by Rebecca Diem
Tales of the Captain Duke
A Gentleman and a Scholar
By Rebecca Diem
WOOLF LIKE ME
Publishing
Text copyright © 2016 Rebecca Diem
All Rights Reserved
Cover art by Sarah Dier-McComb
Cover design by Steve Armstrong
First Edition
Woolf Like Me Publishing
ISBN: 978-0-9938874-7-5
For my siblings, Andrew, Sarah, and Leah
143
Table of Contents
Chapter 1: In which our heroine receives an unexpected guest 6
Chapter 2: In which our hero finds himself at his wits’ end 9
Chapter 3: In which our heroine has high hopes 13
Chapter 4: In which our heroine addresses a matter of courtesy 17
Chapter 5: In which our hero finds a moment of peace 21
Chapter 6: In which our heroine finds puzzles in the past 24
Chapter 7: In which our hero decides on a new course 28
Chapter 8: In which our heroine finds a genius solution 33
Chapter 9: In which our hero meets an ally in the sky 40
Chapter 10: In which our heroine is the cause of offence and inspiration 43
Chapter 11: In which our hero receives uncommonly good advice 48
Chapter 12: In which our heroine remembers better days 51
Chapter 13: In which our hero confronts a captain 54
Chapter 14: In which our heroine receives an unexpected guest 58
Chapter 15: In which our heroine flies to a seabird lair 63
Chapter 16: In which our heroine courts a gentleman 68
Chapter 17: In which our hero finds himself in polite company 73
Chapter 18: In which our heroine makes an indecent proposal 77
Chapter 19: In which our hero errs in his judgement 80
Chapter 20: In which our heroine dreams 82
Bonus: The Adventures of Cat and Mouse #1 84
Author’s Note 88
Acknowledgements 90
Chapter 1: In which our heroine receives an unexpected guest
The tallport was busy with activity as the airships flew in to dock for the evening. Leisurecraft of pale, polished wood and speedy brass flyers, all flying the Tradist colours. They filled the spokes of the tallport, a simple two-tiered structure nestled in the clearing. The crews disembarked and greeted each other, boasting of their latest haul as they unloaded their cargo from hidden compartments in the hull and into an elevator to be lowered to the ground below. Teams of pilots were busy sorting and packing the goods under the watchful eye of Cat, standing on a crate and shouting her orders to be heard above the fray.
Clara observed the scene from her post at the top of the central tower of the new tallport they had installed to accommodate all the additional aircraft. Her attention commanded by the intricate dance of coordinating the activities of a dozen separate pirate crews, directing the flow of goods and marking down the shipment details to be transcribed later into the inventory books. She shaded her eyes against the fading light as she watched the final airship approach. It loomed large on the horizon, its hull now bearing the unfamiliar moniker Eye of Iris, but to Clara, it was home.
“Miss Clara?”
She turned to find Madge waiting with an overflowing receipt book in hand.
“You’ve filled another book already? How many ships today?”
“Three dozen.” The short pilot tucked her curly hair behind her ear and beamed with pride, “Easy pickings today. The word is spreading about the inspections. To be honest, I think we’re doing the Tradists a favour keeping these captains on their toes. And the best part is they always ‘donate’ the top shelf stock for quality control.”
“Excellent. Madge, you’re a natural. Take this book down to Cat and then help Peg with the inventory. We’ll be ready to take another shipment to Keswick tomorrow.”
The pirate saluted, and Clara did her best to keep a straight face. She wasn’t an officer, but the crew had taken to treating her as such since she was put in charge of organizing their new scheme. The last major raid had gone sour after one of their own betrayed them. Their return to the pirates’ hideout had only brought more troubles, when their former officer, Robbie, staged a mutiny, pitting friends and allies against one another before flying an airship laden with gunpowder straight into the Haven. The very airship they had found her on after she’d turned stowaway while running away from her engagement party that summer. Robbie survived. Others did not.
They had lost good pilots that day, and the crew mourned their loss. Much had changed in the weeks since the attack, but they had rallied together, steadfast in their dedication to the Captain Duke and his philosophy of ‘liberating’ the cargo of the Tradists for the benefit of all. But the Captain… Well, he had other important matters to care for.
It had been Clara’s idea to break the pirates into smaller groups and pretend to be inspectors for the Tradist shipments. They funnelled the stolen goods into a black market network of merchants through Master Tims to avoid the high tariffs of the Association of Merchant Traders that had formed after the dissolution of the East India Company. Here, on an island at the centre of the Derwentwater, in the bucolic Lake District, they undermined everything the Tradists stood for. A small team, working together to spread the wealth.
Looking over the bounty before her as it was loaded into the elevators, Clara grinned at their success. At this rate, even with the setbacks they had encountered this season, they were on track to best last year’s figures by the end of the month.
The largest airship was nearly at the dock, and Clara could now see the figures running about the deck. She waved at the tall woman standing at the prow, and walked along the spoke, waiting until the airship had been secured to send in the porters to help unload. Nessa crossed the rope bridge to stand with her as they supervised the work. Her long, blonde hair was tied back in a neat braid, ever a contrast to Clara’s unruly brown curls, blowing wild in the cool September breeze.
