First Voyage Page 5

  "The captain never has asked to see me," Roger remarked. "He usually just greets the ensigns in a group."

  "So this is unusual?"

  Roger seemed to think it over. "Well, it was Lieutenant Swann who got me on board the Resolution, and you say it was the captain who put you on the list. So you're his man, so to speak. It goes without saying that he might have his eye on you. And here you've gone and tried to kill one of the other ensigns, so that might be frowned upon."

  "Roger, the only thing that's dry on this ship is your sense of humor."

  They had rushed down from the deck and were back in the ensign's quarters, where Alexander was busy getting his uniform in order, brushing out the dirt spots in the wool coat and dabbing at the stains in his white canvas trousers. It was hard to believe that just two days on Resolution could have taken such a toll on his clothing. This was the very reason that some ensigns—those who could afford it—had two or even three uniforms, setting one aside deep in their sea chests for times just like this. His stingy uncle had insisted that his nephew needed just one uniform. "And I'm being generous with my money, boy, at that," his uncle had added. So Alexander brushed furiously at the uniform coat.

  "That will do," Roger said, nodding at the coat. "Better to be a little dirty than to be a little late where the captain is concerned."

  "I'm a bit nervous," Alexander admitted.

  "My advice would be to say as little as possible other than 'Yes, sir' and maybe 'Very good, sir,' " Roger said. "If you stick with that, chances are you won't be left off at the next fishing boat we pass or busted down to powder monkey."

  "That's not much of a plan."

  "Do you think Admiral Nelson has a plan most of the time? Indeed not. He lets events follow their course. That's what makes him a hero. He is impulsive."

  "Nelson has also lost an arm and an eye," Alexander pointed out. "It seems like a plan of action might have done him some good."

  "Don't worry. If Captain Bellingham is unhappy with you, he'll make himself perfectly clear." Roger grinned. "Captain Bellingham can be, shall we say, very direct."

  At that, Alexander finally pulled on his coat, Roger clapped him on the back, and he was on his way to the captain's cabin.

  Fortunately, Alexander was so busy dodging grimy sailors and gear in an attempt to spare his uniform any further damage that he didn't have time to think before he arrived at the captain's quarters, where a marine stood guard outside the door. The marine was very tall, taller than the tip of the gleaming bayonet on the end of his musket, and he had the sort of alert eyes Alexander had noticed before in watchdogs. Alexander remembered what Roger had said about the marines being on board to protect the ship and officers in case of mutiny. The thought made him a bit uneasy. He might have hoped everyone on board Resolution would have been united against the enemy. But then he recalled the sailors he had confronted during his watch last night. Were they just the sort of troublemakers the marine here was on guard against?

  "Mr. Hope to see the captain," Alexander said.

  The marine simply stared straight ahead, so Alexander took it upon himself to knock on the captain's door. He heard a gruff voice reply, "Enter!"

  Alexander stepped into the room and stood at attention, his hat tucked under his arm. He couldn't see the captain clearly at first because he was silhouetted against the great stern windows at the far end of the cabin. The cabin itself gleamed with polished wood and a fine carpet covered the floor. It reminded him a great deal of the minister's study in the parsonage back home.

  He blinked, and became aware of a bulky man bending over a table, where a chart was spread out. The captain was not especially tall, of perhaps average height, but he had broad shoulders and a deep chest. He stepped away from the table and out of the window glare, and to Alexander's surprise the man looked much younger than he had expected. The dark hair pulled back into a queue did not show a single trace of gray. His face was not particularly handsome, lined with a bit of beard stubble as if he could use a shave, and his mouth seemed pulled down in a permanent scowl, but his bright blue eyes seemed to pierce Alexander, who at once felt the shabbiness of his uniform, his own skinniness—he was sure the captain could have snapped him in two, like a twig—and the fact that he was still very much a boy.

  "Mr. Hope."

  "Ensign Hope to see you, sir."

  "Yes, I believe we've established that." Captain Bellingham scowled at him, but said nothing further. He walked around Alexander, inspecting his uniform.

