughts were elsewhere.
For hours she studied her tablet, searching for some tactic that would have changed the outcome of Belial’s last action, but found none. At last, she was forced to admit that once she’d determined to engage the frigate, Belial’s fate was sealed. As the alternative had been to allow more of the transports to be destroyed, she accepted that she’d had no choice.
That knowledge did little to alleviate the loss.
Alexis jumped, startled by the sudden rap on her cabin’s hatch.
“Come,” she said.
The hatch slid open and one of Royal Sovereign’s midshipmen stuck his head in. There were so many of them about the massive ship that Alexis had yet to keep them straight.
“Admiral Cammack’s asking for you to come to the quarterdeck, sir,” the boy said. “We’ve spotted the Alchiba pilot boat, I hear.”
Alexis frowned. Why would she be needed on the quarterdeck for that? Still and all, a summons from an admiral was not to be ignored. She rolled off her cot and straightened her jumpsuit. The midshipman slid the hatch open and Alexis frowned as she saw that Dobb, Oakman, Chevis, and Hunsley, all of those, at least who were in the Navy, who had survived Belial were also with him.
“Admiral’s asked for them, as well,” the midshipman explained.
Alexis led the way, more curious than ever as to why they’d all been summoned. They made their way to the quarterdeck and entered.
“Ah, there you are, Carew,” Cammack said as they entered. “Come over here, please, all of you.” He gestured to the spacers behind her. “Here around the plot, if you will.”
Alexis shared a glance with Dobb and Oakman. The space around the navigation plot was generally an officer’s purview.
“Pilot boat’s signaling again, sir,” the midshipman on the signals console announced. Alexis realized she didn’t know his name either, despite having been aboard Royal Sovereign for so long. “Asking for our numbers and they’ve added Imperative.”
Alexis stepped up to the navigation plot — Cammack had invited her to after all — and stared at it in puzzlement. In addition to the plot of each ship’s course, Admiral Cammack had it displaying images of the Alchiba pilot boat and arriving fleet — both Cammack’s ships and the hundreds of little ships bearing the evacuees from Giron. She felt Dobb and the others step up beside her.
What’s going on?
No wonder the pilot boat had added the Imperative signal. None of the ships in the fleet were flying New London’s colors, much less their numbers. Their masts and hulls were dark, as though they were all waiting for something. With hundreds of unidentified ships so close, the pilot boat must be wondering if this were the start of an invasion.
“There’s little enough we can do to honor your ship and men, Carew,” Cammack said. “I’ll hope this is a start.” He nodded to the signals station.
Alexis frowned and looked down at the plot. First Royal Sovereign’s masts lit up, then that signal was taken up by the other ships of the fleet — from ships of the line to frigates to sloops to the smallest pinnace that had made the trip — spreading out from Royal Sovereign in an expanding wave, each ship displaying the same signal.
Not a ship’s number, for the ship named in the signal had never received one. Instead the signals spelled out the name, laboriously, letter by letter.
Alexis’ eyes filled with tears and she blinked hard to clear them, wishing so many men could be here to see the honor the fleet was paying them.
Dobb laid a hand on her shoulder.
“She were a good ship, sir.”
“And the finest of crews,” Alexis agreed, laying her hand over his and squeezing hard.
The pilot boat had asked a simple question: What ship?
And the fleet, as one, had answered.
Belial.
Epilogue
Alexis rose from her
bunk sweating and shaking. The last tendrils of the dream, nightmare, still had hold of her and even the bright lights couldn’t dispel it. She leaned over the small table her compartment sported, one palm flat on its surface, and poured a drink. She noted that her hand was shaking and the bottle’s neck rattled against the glass. She’d have to ensure that had stopped before her next meeting with Lieutenant Curtice.
Hopefully the last of my meetings with the lieutenant.
She understood the point of the meetings and the Navy’s desire that she be recovered from the events on Giron before moving on to another post, but could not appreciate the lieutenant’s prying nature and questions. Could he not see that the best way to put that behind her and move on was to do so? Sitting about talking it through constantly only kept it close to the forefront of her thoughts.
