Paladin's War

by Peter Greene

  Troubridge smiled as they finished their account, nodding in acceptance. “I have the greatest of news, Commander Gray. It seems you are mistaken. You have not lost the Echo.”

  “I beg your pardon, sir,” said Gray.

  “The Echo left Malta on May the sixth,” the admiral said as he checked his master log, “just eight days ago.”

  Gray was shocked into silence. He looked to Hayes, as if his lieutenant could explain, but of course, he was equally surprised.

  “Sir? How can that be?” asked Gray.

  “Commander Harrison and his midshipman, Jonathan Moore, recaptured her.”

  “Commander Harrison and Midshipman Moore? I know them, sir. We met in the Battle of Fire…” Gray’s voice trailed off as he regained the memory of the two men formerly of HMS Danielle.

  “Yes,” said the Admiral. “It seems they found your vessel and took it back. At the loss of their own ship, if you must know.”

  “The Paladin?” Gray asked. “We saw her on the twentieth of April. She was headed southeast off Morska Point on Dugi Otok.”

  “Taken by Russians of all people!” said Troubridge with a laugh. “The Echo and Paladin were both captured and taken to the Black Sea.”

  Gray was now even more stunned. How could this transpire?

  “Midshipman Moore started a mutiny aboard both ships—well, actually it couldn’t be classified a mutiny as he was taking back his own ship!” Troubridge laughed heartily once again. “He fled south in the Echo after losing the Paladin. Being chased by a Russian cruiser, they met at the Strait of Bosphorus. Harrison arrived as well. He commanded a stolen yacht that he rigged with explosives. A torpedo? Yes, that is what he called it.”

  “Amazing,” said Gray softly.

  “As was the destruction of the Russian cruiser, I must say,” said the admiral. “Burned to the waterline. Echo was in need of minor repair, mostly sail work. She and her crew should be in Gibraltar by now—or already on their way to London.”

  Gray could not fathom the events that had happened, though the accounting certainly explained what they had seen. After clearing up a few details, Gray and Hayes were satisfied, grateful, and still astonished at the news.

  “One request, Admiral,” said Gray. “Would there be a ship bound for London? One on which we could obtain passage?”

  “There is one. In fact, it is looking for you,” the admiral said, now pointing out the window of his office that overlooked the bay. “HMS Dasher arrived this morning. An operative of the Royal Marines, Lieutenant Slater I believe his name is, is readying to sail to Telašćica. I assume your arrival will change his course.”

  Elated, Gray and Hayes excused themselves, gathered their remaining crew, and rushed to the Dasher, requesting permission to come aboard.

  On the bright summer afternoon of May the twentieth, HMS Echo reappeared at the docks at South Sussex to no fanfare, no special greeting—just the familiar sights and sound of a working shipyard.

  Word was sent immediately to Nathaniel Moore and Captain Walker, who came from the Admiralty together in a large four-horse coach to retrieve the boys.

  The words unbelievable and dear God were exclaimed many times during the discussion on the ride to Walker’s home in Golden Square—and again during the retelling of it all to Barbara Thompson, Mrs. Walker, Gorman, and the slightly recovered Steward, once they sat in Captain Walker’s den.

  It was then that Barbara Thompson and Captain Gorman told of their tale, and of the treachery of Lady Wilder and the spy Orvislat, and how Delain had found them out and joined forces with Gorman and his network.

  “So Lady Wilder, not Lord Wilder, was behind this!” said Jonathan.

  “I will teach them a little about street justice myself!” exclaimed Sean. “My friends! Many are dead! Because of their treachery!”

  “They are awaiting trial,” said Gorman. “They will hang; I am sure of it. And if not, well, they will have an accident. Fatal, I am afraid.”

  “And where is Miss Delain Dowdeswell?” asked Jonathan, thinking she would be along any moment. “I so much need to see her and hear the details of her adventures.”

  A hush came over the room, and all looked to Miss Thompson to explain.

  “Jonathan, she is well, though, she was injured, I am afraid. And so sorry. But she will be all right.”

