Buxacan Spicerunner Page 12

“Midmorning coffee, Admirals.”

  Relieved by the break in questioning, Winois surreptitiously wiped his brow. His shirt was soaked under his jacket. The boy poured for everyone on the Committee, mixing in the proper amount of sugar, cream or honey for each without asking. Then he came to Winois and poured him a cup as well.

  “Any additives, Captain?” he asked politely, as he scanned Winois’ medals.

  “No thanks, I take it plain.”

  The boy’s eyes widened as he put together a very young captain with too many medals and came up with the only logical answer. “It’s an honor to meet you, Captain Winois,” he said with hushed awe.

  “That’s enough of that, Baree!” Admiral Elvoix said sharply. “You’ve done your duty here; you may go.”

  “Yeah yeah, sir.” Baree exited smartly, leaving the coffee service on the table.

  The aroma woke up Gapore. He blinked owlishly, and spotted his cup. “Ah, the coffee!” Gapore took a sip, and asked: “Did I miss anything?”

  “Only about half the trial,” said Elvoix sourly. “I wish you wouldn’t sleep through important Committee business.”

  “What you wish is not my concern. When you are eighty-eight, you can nap whenever you’d like.” He fixed Elvoix with his sharp gaze, all traces of sleepiness gone.

  “That’s enough,” said Laneau, but Gapore wasn’t done with the Admiral of the Home Fleet.

  “Did someone promote you past me while I was napping? Last I checked, I had three anchors on my collar—”

  “I said that’s enough, Admiral,” Laneau said mildly.

  Elvoix had bristled and drawn in his breath for a heated reply. He let it out slowly and sipped at his coffee.

  Ster Coinier hid a smile behind his hand.

  Gapore turned his gaze to the head of the table. “First half of the trial? So you’ve covered past transgressions, then.” He snorted. “Hardly important. Lieutenant wrote him up for an improperly tied knot, Captain that mastheaded him for yawning on the helmdeck, and Senior Midshipman wrote him up for not enough polish on his brass buttons, or some such rot!

  “Tell me; what do these meaningless reprimands have to do with what kind of leader he is now? My records are full of such rubbish!”

  “I had a spotless record as a midshipman!” Elvoix announced haughtily.

  “My point exactly! Who is on trial this time, anyway?” Gapore leaned forward and rested his forearms on the table. Now Winois was pinned by the hawk like stare. “You’re Durent’s son. You look a great deal like him.” Gapore’s eyes narrowed slightly. “You have your mother’s eyes, though. They’re well, your parents?”

  “Yes, sir. I haven’t been home in several months, but they were when I saw them last, sir.”

  “Tomatoes.” Gapore smiled. “He gave me tomatoes, your father. Last year. Grew them in his own garden.” He paused to light his pipe. Elvoix and Laneau grew impatient, but everyone kept their silence. Gapore usually had a point when he appeared to be rambling.

  “Thirty years ago, there was a fiery midshipman set foot on my deck. Last year I visited him at his little cottage and found him working in his garden. Then there was another midshipman, Navy correct from stem to stern. Some bad things happened to him and he made some mistakes, yet today he sits at this very table! Today a highly decorated captain sits before us on trial for a failure of leadership. I call the vote!”

  Coinier stirred and raised his hand. “Agreed.” Three more hands went up, including Elvoix.

  Winois was flabbergasted. “But I haven’t had a chance to plead my case!”

  “Too late now,” Elvoix said spitefully. “The vote has been called. I say he’s guilty and should be reduced to Midshipman.”

  “Guilty,” said Farge. “But reduction should only be one rank.”

  “Guilty,” said Allois. “He should retain his rank, however. He’s done well up to now. Perhaps a lesser ship to command—”

  “Not guilty.” That was Coinier. “The logs and testimony from his officers clearly state that the Flame of Justice was short handed and had eighty percent sea-virgins on their first voyage. Only half of his men actually stood and fought, yet Captain Winois still did significant damage to the Hack and Slash and inflicted an estimated twenty percent casualties on StrongArm’s crew. A failure of leadership? Quite the opposite, I say.”

  Winois felt a wild surge of hope.

  “Not guilty,” said Apic curtly.

  “Your reasons?” said Elvoix.

