by A. C. Cobble
Sam, who’d stopped half a dozen paces after the duke did, turned and watched.
“Security around here is tighter than I’ve ever seen it,” pressed Oliver. “Why?”
“Sir,” replied the sergeant, drawing himself up. “That is a matter for the governor and the commander to be concerned with. Please move on and conduct your business without barring the road.”
“What’s your name, Sergeant?” asked Oliver.
The man blinked at him.
“I want to know because I’m on my way right now to see the governor,” explained Oliver. “I’d like to—”
“That’s Duke Oliver Wellesley,” interjected Sam. “He’s a son of the king.”
The sergeant’s jaw fell open, and the duke shot a scowl at Sam.
“Don’t torture the lad,” she said. “What do you think he’s going to tell you that we can’t get from the governor half a turn of the clock from now?”
“The governor is a Company man and a peer,” explained Oliver. “He’ll put a good face on it. The sergeant here is a royal marine, and royal marines tell it like it is, don’t they, sergeant?”
The sergeant grunted and it appeared he was chewing the inside of his cheek, lost in thought, possibly wondering if the man in front of him really was a part of the royal line and had the authority to wave a hand and have him thrown in gaol for insubordination. In short time, it appeared the sergeant decided the possibility was enough, so he answered.
“Pirates, m’lord,” he said, his words coming quickly, falling on top of each other in a rush out of his mouth. “They’ve been harassing the cutters and ketches who trade amongst the islands. They’ve even taken a couple of prizes.”
“You’re being deployed to root out this menace?” questioned Oliver.
“No, ah, no, m’lord. We’re on heightened alert, though. There’s no fear here in the city. We’re well-protected, and the pirates haven’t come within fifty leagues of Archtan Town.”
“Of course they won’t attack the city itself,” snapped Oliver. “You’re not heading out, hunting these corsairs down? The prizes they took, are they not under your protection as well?”
The sergeant coughed and seemed to find something highly interesting on the ground by his feet. The duke glared at the man’s squad, and they all shifted uneasily, refusing to meet his eyes.
“Come on,” he said, turning to Sam. “It appears we have more than one difficult discussion to conduct today.”
“Governor Dalyrimple,” said Oliver, nodding to the man.
The governor stood from behind a massive desk. He had the thick bushy mustache and bald pate that seemed a requisite for Company governors, but unlike Towerson, Dalyrimple had the broad shoulders and thick arms of a man who had spent countless hours at labor or perhaps with steel in hand on the practice fields. He had the belly and shining crimson nose of a drinking man, though, and the duke couldn’t help but notice the half-empty crystal decanter of clear liquor sitting conveniently near the governor’s silver coffee set.
“Duke Oliver Wellesley,” boomed the governor, forcing what he must have thought passed for a smile onto his face. “It’s good to see you, Oliver. What’s it been, two years?”
“About right, Governor.”
“Sit, sit,” said the man, gesturing to a comfortable looking set of rattan chairs. “I’ll call for refreshments. It’s morning still, right, so coffee? It’s one thing we have that’s finer than even the best clubs in Enhover can provide. On the atoll, it’s straight from the plantation.”
“It’s afternoon, m’lord,” remarked Oliver.
“Ah,” muttered the governor, glancing at a rack beside the door. He seemed to be weighing the need to gather his coat for an afternoon meeting with a duke versus the comfort of remaining in his shirtsleeves.
“Punch, if you have it, would go down well,” mentioned Oliver. “We’ve been on sailor’s rations on the airship. A bit of grog gets them between berths, but it’s not my preferred pour.”
“Punch? Perfect,” said the governor. He picked up a small silver bell and rang it sharply before following the duke and Sam to the rattan chairs. The big man sat down then seemed to notice Sam for the first time. “Apologies, m’lady, I…”
“She’s a representative of the Church,” said Oliver. “Priestess Samantha… Samantha. She’s assisting me on my errand at the behest of Bishop Yates.”
