Paladin's War

by Peter Greene

  Jonathan thought for a moment, and considered what items he would need quickly, should situations get out of hand. His blade, surely—and Sean’s as well. He slipped the key into the pocket of his pants.

  “I might be wrong about Quinn,” said Harrison, “though I am nearly persuaded that he is mixed up in this mess. And Jenkins tells me he spends an inordinate amount of time with Crump and Crystal. Why would that be? In any case, retrieve my pistol and keep it on your person at all times.”

  “Aye, sir,” Jonathan replied. “And when you return, there are a few things I believe we should discuss.”

  Harrison smiled, knowing that, finally, Jonathan’s internal struggle, which was surely behind his less-than-by-the-book performance, would be brought to light.

  “Yes, let us talk when I return,” the commander said. “Remember—watch Quinn.”

  Joining the boat crew, Harrison and his party were lowered into the water.

  Within minutes, the jolly arrived at the pier but did not tie up. Instead, men held on to the planks of the structure to steady the boat. The marines stood as one, leveled their guns at each villager nearby, and of course, at the man waving the handkerchief. The sight of three muzzles aimed his way caused the man to stop waving.

  “Excuse me!” said the man. “I am Bogát Gogomán! Please! I mean you no harm!”

  “I am Commander Harrison of His Majesty’s ship Paladin. What is it you want? We are on urgent business!”

  “Ah, this I know!” said Gogomán. “As am I.” He looked about, leaned as close to the boat as he possibly could without falling into the water, and whispered, “I happen to have a message from a friend who, unfortunately, had missed a meeting he was to attend earlier.”

  “Go on,” said Harrison, not yet trusting the man.

  “His message is making little sense to me, but I am a poor messenger, a local magistrate who tries to help all who moor here or anchor nearby. You know our livelihood depends on the visitation of ships such as yours—”

  “Yes, yes,” interrupted Harrison. “Now, what is the message?”

  Bogát Gogomán nodded. “Yes, the message. Again, I find it nonsensical, I think you say? Yes. It makes little sense to me. Though I am from a poor family with little education. What would I know of the world and its ways? Though in this town of simple fishermen and farmers, I am seen as a superior intellect!” Bogát Gogomán began laughing.

  “Good heavens, man!” exploded Harrison. “Whatever is the message?”

  “Ah, yes. Here it is. Are you ready?”

  “Please, yes,” said Harrison. “Deliver it with all due haste!”

  “Because, if you are ready, I could possibly suggest that we sit over a glass of wine in one of the local establishments, yes? Then we can have a pleasant conversation—”

  “I swear,” said Harrison, now losing his temper. “If you do not tell me the message in your next breath, I will order my men to open fire!”

  This shook Gogomán visibly. He took a breath and closed his eyes, as if trying to remember the exact words he was to say.

  “A man approached me in my office just an hour or so ago. He said that if I saw the captain of the ship Paladin, that I was to say, ahem, ‘One has only one shoe for both feet.’”

  Harrison recognized this as the emergency phrase set into his orders.

  “Do you understand the meaning?” asked Gogomán.

  “Yes, I do. Is that all he said?” Harrison asked.

  “He said if you understood that phrase, then you would accept this note.”

  Bogát Gogomán handed Harrison an envelope, almost falling in the water as he reached toward the boat.

  Harrison read it quickly.

  “Who were the men who attacked my ship?” asked Harrison.

  “One cannot be sure,” said Gogomán nervously. “But I would assume they were separatists. Many here feel little allegiance to the Austrian throne. Many Italians are assisting. There have been other incidents. Were these men, perhaps masked or with—how do you say—with darkened faces?”

  “Indeed they were,” said Harrison.

  “Esercito di Piccola Capre!” Gogomán said, nodding. “Italian–backed Dalmatians that have been stealing small boats and barges to sell and purchase arms for their rebellion! Fools! Was anyone hurt?”

  “We lost fourteen men, and some were injured.”

  “Be careful, Captain!” exclaimed the magistrate. “They have now an appetite for larger game!”

