“Ah, those are the times his ship is lost. At times I ask him for stories of those days and record what he says to me.” Marguerite looked around the room. “There is so much of his life here.” She perused the shelves. “Grand-père’s memory, mademoiselle.” She shrugged. “He does not think in our years, only in his rank. And so I must find his journals from four and five years of a lieutenant and his nine year … non, ninth, oui? His ninth year of a capitaine.”
Alexis stared at the shelves in awe, both at the dedication it must have taken to write so many words by hand, and the devotion the old man must feel to his service to mark time in such a way.
“As,” she said, taking Marguerite at her word. “‘As a captain’, not ‘of’.”
Marguerite smiled. “Merci.”
She pulled an antigrav tray from a corner of the room and began loading volumes on it.
“Those, there,” Marguerite said, pointing to the far side of the room where the journals were behind clear, locking fronts. “From his time of … as —” She smiled. “— amiral and amiral de la flotte, they are secret. But I think better they should make secret those of him as the aspirant et lieutenant, before he learned to watch his words, oui?” She gestured to the other side of the room. “As amiral one must, even in his journal … um, to see the hidden words?”
Alexis grinned. “Read between the lines, do you mean?”
Marguerite grinned back. “Oui. ‘Atween the lines’, I like this. For his amiral journals one must read ‘atween the lines to see his thoughts. As lieutenant he simply write, ‘this man is the connard’.”
“His discretion improved with age, then? You’ll pardon me, but he seemed outspoken enough just now.”
Marguerite nodded. “Oui, with rank, more discretion … until now.” She grinned. “Now he is retired, he simply tell the man to his face.”
Alexis laughed.
They made their way back to the others and Alexis found herself with little to do.
Reinier asked Marguerite to review the journals for mention of the Balestra he remembered serving with, and then to search the Republic’s naval records to determine if that family might be related to a commodore in the Berry Worlds. Eades and Courtemanche continued to speak with Reinier about how to proceed. Who to speak to and in what order, whether they should attempt to bring Deutschsterne into the plan, and what preparations New London was making already.
Alexis thought to help Marguerite with the journals, but they were not only in French, but in an unsteady hand. She wondered why, with the damage to his hands, Reinier had insisted on handwriting them.
With little to do and no questions directed at her, Alexis settled back in her chair and perused her tablet. She’d set herself a course of study after her meetings with Eades aboard Shrewsbury, determined to learn as much of New London’s history as she could, and not be caught out by him again. To that she’d added naval tactics and strategies, especially around attacking and defending fortified systems from darkspace. The sight of the French fortifications and the massive ships in-system had piqued her curiosity.
The talk, and her studying, went on until late into the night. As their journey via the tube had raced from night into daylight, Alexis found herself nodding off over her tablet. Eventually Eades was shaking her awake for their trip back to the city, something Alexis would have much rather slept through the trip in its entirety.
It seemed as though she’d only just returned to her rooms and laid her head down before Isom was at her side to tell her that Eades and Courtemanche were waiting for her.
If her first eight weeks on Nouvelle Paris had been frustrating, the days that followed were equally exhausting. It seemed as though every bureaucrat in the city could simply not hear enough of their plans and excitedly led them to some superior who simply must, of course, hear the whole thing from the beginning — including all Alexis could remember of her time on Giron in the Berry March.
She thought things were going well. At least they seemed to be meeting with those who had more interest and more power to make decisions, though she still had no real idea of what those decisions were. Once she’d told her story and answered any questions to their satisfaction, she was usually sent off to her rooms while Eades and Courtemanche continued the discussion — only to be trotted out again for the next meeting.
It came as quite a surprise, then, when Eades announced that they’d be returning to Shrewsbury the next morning.
“Has anything been settled then?” Alexis asked.
“Of course. We’ve just been working out the details.”
“So they’ll really do it? The French will join us in the war?”
