Paladin's War

by Peter Greene

  Within minutes, the ship changed course and headed southwest now angling close to their position, maybe two hundred yards or less from the beach.

  “The masts are raked as the Echo’s are, but this one…she’s got taller masts, and the sails look larger,” said Ike.

  “Paladin?” offered Gray.

  “There’s no flag,” said Hayes, “but it does look like her.”

  The men breathlessly waited as the ship approached. Gray wondered why there was no flag, and after considering this, his heart sank. It was either not the Paladin, though, by God, it surely resembled her, or it was—and she had been taken.

  “Oh dear!” called Ike. “Her figurehead!”

  The men looked as close and as hard as they were able. As the ship neared, it became clear: the figurehead of this ship had been brutally hacked away.

  “It is Paladin,” said Gray, the sorrow clearly heard in his voice. “She has been taken.”

  It was true. As the ship passed, they could see the recognizable purple stripe, the teakwood on the rail, and the missing nameplate on her stern.

  “Dear God!” said Hayes.

  “What are we to do now, Lieutenant?” asked Hill.

  Gray thought for a moment or two. Then, with a determined voice, he said, “We will find a ship. We will remain here for a while, and if unable to signal safe passage, we will scour the coast until we are successful. Then we’ll sail to Malta.”

  They remained unlucky in Morska, and after twelve days, Gray led them away south. The men marched over two nights along the eastern coastline and found their way to the large village of Veli Rat. The moon had lit their way, and it shed enough light to reveal a small pier in the bay. Tied up were three vessels. One was a simple fishing boat, another a flat-keeled skiff of some type. The third was a felucca, a trim ship of about twenty feet in length, lateen-rigged, capable of carrying three small triangular sails on three short masts. It would do nicely.

  Gray’s men approached the pier once the moon set behind the hills to the west. With a minor protest from two surprised men who were sleeping onboard, the British quickly took the felucca. The men set all sail as Gray took the tiller.

  The felucca swiftly sailed northwest out of the bay and then turned to port. With minutes, they were moving past the beach at Morska. A simple course change southeast had them heading into slightly deeper water. They would use the coastline to their port side and follow Dugi Otok and the southern islands into the Ionian Sea—and then to the British port at Malta.

  22

  Snakes and Guttersnipes

  In the late morning of April the nineteenth, Captain Gorman strode hastily up the steps of the Admiralty Building at Whitehall, gave a fast salute to the flag flying atop the dome under a still darkened sky, and disappeared inside.

  In a small office in the basement, lit by an old ship’s lantern, sat Captain Derrick Spears behind a dark mahogany desk that was in bad need of repair. One leg of the desk was missing entirely; another was cracked. Previously, Spears had an aide stack a dozen or so heavy bound books under the corner with the missing limb, and the cracked leg was bound with some sail cloth taken from Spear’s last ship’s stores. A lone chair was placed directly across from the desk, facing Spears. It had all four legs intact; however, to make sure that Spears was literally above whoever might be seated there, Spears himself had sawed three inches off the bottom of each leg.

  Spears was now bent over a written ledger, grumbling to himself about the poor performance of the ships’ captains listed there. It was the injustice of the world that allowed them to command, he thought, and had placed him in this dreary office, serving men supposedly superior to himself. He was paid modestly, though he wanted more, and his mood was constantly and entirely sour because he had long ago realized that he would be in this dungeon forever. His chances of commanding a ship once again were even less than slim.

  There came a strange knock at the door. It was three or four raps, a pause, and then two more.

  What is this? he wondered. No one comes at this hour. Ever. Who could be bothering me at six in the morning?

  The strange knock came again.

  It seems to be in code, he thought. But no code I know of. Unless it is…

  “Wilder?” he called softly. It could be Lord Wilder with another secret assignment for some poor unsuspecting captain. This spy business was odd. First was the Echo having secret orders to deliver a prisoner, then the Paladin to carry a treaty to the Adriatic Sea. And now, the Echo was long overdue; surely it was due to the bizarre new assignment.

  “Wilder? Is that you?” he said again in a hoarse whisper.

