“Ha!”
Thornton Peavey, Jon and Wyne’s roommate, rounded the corner and caught sight of them. He pointed at them, a wide, satisfied grin on his face.
“I knew it! Knew you were up to something, Wyne!” He pointed at Jon. “And you’re expelled! When the headmaster finds out you broke in you’ll be lucky not to face charges!”
“Peavey, shut up!” Wyne said.
Peavey stalked up to them.
“Oh, no,” he said. “I want to enjoy this moment, I do.”
Jon’s stomach felt like it was filled with lead. It was all over. Even if he could get onto the skiff and away now, he’d never make it out of the system. Peavey would alert the headmaster and they’d send a station patrol boat after him. He’d likely not even make it to a transition point.
“Look, Peavey,” he said. “I made them help me, right? Just let Wyne and Kaycie go and I’ll come with you to the headmaster.”
He likely would face charges, though breaking into the school was less to be caught at than if he’d managed to undock the skiff before being found out.
Thankful for small things, I suppose.
“What? And give up seeing all three of you be expelled?” Peavey grinned. “No chance of that.”
Kaycie had been oddly quiet since Peavey arrived, she usually was when he was around for some reason, but now she gave Jon a strange look and seemed to straighten her shoulders. He could see the corners of her jaw tighten, as though she’d found some inner resolve. She stepped up to Peavey.
“What, little miss? You have something to —”
Jon and Wyne gasped in shock, but not as loudly as Peavey did as Kaycie drove her knee up into his fork.
Peavey doubled over, knees bent and clutching himself. Strange, strangled sounds emerged from his mouth, but he seemed to be having a great deal of trouble breathing.
Kaycie bent close to his head and whispered so low that Jon wasn’t sure he heard correctly.
“Do you remember my first year, Peavey? Well I’m no longer a scared girl just away from home for the first time. You bugger off and keep your mouth shut, or the headmaster’ll hear about more than this business, you hear me?”
“You … ruddy … bitch …” Peavey rasped.
“I can’t quite hear you,” Kaycie said. She grasped his shoulders to help him stand. “Here, straighten up a bit. It’ll help you breathe.”
“Bloody … bitch …”
“That’s what I thought it was.”
Kaycie took a step back, then swung her foot up hard. Peavey made a croaking sound, his eyes bulged, and he toppled to the floor.
She bent and whispered to Peavey again, but Jon couldn’t hear this time. He shared a look with Wyne who seemed as shocked and puzzled as he was.
“Right, then,” she said, turning to them. “Jon, you get the lock open. Wyne, you wait out here and see Peavey doesn’t cause more trouble. I’ll see Jon in.”
“Aye, aye,” Wyne said, seemingly without realizing it.
Jon raised an eyebrow, but turned back to the hatch’s lock.
It seemed to have nothing special about it and soon yielded to his tablet. It slid open and he shouldered his bag. Kaycie hefted the bag of food and followed him in.
“What was that about?” he asked as the station-side hatch closed and they waited for the skiff’s hatch to cycle. “What’d he do your first year?”
Kaycie flushed and looked down at the deck. “You heard that? Bugger.”
They entered the skiff. It was a small craft and had only one compartment. The fusion plant and engineering controls were at the rear. A navigation plot with integrated signals took up most of the space in the center and there was a small galley along one bulkhead with two bunks along the other.
Jon had a moment’s apprehension. A craft this size was meant for intrasystem sails. A few days in darkspace at most and never away from where its optics could pick up the lights of a pilot boat or beacon. The two-week sail to Greater Sibward was quite another matter. He’d be wholly reliant on his own skills as a navigator to not miss the target system entirely. Moreover, he’d be spending most of that time in his vacsuit, as he’d have to move in and out of the ship to adjust the sail.
He tossed his bag toward the bunk and started checking the engineering systems. Kaycie set the bag of food near the galley and joined him.
“So?” he asked.
