Chapter 3
Volkov’s reception at the Company was less hostile than he had expected; if anything, the apparatchiki in Saint Helena seemed indifferent to the matter, as if it was of no moment. As for an assignment, he was given nothing: no replacement ship, no shore-side duties, scarcely any notice at all. They were not completely callous: he and his crew could draw enough owed pay to permit them to find lodging in Saint Helena, at least until they could find other berths.
A day later Volkov presented himself, this time alone, at Astor House. He was told that William Astor could be found at the company’s berths, located on the north shore of the peninsula, along a particularly well-constructed stretch of the Embarcadero. There, he came upon a ship being refitted that bore the Union Jack and the Astor banner at the top of its mainmast.
Astor himself stood at the taffrail, and when he saw Volkov he beckoned him to come on board.
“Captain. I did not expect to see you again so soon, but I daresay I am not surprised by your visit.”
The Russian nodded. “Da, I suppose I am not surprised either. I do not know why they have so little interest in defending their ships.”
“The Russian-American Company is not a military force, Captain Volkov. Perhaps they were twenty years ago, but certainly not now. Still, even if their only motive is profit, they must see that something must be done.”
“By someone else, gospodin Astor.”
William Astor laughed, as if Volkov had made a great joke. “Yes, yes, that’s quite true. And we shall make it true, my friend.
“What do you think of this ship?” He gestured around him.
Volkov glanced around. It was a fine vessel, bigger than Strelka and clearly better armed; from where he stood he could see the gun deck below—the main deck was only partially in place—and he counted a number of gun-carriages. Based on his first impression, she would be capable of a fair amount of speed.
“She seems a fine ship, sir.”
“She needs a captain.”
“To be sure.”
“Think you can handle it, Captain Volkov?”
Volkov’s eyes widened. He had hoped that Astor might find work for him—and possibly for some of his most trusted crew. But the offer of the command of a brand-new ship, well-armed and well-equipped, came as a surprise he could not conceal.
“Just like that, gospodin Astor—you offer this command to me?”
“I don’t see any other skilled captains standing here.”
“We have just met, sir. I accept that I come with a good reputation; I am not so humble that I do not believe I would be capable—but still, there must be someone in your present employ whom you could choose—”
“There might be. In fact, I would be a poor manager, and a very poor servant of my company, if there was not. But you are here, and—I expect—available. You are also strongly motivated to take this fight to the people who took your ship away.”
“You are using my desire for revenge as a weapon, gospodin.”
“I suppose I am. Do you find this troubling, Captain?”
“No,” Volkov answered. “I do not.”
✽✽✽
Saint Helena had first been settled under military authority, but in the middle of the previous decade the town had passed to civilian control—a boyar, usually one out of favor at the tsar’s court, was appointed to serve as governor of Novaya Rossiya. There had been three governors since the colony had been turned to civilian rule, all relatively colorless.
The Astor Company had been in Saint Helena for almost a decade, and had more permanence and continuity than the colonial civil government. Though not officially in authority, Volkov was surprised to find out how much influence it actually had; a week after his interview with the Russian-American Company, he received a note from William Astor informing him that if he wanted to be the captain of Lady Sarah—named for his mother—then the job was his.
It was an easy decision to resign from the company, take what severance they offered, and walk down the Embarcadero to sign his name to a contract at Astor House. He took a half-dozen of his best men with him, including Gyorgy Sharovsky, per his agreement with Astor. He’d had Sharovsky in mind for first officer—the young man’s intelligence (not to mention loyalty) was unquestioned. But Astor had other plans.
Waiting for him on deck was a young Englishman, who bore a letter of introduction from Astor himself.
“Sherwood,” he said. “John Sherwood. I am assigned as your first officer, Captain, and the official representative of Mr. Astor aboard Lady Sarah.”
“You are his spy, da? I don’t recall gospodin Astor mentioning anything about this.”
“You have his letter,” Sherwood said. “Surely that should be good enough.”
Volkov grunted, and glanced at Sharovsky, who was trying his best—and failing—to conceal his disappointment.
“You know something of sailing, I assume.”
“I was a merchant sailor in China, Captain. I have familiarized myself with the flagship from stem to stern, and am ready to serve as your second.”
“‘Flagship’?”
“Of the Vigilance Squadron,” Sherwood said, with a hint of a smirk that disappeared as quickly as it appeared. “Within the month, Mr. Astor expects to have a half dozen vessels cleared from this port, ready to deal with the Spanish. Lady Sarah is just the beginning.”