  The door opened. Spears saw a shadow, a tall man in uniform. As he stepped into the light, the red of his coat could be seen, and the grim look on his face made him instantly recognizable.

  “No, it is not Lord Wilder,” said Gorman, “though he is the reason I am here.”

  Gorman kept his piercing eyes on Spears and reached behind himself to shut the door.

  “I have nothing to say to you, Captain Gorman,” said Spears with a sneer.

  “Oh, you have quite a lot to say to me,” said Gorman as he turned to the door and slid the locking mechanism into place. “You will tell me what I want to know, snake.”

  At nearby Piccadilly, the sun had broken through the clouds as Lord and Lady Wilder began shopping. Lady Wilder had prepared a list, and though servants could usually perform this duty, it had been so long since they’d had any real spending money that both gladly accepted the chore. Lord wilder was thankful that the money from ‘the boss,’ whoever that may be, had finally come in, and this first installment was a healthy one. He told his wife his investments in his new shipbuilding venture in Scotland were now paying off handsomely, and he was pleased that she accepted his explanation readily, asking no questions.

  Lady Wilder had already taken a share of the newly earned profits to buy a completely new wardrobe and was now resplendent in a dark-maroon wool coat and matching hat. His shoes were direct from Paris, as were her matching gloves—all of the finest quality. She had also chosen a new carriage and two fine horses—absolutely stunning. Now, it was high time that Lord Wilder had a proper suit and overcoat—maybe two—with a pair of French tailored blouses and a series of colorful ascots.

  “’Ello! ’Ello gov’na! Missus! A few tuppence for the poor?”

  Before him was a child, a common street urchin, dressed in rags, with matted hair, a dirty face, and a stench that could have gagged anyone. Lord Wilder considered the creature with charity and understanding in his eyes, but he could feel his wife’s hands on his arm, squeezing tightly. On her face was a look of disgust. She was frowning and thought that maybe it was not too late to simply cross to the other side of the street. However, the lane was crowded.

  “Tuppence, tuppence, please! For just a few crusts o’ bread!”

  “Excuse me, I have no time for any of this—” Lady Wilder said.

  “Oh, Missus! And you with such a loverly new coat! Is it new, perhaps?”

  “Yes, it is,” said Alina, proudly, then catching herself, she frowned. “And none of your business.”

  “Gov’na!” said the child, turning to Lord Wilder. “I’ve no parents and no one ta care for me. A few tuppence is all I need! A penny?”

  “What are you?” the lady asked. This seemed to take the beggar by surprise.

  “W-what do ya mean, Missus?”

  “I mean, are you a young girl or a boy? You are so ragged I cannot tell!” said Lady Wilder, with a small laugh of superiority.

  The beggar stood up a little taller, offended, and stared at the couple with a small amount of pride and defiance.

  “Ooo! I’m a lit’le girl! Just barely ’leven! I’d take a bath ’n dress pretty if I ’ad a few pennies to get by! Then ya’ might see me for what I really am?”

  “And what is that?” asked Lord Wilder, smiling somewhat. As dreadful as the creature was, she had some spirit.


  “I’m a fra-gile flower, I am. Use ta be as pretty as a pansy, I was.”

  A man walked by and slowed down. He reached in his pocket and handed the beggar a few coins.

  “’Ere ya go, child. Ya won’t get nothin’ from the likes o’ these ’igh-society types!” he said with a nod toward the Wilders.

  “Oh, I don’t know ’bout that, sir. The lord seems kind. Now, ’is wife. Well, she seems a bit off—and cru-el!”

  Lord Wilder laughed inside.

  Lady Wilder was not amused in the very least.

  “You little wretch!” said Lady Wilder with a scowl.

  “Thank ya, mum,” said the beggar girl.

  “Well,” said the man, as he turned and began to walk back in the direction he had come. “Good luck to ya then, li’l lady.”

  At that moment, the girl began coughing, slightly at first, but soon, she was bleating harder, and arms wide, she gasped for air between convulsions. She fell to her knees as Lady Wilder backed away in horror. A few people began to gather to see what the excitement was about, and soon a small crowd had gathered, jostling for a front-row view of the scene. Even Lord Wilder was pushed slightly. After a moment or two and some additional bumping into each other, the people moved off as the beggar’s spasms subsided. Within a few moments, the young girl had recovered.

