Rising Tides

CHAPTER 24

Mid Eastern Sea

A lone upon the wide, vast, empty blue, Walker churned onward, her abused but faithful sonar scouring her path of lurking denizens. Jenks said mountain fish, or “leviathans,” were rarely encountered in the empty spaces between the India Isles (what should be the Marshalls) and the Home Islands. Apparently, there was insufficient sustenance for the gigantic creatures there. Only occasionally, truly monstrous specimens were seen pursuing an apparently oblivious eastward course. He had no explanation for that behavior, but some Dominion officers he’d met in less tense times had hinted it might have something to do with a strange name they had for a long, shallow gulf on the northwest coast of their realm: El Mar de Huesos. “The Sea of Bones.” He’d never been there. Matt and the rest of Walker ’s senior officers kept that disconcerting name to themselves-not that they planned to go anywhere near the place. Many ’Cats aboard had just recently come to grips with the fact that they weren’T about to steam off the edge of the world into the void. They didn’t need exotic, menacing placenames stirring any lingering superstition.

The sea remained relatively placid and the omnipresent heat grew less oppressive. Walker ’s speed and the prevailing winds kept the ship wetter than her Lemurian crew preferred, because the swells were sometimes higher than her deck, but it was often actually pleasantly cool. They began to see lizard birds unlike any they’d seen before. They had long necks and tails and incredibly broad wingspans of five or six yards, perfect for cruising endless miles on the firm sea breeze with hardly any effort at all. Courtney amused the crew by chasing from one side of the ship to the other with a pair of binoculars in his hands. The creatures-he insisted they were almost true pterodactyls when Bashear called them “dragons”-seemed aware that he was intent on studying them, and constantly avoided his steady observation. Other flying creatures, wildly colorful, began to visit. There was the usual animated excitement aboard that prevailed whenever they neared a new landfall, but there was a large measure of tension as well.

The Lemurians were mindful that they were about to see where the “ancient tail-less ones” had ultimately gone, but along with the fear that they would fall off the world, they’d largely shed the reverence they once felt for those ancient visitors. The bloom was off the rose. After all, they’d met them, fought them, and knew they were capable of treachery. The question that animated most discussions was whether they would have to fight them again. Walker ’s mostly new crew had become nearly as fatalistic, and in some ways jaded, as her original crew of Asiatic Fleet destroyermen had ever been. But in contrast, they also felt a confidence that they could deal with unknown threats, a confidence that their human predecessors had never enjoyed, and the outnumbered “old hands” tried their best to ensure that that optimism remained realistic, but Jenks, Blair’s Marines, and Respite aside, the crew was generally angry at the Empire.

In the way of most Lemurians, they wanted to get along with the strangers, but they were equally ready for a fight. Walker had stood toe to toe with Amagi, after all, and despite the mutual destruction they’d wrought on one another, Walker still swam, wearing Amagi steel. To some-who hadn’t been there-it was as simple as that. They’d come to expect misery, deprivation, and daily toil in the way all destroyermen did, but they’d missed the sense of being a tiny, wounded, hunted animal, which the humans still remembered. They believed they were steaming toward a final, straight-up confrontation with whatever power had attacked them and stolen their people, and it was difficult for some to grasp that it might not be as simple as that, and even if it was, Walker couldn’t smash the whole Imperial Navy by herself. They expected miracles from their special ship, and the “old hands,” Matt included, increasingly wondered and worried if that was a good thing or not.

On November 25-Thanksgiving Day-1943, USS Walker steamed into the New Scotland port of Scapa Flow, and the budding hubris that had begun infecting Walker ’s crew vanished as quickly as an ice cube in the fireroom. Earl Lanier tried to lighten the mood in the spirit of the holiday by unveiling an immense roasted skuggik he’d smuggled along on the trip, deep in the ship’s laboring freezer. He’d spent the entire night before preparing the thing, complete with what notionally struck him as “traditional” trimmings. His well-meaning efforts were met with obscenities (which he duly bellowed in return) and genuine, universal horror. Skuggiks were, after all, giant earthbound buzzards, for all intents and purposes. Lanier failed to see the distinction between a cooked skuggik and a catfish, and went into a profound pout.