  Upon Commander Harrison’s return, HMS Paladin made ready to sail and moved southward out of the Bay of Telašćica into more open water. Harrison thought this best. If trouble was approaching, he could maneuver in any direction or take advantage of any wind. Too close to the shore, or within the bay, and some of those advantages would be lost.

  In his cabin, Harrison reread the note Gogomán had given him, and as far as he could tell, he believed it authentic. He had secretly summoned Jonathan to his cabin, purposely leaving Quinn on deck and out of the discussion. Jenkins was informed of the captain’s concerns and remained within viewing distance of the new lieutenant at all times.

  “Jonathan, what do you make of this?” Harrison asked, handing him the note.

  My dear Captain Harrison,

  Please forgive the hasty note. I can only assume that something prevented you from following the strict orders given to you for the prescribed delivery. I have now seen your party in town, plainly, and also assume that you are attempting to contact me. A new plan to complete the order requests that you proceed directly to Zadar and seek the Viscount Baron Ragusa. He lives in the mansion on the top of the hill to the east of town, a marvelous stone villa. You are to use the code word Garvino. The Viscount will reply with the words Madrid and Holiday.

  He will accept the package. Arrive on the eighteenth of this month, no sooner or later. Good luck.

  Señor Garvino

  “Your thoughts, Mister Moore?” asked Harrison.

  Jonathan wondered if this was a good opportunity to not only suggest they follow orders to the letter this time but also to detail his meeting with Spears and Lord Wilder.

  Maybe one thing at a time, he thought.

  “It seems authentic,” Jonathan said after his reading. “Though I wouldn’t know how to judge such things.”

  “The note mentions me by name. That means someone knew we were coming. Also, Garvino is one of the passwords mentioned in the mission orders. The magistrate, Gogomán, also knew one of the secret passwords as well. I feel confident that it is legitimate.”

  “Did he mention who attacked us?” asked Jonathan.

  “He did. He believes it was a separatist group, the Esercito di Piccola Capre. They have been taking smaller craft but seem to have an appetite for something larger.”

  “Have you ever heard of the Esercito di Piccola Capre?” asked Jonathan.

  “No, though I have to say that I don’t understand the Italians nor the Dalmatians one iota. Maybe they want the treaty. Maybe they want our ship.”

  “What are we to do now?” asked Jonathan.

  “We should proceed in the morning, surely,” answered Harrison. “It is a treacherous path to Zadar—many islands and shallow waters—and I would not chance it at night.”

  “Yes, sir,” said Jonathan.

  “Jonathan, I can’t help but believe that all these strange events are linked: this cutting-out attempt and that blasted Andrews aboard the Echo,” said Harrison, exasperated. “He has something to do with this as well.”

  “It would be convenient to believe so,” said Jonathan. “But we don’t know. Not for sure.”

  “You are right, Jonathan,” sighed Harrison as he began to pace the cabin slowly. “I just feel that I am not seeing the entire picture…” he said, his voice trailing off in frustration. He sighed heavily and closed his eyes as he leaned against an overhead beam.

  It was to be now or never, Jonathan thought.

  “Thomas,” he began. “I am ashamed to s
ay…that I have withheld information from you.”

  Harrison slowly turned to face Jonathan. He looked deep into his eyes.

  “Continue,” was all he could say.

  “Thomas, I was sworn to secrecy by none other than the king.”

  “You spoke directly to the king about this mission?” asked Harrison, now turning his back to Jonathan. He moved to the stern window.

  “No. I received his desires through Captain Spears.”

  “Spears? And you trusted him?” asked Harrison.

  “He is one to be wary of, I agree,” said Jonathan. “However, he appeared with Lord Wilder on the quay at Wapping immediately after Quinn arrived with new orders. I begged them, Thomas! I begged them to allow me to share the information with you. They refused!”

  Harrison thought about this. Certainly, Wilder was well respected by many and his association with Spears, as odd as he was, was a matter of navy business, and many in the service believed that ‘odd’ didn’t even begin to explain the purposes and pronouncements made by the Admiralty.

