Mutineer (23 page)

The marines were returning to the kitchen, having searched the ground floor, but she wanted to ensure it was only the officers above stairs. “
Domestique?
”

The woman snorted, nostrils flaring wide. “
Un!
” She grabbed her breast and waved a hand at the door. “
Pfft! Et deux!
” She grabbed her bottom and flung a hand at the door. “
Pfft! Et trois! Pfft! Pfft!
”

Alexis nodded, motioning for her to be quiet. She didn’t fully understand what the woman was saying, but took it to mean that there were no other servants in the house.

“Well,” Alexis said. “Now all we have to do is decide who’ll wake Captain Neals.”

* * * * *

In the end, she sent a marine to wake Lieutenant Williard, who woke the midshipmen and Mister Rochfort, and then sent Ledyard to wake the captain. He agreed with Alexis that the captain would not react well to being awakened by her or one of the marines, not after the mutiny and given his dislike of her personally. Ledyard soon returned with Captain Neals, who’d taken the time to dress himself in his full uniform before deigning to come downstairs, Wrigley and Patridge, his personal servant and his clerk, trailing behind.

Reina, the housekeeper, had introduced herself while they waited and busied herself with putting out plates of bread, cheese, and pastry for the marines. She even brewed coffee and spoke pleasantly to them as she poured. She understood some English, but spoke mostly French and Alexis was just as glad the marines spoke none of it as she overheard the woman pleasantly whisper, “
Tuer le petit bâtard premier.
”

‘Kill the little bastard first’? Good lord, what’s gone on in this house these last few months?
She was almost afraid of what might happen if the woman realized they weren’t here to harm
Hermione’s
officers as she seemed to think. And what were they to do with her when they left? She’d have to discuss it with Moberly and find some way to restrain her until they were well away.

“What nonsense are you about now, Carew?” Neals demanded as he entered the kitchen. His gaze slid to Reina. “Coffee, you stupid, Frog bitch, and be quick about it!”

“Captain Neals,” Alexis said. “I’ve found out that a Hanoverese fleet is coming. All the ships that were here have sailed to meet them and we’ve a chance to escape, sir.”

Neals looked at her for a moment, then shook his head. “A Hanoverese fleet? There’s already a Hanoverese fleet here, Carew. Many ships and a commodore, do you recall? That’s a fleet, girl.” He sighed heavily. “You’ve interrupted my sleep for this nonsense?” At the counter, Ledyard and Timpson smirked at her.

“Captain,” Williard said. “Mister Carew’s explained it to me while you were dressing, sir. Commodore Balestra’s fleet isn’t properly Hanoverese. It’s more of a … a local defense force, do you see? And the people of these systems, herself included, it seems, think of themselves more as French.”

“That much was obvious from the first, Mister Williard,” Neals said, “since the entire town speaks nothing but Frog.”

“Yes, sir,” Williard said, “but Commodore Balestra’s been called to meet a fleet from Hanover proper, do you see?
All
of her ships, sir, and
all
of her men.”

Neals narrowed his eyes and looked at Alexis. “Well, why didn’t you say so, Carew? All their warships are gone? You’re certain of this?”

Alexis fought down the urge to snap at him that she had, indeed, said so. Her time away from Neals, it seemed, had gotten her used to being in command of her men and not at all prepared for Neals’ abuse again. “Such is the information I have, sir,” she said, trying to keep her voice calm and respectful. “Bosun Lain has taken a few hands and some of Sergeant Moberly’s marines to take a hauler from a nearby farm. It’s my hope that —”

Neals’ face had grown pinched and red as she spoke. “
Bosun
Lain, Carew?”

Oh … bugger it, I’m done for now
. She hadn’t even thought of his reaction to the promotions she’d made, not in the middle of trying to escape.

“Lain is a bosun’s mate, Carew, and a poor one at that!” He turned his attention to Moberly. “And what’s this ‘sergeant’ nonsense, corporal? Kill off your superiors and make a jump for yourself, is that it?”

