The Game Of Petty Spirits, Part Three

[barefoot_bard]

Title: The Game Of Petty Spirits
Rating: M (Suitable for ages 16 and above)
Disclaimers: David Lakey is the creation of sharpiefan. Tom Carter, Billy Ivey, Dan Tisdale, and Nancy Owens are mine. Most characters who appear are actual historical figures. All other characters belong their respective creators. Neither The Incredible Journey of Mary Bryant nor Banished are mine. No profit is being made from this story.
Story summary: The line between good and bad is often blurred, but two Marines with the First Fleet learn just how easily that blurring happens. Australia, 1788.
Author's Note: There are going to be historical and canon goofs in this. Most of them are probably intentional. I apologise for those that aren't.


It was obvious by the looks on the faces of the Marines in the gallows detail that something had happened. Something which was not an execution. The short file of men, led by Macdonald, tramped toward the bivoauc in what looked like disbelief to Carter's eye. He stretched his legs out and examined the polish on his shoes while Billy Ivey's deft fingers braided his long greying auburn hair. He had risen before dawn to bathe in the river, which allowed him to enjoy the lack of human presence. If only the unceasing racket of wildlife would knock off even for a half-hour. Otherwise, there was never any true quiet.

"You got a pigtail some of me old shipmates'd kill for, cully," Ivey remarked airily. "How long you been growin' it?"

Carter grinned. "Since I took the shillin'. So... that's twelve years, near 'nuff."

"Long's that? You're a proper old hand, then. Only lad I seen with a tail long's yours was ol' Black Joe Roberts, back in Hyaena. There, finally got it. Where's your ribbon at?"

"Hurry up there," snapped Sergeant Timmins, appearing from the tent behind them. "Parade in ten minutes. You're both on boat duty today, so get moving. The fishermen will be mustering right after parade."

The sergeant didn't wait for acknowledgements, striding off to intercept the gallows detail as he was. Carter followed Timmins' movement with his eyes, being unable to turn his head since Ivey was threading a long black ribbon through the neat braids in Carter's hair. Making his queue up again always was a process but Ivey had quickly proved expert at it. He was very nearly as good as Carter's old tie mate back home.

"So how'd it go, mate?" Ivey asked, glancing toward a tired-looking Lakey as the young Marine trudged toward them, after the detail was dismissed by Sergeant Timmins.

"Didn't. Reverend married the bloke instead. Dunno what happened but it sure weren't a hanging."

"Huh! Who'd the fella marry?"

Lakey leaned heavily on his musket and grunted. "That poor wretch they flogged yesterday. Seems they're a proper pair. It was all... damn strange, lads."

"Aye, well. No arguin' wiv a man of God," Carter observed, thinking of the conversation he'd had with Reverend Johnson the previous day. An exception to his typical wariness of chaplains could sure be made for Johnson.

"But is it even right? The man was supposed to hang. Instead, we turned him loose and let him take a wife. How does that count as punishment? 'Specially after what the major said yesterday."

There was a chuckle from Ivey. "Mebbe it ain't right, but was you keen's all that to be on a burial detail too? It don't hurt to have a bit of mercy after showin' some steel, cully. Even I knows that!"

"Aye, but - "

"Marines for parade!" Sergeant Ryan barked in his rough voice. "Get off your arses and get your kit! Drummer! Where the Devil are you hidin'?" The sergeant carried on through the bivoauc, his shouted encouragement causing men to come hurrying out of their tents, some still dressing. Lakey, being already dressed, shoved off without waiting for either of them, but Carter only shrugged. There were some things the lad needed to learn through hard experience. Words alone wouldn't do the job.

There was a slight tug on his hair and Ivey said, "There! That's done it. C'mon, we'll be for it if we don't pull smartly." The ex-seaman helped Carter up, then passed him his coat and crossbelts. Inside two minutes, the two Marines were trotting down the path to join the rest of the company, which had all but fallen in by the time they arrived. Other than to cast a glare in their direction, Major Ross offered no reprimand but went straight into the morning ritual of inspecting the company before dismissing the men to their various duties.

