Demon
by Trejaan

Cuthbert's report on the captured raider vessel was thorough. I'd expected nothing less from him. I had given him the task of commanding the vessel as we towed it to port. The grape shot had crippled the rudder and the chain had made short work of her rigging. Otherwise, the damage was minimal. We'd taken her clean. The crew had realized quickly that the ship was dead in the water and her companions either sunk or sinking. They hadn't put up more than a token resistance after that.

She was smaller than a normal Carvecian-built raider, 30 guns, a crew of about 200 and oversized cargo holds. But she wasn't built for fire power. She was built for speed. Once repaired, and with some DECENT sails, she'd run circles around most ships. I had already made up my mind to keep her and filed the papers with the harbor master the second night we'd been in port.

I looked to the slip where she was moored. Repair crews were beginning to finish up for the evening, packing up their tools and heading to the mess hall. Cuthebert had called her a 'canny little sloop'. I had to agree... even though she was a brig. I was toying with a name for her... a name I'd heard some of the men whisper to frighten young Mr. Crenshaw... The Demon. They weren't talking about the ship. They were talking about me.

"He's a demon and no mistake, Rookie." Mr. Lindsay grinned. "Fog as thick as that? 'ow else ya think he knew where them bas'ards was?"

"Aye," his friend, a mongrel named Jervis added. "An' that group the week afore them? I s'pose the wind jus' shifted by itself right as the Admiral was callin' to lay on port sail?"

Crenshaw may have been young, but he was no fool. He had the number of every man he called friend and knew when they were having a bit of sport with him.

"Is it the Crown's habit to promote monsters to command rank now?" He arched a brow at the others.

"O'course! Ye ain't ne'er sailed un'er Shaw, have ye?" The entire knot of friends broke into quiet laughter. Lindsay quailed when he saw me suddenly standing next to him.

They shifted nervously as they waited for me to say something. I really shouldn't allow the defamation of one of my captains... but sometimes, as they say, "T'is easier to stop an arrow in its flight than to stop the tongues of fools."

"Gentlemen," I began with what I hoped was a dangerous smile. "Captain Shaw is no monster." They were definitely looking worried now. I dropped my voice to a conspiritorial whisper. "Why do you think Sir Cuthbert's glare can kill a gull at half a mile?" I gave the wolfhound a quick glance as he was speaking with Mr. Thomas on the quarter deck. The men all stared at me in amazement as I began to walk away. Their laughter followed me as I descended the stairs from the forecastle.

"He's a demon sure enuff... but he's a good'n." Lindsay muttered when he thought I was out of earshot.

"Thank you, Mr. Lindsay! You're most kind!" I called without turning to face them. The laughter died for a moment but returned at double volume.

I had always felt more at home with the common sailors, able-bodies and to some extent the midshipmen than with most officers. Make no mistake: I was a damn good Admiral. The fleet was flourishing and the Denholme name had gained a reputation of getting the job done. And the Denholme family coffers were flush with the rewards that our successes had earned. And this contract we had just completed would only add to that reputation AND fortune.

The harbor master was still finding it difficult to believe our reports. But, they were true. The Cerberus fleet had escorted the Verdi family's convoy safely to Pullman colony in southern Carvecia. We had not lost a single ship... but we'd sunk no fewer than 41 enemy vessels: raiders and pirates who were after the Verdi's cargo. As I say: I'm a damn good Admiral. I suppose it was little wonder some of the men were assigning supernatural influence to such accomplishments.

Still, I was a low-born man thrust into Pedigree life. Most officers were Pedigrees and most Pedigrees would never accept me.

That reminded me. It wasn't going to be pleasant, but it was something I needed to do. When the men in my crew joked about me, it was in good fun. I could accept that. But, this... this I had to deal with.

"Cuthbert!" I called.

"Sir?" my companion called from the deck above me.

"You have the ship! I'll be back presently!"

"Yes, sir!" I don't know if he knew where I was going, but I think he suspected.