Kaycie sighed. “It’s nothing really.”
“Not nothing if it warrants a blow like that to the bollocks, it seems to me.”
“It’s nothing. He cornered me in the corridor outside the gymnasium my first week.” She sighed again. “A bit of a grope—nothing to it, really.”
“Bastard!”
Kaycie stiffened. “And there it is. Thank you for your outrage on my behalf, but I’ve no need of it.”
“I only meant —”
“Know what you meant.”
The engineering systems were online and she turned from him to check the navigation plot.
He stared at her back for a moment.
“Why didn’t you go to the headmaster then and get him expelled?”
Kaycie snorted. “Really? There’s a chance of that, I suppose, but his family’s far wealthier than mine. He’s, what, sixth generation Lesser Sewer? Headmaster’d believe us over him? And then, of course, everyone would know.”
“Us?”
She left off the navigation plot and went to the galley area, starting to unpack his supplies. “I know of two other girls—one went further. We try to warn the first years about him.” She turned to him with a wan smile. “Bit of a club, really.”
Jon hesitated, uncertain what to do. He wanted to wrap her up in his arms and tell her it would be all right—at the same time he wanted to rush back into the corridor and pound Peavey’s face into the deck.
“Kaycie —”
“And there it is, see? It’s either that look and that tone, ‘Oh, poor you, it’ll be all right, let me make it better.’ Or the other, that we’re not believed and must’ve done something to lead the poor bloke on. That’s why we don’t say anything, isn’t it? It’s never the same after someone hears—can’t be just Jon and Kaycie —”
She broke off and scrubbed at her eyes.
Jon stood still, afraid to move.
“Damn him for showing up,” Kaycie said. “This isn’t how this bit was supposed to go.” She walked up to Jon and pulled something from her pocket with a wan grin. “Look, I made you something to see you off.” She reached up and slipped a bit of black cloth around his head, blocking one of his eyes with it. “Proper pirate, right?”
“I told you, it’s only common thef —”
He broke off, eyes wide, as she grasped his face and kissed him. Then he closed his eyes and fell into the kiss, which was really quite good, he thought, even given his limited experience for comparison. Better than the kiss, even, was the feel of her body against his, and as soon as the shock wore off he reached to wrap his arms around her and make that even better.
But before he could, the kiss ended. Kaycie released his face and dashed past him to the hatch, sliding it open and calling back, “I expect to see you again, Jon Bartlett.”
Jon stared at the closed hatch for a long moment, then reached up and pulled the eyepatch from his head. He raised a finger to his lips, which still seemed to feel the press of hers. He shook his head slowly.
“I will never in life understand girls.”
“You look a fright, lad, have you eaten?”
Jon took his Uncle Wyatt’s offered hand. He supposed he did look frightful.
He’d arrived at Greater Sibward without incident and docked the skiff at the public quay. It would be investigated once it was seen to have been docked there past the time limit and someone would contact the school to see about its return.
Since then, though, things had gone poorly.
It seemed as though the family had scattered, disappearing from both the station and planet, an
d even long time employees and associates neglected to return his calls and messages.
He’d sold his better clothes and other things for a few coins to keep him going just a bit longer. He was down to under a pound, all told, and despairing that he’d find work or a way off Greater Sibward. Light as his pack was now, with just a single change of clothes, vacsuit, and his tablet, he’d likely have to sell those as well soon. It seemed that any time a ship’s master learned his name, there were suddenly no positions available.
It had been with some relief that he’d finally received a response from one of his many messages to family members. Uncle Wyatt was still in-system, but not in the home Jon remembered. To Jon’s relief he’d responded and agreed to meet, but the expression on his uncle’s face didn’t allow that relief to last long.
Uncle Wyatt took his arm and steered him down the corridor.
“There’s a pie shop around the corner. You need to eat.”
They got their pies at the counter, Wyatt insisted Jon get two, found seating, then sat with only the sounds of their eating until Jon had finished.
