The Queen's Pardon (Alexis Carew Book 6)

by J. A. Sutherland

  For her as captain, though, there was no such release. At least aboard a Naval ship, touching the captain without permission would get one sent to the gratings, or worse, and it was a liberty that would degrade discipline if she even thought to allow it. Not even her officers would think to offer such a thing, even with the looser strictures of a private ship, as Mongoose was.

  A dot of cold wetness nudged her hand from where it sat in her lap, lifted it and edged under. Alexis ran her hand over the warm fur that followed the nose as she thought.

  The Barbary slave trade was well known but, if not entirely tolerated, then largely ignored.

  Hanover was the ostensible ruler of the space and seemed not to care what the Barbary worlds did, while the other space-faring powers lacked any real power in the area. To send a Naval force would violate Hanover’s borders — which was, really, why Alexis had come in command of a private ship and not as a commissioned Naval officer. No matter the involvement of the Foreign Office and its representative in Malcome Eades, the entire expedition could be effectively denied by the Crown.

  And so the trade went on, with natives of the Barbary and captured spacers alike being bought and sold amongst the worlds by pirates and raiders.

  It was a sad, sorry business and made little sense, as the human cargoes had less worth than machines from the more advanced and populated worlds. Such was the poverty of the region that the raiders sought to eke out the last bit of coin from their efforts, no matter how small.

  She dug her fingers into the soft fur in her lap and scratched at the skin, eliciting a deep purr that seemed to shake loose some of her tension.

  This news was not so bad as it first sounded, really. The odds of Delaine even having been on Erzurum were high — she should ask Dockett what the book on such a thing would be, so she could understand how lucky she was to have any word of him at all. He could have been lost aboard one of the destroyed ships or sailed on, leaving her no idea where to search next. As it was, there must be some record on Erzurum as to where he’d been sold — and he might still be on-planet, she realized.

  That realization, and the vibrating purr, broke loose the last of the ice that had settled around her middle at Deckard’s words. There was still a chance and she was closer.

  “Why do you have a rat?” Deckard asked, peering at her lap. “I’m wondering? Yes. Strange.”

  “He’s not a rat, he’s —” Alexis stopped scratching, scooped up the Creature and dumped it back onto Isom’s cot next to the fire. “Isom, will you keep control of the vile thing or not? I’ll not tarry to search for it if it runs off.”

  Eleven

  O’, shriek me hearties, roar me mates,

  Let your outrage fill the Dark.

  Like the tender mercies of the Winds

  Come the Brethren for their part.

  The conversation lulled for a time after Alexis sent the Creature back to curl up under Isom’s blanket and she took the opportunity to examine both the cave and their hosts more closely.

  All of the men were clad in the same scaled skins as Deckard and armed with spears or crude bows. Her own crew had spread out amongst the fires in the cave, making what conversation they could with the primarily Hanoverese inhabitants. She was a bit surprised that things were going so well, but as Deckard had said, perhaps there was no war on Erzurum — or the word she brought of a cease-fire was just as welcome to the Hanoverese as it would be to her own crew in a similar circumstance.

  The cave itself was more of a ledge set against the wall of a vast cavern, as though the inside of the plateau had been blown by a giant bubble. There was space for all, but not so much as its size might at first suggest.

  Her lads stood out from their hosts, what with their proper clothes — tattered and ragged as they may be — and their pistols and few rifles in place of spears.

  All of them seemed well — happy to be out of the rain and mud for a time, and to have new faces to talk to, even with the abundant language barriers. The Hanoverese seemed happy for that too, and Alexis could credit it. After months in these swamps and a year or more on Erzurum they were hungry for news from offworld, even if it was the New Londoners’ side of the battles they were hearing.

  Davies, one of the women Alexis had accepted aboard Mongoose as crew, seemed especially popular, which Alexis supposed shouldn’t surprise her. She was the only one of her messmates who’d been aboard Alexis’ boat, and while there were some women amongst the Hanoverese crews, as that nation didn’t have the same restriction New London had, it appeared there were none with this group, and a new face was always more interesting in any case.