✽✽✽
Sherwood could not have been more than twenty-five, but he showed every evidence of having spent considerable time afloat. He climbed the ratlines as well as Sharovsky; he was capable with the charts—and had a fair command of Russian so he could read those that Volkov brought aboard; he even seemed to command grudging respect from the ship’s crew, a mix of British and Russian sailors either already in Astor employ or drawn from the idlers in Saint Helena.
Volkov had less than a week to get his crew ready before the word came for them to weigh anchor and clear out for San Diego. Lady Sarah’s hold was well stocked with tea chests that had made their way across from China—a prime target for Spanish privateers. Unlike the usual Astor policy, rumors of Lady Sarah’s cargo and destination were not kept secret; everyone Volkov met that week knew what they were carrying and where they were headed. He remained tight-lipped and was met with knowing smiles and nods.
Still, when the ship moved out through the Golden Gate into the Pacific under full sail, Volkov felt more at ease than he had been in many months.
✽✽✽
As ordered, Volkov was in no hurry to reach the Spanish capital; he plotted a course that took them out of sight of the coast, to give the crew and the ship “a chance to get acquainted.”
On the second day, he made a point to go on deck when Sharovsky was the officer of the watch. He found Sharovsky on the main deck, strolling from place to place, inspecting little things—anchor points, the cleanliness of the deck, the strength and direction of the wind.
A born sailor, Volkov thought. And the born sailor that Sharovsky was, he heard his captain’s footsteps, and turned to face him, sketching a salute.
“This is not a military ship, Georgy Stefanovich. Please be at your ease.”
“Can I help you, Captain?”
“No, no . . . just checking on things. All is well?”
“So far,” Sharovsky answered. “Clear skies and no sign of the Spaniard.”
“I feel as if I should be disappointed.”
“I think it means that if he’s out there, he’s keeping his distance. Not a terrible thing, Captain.”
“Astor wants us to meet up with them.”
“Mr. Astor wants us to be bait for pirates, Captain. I don’t see how that is a good thing.”
“I would not mind a little revenge.”
“For Strelka?”
“Da. For Strelka.”
“We will not get her back, unless we attack San Diego. And maybe not even then. But we are not soldiers—I at least am not a soldier. We should leave the fighting to others.”
“Oh, and who will do that? The tsar’s army is not in Novaya Rossiya, Georgy. We should stand up for what is right.”
Sharovsky did not answer.
“You don’t agree?”
“I did not say that, Captain. I did not say anything.”
“You can be honest with me, my friend. You do not think we should be doing this.”
“Doing this? Sailing to San Diego to make a profit for the Astor Company, and earn a salary for ourselves? Oh, no, I am sure we should be doing that. What I don’t know is if we should be acting as the catspaw to draw out the Spanish. Someone should be doing it, but not us.”
“You knew that was what he had in mind.”
“He sold you on this mission with the offer of revenge, Captain. I know this. It does not mean it was a wise decision.”
Volkov snorted. “My friend, I was prepared to give you my sympathy because I had to give young Sherwood the first officer’s position—and here you are telling me that I am unwise to do what we are doing. I found you a position, Georgy, and I hope you have not forgotten it.”
“I did not mean to give offense, gospodin Captain. But I thought to speak plainly.”
“Da, and indeed you did.”
Sharovsky remained silent, and Volkov considered what else he might say—and if he was truly angry with his young friend. He had certainly spoken the truth, whether Volkov liked it or not.
✽✽✽
Day turned to night, and Lady Sarah continued its southward path along the coast. Volkov retired below; Sharovsky remained on deck, and noticed that the ship was gradually moving to the west, away from the land. It was slow and gradual, but in the space of half an hour they were completely at sea.
Sharovsky went inside the pilot house, where Sherwood was bent over a chart; two lanterns swung slowly back and forth, giving the scene an eerie appearance, like a wavering magic lantern.
“Ah. Lieutenant Sharovsky.”
“We seem to be drifting out to sea,” Sharovsky said. He glanced down at the chart of the California coast.
“Not drifting, precisely,” Sherwood answered without looking up. “We are on a course that takes us somewhat further south and west.” He took his watch out of his pocket and opened it, tilting its face to catch the light.
“Is Captain Volkov aware of this change of course?”