As Timmins had warned them, Carter and Ivey were on boat duty, alongside five other men. Spending even part of the day afloat would be a welcome break from watching the convicts work ashore. It appeared that Buckley had to be part of the crew as well but Carter was determined to ignore the bastard's presence. Without conversation or ceremony, the Marines heaved one of the longboats into the water and one by one scrambled aboard, keeping their muskets high so they couldn't get wet. Ivey promptly took a seat in the sternsheets, grinning shamelessly as he laid his musket against the gunwale.

"How d'you get to be cox'n?" John McCarthy wanted to know.

"I get it 'cause I'm a taut hand of the watch," was the cheerful response. "Objections?"

There were none, but Carter suspected nobody minded. Ivey had proved his ability at boat-handling long before now. At his command, the oars were gotten up from the bottomboards, where they were stowed when not in use, and passed overhead to each oarsman. The oars were tossed and held there, the white-painted blades reflecting the strengthening sun.

Ivey gave the tiller an experimental swing to either side to be sure the rudder responded. Satisfied, he called, "Shove off!"

Carter and the other Marine in the bow stood, carefully, and turned to plant their oar blades into the sand and shoved them deep, levering the boat away from the riverbank and into the water. Their task accomplished, the two bowmen settled back onto their thwarts, tossing their oars so riverwater trickled down onto their hats from the oarblades.

"Let fall!" Ivey waited until the oars had been brought down smartly into the oarlocks. "Give way astern together!"

The oarsmen bent their backs to their looms and the longboat inched backward, gaining enough sea room to allow Ivey to put the tiller over and swing the boat around. "That's well! Give way forrard together!"

There was a brief pause before the oarsmen took up the stroke and the longboat scudded smoothly forward, angling out into the heart of the river that emptied into the bay. They were afloat before the fishermen but that was the idea. There was a guardboat out every day the fishermen worked, since the governor naturally didn't trust William Bryant's promise to keep his crews in line.

Carter watched McCarthy, the strokesman, to be sure he timed his motions to the Irishman's, and wondered if he'd have a chance to talk to Nancy that evening. It was hard to dismiss Buckley's claims that Sergeant Ryan had an eye on her as empty taunts. The ugly little goat was the sort to fling such information out simply to cause hurt and upset. Which meant Carter needed to be sure his sister-in-law was safe from Ryan. The sergeant might be fat and old, but he was also a swine in his own right.

"Oars, lads," said Ivey, after glancing over his shoulder to see where the fishermen and their boats were at. They were all afloat and coming out into the river now, laden with nets and buoys for setting out. The Marines' longboat drifted in the lazy current, the men resting on their oars and waiting for the command to resume rowing.

The rest was brief enough, as it turned out. "Give way forrard together." Ivey eased the longboat into a wide, graceful arc so it bore upstream, back toward the fishermen's boats. This was innocent enough, since their whole purpose for being afloat was to keep an eye on the fishermen. Carter did not, therefore, think anything of Ivey's sending them back upstream until the young Marine abruptly called out, "That's well! Hold water!"

"The hell are you doin' - "

"The boat ahoay!" Ivey called, neatly interrupting Buckley. He was looking at the foremost of the fishing boats, in which the convict Bryant sat at the tiller.

"Hulloa," came the cautious response. At a word, the oars in all the fishing boats stilled as the convicts stared at the Marines, trying to guess what they were about. That was something Carter himself was keen to know. Ordinarily, the guardboat stayed at a deliberate distance from the fishermen.

"That man there," Ivey pointed at one of the oarsmen in the first boat. "He ain't in your usual crew. When'd he sign on with you, mate?"

Bryant shrugged. "He's always been in my crew."

"He ain't. I've not seen him before today, so he's a new hand or I'm a lubber. Where's the lad usually pulls that oar? Dyce, ain't that his name?" No reply was immediately forthcoming to that, so Ivey shook his head. "Go 'bout an' beach yerselves, till Dyce turns up."

The expression on Bryant's face was difficult to read but his hesitation was hard to mistake. Ivey gave him a good few seconds to react and when he did not, the young Marine looked at Carter. "Tom, mate. Put a ball in 'em, 'tween wind an' water, they don't come 'bout."

Carter boated his oar and reached for his musket, but happily he didn't need to rise from his thwart. There was a scoff from Bryant, who snapped, "Pull, boys. So much for a day's fishin'."

The three boats were sweeping around to return to the riverbank, but he kept a hand on his musket anyway until he was satisfied the convicts' withdrawal was in earnest. "Christ, Ivey, d'you know all them lads by sight?"