  “I didn’t hear yours for ‘guilty’,” Apic said icily. “If you can’t see it, you won’t be convinced by my arguments.”

  “Not guilty by any means,” said Gapore. “We sit here in judgment of the premier fighting commander in the Navy, yet none of us has stood or fought on a deck in blue water in at least twenty years! What sense is there in beaching every officer who gets overmatched? He was outmanned, outgunned and outfought by a scurvy dog that’s been doing such to the Agresian Naval Service since it was the Royal Agresian Navy! Do we have a single captain that has never been defeated? You all remember what happened the last time we beached the most promising commander we’d ever had, I trust.”

  “Jonette,” said Laneau grimly. “I don’t think we face that danger here. Fear of that aside, I find myself in agreement with Ster Coinier, Ster Apic and Admiral Gapore.

  “Captain Winois, these proceedings are over. This Committee finds you not guilty of a failure of leadership in the loss of the Republic’s frigate Flame of Justice and the ransoming of the same and her captain, to wit, yourself.” Laneau’s voice took on a more conversational tone. “You, sir, are guilty only of underestimating your foe and overestimating your ship and crew. Fortunately, for the Republic as well as yourself, it was not a fatal error.”

  “We made a mistake as well,” said Gapore. “In sending you out with such a crew against that beast.” He sighed. “As for your crew, you got what was left, and StrongArm…you may be the one to take him down, someday.”

  “The Flame is still yours, Captain,” said Laneau. “You may return to her and await further orders.”

  Winois saluted silently and departed in a daze.

  Laneau turned to Elvoix first. “How many ships-of-the-line do you have?”

  “Eight, sir. One first rate, two second rates, a third and four fourths. One of the fourths, the Charger, is very old and leaks heavily.” He may have been a poor ship commander in his day, but Elvoix had a mind for detail and never tried to gloss over an ugly picture. “I also have four frigates, the Flame of Justice you know about, and twenty-two lesser ships. All but the Flame and the sloop Fox are either at Sipa or in the Gulf of Dalaria.”

  “And our Colonial Fleet?”

  “Much worse than the Home Fleet, I’m afraid,” said Allois. “There are two ships-of-the-line: a first and a fourth. The first is at Braden, the fourth is at Stafa, and my only frigate is en route to Stafa from Hanarre. There are only nineteen lesser ships, as a brig and a sloop declared for Hanarre within hours of their bid for independence. I’m not surprised and neither was Captain Polderre—both of those commanders and most of their crews are from Hanarre.

  “They did, however, allow those who wished to remain loyal to the Republic to board the Valiant before she left, so Captain Polderre is now at full strength for manpower.”

  “Why didn’t he fight?” asked Coinier. “He was inside of the harbor forts; he could have leveled the town.”

  “Their note asked for a peaceful separation from the Republic,” said Laneau. “They had a ready supply of oil, kindling and small boats—and no shortage of volunteers to man them! If Polderre had chosen to enforce the Council’s will by force of arms.”

  “Better to save the ship for the war effort and write off Hanarre for now,” said Gapore with approval.

  Laneau nodded and turned back to Allois. “What is the disposition of your ships that aren’t busy defending our last two colonies in Clavland?”

  “They’re harassing the Tayans wher
e they can, sir. There have been two attacks on the Imperial Navy, but mostly they’ve been wreaking havoc on the enemy’s merchant runners.”

  “Fifty-six ships left!” Farge fretted. “What is the High Council going to say?”

  “Hopefully they’ll sue for peace before we lose everything we have overseas,” said Coinier. “Is the Army doing any better?”

  “They still hold the County of Oaktree,” said Gapore. “But they have been stopped everywhere else. We also have fifteen thousand troops trapped overseas that we can’t move safely back to the Continent. Ster Coinier is right; it’s time to end this war while we still hold Oaktree. We can cede it back and preserve the rest of our holdings intact.”

  “Cede it back?” Elvoix was outraged. “Three years of fighting, just to give it back? The Council will never stand for it!”

  “Keep a County that has some farms, woodlands and a mill or two, at the cost of Braden, Stafa and trade routes to Alarfaj, Mok and Stitia,” Gapore said wryly. “That’s the course of wisdom! We’ve already lost Hanarre.”

