Mutineer (11 page)

She felt a wetness against her cheek and sat up abruptly, wiping at her face.

“Oh …” She stared at the wet spot of drool staining the chest of Cort’s silk robe and grimaced.

“Aye, lass, an’ y’snore nae a little bit.”

Alexis smoothed her jumpsuit, tugging things into place — anything, really, to avoid looking at him.

Cort laughed and reached out to take her hand and squeeze it. “Trust me, lass, a man’ll put up w’both drool an’ snorin’ fer you.”

Alexis felt her face grow hot, both from his touch and his words. She glanced up and met his eye, lip caught between her teeth. She had a feeling she might one day regret doing no more than talk with Cort Blackmon.
Especially if he’s as skilled at … other things as he is at listening.

For he was remarkably good at listening, giving her his full attention and just letting her speak, without forever trying to interject solutions. Occasionally he’d prompted her with a comment or question, but for the most part had let her work her thoughts out on her own.

Though he had answered her questions readily enough regarding those matters she was curious about. Such as the workings of the houses and the ladies who worked the naval port. She had a better understanding now, she thought, of the men who’d send most of their pay home to wife and family then spend the rest on a portside bawd.
A bit of comfort’s welcome, far from home.

She swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood, frowning at how rumpled her jumpsuit was.

“I should be getting back to check on the lads,” she said.

Cort nodded and stood, retrieving her beret from a corner of the compartment. Alexis paused in pulling on her boots, remembering the rather obscene rant she’d been on about Captain Neals when she’d thrown it there. He rounded the end of the bed to hand her the beret.

“Droolin’ an’ snorin’ an’ profane oaths,” he said with a teasing grin. “Powerful lot o’ bad habits fer sich a tiny package.”

Alexis pulled her boot on and accepted the beret. She stood and grasped the mostly empty bottle of bourbon from the table. “You’ve left off the drinking,” she said, answering his grin with one of her own.

“Drinks nae a bad habit, lass. The bloody Navy sails on it.”

* * * * *

Alexis made her way back to the pub, uncomfortably aware of her appearance.

A midshipman roaming the corridors in the station’s early morning with a rumpled jumpsuit and tousled hair all astray, for she’d lost the tie for her usual ponytail at some point, and a nearly empty bottle of whiskey clutched in her hand.
I’ll be lucky if I’m not taken up by the Station Patrol before I get there.

She managed to make it back, though the looks she received from other officers made her cringe, and almost sighed with relief as the pub’s hatch slid closed behind her. Nabb and a half dozen or so of the crew were up and about their breakfast.

“Are y’ all right, Mister Carew?” Nabb asked.

Alexis smiled at the concern in his voice. “Quite all right, Nabb,” she assured him. “I’ve just had a fine evening out.” She cleared her throat seeing a couple of the lads look from her to their breakfasts and back with raised eyebrows. “Everything all right with the lads?”

“No troubles, sir. All back by the start o’ the Morning Watch an’ time in the sleep pods is settled.”

“Thank you, Nabb.” She bit her lip at the implication. She herself was returning almost five bells into the Morning Watch, though as an officer she wasn’t strictly required to be adhere to the schedule she set for the crew. Still, she wondered what the lads would think of it. She crossed to the bar and set the bottle of bourbon on it.

“Would you keep this someplace safe for me?” she asked the publican. At his nod, she turned back to Nabb and ran her hands over her hair, trying to get it into some sort of order. “I’ll just …” She headed for the hatch to the sleeping pods and heads. “I’ll just freshen up a bit and we’ll see what needs doing today.”

“Aye sir.”

Alexis slid the hatch to the pods and heads closed behind her, ignoring the comment she heard one of the spacers, Scholer, make.

“‘at’s a proper spacer, her.”

“Are you Carew?”

Alexis looked up from her tablet and the plate of breakfast, the pub they’d found for their berthing served a respectable plate of sausage and beans, to find a lieutenant beside her table. She’d been reviewing the ships in-system. There were but five days left on Admiral Piercy’s promised fortnight and she was beginning to allow herself to hope that
Hermione
would not show. She hadn’t said anything to the men about the chance of being sent to another ship, though, as she didn’t want to get their hopes up.

“Yes, sir, I am,” she said, standing. She caught sight of the Station Patrol insignia on the lieutenant’s uniform and her shoulders slumped. “Drunk or fighting?”
And, please, let it be one of those and not the third over breakfast.

In the nine days they’d been on station, not a one had gone past without the Station Patrol dragging some of her lads back to the pub. It was an expected thing for ships in port, but Alexis had never had to deal with the aftermath directly. She began to understand why some captains would keep the men aboard ship, or at least limit the time they had for liberty.

The most common reason was drunkenness — meaning so implausibly drunk that the spacer had actually stopped drinking, for no pub owner would think to call the Patrol on an active patron. A distant second was fighting — distant not because the lads got into few fights, but because fights were so common that the Patrol simply wasn’t called unless the pub owner felt the property damage was excessive and couldn’t be settled up privately. Those two were the most common reasons for the Patrol to ask for her, but she held a special dread for the third. Six times now a spacer had been brought back over a contract dispute with one of the station’s ladies of negotiable virtue. ‘Negotiable’ being the sticking point, and Alexis found it rather uncomfortable to stand there with a Patrol lieutenant and no few marines while one of her lads explained exactly what he felt he’d negotiated and not received. The sheer variety was enlightening, though.