  He took Roger's advice and suppressed the urge to break the silence.

  "An officer should take pride in his appearance."

  "Yes, sir."

  "Then what's the meaning of this?" The captain jabbed a finger into the slash Fowler's sword had made.

  "I haven't had time to repair it, sir, and I have just the one coat."

  "An officer should come to sea prepared, Mr. Hope."

  "It was what my uncle could afford for me, sir."

  "Your uncle?"

  "Yes, sir. He is my guardian, and he is the one who outfitted me for the Royal Navy."

  "I am acquainted with your uncle, of course, for he is the one who wrote asking me to take you into service." The captain continued walking as he seemed to think over this bit of news. "Forgive me for asking a personal question, Mr. Hope, but what has become of your father's estate at Kingston Hall?"

  "My father's estate?" Alexander had been standing at attention, but he swiveled around now to look at the captain, who stood off to one side. "No, sir. Kingston Hall is my uncle's home, and I live—lived—there by his forbearance."

  The captain strolled a bit more about the room. "I knew your father, Hope. And Kingston Hall most assuredly belonged to him. In fact, I visited once when you were a very small boy. Just an infant, really. I also know your uncle." Here the captain paused, as if he might say something more, but did not. "When he wrote asking me to take you into service, I of course accepted, to honor the friendship I once shared with your father."

  It was news to Alexander that the family estate had been his father's, but he was more taken with another of the captain's revelations. "You knew my father, sir?"

  "Yes, Mr. Hope, I most certainly did. We served together before your father left the Navy to pursue other adventures. In point of fact, we served together as ensigns, many years ago."

  "What was my father like?" The question popped out before Alexander could stop himself.

  The captain paced a bit more. "Your father." Bellingham shook his head, and a faint smile flashed across his face. "He was an adventurer, a brave man, a good friend. I daresay you look a great deal like him at the same age."

  Alexander felt a lump in is throat. "I can barely remember him, sir."

  Bellingham nodded. "You were very young when he ... went away. Off to the Americas! England was not at war then, and he found navy duty too dull for his liking. Your father thought the world to be a very big place, and he wanted to see his share of it."

  "He was never heard from again. It was assumed that his ship went down near South America."

  "Yes, I know." Bellingham nodded. "It was sad news for us all. Tell me, Mr. Hope, I wonder what twist of fate would have put the estate into your uncle's hands? That is most peculiar. Kingston Hall was your father's inheritance, as he was the firstborn, and I understand that you are his only child."

  "I always assumed it was my uncle's."

  "And he has sent you to sea, just at the age when you might begin to question the situation. How convenient for him."

  "I do not follow your meaning, sir."

  "Well, Mr. Hope, perhaps I should not have mentioned it. There's nothing to be done for it now. We find ourselves in the English Channel, in the stormy winter season, with the Napoleonists on the prowl. When we return to land someday—victorious, pray Neptune—I shall help you find a solicitor to look into this matter of your inheritance, because it seems to me that Kingston Hall is rightfully yours, not your uncle's.
But we must keep our thoughts on the war, and our wits about us, if we are to survive and do our duty."

  "Yes, sir."

  Alexander's head was spinning. Here was a man who had known his father! He longed to ask him more, but the captain seemed finished with him. Bellingham crossed the cabin and went to a writing desk pushed against the wall of the cabin, then returned with a glittering bracelet wrought in silver. He held it out to Alexander.

  "This belonged to your father," Bellingham said. "He gave it to me for safekeeping many years ago, and I am sure he would wish you to have it now. Neptune knows why he thought it was so important. It is a wristling, which is out of fashion now, though it’s very nicely made. In an earlier age when men wore armor, I suppose it would have been a sort of gauntlet intended to protect the wrist in battle."

  Alexander studied the wristling. It was intricately designed, and yet it looked incredibly strong, as if it had been woven from a single strand of silver wire. The surface was covered with the tiny figures of sea creatures: porpoises, leaping fish, and seahorses, all encircling a mighty bearded figure that must be Neptune himself, Lord of the Sea.

  "Thank you, sir.”

