The Game Of Petty Spirits, Part Seven

[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.


Not even a day after being flogged and already he was making a habit of defying the order confining him to the barracks tent. He couldn't have slept anywhere else, of course, but well before dawn, Carter was up and gone. He'd barely slept since returning from the Bryants' hut the previous night. There was too much to think about. Hell. Too much to worry about. He'd left Nancy with the Bryants, since he was not about to bring her back with him. Not that night anyway. Tisdale had stayed as well, since he was not supposed to be on sick list.

Nobody else was up yet when Carter made a stealthy exit. Being on sick list meant he didn't need his musket or crossbelts, fortunately. The less he had to carry, the better. Bad enough he had to wear his coat! It pulled just the wrong side of too tightly across the bandages on his back. Grimacing to himself, he moved as quietly as he could toward the bivoauc's entrance, hoping the night sentry wouldn't think anything of his going out so early. Or of his going out at all.

"Sneaking off, Carter?"

Shit. It was Sergeant Timmins. Where the bloody hell had he come from? For that matter, when had he left the tent? "No, Sarn't."

"You are supposed to be confined to barracks," Timmins pointed out, not seeming bothered by Carter's lie.

"Yes, Sarn't."

"Yet you're off somewhere you probably should not be going." The older Marine ambled closer out of the shadows. "Is it something to do with your lass?"

"Wot if it is?" Good, he thought. Corporal Gowen had been talking. "It's me own b'ness, ain't it?"

"Aye, maybe. Except when it interferes with the obedience of orders. You are not to be out of barracks until the surgeon says."

Carter shrugged carefully. "Wot the sawbones don't know won't kill 'im an' all."

"Don't be flippant, Carter. If an officer catches you, you will be for it. Anyway... aren't you married?"

"Oh aye, Sarn't. Since before the war."

"I see." Timmins pursed his lips slightly in thought, then added, "It is rather early to be meeting your lass, I think. Who is she? I will tell her you aren't able to visit for a while yet."

"Ah no. Not bitin', Sarn't. I'll handle me own b'ness, fanks. Anyway, it ain't nuffin' - "

The sergeant shook his head. "I am not stupid, Private. I see and hear things, and have an idea when there is something going on. And you've definitely got something going on, Carter. You and Tisdale both, in fact. I did notice his absence from barracks all night."

"It ain't wot you fink, Sarn't."

"What is it I think then?"

Carter shook his head. "I ain't answerin' that. S'it all right if I go, Sarn't? I got fings to look after - "

"Half an hour," said Timmins. "No more. If you are not back before the bugler plays Rouse, I will have to report you."

"Yes, Sarn't. Fanks." The thing to do right then was flee, without it seeming like outright flight was his aim. He saluted and went on his way. At least, he told himself, Timmins showed no interest in coming along. That would have meant utter disaster. It was bad enough Sergeant Ryan was a part of this mess. Sorting him out was going to be tough. How did you get back at a sergeant when so much as putting a finger on him was practically a sure ticket to a hanging?

However much he wanted to, giving Ryan a thumping was thus simply out of the question. He was no good to Nancy dead. Neither was Tisdale, for that matter. They'd have to have a proper talk about what to do as soon as he got to Bryant's hut. Only, that was, after the Bryants were chased out. They could hardly be trusted in Carter's view. They were convicts, after all. And they had no love for the Marines. It wouldn't take much at all for either one to stitch them up. Which meant Nancy had to go somewhere else and that was a whole different kettle of fish. His first thought was to take her back to his barracks tent, but that was begging for trouble.

"Dan, mate," he called out once he was close enough to the little hut to do so safely. "S'me. Rouse out. We gotta shift Nance out."

In only a second, Tisdale was outside. He had no doubt been near the door all night. "Where can she go? Not back with us, aye?"

Carter leaned carefully against the hut's wall and sighed. "If it weren't for Sarn't Ryan, it'd be fine. But I dunno. She can't go back to the women's huts on her own, way things 'ave gone so far. D'you reckon - "

"You lads make 'nuff noise to wake the dead," Nancy chided, easing past Tisdale and wrapping a thin shawl about her shoulders. "Wot's this I'm hearin' about movin' me 'round?"

"S'a fought, Nance. We can't 'ave you hangin' out where Ryan can deal out a sowrin' to you again. Not so easy-like, anyways."

"I'm fine 'nuff where I'm at, Tom." She managed a slight smile. "That fat-arse Ryan won't come sniffin' round here."

There was a scornful grunt from Tisdale. "He will, won't he, an' nobody short of a bleedin' officer will - " he cut himself off and straightened sharply up, which was enough of a warning that Carter likewise straightened. He was in time to see Sergeant Timmins approaching at a casual but direct pace. Shit. Shit.