“No, sir,” Moberly said, clearly shaken at Neals’ words.

Alexis stepped forward. “Sir, the men were idle and needed direction, sir.” She thought frantically of how to phrase it. “I did the best I could as the only officer present, sir. I’m sure you’ll wish to review everything yourself, sir, as captain, but —” She glanced at Williard, hoping he’d step in.

“Yes, sir,” Williard added. “I’m sure you’ll wish to review everything Carew’s done in your absence … and correct what messes she’s made, sir, but with the time we have …” He shrugged. “The very little time we have, sir?”

Neals clenched his jaw. “Yes, I suppose.” He glared at Alexis. “I’ll expect a most thorough report of all your actions, Carew, once we’re aboard a ship and away from this bloody system. Now how many men do I have and what is our situation.”

Alexis started to answer, but Williard cut her off.

“Sir,” he said, his voice sounding unsure. He was reviewing his tablet. While Alexis’ had been taken from her, the paroled officers had retained theirs. They’d have no access to the Hanoverese networks, but could use them to authorize purchases and for any information stored on them. “Sir, there is a … difficulty.”

“What?” Neals snapped.

“Sir, I’ve been reviewing the regulations and, well, we, all of us except Mister Carew … well, we gave our parole, sir.”

“What of it, Mister Williard? Speak up, damn you, it was just a moment ago you spoke of limited time!”

Williard’s eyes remained on his tablet as he slid a finger over the screen. He swallowed heavily, as though not wanting to speak. “It’s only, sir, that our parole was to neither escape nor take up arms against Hanover for the duration of the war.”

“What are you saying, lieutenant?”

“Well, sir —” He cleared his throat. “— I’m reviewing the regulations as they pertain to parole, and … well, we gave our word not to escape …”

“That agreement surely doesn’t hold when the entire fleet of guards has flown off and left the system to us,” Neals said.

“I believe it does,” Williard said. “We agreed, sir, upon our honor, not to escape.”

Neals smiled. “But once we have,” he said, “what will the Hanoverese do about it, eh?”

Williard looked shocked — even the midshipmen looked askance at Neals. A gentleman’s word, a naval officer’s word, was supposed to be inviolate. Their honor had been pledged to the parole they’d agreed to.

“It’s not just our honor, sir,” Williard said. “If we break our parole … well, why would the Hanoverese trust the word of the next set of officers they capture? And what of the Queen, sir? As officers we represent Her Honor as well, do we not?”

“Damn you, Williard!” Neals almost shouted. “Are you telling me I should stay on this bloody rock because of some words I said to that jumped up whore Balestra?”

Williard took a step back from Neals. He looked around the room at the others. “Sir …” He trailed off and swallowed heavily. “Sir, as an officer and … and in my person as Lord Ashcroft, sir, I may not break my parole.” He paled but met Neals’ eye. “And I must advise you the same, sir.” He glanced down at his tablet again and hurried on. “But there may be a way …”

“Speak up!”

“Sir, we may not, none of us who gave our parole, escape. Not with our honor intact. But …” He looked at Alexis and then back at Neals, as though dreading his next words.

“Spit it out, man!”

“Sir, we may not escape, but we may be
rescued
.”

* * * * *

“Captain Neal’s mad, sir.”

Alexis nearly cried out with relief when Moberly squeezed in beside her and closed the door to the ground-truck’s driving compartment. With Simcoe set to drive them all back to the warehouse, she’d been afraid that Neals would insist on riding up front, but Moberly had announced that he’d need to supervise Simcoe — with the two of them, there was just enough room for Alexis in the middle. Neals and the other officers had been relegated to the truck’s open bed with the marines.

“Moberly ...” Alexis warned.

“Barkin’ mad, sir,” Moberly said. “I expect we’ll see him running wild and howling at the sky come the next full-moon night.”