“I’m so sorry, lad, I can’t begin to say.”
“Uncle Wyatt …” Jon thought he had a million questions, but suddenly found that they call came down to one. “What happened?”
Wyatt winced.
“I tried to get a message to you, lad, I did. But by the time it reached your school you’d already gone.”
“They threw me out as soon as word came.”
Wyatt winced again.
“Why didn’t anyone send for me earlier?”
“You have to understand, Jon, it was eight weeks of hell. That’s all it took, you see, start to finish. Five generations to build and eight bloody weeks to end us.” He sighed. “By the time we saw how bad it was, we went to bed every night exhausted from fighting it and woke up the next morning to find it worse than before. You were safe at school, we thought …”
“What happened?” Jon repeated.
“It was so damned quick,” Wyatt said. He toyed with his fork, pushing a bit of crust around his plate, making trails through the gravy. Jon started to ask again, but then simply waited. He could tell it was hard for his uncle and he’d get the story in good time.
“At first it was the stock,” Wyatt said finally. “Blocks were being sold off, more than usual, and the price started falling. Not much at first, just a bit. We, your parents and I, found it odd—profits were up, we’d just sent a dividend. The company was strong.
“Then it was more than blocks being sold, there were short sales—someone without the stock selling at a lower price than it was listed. That made no sense, for they were always so far below the market that … someone would have to buy at a higher price to sell at the lower. It was madness, but it drove the price of the stock down further.
“Edward, your father, bought some, to keep the price up … we all did, really. Everyone in the family, we bought and bought. And with company funds, too. Why not? The shares were far below their value by that time and we knew Bartlett Shipping was strong. But it kept going, down and down, and we didn’t have enough ready cash to buy more shares.”
Wyatt looked up and his eyes were haunted.
“Loans?”
“Aye, loans.” Wyatt nodded. “Company lines of credit, personal, whatever it took. And still there was always someone offering shares at a lower price than the market. Not just a bit lower, but … so low it looked like …”
Jon realized what it must have looked like. Why would someone offer to sell at a lower price than the market offered, unless they felt they needed to get rid of the stock quickly?
“Like someone in the know. Who’d sell so low, but someone who knew a secret about the company …”
Wyatt nodded again. “Aye. And so everyone came to believe there must be a secret about the company. Got so our bank wouldn’t talk to us, so we went to another and there were more loans, until near everything that could be an asset was tied up.” He snorted. “Put our boots up as collateral, if they’d have let us. And why not? The shares were a bargain …” He gave Jon a wry grin. “And the company was strong, aye?”
He sighed.
“Then came the rumors and the stories. Said we were smugglers at first.” His jaw clenched as well as his fists and Jon could see how angry he was. “And that we’d pirated our own ships for the insurance.”
“Father would never —”
“I know. None of us would, but especially not Edward. My brother was a right bastard, but he was a right-honest bastard.”
Jon said nothing. It was the sort of characterization his father would hear and shrug, accepting the truth of it.
“The insurance company announced they’d investigate. What else could they do? But that drove things lower yet.”
Wyatt looked around.
“Should’ve gone to a pub. I could use a stiff one.” He rubbed his face with both hands.
“Then the Crown Prosecutor got involved. Not the man here, mind you, but a special one in from Bowstable. Just showed up one day. He had evidence, he said. Statements from men who were a part of it—taking our own ships and selling them and the cargoes, then making the insurance claims. And more statements that we were smuggling far and wide.
“That’s what broke him. Edward. Your father.” Wyatt’s eyes were wet and red-rimmed when he looked up. “He used a laser. It was quick.”
He reached across the table and squeezed Jon’s hand, but Jon barely felt it.
“He left a note—said the prosecutor implied the whole mess would go away if somehow Edward wasn’t about anymore. I don’t know how that could be. But if a man knew your father he’d know that would be the way … the way to make him do such a thing. ‘Course it didn’t go away.