  Yes, all was going well and the Hanoverese were friendly, but —

  She glanced from the fire to the Hanoverese officers beside Deckard. There might be no war on Erzurum, but that did not mean that everyone was to be trusted.

  Alexis took the distraction of someone bringing bowls of food from a communal cookpot to whisper to Dockett, “Pass the word — handsomely, mind you, so as not to arouse any comment — but I’d admire it did the lads keep their guns close and a wary eye.”

  “You expect trouble?”

  “I do not. We’re all marooned here, at least for the moment, and there’s a certain code about such things, I understand.”

  Dockett nodded. “Once the ship’s down, it’s your own skin and your mates — no bloody Queen and Country then.”

  That’s what Alexis had heard, though it didn’t happen often that opposing forces were set upon the same place to await rescue — but when it did, the bare goal of survival meant more than what they’d been fighting for in the first place.

  “I expect no trouble,” she whispered, “but our weapons may be tempting to them. And see Davies has a man at her back, will you? The Dark knows I’ve seen enough of some lads walking double to know she can handle herself, but this is a different place than aboard Mongoose, and we’re the strangers.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  Dockett whispered to Nabb, then they both rose and began making their way to the others.

  “Your men go where?”

  Alexis turned back, surprised that it was the Hanoverese who’d spoken and not Deckard. She hadn’t been aware that he understood English, much less spoke it. Deckard had half turned from the fire and was busily scooping a thick stew from a wooden bowl with a flat of wood.

  “To check on the others,” Alexis said, “after such a walk I wish to know they’re feeling all right. I’m sorry, but I’ve lost your name.”

  Deckard had made introductions for the three Hanoverese sharing the fire, but she hadn’t been able to set them in her mind.

  “Kapitän Kannstadt,” he said, then nodded to the two others. “Leutnant Fischer. Leutnant Mayer.”

  Alexis nodded to each in turn. “Are you all from the same ship?”

  Kannstadt shook his head. “No. From many. The slave markets scattered us widely.” He frowned. “The pirates divide us.”

  More bowls of food arrived, served by a heavy Hanoverese whose scaled clothing fit so tightly Alexis feared a scale might pop off and strike her between the eyes at any moment.

  Captain Kannstadt took two bowls and handed them to Alexis around the fire. She took them and passed one back to Isom. Kannstadt and the others took the remaining bowls.

  “It is filling and will not kill you,” Kannstadt said. “This is the best that can be said.”

  The heavyset man who’d brought the food frowned, looking from Kannstadt to Alexis, then rattled off a string of German that Alexis couldn’t hope to follow. Kannstadt answered and the man, Alexis assumed the cook, huffed and stalked off.

  “Hans, our cook, tries,” Kannstadt said, “but there is only so much to be done.”

  “You speak English very well,” Alexis said. “I assumed when Lieutenant Deckard translated that it was because you didn’t understand.”

  Kannstadt glanced at Deckard, who’d finished his own stew and was now stretched out beside the fire, eyes
closed and moving his lips in his sleep. Kannstadt smiled at him almost fondly.

  “Ian is not himself,” Kannstadt said. “When we escaped the … place we were held and made to work — it was so mean a place I cannot properly call it a farm or plantation — it was he who held the line with me as the others fled.” His smile widened. “Not so great a battle as what brought us here — a scared family with but two rifles and some cudgels — but Ian stood.” His face darkened. “And it was his hand over the controls that kept us alive, no matter how the cudgels struck his head.”

  “Controls?”

  Kannstadt nodded.

  “The pirates and slavers of Erzurum have odd traditions.” He fingered his ragged ear. “Rings and studs go here — they are …” He waved a hand, frowning. “A marker? For the cattle?”

  “A brand?”

  Kannstadt nodded again. “I think, yes. But more than —” He spat into the fire. “— who owns. Skills, price, other things. A tracking beacon, of course, so they must be removed.”

  The tattered ears of Kannstadt, Deckard, and the others suddenly made a sickening sense to her.

