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Authors: J.A. Sutherland
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tablet. “It’s time I went back to the ship.” She started dressing quickly, blushing as she saw the man watching her. “Must you?”
The man laughed and slid off the opposite side of the bed. He was, Alexis was relieved to note, wearing a bit more than the towel she remembered from the night before, then her gaze rose to his back and she gasped. The expanse of brown skin was marred with a crisscross mass of scars. He turned and saw her shocked look.
“Oh, aye, spent a bit of time afore the mast, I did.” His face split in a wide smile. “Then found I were far too pretty to spend my days in a vacsuit.” He pulled a loose, white shirt from a drawer and slid it over his head. “I’ll say this aboot our talk, lass. Your lieutenant’s a worse man than that Captain Neals you told me of.”
Alexis froze in buttoning her uniform jacket. Had he really just suggested that Lieutenant Williard was worse than Captain Neals?
“That captain? He don’t know what’s wrong, or flat don’t care. The lieutenant, though? He sees the wrong and does nae a thing? How much worse is that?”
Alexis frowned. “No lieutenant can stop a captain doing as he likes on his own ship.”
“Nae what I’m saying, lass. Nae at all.” He pursed his lips in thought. “A man meets yer captain,” he said finally, “and he’s the worse fer it. Same man meets yer lieutenant, is he the better?” He frowned. “His way seems t’be just givin’ up. I dinnae ken givin’ up in the face o’ that. Fightin’ what y’can, e’en a wee bit, that I ken.”
Alexis considered this. She wasn’t entirely sure that she remembered Lieutenant Williard’s words at dinner all that clearly, but she did recall being uncomfortable with them at the time. So much of what Williard had suggested to her seemed to be about protecting himself until he was in some better position to do something, with little thought to helping others, such as the crew, who had no such option. Still, she wasn’t at all certain what she could do.
“I’ll think on that, thank you.” She smoothed her jacket and set her beret atop her head. “And thank you, as well, for … listening.”
He came around the bed and slid the hatch to the hall open. He met her eye and grinned. “You paid for the time, lass. How we spend it’s up to you.” He raised his eyebrows. “Though, perhaps, next time …”
Alexis flushed and hurried through the hatch and down the stairs. In the main room, she saw the woman she recognized from the night before speaking to another woman, younger and looking uncertain, dressed in the jumpsuit of a merchant shipping line. Alexis caught the younger woman’s gaze and they each looked away quickly as she hurried to the hatch back to the corridor.
“Lass!”
She turned at the hatchway to find the man from upstairs — now wearing a long robe, but having left it untied — on the stairs.
“Cort,” he said, grinning broadly at her look of confusion. “Cort Blackmon. Case you were wonderin’ … or fer next time yer in port, if you come askin’.”
* * * * *
The chandler eyed the list of stores she’d transferred to his tablet and nodded.
“Aye and I’ve most of this lot I can have aboard afore your ship sails, but not the last bit. Not if it’s the actuals you’re after,” he said.
“The actuals?” With still several hours before she was due back aboard Hermione , Alexis had stopped into one of the many chandleries to have personal stores sent aboard. If they were to be pilfered by the others in the midshipman’s berth, then they’d be pilfered, but she’d no longer allow them to make her change her ways over it — or, at least, not in the way they might want or suspect. Fight what I can and not give up, aye.
“Is it the actual Scotch whiskey you’re after? I’ve bourbons aplenty, rye if you want it, and Irish — well, anywheres there’re two brogues and a copper pot there’ll be the Irish made. But the Scotch
The man laughed and slid off the opposite side of the bed. He was, Alexis was relieved to note, wearing a bit more than the towel she remembered from the night before, then her gaze rose to his back and she gasped. The expanse of brown skin was marred with a crisscross mass of scars. He turned and saw her shocked look.
“Oh, aye, spent a bit of time afore the mast, I did.” His face split in a wide smile. “Then found I were far too pretty to spend my days in a vacsuit.” He pulled a loose, white shirt from a drawer and slid it over his head. “I’ll say this aboot our talk, lass. Your lieutenant’s a worse man than that Captain Neals you told me of.”
Alexis froze in buttoning her uniform jacket. Had he really just suggested that Lieutenant Williard was worse than Captain Neals?
“That captain? He don’t know what’s wrong, or flat don’t care. The lieutenant, though? He sees the wrong and does nae a thing? How much worse is that?”
Alexis frowned. “No lieutenant can stop a captain doing as he likes on his own ship.”
“Nae what I’m saying, lass. Nae at all.” He pursed his lips in thought. “A man meets yer captain,” he said finally, “and he’s the worse fer it. Same man meets yer lieutenant, is he the better?” He frowned. “His way seems t’be just givin’ up. I dinnae ken givin’ up in the face o’ that. Fightin’ what y’can, e’en a wee bit, that I ken.”
Alexis considered this. She wasn’t entirely sure that she remembered Lieutenant Williard’s words at dinner all that clearly, but she did recall being uncomfortable with them at the time. So much of what Williard had suggested to her seemed to be about protecting himself until he was in some better position to do something, with little thought to helping others, such as the crew, who had no such option. Still, she wasn’t at all certain what she could do.
“I’ll think on that, thank you.” She smoothed her jacket and set her beret atop her head. “And thank you, as well, for … listening.”
He came around the bed and slid the hatch to the hall open. He met her eye and grinned. “You paid for the time, lass. How we spend it’s up to you.” He raised his eyebrows. “Though, perhaps, next time …”
Alexis flushed and hurried through the hatch and down the stairs. In the main room, she saw the woman she recognized from the night before speaking to another woman, younger and looking uncertain, dressed in the jumpsuit of a merchant shipping line. Alexis caught the younger woman’s gaze and they each looked away quickly as she hurried to the hatch back to the corridor.
“Lass!”
She turned at the hatchway to find the man from upstairs — now wearing a long robe, but having left it untied — on the stairs.
“Cort,” he said, grinning broadly at her look of confusion. “Cort Blackmon. Case you were wonderin’ … or fer next time yer in port, if you come askin’.”
* * * * *
The chandler eyed the list of stores she’d transferred to his tablet and nodded.
“Aye and I’ve most of this lot I can have aboard afore your ship sails, but not the last bit. Not if it’s the actuals you’re after,” he said.
“The actuals?” With still several hours before she was due back aboard Hermione , Alexis had stopped into one of the many chandleries to have personal stores sent aboard. If they were to be pilfered by the others in the midshipman’s berth, then they’d be pilfered, but she’d no longer allow them to make her change her ways over it — or, at least, not in the way they might want or suspect. Fight what I can and not give up, aye.
“Is it the actual Scotch whiskey you’re after? I’ve bourbons aplenty, rye if you want it, and Irish — well, anywheres there’re two brogues and a copper pot there’ll be the Irish made. But the Scotch
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