"You brought a - "

"Hop it," Carter snapped, and blessedly she buttoned up and was off, all but flying up the slight rise toward the safety of the darkness near the women's huts. Her swift departure hastened Timmins' advance from a walk to a run but by the time he was within speaking distance, Nancy was well out of sight.

"You sneaking beggar, Carter. You were not straight with me - where is your kit, Tisdale?"

"Back in barracks, Sarn't."

"Get yourself there. No. Wait." Timmins held up a hand. "Both of you, come with me. Now." He must have seen the expression on Carter's face, for in a sharper voice he snapped, "Now."

There was nothing else for it. Both Marines saluted and with rigid faces marched off directly. This was not good.

~

Each long, leaping stride took him further from the safety of the camp. Leaves and twigs whipped against his face and chest as he barrelled straight through a tangle of low-hanging tree branches. There was no real path to follow but he bounded onward, keeping as close behind John McCarthy as he could. Sustained running had not ever been a strong suit and Lakey felt his lungs beginning to ache as the chase took them down a gentle hillside. He'd run out of air before they caught Freeman, who was probably more determined to escape than the Marines were to catch him.

That they were flying headlong away from camp meant danger. Even Lakey knew that. He was considerably more concerned about the natives deciding to take on the handful of Marines than he was about anthing else. What chance would they have if an ambush was sprung on them? He risked a glance over his shoulder and was relieved to see nothing behind him. Just his luck to be at the back of the file - but so long as it stayed that way, it could not be bad, surely.

Then, suddenly, the pursuit was over. Sergeant Timmins was calling out, "Cease running!" and the four Marines who'd been following him gratefully came to a walk and, spreading out, a halt.

"Go any deeper, we die," the sergeant said as he sheathed his sword. He glanced back at Lakey, who thought his lungs were about to burst, and held out a hand. It was a relief to give up his musket, oddly enough. The firelock had seemed to increase in weight until it was about as heavy as a kedge anchor. Without a word, Timmins cocked the piece and fired from the waist into the air.

"Fire two," he told McCarthy, who obediently made ready and pulled the trigger. Dan Stanfield was next. As the echoes of his shot faded, the five Marines turned about to tramp wearily back toward the settlement. After, of course, reloading. The return march gave Lakey ample time to think. They had come all the way out here with the sole, express goal of killing a man. Yet that man had eluded them and Timmins was happy to send him on his way with a few parting shots. Was that justice? It had to be. Freeman had been suspected of committing the very crime that Lakey knew had actually been done by Tom Carter.

Did that count as justice? How could it? One man taking such a complete burden of guilt for a crime carried out by another? It seemed an absurdity to Lakey. Convict or not, surely Freeman's innocence could not be so summarily disbelieved. That did not seem right. Certainly it was not fair. How could anyone with a grain of decency or ounce of humanity not see the inequality? But maybe that was the point. There was no equality here. Only convicts and their guards. Them and us.

Sergeant Timmins' voice cut abruptly across his thoughts and brought him back to the present. "Private Lakey. You and Stanfield are to find Private Ivey when we return. You three will stand by at the brig until Corporal Macdonald and I come to retrieve you. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Sergeant."

What was that about? Nobody was locked up that Lakey knew of. Unless somebody was going to be locked up. That made sense enough to him. But who? He felt himself frown as it suddenly dawned on him. Freeman was done for, which removed one supposed guilty party. Then who could be - no. No. No.

"Who is to be arrested, Sergeant?"

"What makes you ask such a thing?"

Lakey tried to squash a grimace. "Four of us, Sarn't, standin' by at the brig? There's got to be somebody needing arresting."

"You ask too many questions, Private Lakey."

"Sarn't."

The remaining hundred or so yards between them and the settlement were thus covered in silence, but Lakey could not stop his spirits sinking. He knew, all but certainly, that it was not a convict who was to be arrested. More than that, he knew why. And that knowledge made his stomach turn over.

"Sergeant Timmins!" The hail came from Mister Clark, who was approaching at a brisk pace. "Dismiss your men and come with me."

"Sir! To your duties, lads. Dismiss!"

The stamp and rattle of the Marines' salutes and departures covered up the sigh that hissed past Lakey's lips. He followed Stanfield toward the bivoauc, not seeing anything of the subdued bustle in the camp. The only thing that remained in his vision was the imagined sight of the gallows and the inevitable hanging of a comrade.

Billy Ivey was not hard to find. He was just coming out of his tent, hat in one hand and musket in the other. "Ahoay, lads. Good hunting?"

"We're to stand by at the brig. Corporal Macdonald and Sergeant Timmins are gonna come to collect us there."