What had been a virtually empty sea, except for a blue-brown mound at dawn, practically filled with sails of all sizes and shapes as they neared New Scotland’s leeward coast. Most of the ships, fishermen, coastal luggers, and inter-island packets fled at the sight of the strange iron steamer racing out of the southwest. A few deep-draft “freighters” flying the Company flag ponderously turned away or hove to as the old destroyer approached the achingly beautiful mountainous isle, rising monolithically from the dazzling sea.

“Ain’t that something?” the Bosun said, gaping at the exotically familiar, but eerily… wrong… land. New Scotland retained a semblance of the distinctive crests of the islands now joined to form it, but it was higher, more imposing, more sharply defined. Gray’s question seemed sufficient for everyone.

“A beautiful land,” Matt said wistfully, and Jenks nodded in appreciation of more than the words.

“Thank you, sir.”

Juan Marcos, his arm still in a sling, had joined them with a carafe of coffee. He knew how the captain and the other human Americans felt. He’d been similarly overwhelmed when he first saw what his beloved Philippines looked like on this world. Of course, Matt and the others had had much longer to get used to the idea than he had at the time, and their reactions were more subdued. Still, he could sympathize. The driven-home fact of the thing was harder to bear than the sight of it.

Walker was finally challenged by a swift paddle-wheel sloop with an Imperial jack, just a few miles short of the harbor mouth. Jenks appeared slightly scandalized by the tardy challenge, but it served their purposes. By then, Walker was flying the U.S. and Imperial flags, as well as an extensive colorful signal proclaiming her to be a friendly vessel transporting Commodore Harvey Jenks and urgent “dispatches” for the Governor-Emperor. The signal was authenticated by Achilles ’ number and Jenks’s code group. Probably considering Walker to be a remarkably fast but lightly armed vessel, the sloop was content not to attempt to stop her but to escort her in-after a flurry of signals appealing for her to slow down.

“Jumpin’ Jesus,” Spanky declared when they cleared the western harbor mouth and saw the fortifications guarding it. The “west fort” was in the shape of a vast leaning wedding cake, three tiers high, bristling with forty heavy guns that Jenks assured them could reach two-thirds of the distance across to the opposite, similarly impressive works. The construction was an aggregate of coral and volcanic rock that was “spongy” and thick enough to absorb the shot of any known gun almost indefinitely without communicating any structural damage. Currently peacefully smooth, the walls of both forts glistened white.

“Ahead one-third,” Matt ordered. “Mr. Campeti will fire the salute.”

The Japanese alarm bell “salvo buzzer” rattled on the chart house bulkhead immediately before four guns barked in perfect synchronicity. Smoke streamed aft and Jenks nodded respectful appreciation. The Empire had no designated numbers for gun salutes, and though long-absent naval vessels sometimes fired them, they were required only of foreign powers. In such cases, protocol demanded that visiting ships fire all their “great guns” either in broadside or succession to signify that they were thus no longer loaded and incapable of causing harm. Since the Empire knew only one foreign power, and official (overt) Dominion visits to Scapa Flow were rare, few salutes ever sounded in the harbor. In this instance, Walker ’s meager “broadside” would be noted and-hopefully-appreciated, but the utter perfection of the timing, possible only with her magical gyro and electronic fire control, would be noted with amazement as well. Everyone, Jenks included, considered that mixed message of respect and an apparently unprecedentedly high degree of professionalism a good one to send.

Matt watched with satisfaction as the crew of the number one gun on the fo’c’sle below commenced a rapid, well-choreographed gun-cleaning drill, much like that used on any Imperial ship. He knew the guns would look wildly bizarre enough to observers, but hoped they could keep their breech-loading nature a secret as long as possible. The crews had been instructed to cover the breeches with canvas shrouds as soon as their evolution was complete.

“It won’t fool everyone,” Jenks warned, watching. “We have experimented with breechloaders before. It is your self-contained ‘cartridges’ that make them practical. Perhaps you can keep that back for now.”

