HMS Nightingale (Alexis Carew Book 4) Page 10

  Villar shook his head in wonder. “Over a million pounds value.”

  “There’s all sorts of refiners and processors take a piece along the way, sir,” Brace said.

  “No doubt.” Alexis set the bar she held back in the crate. “See that’s sealed up again, Mister Villar.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  “And we’ll have a pair of Marines full time at the hatch.” Alexis frowned. “I’ll want you aboard as part of the prize crew, yourself, Brace, to watch over things.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  She sighed. “And we must seek to manage the crew’s expectations, gentlemen — both the spacers and Marines alike. With this much involved there’ll be complications, no doubt, and I’ll not have them dividing a million by the crew’s two eighths and planning their lives on it.”

  Thirteen

  7 October, aboard HMS Nightingale, darkspace, enroute to Zariah System

  “Boosun, sar!” Clanly, the Marine outside Alexis’ quarters, called to her.

  She looked up from her desk and frowned, wondering just what the man had said. After a moment she deciphered it, though she did begin to wonder if that was indeed Clanly’s accent or if the man was somehow playing tricks on her.

  “Send him in, Clanly.” Alexis waited until the hatch was shut again. “Yes, Mister Ousley?”

  The bosun grimaced, cast his eyes to the deck, and took a large breath.

  “More, is it?” Alexis asked.

  Ousley’s breath left him and he seemed to deflate.

  “Afraid it is, sir.”

  Alexis sighed. They were three days from Zariah, sailing back from the Remada Straits with their prize — the Greenaway, as some unpurged files and documents aboard the ship had revealed.

  Under normal circumstances, she’d have sent a prize crew aboard under Midshipman Spindler and have him sail Greenaway back to Zariah then wait there for Nightingale’s return after patrolling the rest of the systems she was responsible for.

  A million and more pounds worth of gallenium was not normal circumstances.

  Instead, Villar was in command of the prize with a crew of Nightingale’s most reliable hands, such as they were, along with Corporal Brace and half the Marines to keep watch over the hold, and both ships were returning to Zariah together. Though she longed to finally get to Dalthus and see her home and family again, Greenaway’s cargo was one she felt she had to oversee herself.

  Unfortunately, Villar’s absence left a hole she hadn’t expected. It was usually the first lieutenant’s task to deal with any issues amongst the crew which couldn’t be dealt with by a kick or cuff from the bosun and didn’t rise to the level of a formal captain’s mast. Truly serious matters would rise to the captain’s attention and be dealt with at mast, but that was official, and it was far better to handle minor issues unofficially. Without the captain’s official notice.

  With Villar gone, though, she didn’t feel she could pass that responsibility on to Spindler. Though neither midshipman was yet a commissioned officer, at least Villar had the benefit of age and having, at least temporarily, commanded Nightingale himself. The crew would accept things from him that they wouldn’t from the far younger Spindler. Which left Alexis in the position of having to deal with some matters without officially noticing them.

  “What is it this time?”

  “Fighting, sir,” Ousley said. “Cosgrove and Scarborough.”

  Alexis frowned. Cosgrove was a weedy, middle-aged man, barely suited to life aboard ship, while Scarborough was one of the harder men. It seemed odd that Cosgrove would stand up to the larger, tougher man at all, much less fight him long enough for Ousley to find out about it.

  “Over what, do you know?”

  Ousley nodded. “Gambling, sir.” He shrugged. “My mates and me, we’re trying to keep it down, but there’s more games going since we took that ship, and more fights over them. This one … well, sir, it’s that Cosgrove had a knife in hand when I come across them.”

  “A knife? That’s cause for a captain’s mast, Mister Ousley, not something I can overlook. What brought that on?”

  Most fights aboard ship, where rough, hard men were thrust into close quarters with one another, were still simple things. A scuffle, a blow or two exchanged, a bruise or bloodied nose, and then done with. Fights over gambling tended to be more serious, and the gambling itself was discouraged, but for one combatant to have a knife in hand made it far more serious. That rose to attempted murder, which under the Articles, like so many other things, was punishable by death if the captain chose.