"Odd. But a'right. C'mon then!" Ivey shouldered his musket and trotted toward them, his apparent lightheartedness grating harshly on Lakey's already-thin nerves. Without a word, Lakey and Stanfield fell into step with him. Nothing more was said. Not even after they reached the little brig and formed into a single short rank near the door. The wait did not seem long but Lakey's increasingly gloomy thoughts made the passage of time impossible to judge. Were it not for the grunted warning from Ivey, he would not have noticed Sergeant Timmins' approach at all.

To his surprise, the sergeant looked squarely at him and said, "Lakey. Come with me." He did not speak further until they were out of earshot of the others. A fact that made Lakey apprehensive. What on earth could this be about?

"I know it was you," Timmins told him quietly. "Not Private Buckley. Not any of the convicts. You. I do not believe anyone else, except for the officers, have figured it out. But they will. You do not wear your guilt well."

How did he know? Only the officers had been there! "I never meant for this, Sergeant - "

"Stop. If you say another word, you will regret it. Informers are not loved by anyone, Private Lakey. There is, perhaps, a way to save yourself. Go to Mister Clark and speak to him. Tell him you were mistaken in your suspicions. The man responsible for the blacksmith's death is not the one you believed it was."

Lakey tried and failed to suppress a shiver. "But I wasn't - "

"Are you thick, man? Think! You lied to an officer. Unintentionally. It does not need to be any more than that. Will you do it?"

"But I - "

"Will you do it?"

"Yes! Yes, Sarn't. I'll do it."

"Good lad. There's Corporal Macdonald. Come on. There are two prisoners to take before the governor." Timmins lifted a hand slightly. "And you must say nothing to either one of them. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Sarn't." He hesitated, feeling the heavy, sick feeling return to the pit of his stomach. "May I ask who they are, Sarn't?"

The expression on Timmins' face was hard to read, which did nothing to ease Lakey's dread. "You may not. Move, Private. There has been enough trouble lately without anyone being too slow to follow a simple order!"

Lakey moved. There was definitely something bad happening here and he could not help feeling as though it all could have been avoided if he had simply kept his mouth shut.

~

In a way, it didn't surprise Carter much that four men and a sergeant turned out to escort him and Tisdale to the governor's house. The officers no doubt thought more was better when it came to marching the two Marines across that short distance. Not that they could really be blamed, he supposed. Better to be cautious than careless. Even though there was little true danger of either one legging it. Or putting up a fight.

"Prisoners as sent for, sir!"

The officers, seated as they ever were around the governor's table, gazed expressionlessly at Carter and Tisdale, and their escorts. Sergeant Timmins stood back half a pace and a brief silence fell over the room. During it, Carter considered the likely reasons for all this. Something to do with Nancy, since Timmins had seen him and Tisdale with her that morning. It was probably going to end badly but he was determined to do his best to keep her out of it anyway. He'd come up short on that score too often lately. She deserved better protection, damn it all.

"Do you know why you are here?"

"No, sir."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, sir."

There was a thoughtful pause. Beside him, Tisdale was a rock of mildly resentful silence. He would be just as annoyed with this as Carter. Who wouldn't be, really? There didn't seem to be an end to this sort of foolery. Hadn't his flogging been enough?

"Very well. Do you know - "

"Sir," Lakey said abruptly, drawing every gaze except Carter's and Tisdale's. "Sir, it's my fault. I lied, sir. To Mister Clark. About the blacksmith and... everything else, sir."

The governor lifted an eyebrow. "What are you talking about, Private?"

"I told Mister Clark... things, sir. About Private Carter, sir. And the blacksmith. It was all a lie. I'm sorry, sir. Just don't hang Private Carter, sir."

What in the name of Christ was he talking about? Lies to an officer, hanging, the blacksmith... Carter frowned, something falling into place in his mind. Lakey had been acting a little strangely lately but he'd put it down to the lad being unused to rough business. He was a Johnny Raw so being a little squeamish was excusable. What he'd just said put everything into a whole different light though. It wasn't Buckley who'd stitched him up, was it? No, for once that little shit had not done it. Instead...

"This matter does not concern the blacksmith," said the governor, after a glance at Mister Clark, whose expression was cloudy. "Nor is it about hangings. If you have a guilty conscience, you will unburden it another time. Am I understood?"

"Yes sir."

I am going to kill him, thought Carter fiercely. That sneaking little bastard of a grass. He had just signed his own bloody death warrant. Just as soon as he was out of here, he and Lakey were bloody well going to have a chat. Tisdale would probably be there too. He was just as involved, after all. Hell, he'd want a lick or two of his own. It'd be only fair.

"Major Ross. Remove that man from the prisoner detail."

Lieutenant Clark was already on his feet. "I shall handle it, sir." Nobody spoke until after Clark and Lakey had exited.