Alexis struggled to maintain her composure. The stress of the day, the night, and, not less, the last quarter hour of listening to Captain Neals rant and harangue Lieutenant Williard over the thought of being ‘rescued’ by her — all of it had come together to put her on the very edge. The image of Neals baying at the moon was almost enough to put her over into hysterical laughter.

“That’s enough of that, Moberly,” she said instead. “He’s still the captain.”

“Not as Lieutenant Williard tells it, sir, least not as I heard him.”

No, Williard had been quite clear on the point, standing up to Neals no matter how angry the captain had become. None of the officers could participate in the escape, they could only follow. They could not be armed, could not fight, could give no orders, could not even offer advice — not without breaking their parole. The entire responsibility for getting them back to New London space would fall upon Alexis and the crew.

In a way she was grateful to Williard, for she had little confidence that Neals could manage it if he were in command. At the same time, she held no illusions about Williard’s motives. The man wanted to get home, and with his honor intact — he cared not one whit about Alexis or the men. In fact, the insistence that they “be rescued” protected not only the officers’ honor, but their very lives.

If the group was recaptured, Alexis and the men could be executed as escaped prisoners while Neals, Williard, and the midshipmen would at least have the argument to make that they were still on parole and only being “rescued”.

Alexis’ own status as an unparoled prisoner complicated things even more. If a New London force had stormed the system and released them, they’d have been free to arm themselves and fight from that moment. But Williard’s reading of the regulations and the wording of their parole was that Alexis didn’t qualify — only making contact with a
free
New London force would free them from the terms of their parole.

For Neals the prospect of having to stand aside and follow Alexis’ direction until they reached a New London system or made contact with the Fleet … well, Alexis had feared the captain would fall to the ground in an apoplectic fit before he’d finished venting his spleen on Williard.
And so much the easier for all of us if he only had.

If anything, Neals had been even angrier upon being informed that he would have to leave most of his personal effects and cabin furnishings behind. They’d been brought down from
Hermione
for him, along with the other officers’ chests and belongings, but there was no way it would all fit in the ground-truck — and no way Alexis would take the risk of bringing the hauler into town. Instead all of the officers had been limited to what they could stuff in makeshift bags and carry along with them.

“Get us back, Simcoe,” she said.

“Aye sir.”

She settled back for the ride, only now that her own part in retrieving the officers was done she began to worry about the men who’d gone off after the hauler. They should have arrived at the fields where she thought the hauler would return by now. Their return trip, if they were successful, would be much quicker. Quicker even than her little group in the ground-truck. If they hadn’t been successful then … well, that didn’t bear thinking on. For her and the men there was no turning back now. They had no choice but to succeed.

She breathed a heavy sigh of relief as she saw a hauler’s lights ahead of them, landing at the warehouse. Simcoe picked up the pace and sent the ground-truck speeding forward without having to be told. Neals would probably have something to say about the jostling as the truck careened up to the warehouse and rocked to stop, but Alexis was too relieved to care.

The men left in the warehouse had heard the hauler or one of the lookouts had informed them, and they poured out, lining up to board. Alexis crowded past Moberly and rushed to the hauler, finding Lain as he clambered out of the hauler’s massive, box-shaped cargo compartment.

“Trouble?” she asked.

“Not a bit, sir,” he said. “Found it just like you said at the edge of that field. Looked like some men were up and at breakfast nearer the farmstead, but no guard a’tall. Might as not even know we took her yet.”

“Moberly!” Alexis called over her shoulder. “You and Lain see to loading the men!” She turned to face the growing crowd. “It’ll be crowded, mind you, lads! So watch your tempers!”

“Aye sir!” came the chorused reply.

Alexis hurried to the hauler’s cab. It would be crowded, indeed, with more than seventy men and their bags crammed into the hauler’s cargo compartment. Moreover, it would be uncomfortable, with no seating — and no pressurization or heat for the long flight to the nearest port almost two thousand kilometers away. Even at the hauler’s top speed the trip would be hours long with little room to sit down.