"Aye, course I does. They's all landsmen but I knows 'em all. Mebbe if you used yer peepers a bit, you'd have spotted that sly bugger first. Give way forrard, all. We best see who that grass-comber is an' find the lad who's s'posed to be in that boat."

Setting his musket aside again, Carter couldn't help a laugh. "You'll be a corp'ral an' all by time we leaves here, lad, you keeps up."

Ivey grinned at the praise, which was all the dearer as Carter was not one from whom such things were often heard. He made a short little bow, despite sitting on his thwart, and steered the longboat easily back in to shore.

~

"We best be on the lookout at meal times, boys," said Mulrooney as he settled onto his cot to enjoy his meagre dinner. "Seems there's a thief afoot 'mongst the convicts. One of 'em came to me yesterday wantin' at his food because somebody stole his. Wouldn't say who, of course, but I'm sure he was tellin' me straight."

"Bollocks he was," grunted Dan Tisdale.

"Oh no, I'm sure he was ever so earnest. He's even declared it was the blacksmith done it. The major was having a right laugh about it last night, he was. Convicts will say anything if it'll do them good."

Lakey washed down a hard hunk of bread with some water and watched with quiet interest as Carter sat up on his own cot. The most passing mention of the blacksmith unfailingly got the Londoner's attention, he'd noticed. "So what came of it?"

"Nothing. The governor told Freeman he was full of it and sent him on his way."

Across the tent, Buckley uttered a harsh-sounding laugh. "Only it's true. I watched the blacksmith at it this very morning. He makes it look easy."

"You watched that bugger snaffle anuvver convict's food an' you didn't do anyfin' about it?"

"Course I didn't. Why should I? If they're not stealing my food, I don't care what they get up to."

Tisdale flung up an arm to stop Carter from getting any further than half a step from his cot. "Sickens me to admit, it does, but he's got a point. So long as it don't get to be another out-an'-out riot, their squabblin' don't do us much harm."

"So, wot? We let that lot go on stealin' each uvver's food, wot'll we let 'em get away wiv next?"

"Is there any order against it?" Lakey wanted to know. The others looked at him, some with frowns, others in confusion. "I mean, has the governor actually said every man's ration is sacred, so stealing it can be something actually punished?"

"The bloody hell sorta tripe is that?" McCarthy demanded. "It don't hardly need to be written for folks to know it shouldn't be happenin'."

"You're both daft," said Tisdale dismissively.

"Aye, an' if that filthy great bastard is stealin' food from one convict, you can bet he's stealin' it from anuvver an' all. I'll do sentry-go at their breakfast tomorra, 'cause at least I got the bollocks to do wot's right."

"I've got breakfast duty tomorrow," Buckley objected, and shrank instinctively back when Carter started toward him, even though Tisdale was quick to hold the older Marine back.

"Be easy, Tom lad. Won't do breakin' a hand on the rock that'n has for a head. You'll regret it, you will, if you takes a swing."

"Aye," Mulrooney observed silkily, "if you give Buckley another thumpin', the major will happily have you flogged. Said so himself."

Lakey shook his head. "Way I see it, if this bloke Freeman can't sort out his own troubles, it ain't for us to do the job for him. The blacksmith may be stealing his food but it's a problem to be dealt with between him and Freeman. No sense us gettin' mixed up in petty foolishness like that, unless it gets to be a fight."

"Ain't you a quick one to shift sides. An' here I fought you was a decent sort."

"Let him go," Mulrooney said as Carter, snatching up his musket, stormed out of the tent. "Stuck-up prig like that ain't worth the blackin' on his shoes."

There was a grunt from Tisdale, who retrieved his own musket where it leaned against his cot. "You say that but I'd lay odds you'd be the first one wantin' him nearby, you would, if there was a scrap. He's a good bloke. Whatever he thinks 'bout anythin'."

The Marines watched him go, doubtlessly to try to calm Carter down, and once he was gone Buckley laughed. The sound was no more pleasant than it had been a few minutes ago.

"I'll do breakfast duty tomorrow, and if he tries to thump me, I swear I'll shoot him."

That was no more likely than ships coming into the bay tomorrow with fresh stores and the promise of immediate tranpsort home, Lakey thought. He tossed back the last mouthful of his water and decided he had little interest in sitting here to listen to such rubbish. He had a lot to ponder, since his suspicion that the blacksmith must have done something to Carter was now a certainty, for why else should he be so keen to see the man in trouble?

