Ship of Spies Read online

  "Well now, did they?"

  "No sir, they did not." Alexander did not reveal that they had, in fact, seen Fowler and Liam near the colonel's cabin. He was learning that in an investigation, it was best to hold one's cards close to one's vest and not reveal too much of what one knew.

  "They didn't see anything?" The colonel pressed, seeming slightly puzzled. Had Scarlett already told her father about Liam and Fowler?

  "Nothing that was helpful."

  "Boy, in the future I would advise you not to question my daughter. It's bad enough that you dragged her up into that rigging and put her in danger like that. She doesn't need to go making the acquaintance of any English sailors. You stay away from her!"

  Alexander was taken aback that an American would feel himself so superior. When Alexander became angry, his face tended to drain of color rather than grow red. He felt something crackle inside him, and realized it was his power, dormant these many weeks, now itching to get out. It was a good thing for Colonel Beauchamp that they were inside the ship and not up on deck with water all around.

  Alexander tamped down his anger and said, "Colonel, I am only doing my duty and trying to find your stolen ring."

  "Then you best get to it, boy," Beauchamp said. "And one thing's for damn sure, you won’t find the thief by talking to my daughter."

  • • •

  Alexander was looking forward to the next interview even less, which was to say, not at all. He found Liam on deck, writing a letter home. When the Irish boy learned why Alexander needed to talk with him, he was upset. "Surely you don't suspect me! Why would I take the American's ring?"

  "I'm not saying you took it," Alexander said. "I'm just asking you about it."

  "What's the difference, Alexander? I thought you were my friend. Yet here you are accusing me of being a thief."

  "No, Liam! That's not it at all. Colonel Beauchamp's daughter and her governess have the cabin next door. They claimed that they saw you—and Fowler—outside the colonel's cabin during the fight with the French ship."

  "Do you actually think I would be wandering around the ship in the middle of a battle! I had my gun crew to look to, Alexander. It doesn't make sense."

  "So Mrs. Pomfrey must be mistaken—it wasn't you who was outside her father's cabin."

  Liam's eyes shifted away. "I'm not sure who I'm talking to now, my friend or my English inquisitor."

  Alexander winced at the remark. Liam felt keenly the fact that he was Irish, and thus a kind of second-class citizen. Many in Ireland felt that they should be an independent nation, and not under the rule of King George. Liam had let it be known that before the English his ancestors had once been kings in Ireland—before the conquest of the Emerald Isle.

  "Liam, I just need to know if that was you outside the colonel's cabin."

  Liam put aside his letter and answered in a low voice. "All right then, it was me. But I wasn't there alone."

  "Liam, what in heaven’s name were you doing there in the middle of the battle?"

  "I was following someone," he said. "I was following Fowler, as a matter of fact. He was up to something, and I wanted to know what it was."

  Alexander tried to hide his surprise. Liam couldn't have known that Mrs. Pomfrey had also claimed to have seen Fowler outside Colonel Beauchamp’s cabin, so this corroborated her story. "But Fowler was supposed to be commanding his gun crew"—Alexander wanted to add my gun crew—"during the battle."

  "There was a lull in the fighting, and he slipped away. Lieutenant Swann didn't notice, but I did. On a whim, I followed him. I followed him right to Beauchamp's cabin, as a matter of fact."

  "Did you see him come out with anything?"

  "I never actually saw him go in. The colonel's daughter came out of her cabin, and then that old battle ax Mrs. Pomfrey followed Scarlett. I didn't know if they had seen me or not, but I suppose I lost my nerve at that point and returned to the gun deck, so I never found out what Fowler was up to."

  He was stealing the gold signet ring, Alexander thought. But he was more surprised by something else that Liam had said. "Mrs. Pomfrey never told me she left her cabin!"

  "Well, I saw her plain as day, following Scarlett in the same way I followed Fowler. In other words, she didn't want to be seen." Liam sighed. "Now I suppose you'll have to tell the captain I left my post."

  Alexander shook his head. "We'll just keep that between us," he said. "Besides, I never thought for a minute that you had anything to do with the theft. I was just hoping that you could tell me what Fowler was up to."