  The physical punishments aboard ship, such as flogging or the rare hanging, might seem harsh or cruel to those in the Core worlds, but many Fringe worlds had similar consequences built into their charters. For a new colony with few settlers and virtually no infrastructure, devoting time, manpower, and resources to imprisonment or rehabilitation simply wasn’t possible. Even older, more settled worlds lacked the necessary resources to devote to such things and would frequently resort to transporting offenders as indentures, shifting their problem to some other world.

  Alexis didn’t even have that option. Nightingale’s patrols would take her days or weeks of sailing from any world at all, and none of the worlds she’d frequent had a permanent Naval presence. The most developed was Zariah, and that with only a civilian prize court, entirely unrelated to Naval discipline. Even Zariah was a month’s sail from the nearest system with a port admiral and the Navy wouldn’t tolerate her leaving her patrol area for so long just for a problem of discipline amongst the crew.

  No, it was expected that Alexis, as the ship’s commander, would deal with it herself, and they’d given her the power to do so. In a strict reading of the regulations, a captain couldn’t order more than two dozen lashes for an offense, nor hang a man without assembling a full court martial of three captains, but with the war on and the fleet stretched so thin, even those protections had been relaxed. That some captains might abuse the power was generally overlooked, unless the offenses were particularly egregious.

  She closed her eyes and rubbed her temples for a moment.

  “Bring them in.”

  Ousley returned to the hatch and motioned two men through. A pair of his mates came along, holding the men’s arms, despite their hands being bound before them. Both came to stand by Alexis’ desk, Cosgrove with a nervous manner, looking down at the deck and refusing to meet Alexis’ gaze, Scarborough more confident, shoulders straight, though he, too, kept his eyes downcast.

  “Cosgrove and Scarborough, sir,” Ousley announced.

  The two men stood on the other side of her table, eyes downcast.

  “What was this all about then?” Alexis asked.

  Cosgrove muttered something and Ousley cuffed the back of his head.

  “Speak up, so the captain can hear you!”

  “He’s a cheat! A bloody cheat!” Cosgrove pointed at Scarborough.

  Alexis sighed. Well, of course he would be — it was a small step from extorter to gambling cheat, and likely the one preceded the other. She’d like to have taken this opportunity to punish Scarborough for all he was involved with, but couldn’t when the other man had drawn a knife.

  “I ain’t no cheat!” Scarborough put in. “He owes fair and square!”

  “Lads, there’re games enough going on aboard ship, I know, this can’t be —”

  “Took ten thousand pound off’n me!” Cosgrove yelled, trying to lash out at Scarborough, despite cuffs around his wrists and the master’s mate holding his arms.

  Alexis’ eyes widened, as did Ousley’s and his mates’. Gambling amongst the crew was common, but usually for very small sums, if there was actual coin involved at all — for the most part, the stakes were a share of the spirits issue or trades of the more onerous duties aboard ship. Ten thousand pounds was, well, it was a ridiculous sum for a common spacer to even speak of, much less wager.

  “Bloody gallenium.” Alexis rubbed her temples where she felt yet another h
eadache forming. “Mister Ousley, assemble the crew, if you will. It appears I’ll have to explain some things to them.”

  “Lads,” Alexis began once the men were assembled, “there’re rumors running rampant about the cargo on that ship and we need to set them to rest now.”

  “Gallenium!” one of the men yelled.

  “Bloody fortune!”

  “Have y’eard what we’ll get fer it? That why we’re here?”

  “Quiet down!” Ousley bellowed.

  When they were quiet again, Alexis wasn’t quite sure what to say. Of course there’d been rumors about the cargo, that sort of thing couldn’t be stopped — so she couldn’t tell them there was no gallenium aboard the other ship, they’d know that to be a lie. Nor could she tell them how much the Prize Court would award, for she didn’t know herself. She did know it would be far less than the value and far less than these men were dreaming of — and gambling on.

  That, at least, she could address.