There was a tapping at the hatch, which would be Isom come to wake her.
Isom had come aboard Royal Sovereign at Alchiba and resumed his duties as her servant. Then Admiral Cammack had taken Royal Sovereign and his fleet back to Lesser Itchthorpe, leaving a few ships to guard Alchiba in anticipation of Admiral Chipley’s return there.
She’d taken rooms aboard the Lesser Itchthorpe station while she waited for reassignment or for Shrewsbury’s return with Chipley’s fleet. Dobb and the others from Belial had been quickly sent to other ships. She realized she felt very alone, the more so because, with no word of Chipley’s fleet, there was also no word of Delaine and the Berry March fleet that had sailed with him.
Alexis drained the glass, letting the fire of the bourbon burn away the last traces of the dream.
There was another rap at the hatchway.
She quickly wiped the glass dry with a cloth and tucked the cloth into her pocket. Isom had said nothing, but she could tell he didn’t approve her drinking first thing upon waking. Still, it was her who had to wake from such dreams and not him.
“Yes, Isom, I’m coming,” she called. “Have them start on breakfast for me, will you?”
“So, lieutenant, how did you sleep last night?”
Alexis smiled at Curtice, but it was a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. The lieutenant tasked by the Sick and Hurt Board with watching over her always started with that question.
As though my nights were a window to my soul, she thought.
“Much the same as all the others, sir,” she said.
“No trouble getting to sleep?” Curtice asked. “No nightmares?”
“No more than I’d expect, nor than the last time you asked.”
Curtice pursed his lips. “Why would you expect trouble sleeping and nightmares at all?” he asked.
“I’ve little to do with my days, sir,” Alexis said. “A day of idleness does nothing to tire me, and so my evenings are restless.” She shrugged. “Does not everyone have nightmares from time to time?”
Curtice gave her an enigmatic look but said nothing.
“Nightmares are not so unusual, I think,” Alexis said firmly.
Curtice tapped at his tablet. He gestured to his office sideboard. “Would you like a drink?”
“It’s quite early. No thank you.”
“Hm.” Curtice tapped more at his tablet. “I’m told you find no issue with the hour where you keep your rooms. It’s not unusual for you to be at table with a bottle before you of a morning, is it?”
“Are you having me watched, lieutenant?”
Curtice shook his head. “One hears things.”
“Again, sir, my days are idle and my own at this time. If I choose to have a glass or two of wine, what business is it of yours?”
More tapping. Alexis ground her teeth in frustration. She longed to yank the tablet from his grasp and fling it at the wall. She forced herself to take a deep breath and hold it — she’d been more short-tempered and quicker to anger since Giron, she knew. It wouldn’t do to show Curtice that.
“You’ve spoken little of the Glorious Twenty-second. Would you like to do so today?”
Alexis clenched her jaw again. They’d taken to calling it that, those who reported on the events at Giron. Even the Naval Gazette had taken up the name. The Glorious Twenty-second, for the fleet action on the twenty-second of August, as though there were any glory to be had from it.
“I do wish they wouldn’t call it that.”
No sooner had she spoken than Alexis wished she could recall the words.
“Why would that be?” Curtice asked.
She sighed. The man pounced on every utterance and worried it like a terrier with a rat.
“What possible glory was there?” she asked, knowing it was a mistake. She should remain silent and give him nothing at all to remark upon, but the absurdity of glorifying the events of Giron galled her.
“A Hanoverese fleet was defeated. There’s talk they’ll strike a medal for that action.”
“The Hanoverese fleet sailed off with Admiral Chipley’s in pursuit, and we’ve heard from neither since.”
No word from Chipley, no word of Shrewsbury, and no word of the Berry March fleet or Delaine.
“Save General Malicoat, the entire New London force was successfully rescued and returned home,” Curtice said.
“We left behind three-quarters of the French forces and tens of thousands of civilians.”
Curtice shrugged. “Some would ask what use the French forces would be. The Republic failed to declare war on the Hanoverese, after all — just sent a fleet or two to the border and sailed about in threat.”
“Some would be fools.”