It was something he should, perhaps, ask. His mother had always said it was better to ask and be sure, because making assumptions was the mark of an ignorant soul. In a lot of ways, and hopefully this one, his mother was invariably right.

~

From his cot, Carter watched their new corporal and his woman as the pair sat in unhappy conversation at the table across the tent. Every man in the company knew of the major's decision to share the poor girl. The very idea of it made Carter's blood simmer. No officer who was truly a gentleman would stoop to such a low. Especially not for a lass who was with one of his own men. But Major Ross was seeming less and less like a gentleman, really. Him and Mister Clark both. Carter had spotted the lieutenant near the women's huts early in the afternoon, no doubt hoping to get Mary Bryant alone.

That line of thought naturally progressed to what Buckley had claimed, that Sergeant Ryan was after Nancy Owens. The truth of the claim was hard to know but it stuck in his mind regardless. Not the least because Ryan was the sort of man to do such a thing. Ugly fat goat that he was. God. If he was trying his luck with Nancy, Carter had a mind to skewer him for it.

"Poor sod," Billy Ivey said, all but flinging himself down onto the end of Carter's cot. The ex-seaman had wasted no time stripping off most of his uniform. As ever.

"Aye. Bloody town-bull of an officer we got." Carter watched Macdonald and his girl depart, knowing as they all did where the pair were heading. "They musta wanted only the bad ones to come down here an' all."

"I heard that, Carter," said Sergeant Timmins warningly.

Carter tucked his hands beneath his head and grunted. "Sorry, Sarn't." Except that he wasn't and Timmins no doubt knew it. "Why ain't you got a lass, Billy?"

"What? Me? Nah, cully. That'd mean havin' just one. Only one lass for a foremast Jack? You're havin' a laugh if you thinks that's for me!"

The men nearest chuckled and Carter shoved a foot against Ivey's ribs. "You tellin' us you has a different lass every night?"

"Not every night." Ivey smirked. "Jus' most of 'em."

Dan Tisdale tossed a rag at Ivey's head. "So you're why there weren't hardly any left for us, you are, when it was time to choose. They'd all been spoke for already!"

"I left you plenty!" Ivey flung the rag back. "If you din't pick a skirt, it ain't hardly my fault. Anyways, we ain't all so loyal's Tom here, so I gotta have all the fun for him."

"Get off, you slag," Carter said cheerfully, using both feet to knock Ivey off the end of his cot. The young Marine made a show of rolling about on the ground as if mortally wounded, but he was anything but hurt. Tisdale pelted him with the same rag again, then ducked when Ivey heaved it straight back at his head.

"Settle down, lads," Timmins told them.

The merriment subsided, though Carter hardly saw the harm in it. Having a laugh every now and then was good for a man's spirits. Discipline was ever paramout, though. Of course. He stared up at the canvas ceiling of the tent and contemplated the wisdom of going round to see Nancy again. He'd tried once earlier and been summarily shown the door, as it were. Strictly speaking, he could force his way in but he wanted was to help her, not make her hate him. Which was exactly what would happen if he acted like a brute.

There had to be a way to do it. Certainly there had to be a way to keep her out of the hands of swine like Ryan and Buckley. He remembered the little swab's mention of an interest in Nance all too readily. If that bastard so much as touched her, he'd get shot. Carter would happily swing for that. Even if his wife would then never forgive him for being so rash. Imagining her wrath upon learning he'd been hanged made him grin ruefully. Lads here thought he had a temper when provoked!

Temper or not, he wished he could ask her thoughts about this. She was dead clever in her own way. She'd have an answer. It'd most likely be a simple and obvious one, too. Simple and obvious... Carter thought back to his conversation with the vicar and found himself wondering if perhaps a solution had been offered then, however unintentionally.

He sat up and looked for Tisdale. The ex-soldier was across the tent by their little cookstove, having abandoned the work of blacking his shoes in favour of preparing his supper. Poor bugger was about to find out that his food would have to wait, since he was the only man in the company who could pull off the job Carter had in mind. Hopefully. All the same, he hesitated, aware that if this went wrong, he'd be in trouble. But... nothing ventured, nothing gained.

"Dan, c'mere, mate. I need a favour."