  “And why tell me now?” asked Harrison, turning to face his friend.

  “Because my duty to you…means more to me than my duty to the mission or the Crown. Treasonous words, I am sure. But I would rather do the right thing by you, and suffer the consequences, than lose your trust and friendship. I sincerely am ashamed.”

  This touched Harrison.

  “It is understandable, Mister Moore,” he said with a kind smile. “What can you tell me?”

  “Spears and Wilder told me to encourage you to complete the mission precisely according to orders. They assumed you would vary, and honestly, you did.”

  “With good reason,” replied Harrison, calmly. “So they sent you and Quinn to watch me, is that how it is?”

  “Quinn admitted to receiving the same instructions that I received when his orders were changed,” said Jonathan.

  “Why not tell me to my face?” asked Harrison, notably upset.

  “My question to them, exactly,” said Jonathan. “They said they were not as—confident in you as others were.”

  “Really? And why was that?” asked Harrison, taken aback.

  “I’d rather not say, Captain Harrison. It was a pithy remark that had no credence, no basis—”

  “Jonathan?” said Harrison, somewhat firmly.

  Jonathan paused, closed his eyes, and forced the words to be spoken.

  “They said that…you were cursed. That you had already been aboard two ships that had been lost. And that they wouldn’t be surprised if you lost the Paladin as well.” Jonathan opened his eyes and looked upon his friend, his brother, with sympathy.

  Harrison stood, eyes to the deck. His face turned red, not from anger, but from overwhelming embarrassment. After a moment came a slight smile, a masking one, surely. Yes, he had thought of the fact that he was party to some monumental defeats in his short career. But he never felt anyone else had taken notice.

  “Well, Jonathan, they are correct,” he said softly as he went to the window. “It is all true. The Helios and then the Poseidon, and now almost the Paladin. And the mission is not yet over.”

  They both remained in silence, listening only to the creaking of the ship and the light footsteps of the crew as they went about their duties. It was quiet down here in the small cabin. Peaceful. Away from the trouble that surrounded them.

  Harrison sighed. Then he returned to his chair, slumped down, dropped his chin to his chest, and closed his eyes. He exhaled deeply.

  “If it matters any at all,” Jonathan offered.

  Harrison opened one eye. “Yes?”

  “Captain, you have also been part of acquiring two ships, the Danielle and the Drake. So gun for gun, I’d say you are even, and maybe just slightly ahead. Correct?”

  Harrison let out a soft laugh.

  “That is also true. I was even part of the taking of the Annie during the Battle of Fire, so I assume I am indeed ahead of the game.”

  A knock came at the door. It was Jenkins.

  “Time, sirs,” he said quietly.

  As the sun began to sink lower on the horizon, casting a pink color to the sparse clouds painted above them, the crew of the Paladin held a somber ceremony on the deck. Harrison had ordered only the topsails set, and now the ship was gliding easily into the open sea, her passage marked by the sound of the water passing alongside, like the trickle of a soft brook in the country, bubbling away. At the starboard rail, the captain and his officers stood at perfect attention. Midshipman Moore stood next to Jenkins. In front of them was the last of fourteen long burlap bags, heavily weighted with chain and ball, sitting upon a long wooden plank, flanked by four men, two on a side.

  “Ashes to ashes…” said Commander Harrison, “and dust to dust. We commit the soul of our friend and brother, Lieutenant Chad Alexander, to the deep. May his soul rest in peace.”

  Three bells were rung. Jenkins raised his pipe, and blew three long blasts, the final one trailing off slowly as the wind picked up, causing the sails to luff, flapping gently in the wind. The men lifted the end of the plank, and Alexander, dressed in burlap and chained with ball, slid over the side, silently into the deep.

  * * * * *

  Back on the hill outside of Telašćica, Nikomed Aggar prepared his men to move. It would be a lengthy hike to a remote inlet where the Echo waited for them. They had suffered a defeat at the hands of the British, and worse yet was the fact that the sailors aboard were under the command of a young boy. This fact ate at Aggar. Twelve men were dead! Six more would be left behind due to their wounds! That reduced his force to only forty-six remaining Russian men. Further angering him was the fact that, Tretiak, his man placed aboard the Paladin in London, was supposed to kill the officers once the cutting-out crew boarded the ship. However, he was not in the battle at all, nor were the other plants, Myshkin and Krutov.