  “Enough, gentlemen.” Laneau sounded tired of the wrangling. “Any other business I need to know of before I go to Council Hall?”

  No one had anything else, but Apic had a question. “It’s not urgent, but who was Captain Jonette? I’ve never heard of him.”

  “Yes you have,” said Gapore. “He was the second son of the Earl Jonette, and the most promising naval officer we’d ever had since these men,” Gapore indicated the other admirals at the table, “commanded ships of their own. The whole story is in the Archives, if you’re still curious. He commanded the Victory.”

  “I don’t understand,” said Apic. “I thought that ship disappeared with all hands, and I never learned the commander’s name—”

  “You know him better as Deadeye,” said Laneau. “And the Victory disappeared because he still had the loyalty of his men. They renamed her Death’s Head.”

  23

  Afnir Takes Control

  Chos Tavven was dead, as was Samdin Speer. Amazingly, Ellor had been saved thanks to Drac and Tirpa. All of the other dead or missing were port watchmen. Stowe had washed up before first light. Sako had retrieved the checkered headcloth from the body.

  Of the former port watch, only Tirpa, Buck Pall, Clenchjaw, Kostek, Balgo and Aler Calas had survived. The mate was also still alive, but his leg was broken.

  Afnir decided that it was time to strike. “Well, our captain is gone,” he announced. “And look where he’s gotten us! It’s time for a new captain.”

  Chos worked his quid with slowly increasing fury. “And who do you propose, boy? You?”

  “And why not?” Afnir said, his anger rising as well. “We are still a Crew, even without a ship!”

  “You can’t nominate yourself, Afnir,” said Buck.

  “Then I nominate him.” Drac reached for his sword. He wanted an excuse to kill Buck.

  “Second,” said Thard with a hand on Drac’s arm.

  “Are there any counter-nominations?” Brog asked.

  “What about Tirpa?” said Buck. “Everyone respects him.”

  “I’m not wanting it,” said Tirpa. “I’m not being captain of Gull Stut Island.”

  “Clenchjaw,” said Chos, obviously nettled that no one spoke for him.

  “Don’t want. Gunner. Follow him.” He pointed at Afnir.

  “Show of hands: all in favor of Afnir as Captain.” Only Buck and Chos did not raise their hands. Kostek was still unconscious.

  Afnir quickly picked up the checkered rag and tied it over his hair.

  Voices rose and then stopped suddenly as Sako spoke for the first time in weeks. “We need to belay this port watch/starboard watch stut. That got us here as much as Stowe did.”

  “Exactly right!” said Afnir. “Tirpa will be my first mate. As the man said, everyone respects you.” Tirpa accepted the promotion with a nod, and Afnir turned to face all of his men.

  “We’re not Featherheads or Knifehands or Facepainters or Bloody Fists. We don’t sail with Deadeye or StrongArm. I don’t care how the Burners or the Sharks or the Hangmen do things. We don’t wear Blue Hats and we’re not with Spiderhead. We’re the Smilers.

  “As of right now, everyone gets a full share, and officers get officer shares. Everyone works to the best of his ability at whatever task he’s assigned. Officers will be those best suited to their jobs.

  “Sako, you’re the navigator. Thard is the surgeon. Ellor is the accounter and Clenchjaw is the gunner.” Chos was seething quietly, but Afnir had a smile for him as well. “Chos, you’re the most experienced sailor we have. Would you be our boatswain?” Even Buck settled down as Chos offered his hand to Afnir. That ended all resistance.

  Neatly done, Afnir congratulated himself. For the first time ever we are truly a Crew.

  Now that Afnir was in command, he had tasks for everyone. Ellor was to account for their assets. Brog and two others were sent to explore the island, hopefully to find fresh water and whatever food there might be. Everyone else was put on salvage, half in boats and half on the beach. Everything they found was brought to Ellor and Chos, who sorted the items into piles. Their black flag was intact, but their Kimbulan flag was tattered. They found one and a half barrels of water, assorted lines and pieces of sailcloth, some timbers and a few complete spars.