She’d even had to begin holding her own little Captain’s Mast each day, assembling the men and assigning punishments to the three or four who’d been brought back by the Patrol in the previous twenty-four hours. Usually confinement to the pub for a day and an assignment to clean it spotless. The publican had looked askance the first time her spacers had grabbed buckets and headed for his kitchen, but now he seemed to eagerly await the results of each day’s gathering. He’d be sad to see them go, she suspected, for her group had not only filled the ten sleeping pods the publican kept, but took many of their meals there as well.

She’d even been able to negotiate a reasonable price. Sixpence per man each day bought them the use of all ten sleeping pods, a breakfast of beans and sausage, a dinner of soup and bread, each with half a pint of beer, and the publican’s wife had thrown in a laundry day each week.

And lucky I could draw them an extra uniform from the station’s quartermaster, or it’d be a sight on laundry day.

“Neither, Mister Carew,” the lieutenant said, unsmiling. “This one’s tried to run.”

Alexis’ eyes widened in shock. “Where is he?”

“Outside,” the lieutenant said, nodding toward the pub’s hatchway.

Alexis hurried past him and into the corridor. Isom was there, arms held by two marines, head hanging and blood running down his chin.

“What happened to him?”

“Spouted some rot about the regulations and my boys shut him up.”

Alexis clenched her teeth. If Isom had spouted anything in the regulations, he was most likely right and this lieutenant a fool, but there’d be little gained in arguing it.

“Would you bring him in, please,” she said to the marines, “and set him down.”

“I only brought him here to inform you before taking him to the brig,” the lieutenant said. “I was expecting a captain when he said he was berthed here, not a midshipman.”

Alexis tried to smile. “I understand, Lieutenant …?”

“Garman.”

“Thank you, sir,” she said. “If we could only let him sit down while you and I sort this out, Lieutenant Garman? My ship hasn’t returned yet and Captain Neals left me in charge of the men in his absence.”
Which, strictly speaking, is the truth.

Garman frowned but nodded to the marines. They entered the pub and let Isom slump in a chair. The half dozen or so men who were having their breakfast looked up, curious about what had happened, but Alexis waved them away and they sat back down, but not before throwing a few dark looks toward the marines.

“Now, Lieutenant Garman, sir, may I offer you and your men a drink?” She caught the eye of the publican who grabbed glasses and came over to them.

Garman grunted, as though surprised to be offered something by a midshipman. “A glass of port wouldn’t go amiss, I suppose,” he said. “Beer for my men.”

Alexis nodded to the publican and waited until the three had been served. “May I ask what Isom did, sir?”

“Tried to leave the naval section of the station. Clearly planned to sign aboard some merchant and run.”

“Not runnin’,” Isom mumbled.

Alexis knelt in front of his chair and grasped his hands. She looked up into his battered face. “What were you after, Isom?”

“Tryin’ t’see Mis’er Grandy,” he mumbled, the words thick through his battered face. Alexis had no idea who Mister Grandy might be, but didn’t see that it mattered to the problem at hand.

“He had no pass from an officer, Carew,” Garman said. “He was trying to run.”

“Don’ need pass. No regulation.”

“I’m confused, sir,” Alexis said, turning to Garman. “
Is
there such a regulation?”

Garman frowned. “Well, it’s usual for them to have a pass, certainly — something that states their business and such. Don’t know that there’s a specific regulation, come to think on it.”

And you couldn’t be bothered to think on it before beating the man bloody?
“I see, sir.” Now it was Alexis’ turn to frown. “You see I have charge of these men until my ship returns, and Isom here wasn’t at all late for watch or checking in — he’s effectively on liberty.”

“He had your permission to hare off like that, then?”

“Rather I haven’t expressively forbidden it.” She resumed her seat. “The men have some prize money and we’re at loose ends until
Hermione
, our ship, returns. So long as they’re back here when I ask them to be and get into no more than the usual and expected bit of trouble, they’re free to do as they wish.”

Garman grunted. “I think you allow them too much license, Carew.”

“My captain may, as well, when he returns, Lieutenant Garman.” She smiled and spread her hands wide. “But if there’s no regulation violated and I don’t consider him to have run …”

“Hmph.” Garman drained his glass and stood. “No sense dragging him to the brig if you intend to say he had your permission to go where he did, I suppose.” He frowned. “I think you’ll regret it, though.” He nodded at Isom. “This one’ll run. He’s got the look about him.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant Garman. I’ll take that under consideration and review my dealings with the crew, for certain, sir.” Garman nodded and gestured for the two marines to follow him out. Alexis waited until the hatch had closed, then muttered, “And you’re welcome for the drink, you arrogant sot.” She turned back to Isom, who was trying to rise. “No,” she said, easing him back. “Sit still. Matheny! Broady! Come help Isom to the head and get him cleaned up.”