  Captain Bellingham came up close to Alexander, practically nose to nose, and fixed him with those intense eyes. He took Alexander's shoulder in a powerful grip. "You have promise, Mr. Hope. I see a great deal of your father in you, but you seem to have a more temperate nature." He plucked again at the sword-sliced fabric. "Then again, I saw how you straightened out those sailors last night and heard about the sword lesson incident this morning from Mr. Swann. Perhaps there is a bit more of the tiger in you than you realize, eh, Mr. Hope?"

  "I don't know, sir."

  "Well, we shall find out." Bellingham stepped back. "Good to meet you at last, Mr. Hope. Serve me well, and I shall serve you well." He grinned. "You can start by promising not to kill any of my ensigns during fencing practice. Now, dismissed!"

  • • •

  Midnight. Alexander found himself standing midwatch for the second night in a row. This time it wasn't Fowler's doing, but Lieutenant Swann's. Captain Bellingham may have viewed the incident involving the sword fighting lesson with something like amusement—along the lines of ensigns will be ensigns, after all—but that was not the case with Lieutenant Swann. And in all fairness, Alexander supposed that Swann could not witness outright combat between his junior officers without ordering some form of punishment.

  And so Alexander was once again wandering the Resolution's deck in the wee hours of the morning. It was some consolation that Fowler was relegated to the same watch—and there was no handing it off to anyone this time. Alexander made a point of avoiding him.

  The sea was oddly calm, the waves seeming to flow with an oily heaviness, and even the wind had died away, leaving the air crisp and pleasant. It was still cold as a guillotine’s blade, but bearable without the wind. The only downside that Alexander could see was that the ship was making precious little headway toward whatever destination the captain had in mind.

  Alexander was still too new to a life at sea to have any real duties, so once again he was assigned to keeping watch for enemy ships. It was not particularly difficult duty—or wouldn't have been if he wasn't so tired. He was glad it was so cold, or he might have fallen asleep.

  Anyone with good sense would be in his bunk, sleeping, so he was more than a little surprised to see an officer in a flyer's uniform on deck. This was unusual because flyers did not share in the duties of operating the ship. He looked closer, and was pleased to discover that it was Lord Parkington. He was standing near the ship’s rail, looking up at the stars. His lordship must have heard him approach, because without looking away from the sky he said, "You must be on midwatch because of the fight you had today with Fowler."

  "I suppose I am," he said. "But what are you doing up here?"

  The question sounded rude to Alexander's own ears as soon as he spoke it, but the flyer did not seem to notice. "Couldn't sleep. The gryphons snore and snap their jaws when they dream and it keeps me awake."

  "Really?" The very thought sent shivers down Alexander's spine.

  "That's supposed to be a joke, you know."

  "Oh." Alexander failed to see how it was funny.

  "The marines are by far noisier when they sleep than our gryphons."

  "Sleep. I've almost forgotten what that's like."

  They both leaned against the rail, looking down at the dark water. There was enough starlight to see the ripples caused by Resolution's passing. The moon was waxing, and they could see it reflected on the surface of the sea. Alexander let his arm hang down. Oddly enough, it almost felt as if he could touch the water.

  "Mr. Hope—or may I call you Alexander?"

  "Of course. But what should I call you? Your lordship?"

  "My nickname at home was Toby. That's what the other flyers call me."

  "Very well then, your lord— I mean to say, uh, Toby."

  Alexander wasn't quite sure, but it seemed to him that Lord Parkington—Toby—was a bit nervous. That was surprising, because the young lord had seemed so self possessed and confident. Perhaps it was just friendship that he had trouble with. The thought made Alexander smile down at the sea. He put his fingertip over the path of a ripple made by the passing bow and watched as the ripple seemed to grow wider and deeper, as if it were running over his fingertip. He was so very sleepy. He let his hand droop so that all the fingers hung down, and the pattern in the water seemed to change, as if it were running between giant fingers. It was curious. He cupped his hand and scooped at the water like a child in a bathtub. Splashes erupted in the water beside the ship. Alexander was sure there must be porpoises swimming next to the Resolution.

