Free The Little Ships (Alexis Carew Book 3) by J.A. Sutherland Page B

foolishness,” she muttered, standing. “Utter foolishness.”
    She slid open the drawer under her bunk and pulled out fresh clothes. Her cabin was much the same as those she’d had as a midshipman aboard other ships. Two meters square with a bunk along one wall and a desk that folded down in the corner. It even had a second bunk above hers and a second corner desk, both of which were folded up against the bulkheads. An advantage of being a lieutenant was that she had the cabin all to herself. The extra bunk was there in case circumstances, such as unexpected passengers, forced some of the lieutenants to share a berth.
    At least I’ve privacy, so no one can hear me when I have that bloody nightmare.
    She checked the time on her tablet. It was just shy of six bells in the middle watch, not quite three in the morning. The morning watch would start in an hour and she’d have to be up and about anyway. She grabbed a towel along with her clothes and made her way to the wardroom heads. Another advantage of her lieutenant’s commission was a larger water ration than she’d had to make do with as a midshipman. Not as much as she could wish, but enough so that she wasn’t feeling forever itchy.
    A hot shower usually washed away the remnants of the nightmare, but her concerns over the small figure lingered. She couldn’t shake the feeling that it was Artley, and it frightened her no matter how she told herself it was foolishness. It meant that she was going to fail him and cost him his life.
    She told herself it was impossible to know such a thing, but stories her grandfather told came to mind. Stories of the grandmother she’d never known — a proud, fiery Scots from New Edinburgh — and her claims to have what she called the Sight.
    If New London’s founders, with their hereditary aristocracy and insistence that the shilling and farthing were fine ideas, had been eccentric, then New Edinburgh’s founders had been barking — they’d seemed intent on bettering every bit of New London’s insanity.
    Where New London’s aristocracy was relatively small, relative to the population, New Edinburgh seemed to have decided that noble rank should be the norm, not the exception. The head of every family styled himself a lord. New London might have instituted a rather liberal code duello to settle grievances, but New Edinburgh had elevated the feud to an art form all its own.
    Her grandmother had come from that environment. Fiery, proud, short-tempered, and fiercely protective of her clan — her grandfather’s stories had painted quite a picture, and Alexis had always regretted that she’d never known her grandmother. Those tales, also, had made it clear that her grandmother was only half-joking when she teased her grandfather about having the Sight.
    Alexis shut the water off and dragged her thoughts back to the ship.
    “Foolishness and rubbish,” she muttered. “The dream’s misplaced guilt and Artley, if it is him, is in it because I’m worried for the boy.”
    She dressed and dried her hair, thinking once again that she should cut it short so that it would dry faster. Instead she pulled it back into a ponytail and checked her uniform in the mirror.
    Well, I can fix the worry, I suppose.
    If Artley was stuck in the Navy, and it appeared he would be, then she could do her best to give him the tools he’d need to survive, possibly even thrive if he could resign himself to his new life.
    There are worse ways for him to make his way in the world, if he can’t go home.
    She dropped her old clothing back in her cabin, balling up her bedclothes as well. Isom would see to laundering the lot for her and arrange for fresh bedding.
    She lay down on the bare mattress and waited until the ship’s bell sounded eight times over the speaker. Loud enough to wake the men and not muted and dim as it was overnight. That was the end of the middle watch and start of the morning. The men would be up and about soon and set to cleaning the