Isom shook his head. “Have to see Grandy.”

“We’ll talk about that after you’ve cleaned up and had a bit of a lie down. I promise.”

Isom nodded and the two other spacers draped an arm over his shoulders and helped him up. They went off into the back where the sleeping pods and head were while Alexis returned to her table. Her breakfast was cold and she hadn’t the appetite for it, in any case.

When Isom returned he was cleaner, still battered but not as bloody. Alexis gestured for him to sit and she nodded to Nabb who was standing nearby. “A bit of grog, I think Nabb,” she said. Isom sat hunched in the chair, head bowed and silent. Nabb brought a small mug of grog, watered rum and lime juice, to the table and set it before Isom.

“Thank you, sir.” Isom at the same time Alexis said, “Thank you, Nabb.”

Nabb stepped away and Alexis turned her attention to Isom. “Now, then, have a drink and tell me about it. What’s so important that it was worth a beating, for I believe you when you say you weren’t running.”

Isom looked up at her and took a long drink. “I was a legal clark on Uffington.”

“So you’ve said.”

“Well, sir, there’s a firm on Penduli, name of Grandy, Penthurst, and Dulle, sir. There was a property matter some time ago and I had an extended correspondence with Mister Grandy, you see.”

Alexis frowned. “So this was all about seeing some friend?”

“No, sir! Mister Grandy, he’s a full solicitor and I’m merely a clark … was a clark. No, sir —” He lowered his gaze again. “— just thought that, perhaps, Mister Grandy might…”

Alexis suddenly understood. “You think this Mister Grandy might be able to get you out of the Navy?”

Isom nodded, turning red. “It’s not that I think I’m better than the Service, sir …”

Alexis stood. “Isom, I’m sure you’re a fine legal clark, but if there were ever a man less suited to naval service than yourself, I should dearly wish not to make his acquaintance. Come on, man, don’t dally,” she said, gesturing for him to rise.

Isom looked at her in surprise.

“
Hermione
and Captain Grantham could return at any moment. If this Grandy’s to have a chance, we’d best be about it.”

Alexis led Isom to the nearest boat bay and booked them passage to the planet’s surface. While they waited, her initial enthusiasm began to wane as she asked him more questions, but she’d already committed to taking the man to Grandy’s offices.

“So there’s been no response from him to your messages?” she asked.

“No, sir, I’ve tried to call when we’re in port and sent him messages, but no response at all. I think …” He trailed off and stared at the deck. “Perhaps because messages are from a common spacer and not a clark at a law firm, he may not recognize me?”

Alexis doubted that. She had a moment’s thought that Isom’s messages might be affected by whatever had kept her from receiving hers as well, but he’d received responses from others he’d written to. The next boat came and they boarded for the short flight to Penduli’s surface.

They stepped off the boat onto a landing field covered in water from a persistent, light rain. Alexis looked around, wishing the day were clearer, for Penduli was a well-established planet with a population of over a hundred million. The main port itself had half a million permanent residents. She looked around in wonder, as some of the buildings lining the landing field were as much as ten stories tall — Dalthus rarely built above three, and that counting attic space.

She led Isom to the edge of the field where there were cars for hire, all ground vehicles, though the occasional air car darted through the space above them.

And not a horse in sight anywhere — what must the Core Worlds themselves be like?

They arrived at the address, a suite of offices on the fourth floor above a coffee house. A stunning young woman looked up from her console as they entered. She ran her eyes over the two of them, clearly taking in Alexis’ rank and Isom’s disheveled appearance. “May I help you in some way?” she asked.

Alexis took an instant dislike to the young woman. She’d seen that look on the faces of her peers on Dalthus, usually directed at some farmhand or shopkeeper. An instant appraisal, judgment, and dismissal as unworthy of further attention or any real courtesy. She forced her face into a smile.

“Yes, please. Mister Isom to see Mister Grandy, if it’s convenient.”

The woman pursed her lips into a delicate moue. “Oh,” she said. “I’m afraid that would be impossible. Mister Grandy is quite busy today.”

Alexis had a sudden understanding. Isom’s description of his correspondence with Mister Grandy had given the impression of a warm, jovial man. Not the sort who would ignore messages from a colleague’s former clark, even if the circumstances were somewhat unusual.

“I see,” Alexis said. “And you are the keeper of Mister Grandy’s schedule, I take it?”

The woman nodded, a self-satisfied smirk on her face. “If you’d like to leave a message, I’m sure we’ll contact you when Mister Grandy has an opening.”

Alexis nodded. “And you are the passer of Mister Grandy’s messages, as well, I assume?”

Another nod.

“Well, then,” Alexis said, settling herself into a nearby chair and gesturing for Isom to do so as well.

The woman looked confused for a moment. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Alexis pulled out her tablet and settled back in the chair, giving every impression that she intended to be there for some time. “Waiting for Mister Grandy,” she said.

“You can’t do that!”

“Dear,” Alexis said, “if you’re capable of a thought that’s at all beyond the ornamental, you’ll see clearly that I’m already doing so.”