  “First of all, we’ve no idea what the Prize Court on Zariah will award for that ship. Most likely the numbers in your head are phantoms — no more tied to reality than Creasy’s Dutchman, eh?”

  That at least got a chuckle for the crew.

  “You’ve all seen the prize court at work — they’re not the most efficient, are they?” That got mutters and nods of agreement. “It could be months or more before they render a judgment, and the sums involved —”

  No, she couldn’t make the argument that there was so much they’d be getting that they should risk the prize agents on Zariah and sell their certificates before the final judgment was rendered. That would start them speculating all over again.

  “We don’t know what the sums involved are. The ship’s not even a proper prize, more likely salvage, and you know how the Prize Court has its fingers into everything. The gallenium’s raw, not properly processed like what the prices are quoted for. It’ll have to go through a lot of hands before it can be sold at that price, and you know what that means from other prize cargoes, right?”

  “Hands full of sticky bloody fingers!” one of the men yelled.

  “Yes,” Alexis agreed. “They’ll all take a piece, so the ore’s worth less than those numbers you’ve all been thinking. Much less, I’d wager.”

  There were at least a few nods in the crowd.

  “And as for wagering, I’ll not have it. Not for these sums and not on my ship.” She nodded to Brace, who had his Marines warned and at the ready. This next bit wouldn’t sit well with some. “Some of you have been wagering outrageous sums based on this phantom — well, no more. I’m telling you now, that all wagers, won or lost, since we found that ship are void.” Many of the crew looked up at that, slow grins starting to grow on their faces. “All of them — large or small — and no more gambling until we’ve left Zariah and have at least some idea of the sums involved.

  “And no payments for past debts, either,” she said, going one better. If she could use this to hurt Scarborough and his band further, then she would. “No sippers or gulpers at Up Spirits, until we’ve transitioned from Zariah space again. Those debts, those legitimate debts, you’ll still owe once we leave, but there’ll be no collecting until then.”

  Most, if not all, of the crew looked quite happy at that, only the cohort of extorters looked displeased. Perhaps, if the crew got a taste of their full spirits ration, they’d not allow those four to go back to their ways.

  At least she’d have a more orderly crew until they reached Zariah. After that … well, with the sums involved, even with all the sticky fingers, she’d be lucky if she had a crew at all. If the payout on that cargo was half what she suspected it really would be, most of the crew would run as soon as they had their prize certificates in hand.

  Sell those for a fraction, which’ll still be a fortune, and bribe some merchantman sailing for far, far away from New London. The risk of running was high, they’d be severely punished if taken up by a Royal Navy ship again, but the reward …

  Why risk death or injury aboard ship when you’ve a life’s fortune in hand?

  Fourteen

  10 October, Zariah Station

  “Nine hundred pounds?” Alexis stared at the Prize Court’s agent, Edric Bramley, in astonishment. She shook her head. “There must be some mistake.”

  Bramley frowned. He was a fat, florid man, with little hair and hooded eyes. His offices were large and busy, with a number of clerks all hunched over their desks. He acted as factor for several merchants, in addition to being agent for the Prize Court.

  “In what way, Lieutenant … Carew, was it?”

  “Yes, sir. Carew.”

  Bramley’s frown deepened. “Why do I know that name? Have we met before, lieutenant?”

  “I don’t believe so, sir, no.”

  “No matter, I suppose.” He shook his head. “In any case, I did think you’d be pleased that the Court would act so quickly.” He ran his finger over his desktop. “Barely three hours’ time since you filed your claim and we already have a resolution — a firm resolution, I might add.”

  “Yes, sir, the speed with which you’ve resolved this is indeed gratifying, but the amount —”

  “I assure you it’s all in order, lieutenant. The ship’s not a war prize, after all, merely retrieved salvage. Luckily for you and your crew, the shipping company has a factor right here on Zariah who was quick enough to approve a standard settlement.” He slid a list of figures across his desktop to Alexis. “The ship’s valuation is clear — insured at some four thousand six hundred eighty-two pounds. A salvaged return to the owner at twenty-five percent … less the Prize Courts twenty percent cost for adjudicating salvage … leaves a net of nine hundred thirty-six pounds for you and your crew.” Bramley smiled. “Not a bad bit of business for the few weeks you’ve been gone from Zariah, eh, lieutenant?”