  Not many weapons were retrieved, but there were still too many for honest seamen. Aler found some crates of food, mostly biscuit and stale vegetables. Only half was edible. Sev and Finve found a full jug of rum and three bottles of wine, but it was Kostek who found the greatest treasure: an entire chest of tobacco, made up of equal parts quid, pipe tobacco and cigars. It was salty and sandy but dry.

  Afnir decreed the box would be divvied immediately, share and share alike. He further endeared himself to his new Crew by splitting his own share among everyone. If anyone remembered that he didn’t use tobacco anyway, they didn’t mention it. Only forty Agresian embers were recovered. They divided the coin equally as well.

  Brog’s party reported that the island was more or less round and some hundred fathoms from one side to the other. The thicket in the center boasted palms and some coconuts, and hid a tiny rocky stream. With effort and a lot of patience, a single cup could be filled in less than a quarter of an hour. Other than that there were millions of small crabs and millions of gulls to eat them, hence the name of the island.

  The Smilers constructed flimsy shelters, gathered all the coconuts, and made a small fire to be kept burning continuously. The only other activities were fishing and fetching water endlessly. Everyone who could walk was required to bring six cups of water a day to pour into the common barrel.

  Afnir ordered the extra weapons and the black flag buried in the tobacco chest just south of the tallest tree by the stream. They waited for five weeks before they attracted the notice of a passing sail.

  The Golden Sunrise was an old decrepit brig, so overloaded with Sevulian wheat that she could barely sail. She wallowed at anchor not far from where the Merciless had foundered. The captain and a few sailors came ashore in the launch, where they were greeted with great enthusiasm by the Smilers.

  Afnir spun a tale of a stingy ship owner and a barely seaworthy tub, too much cargo, not enough food and the storm over a month ago.

  Captain Kacoma expressed his sympathies, but he was unfortunately unable to help as much as he wanted to. “I can leave some food and take about ten of you. I’ll send the next ship I see to get the rest. We’re a few weeks out from Port Sipa…It’s the best I can do, Captain Sanfora.”

  “I see. Well, some help is better than no help, sir, and we of the Bellflower thank you for your kindness and generosity. I know what it means to keep a schedule.”

  “I really wish I could do more for you. We’ll cross to the ship with some of your men, then my boys’ll come back with what provisions I can spare, and ferry the rest.”

  “Ster and Stess bless you. Tell the other ship that there may be a reward
from the Bellflower’s owner. Thank you very much, Captain Kacoma.” Afnir looked back at his Crew. “Chos and Ellor. Tirpa. Buck. Sev, Finve and Arno. Balgo, Kostek…Sturo. Youse go and send us help as soon as youse can.”

  Sooner than those remaining would have liked, the Golden Sunrise was sailing away. Tirpa and the others waved as they drew off, and the rest of the castaways felt even more alone. Though it was an extreme hardship for Kacoma and his men to part with some of their rations and feed an additional ten mouths for their last few weeks at sea, they bore it with good grace. Blankets were donated and two hammocks were given up for the injured Smilers.

  Halfway through the midwatch two nights later, knives were quietly stuck into sleeping sailors, and those on watch were efficiently eliminated. Their kindness had earned them no mercy.

  Kacoma was on the wheel, and was startled out of his reverie by splashing sounds when the bodies of his men were cast overboard. When he saw the four Smilers approach out of the darkness with bloody knives in their hands, he merely slumped in defeat. Not a word was spoken. Kacoma closed his eyes as Finve raised the first knife.

  It took another three days of fighting wind and current to return to Gull Stut Island. When they arrived, they found no sign of their shipmates. The island was deserted.

  24

  Captured

  Two days after the departure of the Golden Sunrise, the Kingfisher arrived and took off the remaining survivors.

  Afnir spun the same tale for the fishermen that he’d given Kacoma. He and his crew were welcomed heartily. They were fed a truly delicious fish stew and put to work hauling nets and working the sails. This freed the regular crew up for cleaning and salt-packing the catch.

  Afnir and his men were promised a share of the profits when they returned to Dalaria in three weeks. Afnir suspected—rightly as it turned out—that their shares would be smaller than the regular crews, but none of the Smilers were about to complain of it. By silent accord they decided against taking the Kingfisher. Fat, slow and unarmed, she was utterly unsuitable for anything other than what she was. Plus she reeked abominably of fish.