The sun was still hovering above the horizon and the warm smells of seawater, earth and wood brought a smile to my face as I walked down the gang plank. A life at sea was a hard life. The food, the boredom, being deprived of family and love... those were all part of it. But there were things that made it all worthwhile. A good many things, actually. I loved the feel of the deck under me, rolling in the waves, the spray in my face and the wind at my back. I was a true "son of Mother Blue". Most of these men were: career navy. Some were still with the fleet from when Lucius was Admiral and Lord.

But now I was both Lord and Admiral and that meant there were things I was expected to do. I looked up as I approached the gang plank to the Orthrus. Shaw was on the command deck. He saw me as I began to climb.

A lieutenant saw me and called, "Admiral on deck!" I signaled then men to return to their duties and faced the mastiff as he approached from the deck above.

"I need to borrow your first officer for a few moments, Captain."

He eyed me appraisingly. "Will you return him intact?" He didn't call me sir. I didn't ask it of him... but he was the only one.

I gave him a trace of a smile. "More or less."

His eyes continued to dig into me. But then he raised his remaining hand and signaled over my shoulder. I heard footsteps hurrying up behind me and when they stopped, I just said, "With me, if you please." and turned back to descend the plank again. I could hear him following and knew he wouldn't speak until I required it from him. I led him away from the docks. This needed a bit of privacy.

Finally, I led the way between a warehouse and the fortress wall where I was sure we wouldn't be disturbed and turned to face him. "Mr. Singh," I began.

The greyhound's eye narrowed slightly but he remained silent. That WAS the way I like him best.

"I understand you have some... complaints... with the way I have been commanding my fleet?"

I could see a trace of alarm flash across his features but it was quickly suppressed. He gave me a calculating look as he considered his response. It was obvious I would not be speaking to him if I had no proof. I had no more love for him than he for me. Finally, he decided to return my frankness in kind.

"Yes, sir. I believe that many of the strategies you employed in the engagements with the raiders were foolish... and dangerous." His voice was sharp with loathing and his eyes were narrowed in such a way that suggested that simply looking at me made him ill.

I nodded sympatheically because I knew it would irritate him. "I see," I said in an understanding tone. "Would you care to give an example so I might understand your complaint better?"

He looked at me as though he thought me mentally deficient. He pulled a silver snuffbox from his pocket and took a pinch. After he'd returned the box to his pocket, he said, "The last battle before we arrived here, sir." The emphasis on that last word was there because he knew that irritated me.

"Two enemy vessels sunk before we got into their guns' range... the other two boarded, seized and turned over to the Crown," I rattled off the particulars. "As I recall, we only had a few light casualties. Is that the battle you mean?"

"Yes, sir." His voice dripped venom.

I gave him a warm smile that had no warmth. "It would appear, from a purely subjective analysis, that my strategy worked splendidly. I take it you don't agree?"

"Just because it worked does NOT mean it wasn't wrong... sir."

Now I was curious. It was true that Singh knew more about naval warfare history than any sane man had a right to. He could quote: fact, date, name without effort. The problem with it all was he only knew these things. He didn't understand them... not in his bones... not in the way he could use them to any great effect. That was why he was no longer a captain but was relegated to Shaw's first officer. That fact had driven his distaste for me into abject hatred.

"May I ask you what strategy YOU would have employed had you been in my stead?" I asked, dripping with false civility.

The greyhound smiled as though certain he was about to astound me. "There was a similar case during the Carvecian Uprising."

He used that term because he knew I hated it. That was the way the Fancies referred the the Carvecian War of Independence. Amuresca had underestimated them... a mottly group of colonists and some natives... and paid dearly for it. Many Pedigrees still feel that the Crown had only given them their independence because they weren't worth the trouble. Pedigrees like Singh. Attitudes like that would only end up with us at war again. The Carvecians had won. We, as a nation, needed to accept it and begin to deal with them as a new nation! But 40 years had passed and tensions had only grown.

I signaled to the greyhound to continue.

"It was 3rd August, in the year of our Father 926 and Admiral Freeman was in a situation very sim..."