  “Dear, dear, dear!” said Lord Wilder. “Here, my child. Here is a single crown. Please find a place to stay. Get a hot bath and some food.”

  “James!” exclaimed Lady Wilder. “Don’t encourage her! How can you give that much money to a common guttersnipe?”

  The beggar checked the coin, and reacted in kind, her face lighting up through the dirt and filth. She smiled widely.

  “’Cause the gen’elman is a saint!” she said loudly. “A true saint ’n savior ’e is! God bless ya sir! God bless ya!”

  The young girl was now groveling, kissing Lord Wilder’s shoes and stroking his shanks as if she were a dog, heeling at her master’s side.

  Lady Wilder simply shrieked and moved off ahead of her husband.

  “Yer a kind soul, sir,” said the girl quietly.

  “Yes, yes. Please take care…little lady!” said Lord Wilder as he extricated himself from the clasps of her hands. Smiling, he moved away.

  The girl watched him go—all the way until he turned in to the tailor’s shop a few doors down. The man who had approached her earlier appeared at her side.

  “Did you place the note?” asked the beggar excitedly, not taking her eyes off the tailor’s shop.

  “Indeed I did, Miss Dowdeswell!” said Frey. “As you began coughing like a typhoid-infested guttersnipe, well, it was the perfect diversion! I slid the note right in during all the jostling ’n machinations of the crowd. I could ’ave picked ’is pocket too, but, well, I am a member of His Majesty’s Secret Service.”

  “And Fairchild?”

  “’E’s in place in the shop, posing as an apprentice tailor. ’E’ll stay on him, watching. Ask ’im to empty ’is coat pockets ta make sure of a perfect fit. That will surely expose the note.”

  “Well, then,” said Delain, “that is that! I’m sorry it’s all over. I enjoyed it so.”

  Indeed, she was excited and pleased to play the part she had invented; in fact, the entire scheme was her doing. The disguise of the beggar was particularly a favorite, and it was created by borrowing clothes from none other than Frey, as he was only slightly taller and had an extra set of workman’s clothes he used from time to time as his own disguise for his extensive investigating.

  “Well done, Miss Dowdeswell,” he said. “You know, it wouldn’t be inconceivable that you take up espionage as a profession, little lady.”

  “Spying?” she asked. “Hmm. That has some promise!”

  In the basement office of Captain Spears, Gorman leaned heavily on the desk, making sure Spears was well aware of two things: one, that Gorman was at least twice his size, causing the desk to creak and shake dangerously as he leaned on it, and, two, that Gorman was deadly serious.

  “Captain Spears, I am sure you will cooperate with me and answer my questions.”

  “I will do nothing of the sort. I am a captain in His Majesty’s Navy. I do not answer to you—”

  “I am also a captain in the service of His Majesty,” interrupted Gorman with a hiss, “and as you must know, I also curry special favor. Do you remember Admiral Barrow and Admiral Worthing?”

  Spears did remember. They had been mysteriously assigned to assist the governor of Australia—a truly dreadful assignment, managing a prison colony filled with the most despicable sorts and teeming with disease. Could that have been Gorman’s doing? wondered Spears.

  “Yes” was all that Spears could say.

  “They may need some assistance. I wouldn’t want to ask His Majesty to reassign one of his desk captains for interfering with my investigation.”

  Spears audibly gulped as Gorman stood fully erect and crossed his arms. “What can you tell me of the Echo?” the marine asked.

  Spears paused for a moment. He couldn’t seem too eager to help Gorman. He had to appear as if he had some control over his own affairs. Also, depending on where this meeting would lead, he had taken an oath to remain discreet about all matters dealing with Lord Wilder’s assignments. How to play this? he wondered. But in the end, Gorman would probably get what he wanted—by cooperation, coercion, or, from what he had heard told, by force.

  “The Echo?” said Spears, somewhat matter-of-factly. “She is on a packet mission.”