  "Nothing good, I'll wager," Liam said.

  "That's just what I'm thinking," Alexander agreed. "That's why I'll be talking to him next."

  • • •

  A few minutes later, Alexander found Fowler in the midshipman's berth. He sat at his designated end of the long dining table, looking at Alexander smugly over the rim of a coffee mug.

  "I understand you missed any real fighting during the battle, Snotty," he said. "You were busy being Captain Bellingham's errand boy. What a pity."

  "I'm not the only one who missed the fighting," Alexander said. "I understand you left the gun deck."

  Fowler scowled. "That sad sack of Irish potatoes told you, didn't he? I thought I saw Liam skulking after me. Anyhow, what business is it of yours?"

  "Captain Bellingham has put me in charge of finding out who stole Colonel Beauchamp's gold signet ring."

  "Is that right? Well, I'm glad the captain has found a use for you, considering that you're still an invalid. How are the headaches?"

  Alexander ignored the question. "What were you doing outside the colonel's cabin?"

  "How do you know that damn papist isn't lying?"

  "Liam wasn't the only one who saw you."

  "Oh?" Fowler slammed down his mug. "You don't seriously think I took that ring, do you?"

  "Convince me otherwise."

  Fowler stared. "You really do think I took the ring!"

  "If you weren't there to steal the ring, then what were you doing?"

  "Snotty, I don't need to explain myself to you. I'm the Senior Ensign, you know. Technically that makes me your superior officer."

  "Thank you for reminding me again that you're the Senior Ensign. But as for explaining yourself to me, rank doesn't matter." Alexander couldn't help but smile. "Captain's orders."

  Fowler stared at Alexander for a long time without answering. He even took the time to stroke his chin, like an old man contemplating a question. "You do know, Alexander, that if anyone is up to something on this ship, it's probably you. Captain Bellingham won't allow it to be discussed openly, but we all know very well that you summoned the sea to crash down and destroy those French ships. We know that you're an elemental, Alexander. There's no use hiding it. Want to tell me more about it?"

  "This isn't about me, it's about you," Alexander snapped. "Now, what were you up to?"

  "Well, if you must know, I was going to offer comfort to Miss Scarlett," he said. "I was concerned that she might be frightened by all the gunfire. I wanted to reassure her. Unfortunately, I wasn't sure which cabin was hers, and so that potato eater must have seen me outside the colonel's cabin and jumped to the wrong conclusion."

  Alexander gritted his teeth at the mention of Scarlett. He suspected that Fowler was just trying to bait him with that stuff about going to comfort Scarlett Beauchamp, and yet it worked very well in spite of himself. "I swear, Fowler—"

  "Are you going to summon a wave? That's something I'd like to see you do again, Snotty. If you can do it, I mean. How does power like that work? Considering the fact that you were insensible for days following what you did to those French ships, I would say that it must be rather exhausting to be an elemental."

  "I may have some questions for you later," Alexander said through clenched teeth. Fowler always seemed to know just what buttons to push—particularly his worries about not being able to repeat what he had done. Fowler suspected that Alexander’s powers were used up, and
perhaps he was right.

  "That would be splendid," Fowler said, reaching again for his mug of coffee. "I know that I certainly have questions for you. And I'm not the only one who wants to know. There are people in very high places indeed who are curious about you and what you can do. Some of them may not even want you around. You might keep that in mind before you let all that claptrap about being Captain Bellingham's hunting dog go to your head—while you’ve still got one."

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Fuming, Alexander left the ensign's berth and went up on deck to get some fresh air. He didn't believe a word that Fowler had said. What had he really been up to? And then there was the fact that Mrs. Pomfrey had left her cabin. She had failed to tell him that. What had she been doing? Alexander suddenly felt that secrets were piling upon secrets, lies upon lies. He welcomed the fresh sea air that now filled his lungs. Somehow he had gone from being a sailor to an investigator, and he didn't much like it.