My barking laugh stopped him and he glared at me.

"The Battle of Rooster Bay??? Is THAT what you are talking about???"

"Yes, sir," he almost growled with annoyance.

I gazed at him pityingly for a few moments. "Would you please point out these 'similarities' you are referring to?"

Again came the look that implied I was especially dim.

"The number and type of enemy. The makeup of our fleet. The angle of attack. The time of day. The direction of the wind..."

"The wind," I repeated.

He paused, startled.

"Let me see if I understand you, Singh. You are telling me you would have steered 30 points off the wind in that engagement, gained distance and then turned broadside to attack?"

Singh seemed almost impressed I knew that much about that particular battle. "Exactly, sir."

I stared at him in amazement for a long while. Finally I asked him, "Tell Mr. Singh: how many lateens are on the Orthrus?"

He seemed surprised. "Lateens sir?

"Yes, Mister Signh. Lateens..." I spoke to him as though to a child. "You know. The triangular sails that ships use to tack against the wind? How many does the Orthrus have?"

That earned a guttural growl of impatience from him. "Three... sir." He had hestitate to add that last word.

"And how many were the raiders flying that day, 2 weeks ago. If you would be so kind?"

He ground his teeth in frustration and then practically spit the words, "Three, sir!"

I looked at him in mock surprise. "Truly?"

He refused to be baited.

"Be so good as to look at our prize over there." I motion to the former raider vessel. "How many lateens is she rigged for? Those repairs, at least, are finished."

Singh glanced briefly. "Three, sir."

"Three, sir," I repeated, rolling the words around my mouth for a second. "Tell me, Mr. Singh. What type of sail is the spanker?"

"The spa..." he paused, seeing at last what I was getting at.

"The spanker or drive sail, if you prefer," I said. "What type is it?

His eyes, now humbled, took in the rigging behind the rear mast of my new ship.

"It would appear to be a lateen, sir," he replied.

All fire had gone out of him. He knew what I was about to say. I had to finish. not because of the satisfaction I might take from putting this pain-in-the-arse Fancy in his place, but because I was the Admiral. I was obliged to finish what I had started.

"So, you would have steered into the wind to outpace ships that were BETTER equipped for that maneuver? Tell me, Mr. Singh: What would the probable result have been?"

"We would have been overtaken and cut to ribbons, sir."

I allowed his defeat to settle a little more deeply. I was taking no pleasure in this.

"You're a fine office, Singh. Your knowledge of naval tactics is unmatched in my experience." He looked at me; shock registering at my words. "BUT... your understanding of those tactics is appalling! I brought the fleet through that battle with no losses. Had YOU had your way..." I trailed off.

"I was in error, sir." His voice was tight, as though he was having trouble speaking." I... apologize for challenging you."

I took a sudden step towards him and he froze. I stood with our noses almost touching.

"If you EVER challenger my decisions again, Singh..." He flinched. "...you'll be doing no more than your job!"

It took him a second or two to understand what I'd said.

"Sir?" The confusion in his voice was quite satisfying.

"Mr. Singh, my ego is not QUITE so unchecked as to preclude accepting the possibily that I might be wrong." He gaped at me. "I value honesty in my officers and I like knowing where I stand with them. You have never been anything BUT honest with me... and I have never had difficulty in identifying what esteem you hold me in."

I swear to the great Father that he ALMOST smiled at that.

I paused for a few moments of thought, but I had made up my mind. He had proven that he could accept that I knew what I was doing... and that I had good reasons for doing it. That it wasn't all luck and hunches on my part. "You're the man for the job, Singh."

"Job, sir?"

"I have a new ship and she needs a captain... at least until we get back to Amuresca. Interested?"

He seemed to be having some difficulty believing what I'd said. At length, he snapped to attention and said, "Yes, sir."

"Good man! Grab your gear and report to The Demon immediately,"

"Yes, si... Demon, sir?" he asked, curiously.

"Yes, Captain... She's a demon true enuff, but she's a good'n."

end