  “That’s all you know?” asked Gorman flatly.

  “Specifically?” asked Spears. “She left port March the third for Gibraltar to deliver mail and orders, pick up London-bound correspondence, and then return. Quite typical.”

  Gorman paused for an instant, then slowly took a seat in the chair facing Spears’s desk. He noticed the lower height and looked down at the legs, easily noticing the saw marks. He sighed.

  “You have some peculiar issues, Captain Spears. And don’t you also find it peculiar that a ship in peacetime, on a packet mission, in the most traveled part of the known world, literally swarming with His Majesty’s ships, is missing—missing two weeks and has never even reported to Gibraltar Station?”

  “It is not unheard of,” said Spears, thinking that the change of orders he delivered might be responsible for the ship’s delay, though he could not reveal that. “The ocean is deep, Captain Gorman. The Echo could have sunk beneath the waves after running aground, swept out to sea in a storm—”

  “There were no storms reported of any consequence,” said Gorman. “Nor any battles. To run aground, my dear captain, you would require some ground. There would be the remains, a wreck, flotsam.”

  “I am not a Nostradamus,” retorted Spears. “I can’t predict nor conjure up answers from the ether.”

  Gorman smiled. He now had Spears where he wanted him. A well-placed bit of information here would do the trick.

  “I have a report that the Echo has actually been seen afloat as recently as April the seventh. And with a new captain.”

  Spears tried to hide his surprise, but it was difficult. His face was flushing as red as the queen of hearts.

  “T-that is good news, honestly, Captain.”

  “And I also have learned,” continued Gorman, now feigning surprise, “that the previous captain of the Echo, Joshua Gray, is not aboard. He and his officers are missing. So it begs the question, who is this new captain?”

  “I have no idea,” said Spears. It was the truth. He knew of the mysterious changes made to the Echo’s mission, all in haste, yet Gray was still the captain, as far as he was aware.

  “Spears,” said Gorman. “You know something about the Echo. And I know you know something. If you don’t tell me, I will personally escort you to Australia, and the cruise will not be pleasant for you.”

  “Is that a threat?” said Spears, trying to be smug.

  Unfortunately, Gorman was in no mood to play tod
ay. With lightning-fast speed and surprising agility he leapt from his chair, jumped to the desk, and slapped Spears across the face with the back of his hand, sending him tumbling backward with enough force to knock the man out of his chair and onto the hard floor. Continuing over the desk, Gorman was on him in a second, pinning him to the hard floor with his left knee. He raised his hand for a blow to the head.

  “All right! All right!” said Spears. “The orders were changed!”

  “Yes?”

  “At the last minute! Before Gray set sail!”

  “How so?” asked Gorman.

  “The packet mission was canceled. Instead,” gasped Spears, “they took on a prisoner for exchange at Telašćica. In the Adriatic.”

  “Telašćica? Who was the prisoner?” asked Gorman.

  Spears, still slightly breathless as he remained pinned under the larger man, struggled to breathe. “Aggar. Nikomed Aggar,” he said as his breath was running out. “You are hurting me!”

  Gorman now had another piece of information: Aggar, the Russian, who had been easily captured by Frey and Fairchild, was aboard the Echo.

  “Who changed the orders?” demanded Gorman.

  “I-I cannot say,” said Spears.

  “Tell me,” said Gorman.

  “I am under oath! I swore on my life I would not speak of—” cried Spears.

  “Then I will choke you to death right here and now,” said Gorman.

  “It was Wilder!” said Spears quickly.

  Gorman was not surprised at that. He stood up and helped the shaken Spears to his feet. Gorman righted the chair and motioned for Spears to sit.

  “It seems that Wilder is interested in small vessels, and the Echo is not the only ship he is interested in. Why the Echo?”

  “I am not sure,” offered Spears as he caught his breath and rubbed his chest. Certainly some bones had been broken.

  “Captain Spears, I will let you in on something. You are being used. The Echo was stolen by Russian operatives, and their new captain, who calls himself Andrews, is most likely your prisoner, Aggar. It was not an exchange; it was a capture.”