“A fleet is assembling as we speak to harass the Hanoverese along the border,” Eades said, “and there are transports full of uniforms and weapons, along with a French admiral and field marshal, preparing to sail for Alchiba and join with our troops there.”
“Uniforms and weapons?”
“To equip those of the Berry March who rise up and join us.”
“So it’s done then.” Alexis took a deep breath and closed her eyes in relief. “It shall be very refreshing to return to Shrewsbury as nothing more than an ordinary lieutenant, Mister Eades, I must tell you.” She offered him a small smile. Frustrating as it had been, she supposed it was worth it now that it was over. “I cannot say I envy you this business of yours.”
“You’ll not miss our dinners together, Miss Carew?”
“I will certainly not miss those French dishes. Though I will say that your influence has set me to studying history more than I ever thought I would.” She supposed she could allow him that victory at least.
“I suppose you’ll have a bit of time for that on the way to Wellice.”
“Wellice?”
“Our next stop,” Eades said. “I’ll have to notify Captain Euell that we’ll be stopping there on our way to Alchiba to drop you off.”
Alexis felt a chill. “Drop me off?”
Eades gave her an odd look. “For your transport into Hanover to communicate with Commodore Balestra. Surely you haven’t forgotten that?”
The chill intensified. “Into Hanover? Me?”
“The third leg of our strike against Hanover, Carew.” Eades’ eyes were intense. “The Berry Worlds revolting with a New London army on the ground, the French coming in alongside us in the war with their fleet harrying the Hanoverese border, and Commodore Balestra’s fleet — a Hanoverese fleet — in revolt as well and joining us in the Berry March. The Hanoverese will not know where to turn next — other worlds they’ve taken may rise up as well. It will be the beginning of the end for them.”
“But —” Alexis paused. Eades seemed so certain, so sure of himself and his plan, but she couldn’t share his certainty. Hanover controlled hundreds of systems. Surely their control over them wasn’t so fragile that these few worlds would spell doom. Or, perhaps, the Hanoverese control over those systems was more fragile than Alexis suspected. Eades, after all, did seem quite certain.
The full import of Eades’ words struck her.
“Mister Eades,” she began carefully, “when you say I’m to go into Hanover and that Shrewsbury is to ‘drop me off’ … how then am I to go about it?”
It would be one thing to sail into Hanover as part of an invading New London fleet, or even on Shrewsbury alone, with the might of 74 guns to back her up, but Eades seemed to be saying that Shrewsbury would not be making that trip.
Eades waved his hand dismissively.
“I’ve just the man for getting you in to speak to Balestra, never fear. You’ll sail with him, find Balestra, and pass along our messages.” Eades smiled and patted her on the shoulder. “Nothing to it, and your Shrewsbury will be waiting for you at Alchiba when you return.”
Chapter 19
Alexis unhooked her vacsuit from the air and water lines in the sail locker, then checked Lieutenant Hollingshed’s suit valves before turning her back to him so that he could check hers in turn.
The two of them, along with the twelve or so spacers in the locker, were the last of the crew to replenish their vacsuits before heading back Outside.
Once all of the crew’s vacsuits were checked, Hollingshed slid open the hatchway and they made their way onto the ship’s hull. Alexis ran an eye over the set of the sails.
Shrewsbury was on the starboard tack, possibly for the last time before reaching the more variable winds outside the influence of the Nouvelle Paris system. The sails were aligned well, full and bright with the azure glow of the particle charge that allowed them to harness the darkspace winds, but she thought she could detect the first bits of a shudder that indicated the winds were not so steadily blowing toward the system’s center as they had been.
At the least, she thought there’d be no sail changes ordered for several bells, not unless something untoward happened.
That would give her time to relax a bit.
Whatever sense of urgency Eades and Courtemanche had failed to exhibit during their stay on Nouvelle Paris, their hurry to leave once they had agreement made up for. With the agreement of the French to enter the war and assist in the liberation of the Berry March, Eades had taken up packing and returning to Shrewsbury as though he wanted to be well away before they could change their minds. Courtemanche had been equally hurried, ordering the packing of his baggage and having it sent aboard a French ship as rapidly as possible.