“That was a long one. Did you have a pleasant trip?”
“A bounteous one. We covered most of the northeastern shore, turned back after Liverpool. We’ve a full hold. Had to stop to add the extra hydrogen buffers,” replied Nessa. She handed over the logs and set her crew to their tasks before growing serious, reaching out to touch Clara’s arm, “How is Trick?”
“The Captain is with him. He barely eats the food before him,” Clara sighed. “But the… it looks as though it’s healing.”
The two women stood in silence for a long moment before Nessa ventured to speak again.
“Your contacts at the university—have you heard back from your sources? Anything at all that could help him?”
“I sent a message, but there’s been no reply. It’s been three weeks and I’m afraid it was lost. That, or something is terribly wrong. I’m thinking—perhaps on the next run we’ll go to Reading ourselves.”
Clara realized she was wringing her hands—a nervous habit—and forced herself to unclench her fingers, smoothing the violet fabric of her overskirt and taking a deep breath.
Nessa frowned, staring into the distance.
“Clara, how many crews were sent out?”
“Eleven.”
“And all are accounted for?”
“Yes, yours was the last to come in.”
“Then who is that?”
Clara turned to look in the direction Nessa pointed. An odd, bulbous contraption was headed straight for the tallport, and it was not one of theirs. Clara signalled to the pilots on the docks and they gathered behind her and Nessa, waiting for the stranger to arrive. The aircraft sputtered
and burped its way to a free spoke before a single pilot wearing a large pair of goggles threw out a tether and expertly moored his ship, leaping out onto the dock and walking towards them. Out of the corner of her eye, Clara saw Nessa reach for her pistol and put out a hand to stop her.
“Do you know him?” Nessa asked as the pilot removed his cap and goggles and shook out his tangled brown curls.
“Yes,” said Clara. “He’s my brother.”
Chapter 2: In which our hero finds himself at his wits’ end
The Captain Duke sat on a richly-patterned ottoman, arms crossed as he stared at the rapidly cooling bowl of stew on the table before him. He watched as the steam curled over the lip of the dish, then as it faded to nothing, the chunks of vegetable congealing in the broth. The bread—fresh baked that morning—had crusted over. It had been a favourite meal of Trick’s, specially prepared by Peg now that she’d recovered from the attack on the Haven. And still his friend did nothing but stare out the window in silence.
At least he’d been able to move Trick to the armchair so he could feel the breeze from outside. He’d spent too long in his sickbed—and the Captain did not believe it healthy to go so long without fresh air, no matter what was practiced in the cities. They were pilots, they belonged to the sky. More than anything, he wanted to take Trick up on a run over the hills and valleys, somewhere he could see the landscape bending into the distance and feel the sharp autumn breeze run through his hair. But his friend, his mentor, was not yet recovered.
The Captain directed his rage at the tiny chunks of early carrots, floating in the broth. He nudged the table with the toe of his boot and watched the liquid slosh in the bowl. For a moment, Trick turned his gaze to the eddies in the stew. He raised his eyes to meet the Captain’s, but his blank stare tore at the Captain Duke’s heart. He could sit here no longer. He rose and left the room as Trick resumed the position he’d held since that terrible night: cradling the bandaged stump of his right arm.
The Captain walked through the halls of the southern wing until he reached the edge of the provisional repairs, and leaned against the empty doorframe. Beyond, his home lay in ashes.
There was some hope for its eventual restoration. Cat and Mouse had flown to Keswick for aid after figuring out the traitorous Robbie’s plan, and by the looks of it, nearly every able-bodied soul had responded. He’d been overwhelmed by the flurry of activity after the explosion. He’d never forget the horror, watching the gunpowder-filled airship flying towards his home.
The firefighters had worked to douse the last of the flames while Mrs. Cottingham took charge of the recovery area, directing her staff in handing out blankets and bowls of warm soup. The town barber had set up an impromptu surgery by the airdocks and was helping Nurse Susan to treat the injured crewmembers. He never expected so many to come to their aid, and it steeled his heart against the tragedy of it all. They had buried the four fallen pilots in a grove on the southern end of the island. But that night, his focus had been on the living.
The Captain’s chest grew tight at the memory of the goodwill, the community their cause had engendered. Master Tims had stood beside him as they watched the crew and villagers work together as a single unit. We take care of our own, Tims had replied when the Captain tried to thank him. The Captain Duke knew that the town tolerated their illicit activities, but had never expected that they would embrace them so wholly in their time of need. It gave him cause to hope that the future held a different path forward. He was tired of fighting alone.
The embers had still been smoking as he sat with the pilots, listening to Mouse tell the tale of how he and his sister had managed to fly his galleon with no crew, reaching Keswick in record time. He’d promised each of the young siblings a new set of pistols.
But then, Nessa had appeared by his side. In his distracted state, he hadn’t noticed until she stood at his elbow.
“Captain?”
Her grave expression had demanded his full attention.
“What is it?”