  “And here —” Kannstadt touched his neck where there was another scar, one Alexis hadn’t noted before, being too distracted by his mangled ear. “In the neck. Disobey too much and —” He chuckled and flung his fingers open. “Poof! A threat to keep us in behavior, hein?”

  “I see,” Alexis said, horrified.

  Kannstadt’s eyes turned to Deckard and softened. “So, der Herr comes as we fight to escape and poof, poof, poof!” He opened and closed his fingers near his head explosively. “A man falls, and another, and another — then, we are on him and his family, but, poof, another. It is expensive for him, hein? To destroy his property, but else he loses all, and we cannot reach him to stop. My men — they are all my men now, though from different ships, are losing heart.

  “Then Ian, he leaps through them to der Herr —” Another gob of spit sizzled in the fire. “He cannot walk well now —” Kannstadt tapped his left side. “— a bullet to the hip as we fled and is still there, but he leapt then. He covers the box with his hands and holds it.” He clutched both hands to his stomach and hunched over. “Thus. You see, hein?”

  Alexis nodded.

  Kannstadt shifted closer to Deckard and laid a hand on the now sleeping man’s shoulder.

  “All those blows,” he murmured, “but never does Ian uncover the box.”

  Twelve

  So, into that, like sharks of yore,

  The pirates came a’calling.

  Shot boats to nothing with the men

  ‘Til colors everywhere were falling.

  Their group was silent for a time after Kannstadt told Deckard’s story, and Alexis felt a bit of guilt at how she’d been thinking of the New London lieutenant. His annoying speech pattern might be related to the blows he took to ensure freedom for the others, and it seemed cold to hold that against him.

  She ate silently, finding the stew at least in part what Kannstadt had claimed, filling and, she hoped, unlikely to kill her as well.

  Dockett and Nabb returned from their visits to the others of their crew and brought bowls of their own, already half-eaten.

  “Not the best vittles,” Dockett muttered as he sat. “Ration bars almost better.”

  Alexis had to agree. Offended though the fat Hanoverese cook might have been at Kannstadt’s words, the stew had a strong gamey taste, and not a pleasant one, even for one raised hunting wild game on Dalthus as she had been.

  “Tastes like chicken,” Nabb said. “Chewy, though.”

  Kannstadt grunted.

  “I’m sorry, Captain Kannstadt,” Alexis said, with a glare at Nabb and Dockett. “That’s short thanks for your hospitality and we do appreciate it.”

  “Do not concern yourself,” Kannstadt said. “Hans takes offense, but there is little he can do with die schlange.”

  Nabb and Dockett both spit mouthfuls back into their bowls.

  “With what, then?” Dockett said, wiping at his mouth.

  Nabb was wiping at his tongue, and never mind the mud that still permeated his sleeve.

  Kannstadt frowned. “Die schlange, the … snake, hein? There is little use we make of it, save for filling the belly, you understand? Little … nutrient, hein? But it fills.”

  “Oh,” Dockett said, then muttered and poked at the contents of his bowl, “Not sure that’s better.”

  “Better’n what I heard,” Nabb said, though he set his bowl down and scowled.

  “Boots likes it,” Isom said, drawing Alexis’ attention to his cot where the Creature happily gnawed a piece of snakipede flesh.

  “Of course it does.” Alexis set her own bowl aside, the image of one of those things crouched atop her as she slept still a bit too fresh in her mind to stomach it.

  “So your ship is gone?” Kannstadt asked.

  Alexis nodded. She’d told the tale of their arrival in-system and the battle around the planet, including the loss of Mongoose and their own boat’s crash.

  “We were lucky to lose no one in the crash,” she said, “and only one man in the swamps.” The loss of Tubbs still bothered her, and the trap he’d fallen through. She met Kannstadt’s eyes. “He fell through a sort of latticed trap at the edge of one of the ravines.”

  Kannstadt winced. “I am sorry. We have build those to hunt die schlange. They sun themselves when there are no rains. We tempt them to the wider space and they cannot flee to the water.”