  All around him, the crew worked at their usual tasks. Some were busy holystoning the deck, scrubbing it until the salt-soaked wood was the color of bleached bones. Others skylarked in the rigging. Far above, the gryphons practiced flying in formation. It was important to keep the beasts in top condition through exercise, and Captain Amelia would be busy getting acquainted with her new gryphon.

  Everything looked normal, and yet Alexander had a nagging sense of suspicion that things were not as they appeared. One of the men, busy stacking cannonballs, stared hard at Alexander and then looked away, his face hard and cold as the iron in his hands.

  What had that look meant? Someone on board Resolution knew who had taken the ring. And to make matters worse, Alexander knew that some of the men continued to regard him with suspicion. His powers as an elemental had saved the ship, but such powers were regarded by some as a kind of witchcraft and wizardry. As a a new ensign Alexander had managed to find hard-won acceptance from the crew. All that had evaporated. Once again, nothing was as it seemed. That sailor's glance may have been curiosity, or it may have been something more sinister. Again, everything and everyone on the ship was now wrapped up in layers upon layers of meaning, waiting to be peeled open like an onion.

  All that could wait for now. Alexander made his way to the quarterdeck, where Lieutenant Swann was on duty. The captain himself was below. Lieutenant Swann was an able officer, but he had that jumpy air of a man eager to please the captain and worried that he might at any time make the bad decision. For what was the rank of lieutenant but a drawn-out test of one’s readiness to command a ship of one’s own? Someday Swann hoped to have his own ship, but one wrong move on his part could end that dream. Someone had said it best by describing Lieutenant Swann as being like a long-tailed cat in a room full of rolling cannonballs.

  Lieutenant Swann’s frame of mind was not helped by the fact that a distant sail was just visible on the horizon, like the fin of a shark cutting through the sea. The lieutenant saw him looking.

  "It's that same Napoleonist ship we had the dust up with off the coast of Ireland," the lieutenant said. "They've been following us ever since."

  "They're probably waiting for their chance, sir."

  "Their chance for what, Mr. Hope? To try and board us in the dead of night and cut our throats while we sleep? I don't like it, not one bit!"

  At the wheel, Old Cullins was the complete opposite of the tightly wound lieutenant. He was bare-headed and in shirt sleeves despite the fact that the sea breeze was quite chill. Gray eyes that had seen ten thousand days at sea squinted toward the far horizon, then settled on Alexander. "Come for a lesson, Mr. Hope? Here, lad, take the wheel a moment and let Old Cullins rest his arms and have a bite of this crust. It's hungry work steering a ship."

  Grinning, Alexander took the wheel, the wood of which was worn smooth by years of being guided by Cullins and others. He felt the ship respond to his slightest touch, shifting to meet the oncoming swell of the Atlantic breakers.

  Old Cullins nodded approvingly as he munched a ship's biscuit taken from his pocket. "You have the way of it, Mr. Hope. The wind shifts the sails, you shift the ship. Aye, smooth as fresh-baked bread on a sea of butter."

  "You are making me hungry, Cullins."

  "Oh, aye, what boy isn't hungry? Hungry for a lot of things, I'll wager! One of those things you'll be sure to get soon is adventure. Did you see the sky this morning? The sunrise was red as the Devil's backside. That's a sign of heavy weather ahead. And have you marked these swells, Mr. Hope? Gentle though they be now, all it will take is a bit of wind to whip them up into proper mountains. I'd say we're in for a blow, or me name ain't Jake Cullins."

  Alexander couldn't yet read the wind and the waves like Cullins could. The grizzled sailor had spent years and years at sea. To him, the signs were plain as the writing in a book. All Alexander knew was that the wheel felt right in his hands. Guiding the frigate through the waves with the sails towering over him was every bit as thrilling as riding a gryphon. How it must feel to be the captain of one’s own ship!

  "So it's going to be a bad storm?"

  "Oh, aye, that it is, laddie. You be sure to watch yourself when it blows up."

  "There will be lifelines. I'll lash myself to the wheel if I must!"

