Free Nell Gwynne's On Land and At Sea by Kage Baker, Kathleen Bartholomew

to announce an incoming message. Teacup neatly held in thumb and forefinger, she hit the Receive button with her ring finger while pushing up the volume lever with the edge of the novel in her other hand. She was sitting up and announcing, “Mrs. Corvey is to hand and ready for transmission,” as soon as Mr. Felmouth’s voice gave tentative greeting.
    Mrs. Corvey was just finishing a pot of Earl Grey tea (she had been pleased to find the exotic blend, widely available only for the last ten years or so, on their boarding house’s menu) and thus inquired quite amiably after Mr. Felmouth’s news. He, however, sounded less than equable in his address.
    “To tell you the honest truth, Mrs. Corvey,” he said across the miles, “we simply have no qualified men to send out there at this time. There is no one left in Field save for a few trainees.”
    “Where on earth are they, Mr. Felmouth?” said Mrs. Corvey.
    “Well, they are—they are all out, ah—managing revolutions. As it were. So to speak.” Mr. Felmouth was obviously both taken aback at the admission, and chastened to report his failure. “It appears that not only is the recent French trouble still fermenting, but several other European powers, both major and minor, are building up to similar explosions, and our best operatives are all abroad making sure it all ends—ah, ends well.”
    “Are the Gentlemen for or against this tide of revolution?” inquired Mrs. Corvey with marked restraint. “Oh, never mind—hardly matters to us here, does it?
    “Well, have you any advice at all for what we shall do here in the civilized backwaters with our mad American submariner?”
    “I am instructed to advise you that, regretfully, the matter must be placed fully in your hands for the next few days,” said Mr. Felmouth. “You are to watch this Pickett fellow closely, gathering such proof of his activities as may be managed, and stand ready to stop him if the need arises suddenly. There should be operatives free to take over from you by the end of next week, if the matter has not come to a head before then.”
    “And presumably to keep my girl out of gaol, when she’s had to stab the bugger to keep him from playing Drake with the French shipping?” asked Mrs. Corvey. She raised an admonitory hand as Mrs. Otley gave a little cry. “Did you read my reports? We didn’t pack for field duty ourselves, you know. Beatrice will probably have to dispatch Mr. Pickett with a knitting needle, if it comes to it.”
    “Oh…oh, surely not,” said Mr. Felmouth faintly. “Surely it is not so serious as that? Your reports were alarming, true, but surely it will not come to violence?”
    Lady Beatrice leaned toward the Transmitter, asking Mrs. Corvey’s permission with a raised eyebrow. “Mr. Felmouth, Lady Beatrice here. I have had a more intimate view of Pickett’s ambitions, and he really is quite out of control. He dreams of imperial favor and a hero’s career. He seems to have built a vessel that will travel underwater, and he is certainly manufacturing munitions. He has employed a foundry. In fact, it appears he has constructed a submarine gun platform. I am not, of course, au courant with our government policies regarding the French, but I should think that opening fire on their ships will have an adverse effect on our relations with their new Republic? There were riots and massacres in Paris only last month.”
    The Transmitter hummed. A warble in the carrier wave grew into a low moaning sound, which was evidently originating with Mr. Felmouth.
    “Mr. Felmouth. Do pay attention, Mr. Felmouth,” said Mrs. Corvey sternly. “Pickett’s got no grasp of real politics, and he’s got nothing to stop him out here but an infatuation with our Beatrice. He’s a romantic fool, but he’s dangerous. We shall do the best we can to slow him, and stop him if we must—but you get us some help out here at once, you understand? Send us some of your new toys, maybe, until the