Curtice raised an eyebrow.
Alexis thought of the French forces on Giron. Untrained and ill-equipped, seeing their homes destroyed and their families killed, calling down Belial’s fire on themselves to give Malicoat the chance to disengage his forces — fighting against such horrible odds so that the last boat, her boat, could lift from Giron and leave them behind. Her eyes burned and her throat was tight as she spoke.
“The French of the Berry March are not the French of the Republic,” she said. “The French of the Berry March —” She thought of Malicoat’s words. “The French of the Berry March have mettle and more.”
“You’re angry,” Curtice said.
Alexis couldn’t help herself, she laughed and nodded. “I am angry, Lieutenant Curtice.”
“What’s angered you?”
Alexis shook her head.
The Hanoverese for starting a war. Eades for starting this nonsense. The Republic for failing us. Chipley for sending transports off with far too small an escort. Chipley for abandoning Giron. Whoever thought to do such a thing on the cheap, without enough of anything to succeed. Myself.
She clenched her fists, digging her nails into her palms. What if she’d said no to Eades or never worn Delaine’s insignia to that French reception? What if she’d been less convincing when asked if she thought the people of Giron would rise up? What if …
Myself.
“What are you thinking?” Curtice asked.
“Am I allowed no private thoughts, sir?”
Curtice resumed tapping at his tablet.
“What’s angered you?” he repeated.
“If you know anything at all of Giron and must ask that question, lieutenant, no explanation of mine could possibly be adequate.”
More tapping.
“Must you do that?”
“What?”
Alexis sighed. “That taking down of every word I say.”
Curtice cocked his head to one side. “I do have to prepare a report for Admiral Cammack, you know.”
“I have a meeting with Admiral Cammack this afternoon. He can judge me for himself, can he not?”
Curtice’s jaw tightened. “I’m aware of your meeting with the admiral, I assure you.”
Alexis watched him carefully and saw some cause to hope. She couldn’t help but feel if Curtice was unhappy, then her meeting with Cammack would be to her benefit.
“Carew.”
“Admiral Cammack, sir.”
The admiral nodded to a chair and Alexis sat. She bit her lip and waited while Cammack perused his tablet. She assumed he was reading Curtice’s report or recommendation and wondered what his decision would be. The time spent waiting on Lesser Itchthorpe had been difficult. She wanted nothing more than to be done with Curtice and his questions, and to be off on another ship and doing something useful with her time.
“Would you like a drink, Carew?” Cammack asked.
“No, thank you, sir,” she answered. She wanted a clear head for this interview, with nothing dulling her wits.
“Lieutenant Curtice seems to think you would,” Cammack said. “His report reads as though you were a drunkard.”
Alexis’ jaw clenched and she forced herself to relax. “Lieutenant Curtice and I have found ourselves at odds on many things, sir.”
“So it seems.” The admiral set his tablet down and rose.He went to the rear of his office where a viewport looked out on the shipping in orbit. “Curtice is concerned about some sort of nightmare, as well, he writes.”
“Lieutenant Curtice concerns himself with a great many things that are, in the whole of it, none of his concern.” Alexis regretted the words as soon as she’d said them. She knew it sounded petulant and defensive, especially given that Curtice had been set to examine her in the first place.
“I don’t know anyone who’s seen action that doesn’t have the occasional nightmare,” Cammack said. “Myself included. Still, I must admit I am at a quandary for what to do with you.”
Alexis remained silent. She suspected she wasn’t supposed to hear such details of Curtice’s report, certainly not phrased so bluntly, and despite his claims to the contrary that Cammack had already made his decision.
“Losing Belial that way must have been a hard blow,” Cammack said. He gestured to his steward, who poured the admiral a glass of wine. “Nothing, are you sure? Tea? Coffee, even?”
“A bit of tea, perhaps, sir.” Alexis wasn’t sure how she should respond to his comment about Belial. He hadn’t asked a question after all. Cammack remained silent while his steward brought Alexis a cup of tea. She stirred in a bit of cream and sugar and took a sip. “Thank you.”
Alexis Carew: Books 1, 2, and 3 Page 91