  The story about her attempted murder by Lady Wilder sent Jonathan into a rage; he became uncontrollable. Tears streamed down his face. Even Gorman could not contain him. Sean, equally upset, began to gather his coat and hat. Immediately they ran from the room, heading to the front door.

  “Jonathan! Wait!” called Barbara. “She is not home! She is still under the doctor’s care!”

  Eventually they had calmed him down enough to explain that she was still at hospital at Saint Paul’s, and since the time was now approaching eight in the evening, it would be better if they would take him to see Delain in the morning.

  “I will run there on foot, right now, if you will not take me!” he said.

  “Me as well!” added Sean.

  “I will take them,” said Harrison. “I have business with Rebecca Dowdeswell. It is on my way. Well, not really.”

  “Fine,” said Jonathan, “we will leave at once!”

  “Yes, sir,” said Harrison, smiling.

  On the second floor, in a private room away from the bustle of the hospital routine, Delain Dowdeswell sat awake in her bed, propped up with pillows, having her hair brushed. Penelope attended her and would stay in the hospital this night. They had been greeted earlier by Claise, who had rushed from Captain Walker’s kitchen once he greeted the boys and ran to tell Delain that they were all home, all well, and each in one piece.

  As Penelope placed the brush down on the table by the bed, a soft knock came at the door. The girls looked up. Two faces peeked around the opening, concerned.

  “Delain?” asked Jonathan.

  “Jonathan!” she cried. “Oh, Jonathan Moore! You have returned!”

  He ran to her and gently held her in his arms. She smiled through her tears and laughed when she could finally breathe. Jonathan smiled as best he could, though his heart, finally relieved, ached for what might have befallen them both. He could see bruises on her arms and face; yet to him, she remained as beautiful as ever.

  “Delain, I-I am so sorry!”

  “No, this is not your fault!”

  He looked into her green eyes. Now is the time for strength, he thought, and without hesitation, he kissed her.

  “I will be in the hallway,” said Penelope softly.

  “I will join you,” said Sean with a smile.

  Once alone, Jonathan and Delain lay holding hands, sharing the pillow, and smiling.

  “You certainly don’t look as if you are injured, Miss Dowdeswell,” said Jonathan, feigning formality.

  Delain smiled.

  “I will tell you, Mister Moore,” she said, affecting a slight air of superiority, “that I have two broken ribs, a bruised left femur, a scar along the back of my neck that will probably never heal—so says Lady Bracknell—and both my ankles were broken. Not to mention contusions to my skull—which is still under observation!”

  “Dear me!” said Jonathan. “All that from boring tea parties and dull school lessons!”

  “You are a cad!” she said with a giggle.

  “I am only jesting, Delain,” he said. “Seriously now, are you all right? You have certainly looked better. Tell me your adventure.”

  She recounted it all for him, from the yacht race where she suspected something odd about the Wilders, to the tea party, the Black Rider, the money in the library, and her subsequent copying of the notes. She then explained her plan to follow Lord Wilder and her capture by none other than Captain Gorman, and their joining forces and turning lord against lady.

  “The final trick was to get her and her spy, Orvislat, in the same place—a fox hunt as it turned out—so we could capture them for arrest!”

  D
elain now seemed to lose some of her excitement and actually pulled away from Jonathan a bit as she remembered what happened next.

  “She tried to kill me, Jonathan. As I raced alongside her during the hunt, she pulled me off my filly, and then, with a stone, tried to strike me. I-I couldn’t defend myself.”

  She began to cry, and Jonathan held her tight. After a moment or two, she continued.

  “Just as she was about to crush me with the stone, Steward appeared, but she shot him!”

  “Dear God!” said Jonathan, truly horrified.

  “He is fine now. Captain Gorman said the extra padding in Steward’s belly saved him, and the shot was not powerful enough to kill him. I thought I was dead already, and then—oh, Jonathan—then the most amazing thing happened! A horse appeared, in full run, and cut her down! I was saved! Saved by the rider: Barbara Thompson!”

  “Miss Thompson?” said Jonathan in disbelief. “Delain, that is truly amazing! Amazing!”

  “And she was riding astride!”

  “Now I know you are lying!” he said with a smile.