  Alexis nodded. She’d thought the platform must be built by Kannstadt’s men, and it was good that he’d admit it even knowing she’d lost a man. That indicated an element of honesty in the Hanoverese and eased her mind — though nothing eased that they’d lost Tubbs and their radio to a simple hunting trap.

  Somewhere in the cavern, someone began playing an instrument, perhaps a harmonica, though it was hard for Alexis to tell for sure, as the instrument was either damaged or the player not quite skilled. Every so often a note would sound either too long or so off that even Alexis’ ear could tell.

  “Der Musiker,” Kannstadt muttered into his bowl.

  “It’s not … bad,” Alexis hazarded — and it wasn’t … quite. The tune was simply off enough that it drew one in and then gave off an eerie screech worthy of one of Creasy’s Dark-haunting spirits.

  “It is not good,” Kannstadt said. “The boy is not without skill, but the instrument was damaged — and becomes more so with time in the swamps — yet he refuses not to play something.”

  Around them, Kannstadt’s men, and Alexis’ with them, swayed along with the tune, wincing at the off notes, but not seeming too troubled by them.

  Kannstadt sighed. “And the men do like it. It is something, after all, which is better than nothing, and likely why the boy insists on playing even when he knows the instrument is beyond repair.”

  The Hanoverese captain resumed eating and Alexis resumed her thoughts, now buoyed along by the haunting, halting tune.

  She counted her lads as she studied the cavern, spread out as they were amongst Kannstadt’s. It might seem odd that they’d so readily accept their former enemies, but there were other New Londoners amongst Kannstadt’s group — few, but noticeable — and they were all, after all, castaways of a sort.

  There was a sort of code about such things — once a ship was disabled or struck, even enemies did not abandon each other to the Dark. And for spacers, being in-atmosphere, without a hull around them, was much the same as the void in either darkspace or normal-space. There were instances of enemies, in the midst of battle, caught up in a storm even while they worked the guns, then abandoning those guns to work the boats and lines and save their foes from a ship driven into dark matter shoals.

  Spacers, set adrift.

  Some bonds were greater than the conflicts of nations.

  For Alexis, it was simply good to see her lads warmed by even the small fires here in the cave, fed even the watery, acidic soup of schlange, and hav
e even a single night to sleep dry amongst, if not exactly friends, then not exactly enemies at the moment either.

  Tomorrow would bring all their worries back, but for the moment they could set those aside.

  Even as she did so, smiling a bit at the antics of a group of spacers attempting a dance to the butchered tune, Alexis realized that she was happy.

  It might seem odd, crashed on dreary Erzurum, cut off from her fellows and the rest of her crew, and hounded by pirates, but she was happy nonetheless — or, if happy wasn’t quite the right word, she no longer felt the weight of her past as she had so much and for so long.

  Now she had a clear goal and a clear duty — to get her lads out of this swamp and home. To keep them safe and bring back word of the captive spacers on Erzurum so that they might be rescued as well.

  The almost mercenary goals of privateering hadn’t sat well with her, and neither had the tax and import duty enforcement of her time on Nightingale, come to that. Both were necessary, she supposed, but neither presented a worthy foe. The private ships, by their nature, went for softer targets than the pirates themselves — and retaking prizes seemed more of simply trading game tokens back and forth than really accomplishing anything, no matter the profit in it.

  At least now she had a duty to her lads, and Kannstadt’s, and all those others on Erzurum, to get them home.

  Against a planet full of pirates, slavers, and who-knows-what sort of fleet above us, she thought. I wonder what it says about me that the prospect of that fight leaves me with such peace?

  It was as though there were some sort of well inside her, full to overflowing like a runaway fusion plant, and now she had somewhere to direct that power so she no longer felt like she might burst at any moment.

  Somewhere other than throwing hazards at the gaming table or brawling on the landing fields like some new-pressed hand, she thought, flushing at how she’d spent her time back on the planet Enclave so very recently. Do I have some need to put myself at risk?