“So, they turned those statements on Elizabeth, and I know for a fact what they said to her. ‘Plead guilty,’ they said, ‘and we’ll not go after the others in the family—the others named in the statements.’”
He looked up and met Jon’s eyes again.
“You were named.”
“Me?” Jon was shocked. He’d sailed aboard family ships, of course, even worked them, but what could he have been accused of?
“Statements made about your summer cruises. That you smuggled more than once on them. Not just what would avoid duty and tax, neither, but other things.”
“I —”
“We know it’s not true, Jon. Even if you were the sort to do it, what was described … well, it would have taken others to be involved. Too many others.”
“Then how could they have these statements?” Jon was confused. He hadn’t understood how all of this could have happened, but it was sounding so much more bizarre than what he’d read.
Wyatt’s eyes narrowed. “Do you not see it, Jon? Do you even yet think this was some misunderstanding or an accident? Just bad luck?”
“I don’t know what to think. What —”
“In the end, the rest of the family had to give up their shares or join your mother in the dock, that was the other part of the deal. So, we lost the company—the whole of it gone in one swoop. And who do you think came in at the end? Buys the ships, the routes, reassures the shareholders who’re left?”
Jon stared at him blankly, then frowned. That was no proof. Someone would have to buy the remnants, after all. “That doesn’t prove —”
“The same being based on Bowstable where the Crown Prosecutor came from? The same who has holdings in the new bank we went to? The very bank that called our loans first? The same who had cause to wish your father harm for speaking against him in the guild and who has pockets deep enough to sell our stock short like it was water on Penduli?”
“Marchant …” Jon couldn’t believe it. True, his father had spoken against them and their ways more than once, but this?
“Frederick bloody Marchant and his Marchant Company,” Wyatt said. He pulled his tablet from his pocket and slid it across the table to Jon. “Our solicitor managed one thi
ng before it all fell apart. He got the statements made against us … and the names of those making them. Small matter then to find out where those speakers are employed now.”
Jon ran his eyes down the list. Nearly every name listed had an employer of the Marchant Company or one of its subsidiaries. More, he recognized many of the names. Men and women who’d worked for Bartlett Shipping and had worked with Jon himself on summer cruises. Of the names he recognized, there were none he’d have named good spacers or reliable hands—hard men and women, quick to anger and quicker to cause trouble aboard ship.
“But if we know this —”
“Knowing and proving are different things, lad.”
“But —”
“And solicitors cost.” Wyatt lowered his eyes. “There’s none of us left with much. Not nearly enough.” He shook his head. “All the assets were seized and orders went out to impound our ships in port. The family’s scattered, penniless save what coin they have with them. I’m —” He cleared his throat. “Mary had a bit tucked away. In her name, from her family. It’s not much, but it’s enough for us and the little ones to get away from here. Buy a single share in some colony far out where they’ve never heard of what happened and the name Bartlett doesn’t make people’s noses wrinkle at the stench.”
Jon’s body was chilled. He couldn’t believe what he’d heard. What he’d thought had happened was bad, he knew, but to hear that it had been done deliberately—not just happenstance …
Frederick Marchant did this?
Caused it all. The family’s ruin, his mother transported God knew where, his father’s suicide …
No, not suicide at all. It was murder, pure and simple, atop all the rest.
“You could come with us, lad,” Wyatt said.
“What?” Jon looked up. He hadn’t really heard. He’d been too lost in his thoughts and the sudden realization.
“Come with us. Mary and me.” He shrugged. “Colonies’re a hard life, I know, but … it’s better than what’s left for you here, lad.”
“Do you know where mother is?” She was all he had left, really. Perhaps that’s where he belonged, helping her.
Wyatt shook his head. “Put aboard the transport ships and sent to the Fringe. No telling where her indenture was bought, unless she manages to get a message to someone.”
Orphans In the Black: A Space Opera Anthology Page 25