  They both laughed long and hard, Jonathan asking for more detail, and Delain saying that her story did not even need “Harrisonesque” embellishments to be entertaining.

  Soon they were joined by Sean and Penelope, and all sat together on the bed—old friends, older friends now—and all thankful for a well-earned respite from the sea and the subterfuge of London’s dark side.

  “Now your turn, Jonathan,” said Delain. “We were so worried about you once we knew Orvislat and Wilder were stealing ships! We feared you were dead!”

  “I thought he was, for a few hours at least!” laughed Sean.

  “Well?” asked Penelope. “What happened on your side of the world?”

  Jonathan and Sean looked at each other and smiled.

  “I was shot,” said Sean.

  “I was a slave,” said Jonathan.

  Delain frowned. “Now you are embellishing!”

  The boys laughed and began their tale.

  The trial of Lady Alina and Lord Wilder was expected by many Londoners to drag on for months and months. In actuality, it did not. Beginning on May the twenty-eighth, an unlucky Friday, according to Sean, many appeared to witness the trial, including Delain, now out of hospital. With the help of Midshipman Moore as an escort, she was able to observe and eventually give testimony. Sitting next to them for most of the trial was the newly engaged Nathaniel Moore, in his splendid admiral’s uniform of navy blue, and the proud and just-a-bit-full-of-herself-in-a-very-ladylike-way Miss Barbara Thompson. Harrison, and yes, his fiancée, Miss Rebecca Dowdeswell, also attended.

  Lord Wilder was certainly disgraced but was found innocent of any traitorous deeds. Spears also was cleared of any wrongdoing.

  Lady Wilder believed she might escape punishment, her lawyer arguing that there was no real evidence connecting her to the ships, and in the end, the copied letter supposedly found in her library was presented as a forgery, a prank, perpetrated by a bored and frustrated little girl, Miss Delain Dowdeswell.

  Of course, there was more than the charge of treason leveled against her. There was the attempted murder of Delain and Steward, with expert testimony by the two victims and the eye-witness account of Barbara Thompson, now celebrated in the papers as “the young horsewoman of justice.” She not -too-secretly enjoyed the notoriety.

  Additionally, there were the two bodies—those of Fairchild and Frey, found in the Wilder’s stable, under the hay—discovered by the police after Gorman and Lord Wilder had tipped them off. It seemed that Orvislat then tried the defensive tactic of “rolling over” on his boss and testified that Lady Wilder killed the men. She then shouted, over calls for decorum by the judge, that it was Orvislat who had orchestrated the entire thing and forced her to attack the young girl. After much yelling and gnashing of teeth, the courtroom finally settled down.

  The magistrate was not impressed.

  The final nails in the coffins of Lady Alina Wilder and Seeja Orvislat came from the sudden and dramatic appearance of Captain Gorman as he escorted into the court Lieutenant Joshua Gray, formerly the commander of HMS Echo. Just recently arrived in his homeland, the lieutenant explained the change of his orders and how the Russians had taken the ship and murdered over half of his crew. Gorman then explained the relationship between Kharitonov, a commodore of the Russian fleet, most likely sailing under a letter of marque, and Lady Wilder. This was confirmed by the final testimony of Lord James Wilder himself, explaining that his wife was a Russian spy, and he had the payments to prove it: the thousands of pounds his wife had received from her brother, Kharitonov, part of the money still hidden in his library. With no explanation of where the money came from, Lady Wilder was judged guilty of high treason and attempted murder. Orvislat was also found guilty of espionage and murder in the first degree. They were both jailed immediately.

  No letter or request for pardon came from the Russian embassy. In fact, the ambassador, the elder Orvislat, had mysteriously disappeared a few days after the arrest of his son.

  On the eleventh of June Alina Kharitonov and Seeja Orvislat were hanged—a Friday, an unlucky day, as pointed out once again by Sean.

  “Most unlucky for her,” he said solemnly as he read the news.