“That old fish,” rumbled Governor Dalyrimple, sitting back in his chair, evidently satisfied that if Sam was no lady, he needn’t greet her as such. “What’s his interest in Archtan Atoll? We have a Church here, but I can’t say it’s much attended. Away from their wives, the men don’t feel such a pressing urge to confess any sins, I suppose. That or the hangovers keep ‘em in their beds!”
Oliver gave the obligatory chuckle to the man’s jest, but he didn’t answer his question. Not yet. Instead, he floated his own. “On the way in, it looked like the marines are preparing for action?”
A servant ducked a head in, and the governor requested a pitcher of punch then turned to Oliver and Sam. “You’ve heard about our little squabbles, then, have you? It’s been years since we’ve had trouble in the atoll, but we’ve got it now.”
“Pirates, is it?” asked Oliver. “That’s the squabble you’re referring to?”
“Aye, pirates,” agreed the governor. “I’m surprised word has spread so far, to be honest. It’s a nuisance, but if I can get Commander Ostrander to sail, it’s one we can resolve easily enough on our own. Has word reached the capital, then, that we’re dealing with some brigandry?”
“We only heard when we landed,” replied the duke. He eyed Sam out of the corner of his eye and drew a deep breath before continuing. “I want to hear more about that, but before I do, there is something I must tell you.”
The servant returned with a pitcher of punch and set of cups, and Oliver shifted uncomfortably as the governor eyed him curiously. Oliver waited until the servant left the room before sharing his news.
“Your wife, she… she’s passed away.”
Dalyrimple frowned.
“She was in Enhover,” added Oliver. “Did you know?”
“I did,” said the governor, rubbing a hand across his mustache and leaning back to stare at the exposed ceiling beams above them.
“I understand this is shocking news,” consoled Oliver. “I want you to know that both my family and the Company share your grief. We thought it best if someone… someone you know was able to deliver the news.”
“I appreciate that,” replied the governor.
He fell silent when his servant returned with a heavy silver tray filled with bits of cheese, dried fruits, and nuts. The man left without word, and Oliver sat forward.
“If I may ask, Sebastian, why was the countess in Enhover? We were unable to determine that during the investigation.”
“Investigation?” asked the governor.
“The circumstances of her death were unusual,” replied the duke.
The governor shifted in his chair, the rattan creaking under his weight, and he poured and gulped a cup of punch, finishing it quickly and then pouring himself another. He didn’t meet Oliver’s gaze until his cup was refilled.
“The pirate threat,” he claimed. “Hathia worried about the danger these… these ravagers posed. We spoke and both thought it would be best if she were to leave the tropics and go home, at least for a time. She was to return when things settled down, if they do. If that coward Commander Ostrander musters his men and rids us of this plague.”
The big man’s fist was clenched around his cup, and for a moment, Oliver worried he’d crush the thing.
Sam shifted, and he looked at her. She raised an eyebrow at him but remained silent. She didn’t need words to communicate the oddity of the governor’s reaction.
“Do you think, while you’re here, you can speak to the man?” asked Dalyrimple. “He might listen to you.”
“Certainly,” offered Oliver. “Governor
, your wife fled to Enhover to escape the pirate threat?”
“Of course,” muttered the man. “That’s what I said, isn’t it?”
Oliver looked to Sam again then turned back to the governor. “We first heard of the problems while walking through town. These pirates have taken a few ketches?”
“A few!” exclaimed Dalyrimple. “They’ve taken three ketches, two cutters, and they’ve nearly shut down commerce on the outlying islands. The pirates are probing us, testing what we’re willing to do. So far, it’s not much. If we don’t hit them hard, hit them in their lair, they’ll only grow bolder. Bolder and stronger. Each prize they take increases their wealth, brings them new weapons, and an argument to recruit more of their ilk. By next summer, I don’t doubt they’ll be threatening us here behind the walls. It’s intolerable!”
“Governor,” said the duke, “I saw half a dozen airships docked when we arrived. Surely they’re capable of—”
“You’re damn right they are!” barked the governor. “It’s that lazy coward Ostrander who’s the problem. He should be removed. Believe me, if we go another week without action, I’ll be writing the admiral myself. He doesn’t think I’ll do it, but I will!”