  "That's the spirit, laddie!" Old Cullins fixed Alexander with his far-seeing gray eyes and lowered his voice. "But it ain't only the wind and the waves that should cause you worry. There's talk about the ship, you see. You know how sailors like to talk. Some say you are a wizard or a warlock and will bring us bad luck. Bad luck like a storm. I remember once, when I was a lad myself and sailed to Boston on a merchant ship. A terrible storm blew up and blew for three days. The ship could not take much more of that batterin'. There was a peculiar old lady on board and some said she was a witch. Well, that old lady disappeared on the third night of the storm. There was calm after that."

  "Was she washed overboard?"

  "Laddie, don't you see? Some of the crew and passengers said she was a witch and had brought the storm down upon us. They tried to say it was an accident, but the truth of the matter is that they pitched that poor old woman into the sea because they thought she was a witch! So as I was sayin', watch yourself, laddie."

  Old Cullins finished his ship's biscuit and took the wheel back from Alexander, who returned to the ensigns' berth, much relieved to see that Fowler was no longer there. Alexander thought that he might get a notebook and pencil from his sea trunk, and begin to write down his notes so far on his investigation into the missing ring. Things were getting complicated—he might need to know in detail later who said what.

  He was surprised to find a note on top of his sea chest. The sheet of paper was folded in thirds and had his name written on the outside in a simple hand he did not recognize. He picked it up and read:

  "IF YOU WISH TO KNOW WHO STOLE THE RING,

  MEET ME IN THE HOLD AT MIDNIGHT."

  The message was written in block letters, rather than cursive, as if someone had taken pains to disguise his handwriting.

  Midnight in the hold? Come alone? It all seemed so mysterious, and yet that was beginning to be how everything concerning the disappearance of Colonel Beauchamp's ring had become. If it meant learning some answers, Alexander planned on being there.

  • • •

  Old Cullins was right about the change in the weather, which he claimed to have felt in his bones. As darkness fell, the wind picked up in intensity and the waves began to build. It was not yet a storm, but Captain Bellingham came up on deck to look with concern at the darkening sky. He ordered the sails shortened and while there was still some daylight he had everything checked to make certain that it was tightened down or stowed correctly.

  "I believe we are ready, come what may," he announced to no one in particular as he stood on the quarterdeck, hands clasped behind his back, surveying the length of the deck. To Alexander's mind, the captain cut such an imposing figure that a storm might very well think twice before assaulting the Resolution. The capta
in turned to Alexander. "How does your investigation proceed into the theft from Colonel Beauchamp's cabin?"

  "It is going very well, sir," Alexander said. The wind blew so hard that Alexander had to shout to be heard. He hoped that the captain did not ask for too many details, because Alexander wasn't sure yet what to make of the information he had.

  Alexander decided not to tell Captain Bellingham that he had received the mysterious note. In part, he wasn't sure that the busy captain really wanted too many details about the investigation, and the windy quarterdeck was no place for a lengthy conversation. Also, if he happened to catch the thief by tomorrow morning, he was going to look very capable in the captain's eyes. After being out of commission for so long, he was eager to once again play an important role aboard the Resolution.

  "I have interviewed the colonel . . . and some of the others."

  "The others?" The captain looked away from the billowing sails and turned his full attention to Alexander. "Mr. Hope, you make this sound like a conspiracy."

  "Oh no, sir. It's just that I wish to obtain all the relevant facts."

  "Well, it is important to be thorough, Mr. Hope." He frowned. "This stolen ring must be returned and the thief punished."

  "Yes, sir."

  • • •

  In the end, the only person he told about his midnight meeting was Roger. His friend would have gone along, but he had watch duty. Clearly, he couldn't ask Liam, who was now part of the investigation. Briefly, he considered asking Toby if he wanted to come along, but decided that the Earl of Parkington wouldn't be eager to go skulking around in the belly of the ship. Alexander had to admit that seeing Toby's home had intimidated him somewhat. The young earl's wealth was far beyond anything that Alexander might have imagined if he hadn't seen it for himself. He now knew that when Toby was being haughty, it was no act—it was how he saw the world. If you were the Earl of Parkington, it was likely you had few equals.