Governor Phillip, with a deliberate look around at his officers, folded his hands onto the table. "If we can move past this... interruption. Private Carter. Is the name Nancy Owens familiar to you?"

Carter stared at the wall across the room and said, "Should it be, sir?"

"I think it ought to be. You were seen with her this morning." Phillip sat back and eyed him thoughtfully. It was as if nothing had happened only a minute before. "You and Private Tisdale, in fact. At the river. Private Tisdale had been out of barracks all night and you, Private Carter, left barracks against orders. This to see a woman who, it is said, belongs to a sergeant."

"Does she, sir?" What a complete load of shit. When had he started claiming that?

"She does. Sergeant Ryan has spoken for her."

"That's rubbish, that is, an' we all knows it, sir."

"Hold your impertinent tongue, Private Tisdale!" Major Ross snapped.

Carter was seething inwardly. It was a damned neat move by Ryan, to say he had a claim on Nancy. That bastard. "Since when does givin' her a thumpin' count as 'speaking for her', sir?"

"That goes for you as well, Private Carter!"

"That is a legitimate question, Major," said the Reverend Johnson in a thoughtful tone. "It is my understanding that the woman in question has no interest in any relations with Sergeant Ryan."

"With respect, Vicar, her interest does not matter. There are not enough women to go around. They must have a soldier and if they do not choose one, a soldier may choose them."

"Except for Nancy Owens. Sir." Carter fought his temper down. "She ain't goin' wiv Sarn't Ryan. Sir. If she's made to, sir, Sarn't Ryan's gonna regret it an' all."

Major Ross frowned at him. "Is that a threat, Private?"

"Not from me, sir. But you dunno Nancy Owens."

"And you do? I'd like to know how that is." Ross leaned forward intently, his gaze sharp and impatient. " Maybe you are trying to tell us that she is yours?"

"She ain't his, sir. That's fact, that is, an' whatever Sarn't Ryan says is a fat ol' lie. Sir."

"You want to be careful what you say, Private Tisdale. Accusing a non-commissioned officer of being a liar is a dangerous thing."

"So is beating a woman for refusing the advances of that very non-commissioned officer," said the vicar. "I have spoken to her. She has expressed a great aversion to any dealings with Sergeant Ryan."

"Has she indeed."

Governor Phillip looked squarely at Carter. "You seem very knowledgeable about the preferences of Nancy Owens. Why is that?"

"We've chatted 'fore now, sir."

"I'm sure you have. Horizontal chats, I expect," Major Ross put in.

"That ain't wot I mean, sir."

"Oh no?" Ross looked innocently disbelieving. "I think you have been sneaking around with her. Like you did last night, with Private Tisdale present to act as lookout. There is, of course, no objection to sharing women. But sharing requires consent and I hardly think Sergeant Ryan has consented to share this woman with you."

"Except she ain't 'is. Sir."

"He has told us that she is."

"An' that ain't the troof, sir."

"Enough." Phillip lifted a hand to stop Ross from rapping off a sharp retort. "Captain Collins. What is Nancy Owens here for?"

"Assault with intent to rob, sir. She got seven years."

"She tried to cheat the man who'd paid her to get on her back, I expect," sneered Major Ross.

Carter felt his face flush hot. "She ain't a whore."

"Of course she is. Every woman here is. Why else would they have been sent here?"

"I dunno 'bout any of them uvvers, but I can tell you as God's troof that Nancy Owens ain't a whore."

The governor eyed him intently. "What makes you so sure of this?"

" 'Cause I know her, don't I? Have done for years. I'm 'ere 'cause she is. To look after her an' all. She's me wife's sister, ain't she, an' there ain't a bloody fing I'd not do for family. Sir."

They all stared at him. The officers around the table - except of course for the Reverend Johnson - and the Marines behind him. Even Sergeant Timmins, who Carter could just see out of the corner of his eye, seemed surprised. This was not how he'd wanted the information to come out but if it meant putting a stop to this bullshit with Sergeant Ryan, he was not in the least sorry to have admitted it.

"Private Carter," said the vicar into the silence, "may I now share the matter you discussed with me?"

It was damned hard not to look smug. "Yes, sir."

"Very well. But first. Can we do so in private, sir?"

"What? Oh. Yes, of course. You and your men are dismissed, Sergeant. Er, leave the prisoners here."

"Sir."

Once Timmins and the lads had gone, Major Ross scowled in Carter's direction. "I must protest this, sir. If I had known any of my men were so closely connected to a convict, I would never have allowed him to leave England."

"Which is most likely why such a connection was not made known, Major. It is much too late now. What is this matter you and Private Carter have discussed, Reverend?"

After a quick glance at the visibly seething Major Ross, the vicar began to speak and Carter was very hard-pressed not to grin. None of this was resolved yet but it was beginning to feel like victory.