“It’s Trick. His arm…”
A lump had lodged in his throat as he followed her to the makeshift infirmary in a small tent by the port where a loud argument was underway. He was greeted by what might have been a humorous scene under better circumstances: Trick, standing in a corner and brandishing a small hammer, facing off against the butcher, who held a saw.
“I tell you, it is not happening. Find a different way. Captain, tell him.”
He held his right arm close to his body.
The Captain Duke had swallowed hard before he could manage to speak,
“Trick, let me see it.”
Reluctantly, breathing heavily through the pain, Trick had uncovered his forearm and extended it for him to see the wound. The Captain Duke forced himself to look at the gruesome injury, even though he felt as though the air had been sucked out of his lungs. The bullet had been intended for him as Trick held the window open for their escape during the firefight with the mutineers. He wanted to rage, to fight, to do anything but crush the faint hope in Trick’s eyes. Instead, he had summoned all his remaining courage.
“The bone is shattered, Trick. You know what that means as well as I do. Even if we set it, infection is certain.”
“No.”
“Trick, please,” said Nessa, moving into the tent.
It was rare to witness the fearless piratess shed a tear, but the Captain Duke could see them rolling down her cheeks. He remembered wishing that he was permitted such a display of the emotion he felt at knowing that Trick would never again string the bow of his beloved violin. After a few long moments, Trick sat and accepted the bottle of whiskey passed to him. When he’d looked up at the two of them, his expression was one of utter defeat. His voice was gruff as he spoke.
“Will you stay?”
“Of course we will,” said Nessa.
The Captain Duke had nodded. He had checked to ensure that the cloths were boiled and the instruments cleaned by fire and spirits before allowing the operation to proceed. Trick refused to be made insensible, but gripped a strap of leather in his teeth while the Captain and Nessa held him still. They stayed, for all of it.
Flesh might heal, but this wound ran deeper. Trick had lost more than his arm; he’d lost some crucial piece of himself. In the days after the Incident, as the Captain Duke had taken to referring to Robbie’s mutiny in his mind, it had quickly become apparent that Trick was not recovering. He was listless. He barely spoke, ate the barest minimum to survive. The Captain felt helpless. He was consumed by the need to bring back his friend. He could think of nothing else. The crew needed him, needed him to lead them into whatever uncertain future remained for them. But he could not do it without Trick.
It was Clara, though, who saved them. Always Clara.
He’d been standing at the base of the new tallport, watching the hubbub of construction as the pilots and villagers set to their new task with a renewed energy he could not feel. She had found him there, and stood with him for a long while before speaking.
“Captain?”
He’d turned to her, but he couldn’t speak. She’d reached out her hand, and he’d taken it.
“Captain, I think I can help.”
“There’s nothing to be done now.”
A small spark lit in his heart as she reached up and tucked his hair behind his ear. Somehow, without his knowing, he’d come to rely on her calm determination.
“Really, though. I know someone who may be able to help Trick.”
“Who?”
After a half-second’s hesitation, she’d answered.
“My brother.”
“The scholar?”
“Yes.”
“How so?”
“Well, he’s a bit of a tinkerer. At the moment he’s actually on a study exchange at Lovelace.”
“The women’s college?”
“The university,” Clara had corrected him with a smile. “He wanted to study with Professor Sewell and she accepted hi
m as an assistant.”
“Sewell. The war profiteer.”
“You mean the country’s foremost expert in biomechanical manipulations. Let me write to him. He must have contacts there who will know how to help.”
He took a deep breath, “What will you tell him? I doubt he’s eager to come to the aid of pirates.”
“I think we should try. I know he’ll do the best he can. You saw how Keswick answered our call; maybe it’s time to forge new alliances. There’s still so much possibility. This isn’t over, Captain. The crew, the village, Master Tims, we’re all here.”
The Captain had said nothing, but when he met her eyes he could see her concern. He thought better of arguing and instead pulled her into his arms. He liked how she fit against his body. The memory of the kiss they had shared on the beach the night of the Incident still lingered in his mind, bringing a smile whenever he allowed himself to dwell on it.
They hadn’t yet had time to speak of it, but the small tokens of affection had continued: a touch on the arm, a smile as their eyes met when they shared a meal. One night he’d found her asleep in the study, exhausted from the hours she and Cat had spent salvaging what they could of the account books, copying the figures into fresh ledgers. Little Cat had woken immediately at his entrance, ever the pilot in training. She’d sleepily climbed the stair as he carried Clara to the room they both shared with Nessa now that the Bird’s Nest in the upper gable had been lost to the explosion. The way that Clara curled her fingers into his hair made him yearn to wake her with a kiss. He’d tucked her into her bed, then left for his own after a murmured ‘Good night,’ sleepless, staring up at the tin-plated ceiling until the first rays of dawn.
Clara was a lady of good standing, pirate or no, and he held her honour dearer than his own. One day, soon, they would have time to talk. To fly out together over the hills. To give in to the joy they found in each other’s company. But now, there were more pressing matters at hand.
The Captain Duke was still standing in the burnt frame, lost to daydreams, when Mouse called for him.