Paladin's War

by Peter Greene

  “A capital idea!” said Harrison, laughing. “What did you have in mind?”

  Thinking quickly, Jonathan said, “The Stowaway?”

  “What a fine sentiment!” said Harrison. “I would have it installed as our bow chaser. We need a crew to mount it properly to the deck.”

  “Please, sir, allow me to oversee the installation,” said Jonathan.

  “Excellent!” replied Harrison. “Employ Jenkins as well. He has experience in this area, as he does with most things. Marshall is the gun captain. Have him assist.”

  “I will gladly employ them, sir,” Jonathan said. “I will alert you as we are near completion.”

  “And I would like to fire it to signal eight bells of the afternoon watch,” said Harrison with a smile.

  “We will make it ready by then,” replied Jonathan.

  “Lastly, and most importantly, let us discuss our new orders,” Harrison continued.

  “Sir? I thought we have already done so,” said Alexander.

  “True. But as Lieutenant Quinn suggested earlier, we may want the input of Mister Moore. Possibly Sergeant Hudson as well. Therefore, Jonathan, Hudson, here is the mission.”

  Jonathan was suddenly awash with a sense of dread, as he, of course, had previously heard the information from Lord Wilder and Captain Spears. However, he realized that he needed to appear not to know anything, and to seem as if he were absorbing and reacting to this all for the first time. He stood at attention, as he had been more or less since entering Harrison’s cabin, and listened, with eyes and expressions that were possibly a bit too interested.

  “Somewhat of an honor has been bestowed on us,” began Commander Harrison. “We have been asked to deliver a treaty in the name of His Majesty. We are to proceed to the island of Dugi Otok in the Adriatic Sea, and search north of the village of Telašćica for a specific inlet marked by a small entrance with two trees on either side, one with a rope dangling. I am unfamiliar with it.”

  “Sir, that area is quite desolate,” said Alexander. “There are many small inlets and hundreds of islands on the Dalmatian coastline. They are all isolated and indistinguishable.”

  “Sir, I have some knowledge of the area,” said Quinn. “Nothing out of the ordinary. Telašćica is more of a settlement than a town. There are sheer cliffs that make up the coastline near there. Picturesque and quiet.”

  “The orders dictate we are to enter bow first,” continued Harrison.

  “Bow first, sir? I find that…odd,” said Alexander.

  “A sign that we are the proper vessel,” continued Harrison. “We are to deliver the treaty to our contact and depart. I can only assume he will have a boat of some kind. Any mishap will mean disaster, et cetera, et cetera, and if we need to communicate, there are a series of code words—for my eyes only—to use as a means of verification.”

  “It sounds simple enough,” suggested Jonathan. This caused a pang of guilt within him.

  “It does sound simple,” said Harrison. “Though that doesn’t mean it will be easy. A beesting is a simple thing, but it has its downside, yes?”

  The officers laughed.

  “What is the downside?” asked Jonathan. “It seems straightforward. We drop off the pouch and go on our way. Following the instructions to the letter.”

  “Sir, a simple plan for simple success,” added Quinn with a bow to Harrison.

  Harrison rose and, though wanting to pace about the cabin as he had seen his previous captains do when they had difficult decisions to make, he simply had no room. Instead, he exhaled and took one step toward the port window. Quinn, uncomfortable being so close to his captain, moved aside, and that caused Jonathan to have to move to the area Harrison had just vacated. This meant that Hudson had to actually step out into the passageway to let Jonathan by, then reenter the room.

  “The downside,” said Harrison, “is the manner in which the orders are to be carried out. I don’t like the fact that I am to place the Paladin bow-first in a small bay. And I also don’t like the idea that I must approach the bay at exactly eight in the evening.”

  Seeing that Harrison’s suspicions were dangerously near to changing the plan, Jonathan felt the need to encourage him to stay the course.

  “It must be due to the secret nature of the transfer. It is a secret, yes?” asked Jonathan.

  “I agree, sir,” said Quinn. “This treaty must be seriously important. No need to let the world see in broad daylight.”

  “Who would see in Telašćica?” Alexander asked with a laugh. “I can’t imagine a more desolate place on the globe!”