Oliver sipped at his punch, confused and concerned. “M’lord, I do not mean to judge anyone’s actions here, as I don’t have the facts, but what has been done? Before we left, not a word of this had reached Enhover. Neither the Company nor the Crown was aware of this problem.”
Governor Dalyrimple snorted. “Ostrander doesn’t want to let his superiors know what a coward he is, if you ask me. Admiral Brach would tell him to roll up his sleeves and get the job done.”
“You asked Ostrander to bring in more troops, and he… he didn’t?” questioned Oliver.
“I don’t know what the man’s done or not done,” growled Dalyrimple. “All I know, the corsairs are there, taking our ships, and he’s here, hiding behind the walls of my compound. He’s probably getting drunk all day.”
The governor sat forward and poured himself another cup of punch.
“Perhaps I should speak with him immediately,” offered Oliver.
“He’s just across the courtyard,” replied the governor, “sitting in his office, I suspect, like he does every day.”
Oliver stood, placing his half-empty cup back down on the tray. “If it’s all right with you, I’ll go see him right now, then.”
“Good luck,” muttered the governor.
“I-I’m sorry about your wife,” offered Oliver.
The governor was staring down into his cup and did not respond. Oliver took it as his cue and waved for Sam to follow him out of the room.
“Well, that’s about the strangest conversation I’ve ever overheard,” remarked Sam once they’d closed the door on the governor’s office. “Do you think… do you think the man’s gone mad?”
“I don’t know what to think,” responded Oliver. “I can only hope that this Commander Ostrander can shed some light on what is going on around here.”
“Commander Ostrander,” said the neatly dressed royal marine who’d escorted them through the barracks. “This man claims to be… What was it, m’lord? A duke?”
Ostrander, a dark-haired man with vivid green eyes, wasn’t more than a year or two the duke’s senior. He looked up from behind a leaning pile of parchment.
“A duke—” The commander stood abruptly the moment his eyes found Oliver. He offered a quick bow. “M’lord, we didn’t have word you were coming to Archtan Atoll. I’m sorry. If I’d known, I would have met you at the airship bridge.”
“I didn’t send word,” remarked Oliver. “I just arrived with Captain Haines today. We are coming from meeting with the governor.”
A shadow fell across Commander Ostrander’s face and he waved off the enlisted man who’d escorted them into his office. Ostrander stepped around his desk and motioned to a serving tray covered in crystal glasses, a bowl of sliced citrus, and decanters filled with liquor. “A tonic?”
Oliver nodded, and the commander started to pour.
“M’lady,” he said, pausing. “Shall I call for wine, water… anything that I can provide you?”
“I’d like a real drink, Commander,” replied Sam. “I’m not a lady.”
“She’s with the Church, a priestess,” explained Oliver again. “Apparently they’re allowed to drink.”
“We don’t get many representatives from the Church out here,” remarked Ostrander, finishing his pour and passing out glasses. “Come, let’s sit outside and see if we can catch an early evening breeze.”
Oliver followed the man out, taking advantage of the commander’s turned back to adjust the neck of his shirt, trying to get some air across his sweating body.
“How did you find the governor?” asked Ostrander, leaning against the railing of his porch and sipping his drink.
“We had bad news for him, I’m afraid,” replied Oliver. “I’m not sure if that’s what upset him or if it was something else. To be honest, Commander, he did not have kind words about you.”
“He wants me to chase after these pirates of his,” responded Ostrander, “though why he’s so eager now when he wouldn’t hear a word of the threat a month ago, I cannot tell you.”
“I was told they’ve taken some prizes,” said Oliver. “Archtan Atoll enjoys the protection of the Crown. Why haven’t you hunted these raiders down?”
“They’ve taken some prizes and some prisoners,” explained the commander. “They’ve been operating for, oh, a year and a half now, but the governor didn’t show a bit of interest before. It wasn’t until three weeks ago that suddenly, he calls me in one morning and demands I take care of it.”