Alexis made her way off Shrewsbury’s bow and paused a moment to look off into the distance. She could just make out the lights of Courtemanche’s ships, four transports and two frigates on their way to Alchiba with the first load of French uniforms and weapons for the troops they hoped to raise in the Berry March.
Shrewsbury wasn’t keeping company with those, as she’d be making the stop at Wellice, something Alexis was more than a bit unsure of. Eades seemed to think it wold be a simple matter for her to sail off into Hanover on a strange ship and make contact with Balestra’s fleet, but Alexis doubted it would be so easy.
She wasn’t at all pleased at the thought of leaving Shrewsbury again. This ship was her proper posting and she felt she’d neglected her responsibilities quite enough, what with all of Eades’ meetings and then weeks and weeks on Nouvelle Paris. Time enough to worry about that later, though.
She latched a safety line onto a new guidewire and started pulling herself along Shrewsbury’s keel toward the stern. She’d at least have a bit of time to relax before the next order to change sail came. There’d been little opportunity since coming back aboard. Eades’ insistence that they make all possible speed for Wellice had her suited and onto the hull to oversee the foremast hands before Isom even had her baggage safely returned to her cabin.
Since then, it had been tack and tack again as Shrewsbury beat to windward.
Nearing the stern, she caught sight of a figure already there, clipped on to the last guidewire and floating free of the hull while facing aft. The figure’s vacsuit bore a midshipman’s markings, and its small size could only mean it was Artley.
Alexis eased herself to a stop next to him and let herself float beside him for a moment before leaning toward him and touching her helmet to his.
“It’s a fine view from here this morning, Mister Artley,” she said.
Normally the view from the ship’s stern in darkspace, away from most of the lights on the masts at the bow, was of the roiling masses of darkspace in the distance. Here, though, they were still close enough to Nouvelle Paris that they could make out the lights of the forts and even some of the shipping. She thought the sight was quite magnificent, if not unique, though somehow not as peaceful as the sheer emptiness of darkspace away from a system.
Les Étoiles de Paris, indeed.
“It is, sir.” Artley hesitated. “Would you like me to leave, sir? So you can have the place to yourself, I mean?”
Alexis chuckled. She supposed she did have a reputation for enjoying the solitude of the ship’s stern.
“You were here first, Mister Artley. Perhaps I should be asking you that?”
“Oh! No, sir!” He hesitated. “I do like it back here, though. Even in normal-space it’s quite peaceful.”
“It is,” Alexis agreed. She noted Artley’s vacsuit, which was new and good quality. She’d heard from Lieutenant Nesbit while on Nouvelle Paris that the midshipmen had quite a time on the station. Rushing from chandler to chandler and back again while they bargained for the best deal on a new vacsuit for Artley, then having a fine start to an evening with what was left of the whip-around funds. Even the bosun had gone along to take part in the bargaining.
They must have bargained hard to have a bit of coin left, she thought, eyeing the suit, which was obviously high quality. He’ll have a chore to replace it with similar quality when he outgrows this one. Another thought came unbidden that sent a brief chill through her. If he has the chance to outgrow it.
That damned nightmare had come again more than once in the enforced idleness of her stay on Nouvelle Paris. Always ending with the new, small figure at the forefront standing as though to accuse her.
Stuff and nonsense, she told herself again.
“I see that you’ve managed to find a proper vacsuit,” she said, trying to shake her feeling of unease.
“Oh, yes! The others all came along and saw I wasn’t cheated, and I’ve still the one from the purser as a spare — though this new one hardly smells at all!”
Alexis laughed. “I’m sure you’ll remedy that soon enough.”
Artley laughed in return, then sobered. “I … I don’t think anyone’s done so kind a thing for me since my Da died. I’ll have to repay them somehow.”