  “Exactly!” said Harrison. “No one will see us even if we appear nude at high noon with a trumpet section and stand in the center of the settlement yelling, “Here we are with the secret treaty!” Why use the ship as a signal? I’ve a good mind to change this whole plan. With our speed we could arrive earlier, by a day at least, scout out the cove, then return to Telašćica and send a small party on foot to the bay.”

  Jonathan saw that this was exactly what Lord Wilder had warned against. Any change in the plan might jeopardize the mission, the treaty never making its way to the tsar if the plan was altered. He felt compelled to do something. However, Quinn spoke first.

  “Sir, with all respect, may I suggest?”

  “Please,” said Harrison, deep in thought as he sat back down in his chair, causing the room’s occupants to shuffle about once again.

  “I believe that following the precise instructions is integral to the mission’s success,” said Quinn. “Do you think that changing them in the least way could scare off our contact? There may be more at play here than we know. I would think the plan has been put into place as described, as odd as it is, meaning it is no accident, and it is so for a reason. I do not think we should change it.”

  “I agree,” said Jonathan. “Begging your pardon, Captain.”

  Harrison turned to face them. He considered what they were saying, and it did made sense. He might be overthinking the entire exchange. Yes, there was something odd about this mission; however, it could all be nothing. The bay was remote enough, more remote than even Telašćica—‌indeed, he had never heard of it. How dangerous could it be?

  “Though it seems remote enough,” said Alexander, “I agree with Captain Harrison. Bow first? Leaves us no room to maneuver! I too do not like it. What if we remain on schedule, then see what the bay holds for us? If it looks acceptable enough, then we proceed as the orders dictate. If not, we sail on and send a shore party on foot.”

  “But we will miss the deadline!” said Jonathan, possibly a little too strongly.

  “Deadlines at sea are an oxymoron,” said Alexander, nodding to Jonathan. “There is no surety, only approximation.”

  Harrison mulled the ideas over in his head as he stared out the window yet again. The ocean slipped by quickly behind the Paladin. He was caught with the beauty of it all—not just the sea but the glorious ship he was lucky enough to command. He couldn’t let anything happen to her. And he had to admit that, with the exception of the Danielle, every ship he had been on for any decent length of time had been ill-fated. He had heard the talk by some: the Poseidon, destroyed at the Battle of Isla Pasaje, and before that, the Helios, captured during the engagement with the French Captain Champagne. Could the Paladin be lost? Not only would that destroy his career, but he would not be able to live with himself. The well-being of this vessel and its crew was most important. The mission was the mission, true; however, the Paladin was the Paladin.

  “For now, we will do as Mister Moore and Lieutenant Quinn suggest,” he announced. “By the book.”

  * * * * *

  The Paladin sailed on into the afternoon. The day had turned warm and clear, sun now shining through thin clouds to the south. The men were busy as usual, cleaning or painting anything made of wood and polishing anything made of metal. Ropes were inspected, sails repaired as needed. About the bow, however, more than the chaser was being addressed. The figurehea
d was being maintained and had been assigned to none other than Sean Flagon.

  Jonathan, Jenkins, and Marshall concentrated on the sixteen-pound gun, the gift from the Drake. It was to be attached slightly to the starboard side of the bowsprit. Of course, securing it directly in the center would have meant that each time the gun was fired, it would destroy all the intricate rigging and spars that made up the foresails and possibly even damage the figurehead. Streen, the carpenter, had secured the gun by spiking it directly to the deck and had constructed a brace to add stability. A small wooden box that was likewise secured to the deck was being filled with a dozen sixteen-pound balls.

  “The Stowaway can do some real damage,” Quinn announced as he appeared at the bow. “But it can also be a bit of fun when you’re chasing a merchant brig or a small French corvette.”

  “Aye, sir. It makes ’em nervous,” added Jenkins, “and these balls are new. Called shells they are, or sometimes bombs, and they explode when they hit the target or when the fuse expires. Lots o’ flame and such.”

  “They came from the army,” said Marshall. “They’re made of cast iron.”

  “They seem lighter than shot,” said Jonathan as he inspected one.