“Take care of it?” asked Oliver.
“Governor Dalyrimple has requested that we find the lair of the corsairs and proceed to bomb it until there’s nothing left,” said Ostrander. “The buildings burned to ash, the sand blasted until it melts to glass, that sort of destruction. I’ve resisted, stating that until we know the disposition of the crews of those captured ships, it’s irresponsible to make such a rash attack. The prizes weren’t Company or Crown vessels, just local traders and two down from the Vendatt Islands under the flag of the United Territories. You’re right, Archtan Atoll is under the Crown and my men’s protection, but these ships were not. Of course we have a responsibility to maintain order in the region, but without knowing the condition of the hostages, I’ve been hesitant to act. You can imagine the uproar we’d hear from the United Territories if it turned out we destroyed the corsair’s lair along with dozens of their people. Until either a citizen of Enhover is under direct threat or we know the condition of potential hostages, I cannot attack, m’lord.”
Oliver frowned, sipping at his drink.
“For over a year, I asked Governor Dalyrimple to parlay with the pirates, to gather intelligence on their motives, operations, and the fate of the hostages. With that information, I’d have no hesitation about forming a plan of attack. Without it…”
“If the corsairs took men as part of their prize, then surely there’s been a demand for ransom,” mused the duke. “What has Governor de Bussy said? Has Finavia had any demands in exchange for her people?”
Commander Garret shrugged. “Governor Dalyrimple has refused to contact de Bussy, and as a commander in the marines, it’s out of my scope to treat directly with a foreign power. Dalyrimple says if there’s been no contact between the corsairs and de Bussy, it will make us look weak and encourage the Finavians to conduct their own privateering in these seas.”
Oliver frowned. “Have you contacted Admiral Brach? What is his opinion on this?”
“I’ve sent messages but had no response,” claimed Commander Ostrander.
“For how long?” wondered Oliver.
“Several months,” said Ostrander. “I first wrote three, maybe four months ago.”
“That doesn’t—”
“The men have six-month deployments,” interjected Ostrander. “I�
�m stationed here indefinitely, but the men turn over every six months. It’s only then that a fresh ship from the royal fleet arrives. Until then, all of our correspondence is handled by Company ships and Company men.”
Oliver blinked. “Are you suggesting that the Company declined to deliver your message?”
The commander tossed back his drink. “All I am saying, m’lord, is that I have not gotten a response from Admiral Brach.”
“But… why would anyone from the Company want to interfere with your communications?”
“The governor has refused to allow military involvement in negotiations with the pirates,” answered Ostrander. “What discussions has he had? I don’t know. All I know is that the sudden pressure to simply locate and obliterate the corsair’s stronghold feels wrong to me, m’lord, and Governor Dalyrimple will offer no explanation on why he abruptly changed from disinterested to bloodthirsty. We could do it, sure enough, but why would we not gather information first? We’ve already waited a year. What’s another week or two?”
“Are you prepared to act if you were assured no hostages are in danger?” asked Oliver. “Are your men ready for action?”
“If you’re the one who gives us assurance, we’re ready,” replied Commander Ostrander. “I welcome the involvement of a higher authority, from both Crown and Company. Truth, m’lord, it is good to see you here.”
“Commander, I’m no higher up in the Company than the governor,” reminded Oliver, “and this is still a Company colony under Company administration.”
“No higher than the governor? Perhaps you should be.”
“You don’t need to flatter me, Ostrander,” chided Oliver.
“I meant…” mumbled the commander before trailing off. He raised his glass then saw it was empty and lowered it. “It’s not my place to say, m’lord, but Archtan Atoll is my home. My wife and children are here. I don’t have a financial stake like a Company officer would, but I have a personal one in how well this colony is run.”
“Ah,” said Oliver. “I understand.”
“You can call it however you like on the leadership of the Company’s administration, m’lord,” added Commander Ostrander, “but when it comes to the royal marines, we answer to the king and his agents. We’ll do whatever you ask, Duke Wellesley.”