“I don’t know,” Sherwood answered laconically. “I suppose not.”
“As his first officer, don’t you think you should keep him informed?”
Sherwood shrugged, and continued to examine the chart.
“I think someone should tell him,” Sharovsky said, turning on his heel.
“Wait.”
He turned, and saw that Sherwood had stood upright, his arms crossed.
“Something important is about to happen,” Sherwood said. “It will happen whether Captain Volkov is informed or not. It would be better, Lieutenant, if you did not stand in the way.”
“Informing my commander that an underling is acting without his orders does not constitute ‘standing in the way,’ Commander.”
“Underling.” Sherwood chuckled. “I will ascribe that observation to your naïveté. There are things about which you are not aware, intentionally so.”
“Is Captain Volkov aware?”
“Of course,” Sherwood said. “That is why he is not abovedecks.”
Before Sharovsky could reply, there was a shout from above. Sherwood set down his dividers on the chart, donned his cap, and walked past Sharovsky out of the pilot house. Sharovsky turned and followed.
✽✽✽
Sharovsky’s keen young eyes picked it out right away: a close hauled, fast moving ship coming at them from the southwest. It was too dark to see a flag on the topmast, if there was one at all, but he had no doubt that it was a Spaniard—it looked eerily like the ship that had taken Strelka several weeks earlier.
Sherwood came up beside him. Sharovsky had not even heard him approach: he started very slightly when Sherwood gave him another chuckle.
“Did you set us up, gospodin Sherwood?”
“If you mean to ask whether I have led us into a trap: the answer, in a way, is yes—but not in the way you think.”
“You have insight into how I think.”
“Lieutenant, you are an open book.”
“I feel I should be insulted,” Sharovsky said. “A less tolerant man might want to pitch you overboard.”
“Threatening a superior officer is not the sort of thing on which to build a career,” Sherwood responded diffidently. He raised a spyglass to his eye, looking toward the foretop of the ship bearing down on them. “Yes,” he said to himself, or to no one in particular.
“It’s a Spaniard, I assume.”
“As expected. In fact, I think it is the expected Spaniard.”
“Oh?”
“I will prepare for the boarding party, Lieutenant,” Sherwood said. “If you would please inform Captain Volkov that we are about to have visitors.”
Volkov was unsurprised at being called abovedecks. As they made their way from the captain’s cabin, Sharovsky said, “Sherwood is not working for gospodin Astor, is he.” It was more of a statement than a question.
“There is no point in denying it.”
“Where does his loyalty lie?”
“A good question,” Volkov said. “But he may have a closer tie to the tsar than we do.”
“You knew this?”
“I suspected it. Think on this, my young friend. Astor House has great power in Novaya Rossiya, clearly even more than any Russian concern. How do you suppose that happens? They made an arrangement with the tsar’s men.”
“The governor?”
“Nyet, nyet—not the governor. He is some old boyar who is enjoying the fine weather and the native food. With the Secret Chancellery, the tsar’s police. Gospodin Sherwood is an operative, Georgy. I assume his loyalty lies far from Astor House, and we are now involved in a game we cannot control.”
“Are we going to allow the Spaniards to board us?”
“We shall see.”
✽✽✽
The Spanish ship was in full view now, its gun-ports open, but it had neither fired a shot nor sent boarders toward Lady Sarah. It would have looked like a standoff—except that Sharovsky could see two other ships beyond the Spanish one.
Sherwood approached the captain as Volkov came on deck. He was armed with a pair of pistols at his belt and loosely held a cutlass.
“The boarding party is ready, Captain,” Sherwood said. “Permission to depart.”
Volkov looked at Sharovsky, who looked surprised: when the young man had gone belowdecks, he’d expected that it would be the Spaniards who would be doing the boarding.
“Georgy, go with the boarders. I will need a reliable man aboard to take command there.”
“Captain—” Sherwood began, sounding surprised, but Volkov held up his hand.
“You will return to Lady Sarah once the ship is secure, Mr. Sherwood,” Volkov said. “You are needed here.”
The Englishman looked as if he was ready to object: but he did not. He did not respond at all, except with a nod. He turned and walked away to join the group of crewmen preparing to cross to the Spanish ship.
Volkov put his hand on Sharovsky’s arm as he prepared to follow. “Keep your eye on him,” he said. “He wants that ship, but I intend to bring it back to gospodin Astor.”