Alexis frowned. “It was my understanding it was a whip-around, Mister Artley, a gift. I’m certain they expect no repayment.”
Artley was silent for a moment. “My Da always told me there are some debts a man keeps in his own ledger book, sir, even if the other fellow doesn’t.”
Alexis wasn’t certain how to respond to that. It was a surprisingly mature comment to come from Artley, even if it was only something his father had said that stuck with him.
There was a sudden blur of motion and bodies began streaming past them on both sides. Past and then over the stern of the ship, whipcracking at the end of safety lines as the guidewires caught them, then arcing back to Shrewsbury’s stern between the massive rudder and planes that extended off past the hull’s field into darkspace. All of the figures were in vacsuits colored as midshipmen and Alexis had to laugh out loud after the initial shock.
Some of them fumbled more than others with their lines, but in a moment they were all on their way up the ship’s stern toward the top of the hull.
Alexis saw Artley frozen in place, hands on his own safety lines, one where it was clipped to Shrewsbury’s hull and the other at his waist. She laughed again.
“Do go on, Mister Artley. Don’t let me keep you from joining in.”
“Thank you, sir!”
In an instant, Artley was off over the edge the hull, pulling himself rapidly up the stern after the other midshipmen.
Alexis’ laughter died and she took a deep breath. There was a part of her that wanted to join in the game, whether it was a simple race or some complicated game of tag, but she knew she couldn’t. Those were games for the midshipmen — they taught the boys the ship’s lines and how to best move about — and not for lieutenants.
* * *
The lieutenants gathered around Shrewsbury’s wardroom table were a bedraggled, exhausted mess. Hollingshed and Slawson, the second lieutenant returned to Shrewsbury when the Hanoverese prize he’d commanded was turned over to the Nouvelle Paris prize court, had managed to bathe, but the rest, Alexis included, had, at best, managed to throw on fresh clothing before coming to table.
The winds had, indeed, become more variable outside the influence of the Nouvelle Paris system, but they hadn’t varied to be fair for Wellice. Captain Euell had kept the crew hard at work in an effort to accommodate Mist
er Eades’ call for all possible speed, but he’d finally called them in for a late supper and, Alexis dearly hoped, a night of easier sailing.
“I hear we’ve you to thank for this, Carew,” Barr said, easing himself in his seat.
“Not mine and I see no sense in it,” Alexis countered. “It’s Eades that wants the speed put on.”
“It’s a month’s sail to Wellice,” Hollingshed said. “Does he think a few moments here at the start will make a difference?”
“I don’t know,” Alexis admitted. “He was simply in a rush to leave as soon as …” She trailed off. Shrewsbury’s purpose, and her own, was still something of a secret.
“I hear you’ll be leaving us again at Wellice, though?” Hollingshed asked.
Well, as much a secret as one can have aboard ship.
She nodded.
“I’ll be shut of the gundeck for a few weeks at least,” Hollingshed said. “At least there’s that.”
Alexis had to smile despite her fatigue. Hollingshed’s dislike of the chaotic gundecks was well known. He much preferred the order of the quarterdeck during an action.
“Has it been so terrible?” she asked.
“Listening to him whinge about it after every drill has been terrible,” Barr said.
Hollingshed huffed.
“All that running about,” he muttered, then raised an eyebrow at Alexis. “Your protégé has come along, though.”
“Protégé?”
“Young Artley,” Barr said. “The lad’s improved a good deal all around.”
“I certainly can’t take any credit for that,” Alexis said. “I’ve hardly been here.”
“Hm,” Nesbit said with a glance at Hollingshed. “You know, Artley’s not only improved on the gundeck. He’s put it about that he’s in the Navy to stay.”
Alexis had to raise an eyebrow at that.
“Oh, yes,” Hollingshed said. “Says he’s going to be just like the, ah, how does he put it?”
“Be just like the finest officer he’s ever seen,” Nesbit said with a grin.
The Little Ships (Alexis Carew Book 3) Page 11