  “Hollow,” said Jenkins, “with oil and powder inside that sets fires. Pretty, and if you want to start some flames, they could be handy.”

  “So we are ready, Jenkins?” asked Quinn.

  “Ready for inspection, Lieutenant,” answered Jenkins.

  “Then, Mister Moore, I will take the gun itself if you and Jenkins inspect the mounting?”

  Ahead, Sean worked on the figurehead. He had been in charge of more than a few beautification crews aboard his past ships, and many of the crew not engaged with duty had appeared to watch him work. Strapped in with rope and harness, he hung over the bow and juggled his paint cans and brushes.

  “Not a single can nor brush has fallen into the sea, mates!” he said proudly.

  “Be careful, Sean,” Garvey reminded him as he turned to inspect. “If you were to fall, we’d never find you. The ship would take you under in a second.”

  “Aye, and don’t I know it! Jenkins has me trussed up like a goose for Christmas. I couldn’t fall in if I had a mind to.”

  In the case of the Paladin, the figurehead was slightly out of the ordinary. It was not a woman, like those of so many other ships, nor a mythological creature like the sun god with his flowing rays of light for hair that was placed on the Helios. The figurehead of the Paladin was that of a horseman, riding high on the neck of a rushing stallion, the beast’s nostrils flaring and golden mane flowing about its black hide. The rider, being only the head and shoulders of a young man, was calling out, one hand cupped by his mouth, the other hand lower by his side, gripping a long, slender lance with a furled banner at its tip, trailing above and beyond the two figures toward the stern.

  At the moment, Sean was applying a bold blue paint carefully to the eyes of the rider.

  “I was thinking,” he said, “that I would change his hair. Blond would be nice. I’d match my own.”

  “Bad luck,” said Hicks, who was observing the task and holding Sean’s red jacket. “Changing the colors! Ya’d be cursing our good fortune. It’s bad enough thar’s a male as a figurehead. Don’t start the crew on their mystical and superstitious ways!”

  Sean laughed. “Have it your way, Hicks! But I was told there was good luck in this head here. Always has been a lucky ship!”

  “The headpiece of the Paladin is nothing to be toyed with,” came the voice of Fawcett as he watched. “I’ve been sailing this lady for years and years, been on since Cap’n Brendan Christopher, I ’ave. That is a lucky head, and if it is changed in any manner ’cept general maintenance, like a touch of paint from time to time, well…thar’s a belief that most of us swear by. I know what I’m sayin’. If the horse and rider of the Paladin were to be changed, or damaged in battle, say, that would spell the end of all aboard.”

  There was a silence as all considered the words.

  “I don’t want to have anything like that,” said Colin Stredney as he stared at Fawcett.

  “’Course ya don’t,” said the sailing master.

  “All nonsense,” said Boston.

  “Is not!” said Berkeley. “And saying so is to cause bad luck besides! Stop bewitchin’ us!”

  “Thar’s no such thing as witches, either,” added Boston.

  “Ahhh! Denying it is to tempt fate!” cried Berkeley.

  “Ridiculous,” said Boston. “Ya think the commander believes in all that? O’ course not.”

  Berkeley and Fawcett, along with a few others, glared at Boston, shook their heads, and moved away from him slightly.

  “Oh, by gosh!” said Boston.

  After Sean finished his last few strokes, he was eased off the bowsprit to the deck by Hudson and Hicks and unharnessed. He rather enjoyed the task, though he was happy to be done, with feet on solid ground, as it were.

  “How is the bow?” asked Alexander as he appeared. The crew members with no assignment stood about the deck, amidships, hoping to witness the first firing of the Stowaway. Many knew or had just been told of the significance of the title. They smiled, approving of Jonathan’s naming of the weapon after his sweetheart. Many believe that even though having a woman on board was the most horrible cause of bad luck, having a gun named after a young lady was certainly good luck, and this put many at ease. No one would dare mention it to Mister Moore specifically or ask for details of his fondness. Besides, they had Flagon to probe about the romance, and he was a renowned storyteller—second only to Captain Harrison—and certainly more accurate.

  “All complete, sir, as far as the figurehead is concerned,” said Sean.