  “Yes, Mister Bramley, the matter of the ship itself seems in order,” Alexis said. It was less than they’d receive from a warship or pirate, taken in action, but she’d expected that, “but is there not still the matter of the cargo?”

  Bramley looked perplexed.

  “Cargo?”

  Alexis nodded. “Yes — some eighteen hundred kilograms of gallenium aboard Greenaway?”

  Bramley stared at her for a moment, then his eyes widened.

  “Oh! Oh, yes, I do see …” He paused. A long pause through which Alexis resisted the urge to hurry him along. “You’re unaware, then?”

  “It would appear so.” Alexis had a sinking feeling in her stomach. She’d warned the crew there might be some difficulty, what with the huge value of the cargo, but this sounded like far more than a difficulty.

  “Well, it was made easier to determine this by the shipowner’s factor being on station, you understand.”

  “I still do not, Mister Bramley.”

  Bramley pursed his lips. “The cargo … the gallenium … you see, was under contract by the Crown. From the mines themselves, you understand. Greenaway, the ship you salvaged, was merely the conveyance, the shipowner was not the owner of the cargo, you see?”

  “The owner of the gallenium …” Alexis closed her eyes and taking a deep breath as she saw Bramley’s meaning.

  “Is the Crown, yes. So you do see?”

  Alexis nodded, shoulders slumping. “And there being no rights of salvage for a Queen’s ship, nor for the Queen’s property.”

  Bramley smiled and nodded. “Not for getting Her Majesty Her own property back, no.”

  Alexis stared at him for a moment, then covered her face with her hands.

  “Bloody bollocks.”

  The long walk back to the station’s quayside seemed funereal. Alexis was at a loss for what to tell the crew — she’d tried to prepare them for far less than the rumors aboard Nightingale suggested, but this?

  She took a boat from there, rather than calling for one of Nightingale’s, and was surprised to find that the pilot was the same who’d first carried her to Nightingale, tho
ugh she shouldn’t have been, as there was not so much traffic in the system that more than a few private boatmen could make a living at it.

  The man remembered Alexis, too, and tried to strike up a conversation while they made their way to the ship — ships, as Greenaway was still at rest very near Nightingale — but she couldn’t remember a moment later what he asked or what, if anything, she answered. Her thoughts were wholly on her crew and how she could possibly explain the Prize Court’s decision.

  Once aboard ship, she went immediately to her quarters and called for Villar, Spindler, Brace, and Ousley. They assembled around her table, at first with expectant looks on their faces while Isom served wine, then with troubled looks as Alexis said nothing and they took in the expression on her face. When the wine was served, Alexis raised her glass, drained it in one gulp to fortify herself, and broke the news.

  “Gentlemen … the gallenium is property of the Crown, purchased directly at the mines, and is neither a prize nor salvageable. As a Queen’s ship, it was Nightingale’s duty to recover it … I suppose we shall have a note or two in our files ensuring Her Majesty’s gratitude and such …” She drew a deep breath, “… but there’s not a single pence in the lot of it for us. Only a bit over nine hundred pounds for the ship itself.”

  There was silence for a moment.

  “Bloody bollocks,” Ousley muttered. His eyes widened. “Begging your pardon, sir.”

  “My own sentiments exactly, Mister Ousley.” Alexis heard voices from the hatch to her pantry. “Isom, Garcia, not a bloody word of this to the crew before we’ve sorted out how to tell them, do you hear? I know how word of everything gets about aboard ship, but I’ll have none of it with this.”

  A muffled, “Aye, sir” came from the pantry before Isom appeared with a tray of spirits bottles and glasses. Alexis watched as her officers drained their glasses and set them aside without another word. Isom had rightly determined that they’d all require something stronger to deal with the news.