  “Incompetent fools,” Aggar mumbled as he held a cloth to the gash under his eye. The bleeding had just now ceased, and his shoulder wound, though painful, would not kill him.

  Because of this failure, Aggar would now have to meet Kharitonov at the rendezvous point near Zadar, where he was supposed to deliver the Paladin. The commodore would not be pleased. In fact, he might simply murder Aggar upon seeing him without the prize. To ensure his safety as best he could, Aggar had developed a plan to get the Paladin to Zadar and, with little chance of failure, take her. He knew the waters near Zadar and the surrounding coast well, and if that old hulk, the decaying barge he had seen anchored off the coast was still there, it would assist in his plan. The barge had been there for the past few months, unmoving and silent except for the waves that lapped against its side. And to assure that the British Commander followed the plan, he had sent Cherepanyanko to hire a messenger, the magistrate from Telašćica. Bogát Gogomán was his name, and he was paid in gold pieces to deliver a note and tell a story to Captain Harrison. Anything could be bought in all of the world, even here, thought Aggar. Lies and spies. Gold worked both miracles and madness.

  As things were unfolding, Aggar had an aching desire to run. Run away. Why not just leave with the Echo now and avoid all this danger? Possibly pursue his true desire? He had waited long enough, had done enough for others. However, he knew the answer: Kharitonov. It was the fear of his commander that drove him. Kharitonov was known to have powerful friends and ruthless means, and he held Aggar in his employ against the man’s will. If the commodore didn’t get what he wanted, many of Aggar’s people would be punished, many innocents. Many friends and family.

  Aggar had no choice but to continue. He would take the Paladin or die trying. And if he failed, he could not bear to think of what suffering would be forced upon his loved ones.

  The gods had cursed him, he was sure.

  He would navigate through the islands off the western coast, and arrive in darkness, secure his ship, and await Kharitonov—and his temper.

  The night fell upon the Dalmatian coast, and a full m
oon was waxing as the Echo sailed past Zadar to the north. Nikomed Aggar instructed his men to reduce sail as they neared the city with its rising citadels and minarets, staying far enough offshore to avoid detection. They would anchor near Petrčane and await the commodore.

  Kowalski sat next to his captain, addressing his wounds, trying not to do more damage than was already inflicted on Aggar. Kowalski was a sailing master; he had no training, formally, as a doctor and had no medical books to which he could refer. His skill, as it was, came from observation. Being in numerous battles, he had seen many injuries—some dire and some merely scrapes and bruises. He learned from trial and error and, unfortunately, more from the latter.

  “Now,” said Kowalski as he held a patch of cloth under Aggar’s wounded cheek. “Hold this for a moment while I sew you up. The gash is quite deep. It will leave an…interesting scar.”

  “That little English brat!” Aggar said. “He thinks he can slice open my face and get away with that? I will be looking for him. And I will find him. And I will pay him back!”

  “Nikomed,” said Kowalski. “He was covered with blood. You will have a hard time recognizing him among the many boys on that ship.”

  “I will know him!” shouted Aggar.

  “But, my friend, how?”

  Aggar smiled, calming, thinking of the revenge he would exact. “It is simple. I did not see his face, but I did see his uniform. He was the only midshipman aboard.”

  “Captain Andrews, er, I mean Captain Aggar!” interrupted a crewman.

  “What is it, Nababkin?” Aggar snapped. “Can you not see that I am engaged?”

  “Yes, Captain. But…Commodore Kharitonov! He is here. The Navarkhia has been spotted ahead!”

  Aggar’s face went pale.

  “Kharitonov is here?” asked Kowalski, obviously shaken by the thought. “Already?”

  “Yes,” said Nababkin. “We were supposed to deliver the Paladin to him! We have failed.”