  “And the gun?” asked Alexander, turning. “Captain Harrison is on the way as we speak. It is ready?”

  “It is,” said Jonathan.

  “Ah, glorious industry!” said Harrison as he appeared. “The gun and the figurehead! Smart, smart, and smarter.” He inspected Sean’s handiwork. “Flagon? Top-notch! Looks better than it ever has. I see no variation in color or style was applied…and a good thing. We wouldn’t want to tempt fate—bad luck and all.”

  Fawcett, Berkeley, and the others glared at Boston knowingly, pleased that the commander was one of them.

  Harrison turned to the chaser. It gleamed with the last few rays from the sun, and as Harrison ran his hand down the barrel, he smiled.

  “Jenkins, pipe to attention, please,” he said.

  Jenkins stood at attention and blew his pipe. The ship was silent, men listening as they stood erect and still.

  “Gentlemen,” Harrison began as he addressed all within earshot. “Attention please! An announcement! Let it be known that on this day, our very own Mister Patrick Jenkins has received a letter—a long overdue yet well-earned chance for promotion—and will soon hold a warrant, becoming our boatswain!”

  The commander paused as the crowd murmured in disbelief, then whispered a few words signifying general acceptance, and finally cheered and applauded in sincere congratulation.

  “Here we have the first firing of the bow chaser, it being named Stowaway, after our very own Miss Delain Dowdeswell,” he continued. Then he turned aside and said quickly, “Who is not aboard on this journey, or at least we don’t suppose so.” This caused a wave of laughter. “In honor of his promotion, I would like to offer the inaugural firing of the Stowaway to our newly minted bosun. Mister Jenkins? Please.”

  “Me, sir?” asked Jenkins, verily surprised.

  “Sir! It’s bad luck, Captain!” said Hicks. “Yer gift, yer honor.”

  “Is truth, sir,” replied Hudson.

  “As much as I appreciate the honor, sir, I wouldn’t want to tempt fate,” said Jenkins.

  Quinn and Alexander laughed aloud.

  “Yes, I suppose so,” said Harrison softly, with a glance to the crew. They were a superstitious lot, he knew, and more importantly, he didn’t want them on edge, t
hinking about bad luck and poor prospects. “All right then,” he said. “Sorry, Jenkins.”

  “No need to ’pologize, Cap’n,” said the acting bosun.

  Harrison smiled, then gave the order for the cartridge to be rammed and the ball to be set. Within a minute it was done, and he grabbed the chain.

  Jonathan, who was standing behind, moved to the side and glanced aft. No one was behind the gun, just the foremast.

  “Remembering an old lesson, Mister Moore?” asked Harrison, referring to an incident that both had been involved in and narrowly escaped serious injury.

  “Yes, sir,” said Jonathan, somewhat embarrassed.

  Harrison gave the chain attached to the firing mechanism a firm pull.

  All expected the gun to perform as it had been designed. However, it did not. Instead of launching the ball directly from the mouth, the rear of the gun exploded backward, spewing fire and sending the iron cap, now a red-hot projectile, screaming aft toward the foremast. It struck with a BANG, sending splinters and chunks of wood in all directions. Men screamed in shock. The cap rolled harmlessly in a small circle, and settled on the teak, like a penny would on a floor.

  When the smoke cleared, Jonathan checked to make sure everyone was in one piece. Luckily, no one had been hurt. The foremast, though still standing, was missing a sizable piece and had a long crack, almost splitting the lower section of the mast in two lengthways.

  “No, I did not inspect the gun, Lieutenant Alexander,” said Jonathan. “I assumed that all pieces had been replaced correctly.”

  “Assumed?” asked Alexander.

  In his cabin, surrounded by his lieutenants and his midshipman sat a frowning Commander Harrison. Holding his tongue, he allowed Alexander to continue the investigation.

  “Sir,” interjected Quinn, “I inspected the gun while Mister Moore inspected the mounting.”

  “It was not your duty, Lieutenant,” said Alexander. “But thank you for the clarification.”

  “Yes, it was not your duty, Quinn,” said Harrison as he stared at Jonathan.

  The boy’s heart sank.