  "Where are you from, Alexander?"

  "My uncle has lands near Surrey where I grew up. He decided that I needed a career, and so wrote a letter to Captain Bellingham, who knew my father. My late father."

  "I see. I am sorry to hear that. I also lost my father. He was a naval officer, and his ship went down in the Great Storm."

  "Then why aren't you in the navy? You're a flyer."

  "We kept gryphons at our estate. My father preferred the sea, but I learned to fly when I was little."

  Alexander twirled his hand toward the ocean, watching as a kind of whirlpool sprang up. Until that moment, he had just assumed it was just coincidence that his own motions seemed to match that of the sea, but now—

  "You're doing that!" Lord Parkington stepped away from him.

  Alexander shook his head and lifted his hand close to his face. He had almost expected it to be wet, because it seemed that he had felt the cold water running across his hand. "I'm not doing anything," he said, but his voice was shaky. He wasn't so sure. It was all very strange.

  They might have said more, but they were suddenly interrupted by a voice that made Alexander's belly turn cold with dread. "Look at this, a flyer and a sailor fraternizing! The next thing you know, dogs will be talking to cats!"

  Fowler stepped out the shadows. He was flanked by Sweeney and Lloyd. Though Fowler was tall, he seemed dwarfed by the two beefy ensigns. Alexander sensed trouble, and he looked around for Lieutenant Swann, who was nowhere in sight.

  "Be a good lord and run along now," Sweeney said to Lord Parkington. "I'm sure the gryphon stalls need mucking out. Our business is with snotty here."

  Lord Parkington took a step toward the three older ensigns. Alexander realized just how small and slight Parkington was in comparison. At the same time, he could sense from Parkington's demeanor that he was completely and totally unafraid. All at once, he felt braver himself.

  "You forget yourselves," Parkington said coldly. "You forget your place."

  "Ha!" Fowler half barked. "We were just going to toss Mr. Hopeless here in the sea and be done with him, but maybe we shall throw you in as well, though I fear it will be harder to explain how two ensigns managed to lose their footing."

  "Snotty here fell in and Lord Parkingt
on jumped to save him," Sweeney said. "Pity about that."

  Fowler smiled unpleasantly. "That's a very good solution."

  Something suddenly gleamed in Lord Parkington's hand. Alexander's breath caught in his throat when he realized it was a pistol.

  "One shot," Fowler said. "And there are three of us, if your lordship can't manage the math."

  "Quite right," Parkington said, and cocked the pistol. It was a small and elegant weapon, but the metallic click of the hammer being cocked was very loud in the cold air. "But I only plan on shooting you."

  Sweeney and Lloyd shuffled back a bit from Fowler, who seemed frozen in place. He smirked. "Would you really shoot me in cold blood?"

  "It is the only blood I have. And after I have killed you, I will see to it that these other two hang—or perhaps I shall have them drawn and quartered. By the king's order, it is death for a commoner to threaten a peer."

  Alexander gulped. There was such an utter coldness in the other boy that it made him afraid, even though he wasn't the one in the pistol sights.

  "Our feud is with snotty." Now Fowler almost sounded like he was whining.

  "Why, because he stands up to the likes of you, Fowler? I saw what happened on the deck today. Consider him under my protection. If he comes to any harm, you shall answer for it."

  Fowler muttered something unintelligible, but he took a step back, and then another, before he melted away into the darkness with Lloyd and Sweeney. The pistol never wavered in the other boy's hand until they were gone.

  "You could have shot Fowler and those other two bullocks still would have thrown us into the sea."

  "Oh, I don't think so." Parkington gave a low whistle, and the darkness seemed to shift behind them. Alexander became aware of a pair of yellow eyes glowing in the starlight, and beyond that, the massive hulk of a gryphon.

  "You mean he's been there the whole time?"

  "If any of them had taken another step, Lemondrop here would have eaten all three for a midnight snack."

  "Thank you," Alexander said. "I think they really did mean to throw me overboard." He paused. "Would you really have shot him?"