  In contrast to the grim scene of that day, on June the twentieth, all celebrated the happy occurrence of a long-anticipated wedding. Initially set for Saint George’s at Hanover Square, Jonathan had overheard the true wishes of the bride-to-be. Delain had been privy to a private conversation where Barbara Thompson had revealed her true wishes: her dream, even as a small girl, was to be married in St. Paul’s Cathedral. This was a rare occurrence, and though she and Nathaniel had tried, it was just not allowed for anyone, unless, of course, they were related to the royal court. From this information, Jonathan requested and received an audience with his friend George, and after the telling of his recent adventure, used a promised favor from the previous year to move the wedding to Saint Paul’s.

  In attendance, in their impressive uniforms, were Marine Captain Gorman, Captain Langley, Commanders Harrison and Gray, Steward (who turned out as well as could be expected), Claise, and of course, Mrs. Walker, Lady Bracknell, and Penelope and Rebecca Dowdeswell.

  As maid of honor, standing at the majestically stunning and ancient alter in an all-white gown tapered to her youthful frame and exquisitely trailing behind her, was none other than Delain Dowdeswell. Looking more like an angel than an adventurer, she held in her hands a small bouquet of while lilies and red roses wrapped in white crinoline. About her wrist was the dolphin charm; about her neck was the turtle necklace.

  Across the altar from Delain were two young gentlemen, standing at attention. One was dressed in a sparkling red-and-silver dress uniform of the Royal Marines, ceremonial sword at his side, on loan from Captain Langley, the very one he received for his participation in the taking of the Danielle. Sean Flagon smiled at Delain, and just couldn’t help beaming at the assembled guests, including the one who had given him his nickname, bomb maker.

  Next to Sean stood a young midshipman in a dashing new deep-blue navy uniform, with silver piping and waistcoat, also sporting a ceremonial sword, also on loan from his coconspirator and dearest friend, Marine Captain Gorman. Though present in the cathedral were all his friends and the king and queen of England, he could not keep his eyes off the most beautiful flower of all, his dear friend and, yes, his love, Delain Dowdeswell. Jonathan smiled to her alone—and she, to him.

  The appearance of the groom, Admiral Nathaniel Moore, caused the assembly to sigh, as he too was dressed in full naval uniform, handsome and alive with the light of joy. He walked with gallantry and purpose to the altar and stood proudly next to his two sons.

  As the organ now sang the familiar tune of “Ode to Joy,” all rose and turned their eyes to the aisle. At the arch of the west doorway stood the bride, Miss Barbara Thompson. Her wedding gown was made of white silk and lace and was f
itted from her delicate neckline to her waist, where it was gathered. Like a sleek waterfall of snow, the gown tapered out ever so slightly and draped to the floor, shimmering in glittering silver gems. Her veil, dainty and seemingly of almost invisible lace, met with the train, silken and flowing behind her. The sunlight passing through the stained glass windows of the church set her aglow, and the guests, to a person, let out a delighted gasp as she slowly glided past, escorted by a uniformed Captain Sir William Walker.

  On the other side of the world, another man and woman were also joined, though reunited would be a more accurate term.

  As the sun set on a sandy beach in the southern Romanian town of Menkalia, a lateen-sail skiff named Alexandria slid effortlessly to shore. It had been crewed by a handful of men, all sailors, all being at sea together for the last several weeks. They had visited almost every village along the northwestern shore of the Black Sea, from Nikoniia down to the southernmost towns on the Gulf of Baba. A man with a scar on his cheek led them, and he had originally hoped his search would begin and end in Kylia, his hometown. However, no success was found in that place; just a feeling from the residents that the people he sought had moved to the south years ago. Menkalia would be the final town he would search before all hope was lost.

  He jumped from the bow of the skiff to the sand. Immediately, he gazed up and down the beach and then toward the small homes and buildings of the seaside village.

  Surprisingly, he was seen by another man, an older gentleman, who recognized him immediately. Excited, they ran to each other and, laughing, embraced heartily. After a moment, the scarred man returned to the boat and pushed it off the sand, back into the sea. He saluted his friends, then waved a happy good-bye as they now departed for their own homes.

  The older man led the way across the beach, and they hurried into town, around the village square, and eventually, down a narrow, quiet street in a poor neighborhood. There, the scarred man stood before a small, white house.

  “Daria! Daria Makarenko Aggar!” called the man. “Daria!”