Within the harbor’s embrace, Scapa Flow grew even more impressive. Jenks had described it and drawn a few pictures for Chack, but even Matt was amazed by what the Empire had wrought on this isolated speck of land. He’d been proud of what the Allies had accomplished at Baalkpan, impressed by the exponentially greater capacity of the facilities building at Maa-ni-la, but combined, the two Allied industrial powerhouses weren’t a match for Scapa Flow in terms of infrastructure and scope. Here was a true well-established industrial city in every sense. White buildings, both stone and wood, with shakelike shingles predominated. There was color as well, if not the riot of it that one usually saw in Lemurian ports. Cranes and warehouses stood on every hand, and jetties extended outward from long piers, accommodating the forests of masts. A large shipyard lay directly ahead on the western end of the harbor and sleek hulls with Achilles ’ lines stood on blocks surrounded by scaffolding. Great mounds of stacked timbers dried under sheds. Jenks had told him the New Scotland and New Ireland “oaks” made excellent ships, but they imported most of their timber, like everything else, from their continental colonies. Smoke rose everywhere, carried off to the west, from smokestacks, foundries, apparent machine shops, and great steam-jetting engines situated here and there that powered the various enterprises.

And there were people. Human people in an abundance Matt hadn’t seen since they fled Surabaya on that other world in another war. He glassed the shore. Women here didn’t run around mostly nude, he noticed with some relief, but they were doing the lion’s share of the labor. Dark-haired, dusky-skinned women in practical working attire crawled around the building ships, swinging mallets and plying saws. He refocused on a party of women led by a gray-haired matron, caulking the seams of a new hull with every bit the same professionalism he’d seen Jenks’s crew employ. Other women casually drove wagons and carts pulled by honest-to-God horses! Horses, donkeys, and cattle had all been aboard the original ships, according to Jenks, but the horses had never done well until they traded for more from the Dominion. Matt was glad to see the familiar creatures. He wished there’d been dogs, but Jenks said no. There were cats, in their teeming throngs, as well as flocks of parrots that swarmed everywhere like pigeons. Matt was curious how’Cats would take to meeting “cats.”

He shook his head. On second thought, the Fil-pin shipyards were probably more expansive, and certainly had more space to grow. They could also handle larger ships with their bigger, purpose-built, Homeconstructing cranes. Baalkpan could too. With some smugness, he saw no evidence of a dry dock either. But in terms of a dedicated populace with the proper, well-honed skills, and long-established support industries and facilities-complete with offices and barracks-Scapa Flow rivaled Pearl Harbor. And if the city beyond the waterfront didn’t match Honolulu, it was the biggest he’d seen on this world from a perspective of the numbers of dwellings. He doubted as many people lived here as lived in Maa-ni-la, but there, many families-often whole “clans” like their seagoing cousins-occupied a single large dwelling. There were a lot more houses here.

“I think our escort wants us to dock over there, Skipper,” Kutas said, nodding at a long, isolated dock under the guns of an inner harbor fort.

“Yes,” Jenks confirmed, studying signals through his telescope. “The escort and the fort are both signaling the ‘approach of strangers.’ ” We will be met by an armed party at the dock,” he warned.

“Well, until we know the deal here, we’ll have to respond in kind,” Matt said. “Sound general quarters,” he ordered. “Gun crews will stand away from their weapons, but small arms will be issued and Chack will prepare to repel boarders.” He looked at the Bosun. “Side party to the gangway, prepared to receive a reasonable delegation. If they don’t want to be ‘reasonable,’ stand ready to help Chack.”

“Aye, aye, Skipper,’ Gray said, and thundered down the metal stairs aft.

“Captain Reddy!” Jenks protested. “After all, you must not start a fight here!”

“I don’t intend to, but I won’t let them just run loose all over my ship as soon as we tie up.”

“They won’t do that.”

“By your own admission, we don’t know what they’ll do. I’m playing it safe until we do. Mister Steele? You have the conn. Lay her alongside the dock-gently, if you please. I’m going to go change clothes.”

Ultimately, a hostile-faced Marine lieutenant did seem ready to try to sweep aboard with a substantial “escort,” but Jenks, now standing in his best Imperial Navy uniform beside Matt at the gangway, ordered the lieutenant to leave all but two men behind.

“Commodore Jenks!” the lieutenant exclaimed when he came aboard. “It is you, sir! We couldn’t imagine… no one could. We expected some sort of trick!” The man looked almost wildly about, at the destroyermen, the steel deck beneath his feet, the strangely shaped guns. He actually did a triple take when he noticed Chack, and visibly paled at the sight of so many… non-human crew. “What the devil… ?”

“These are friends, Lieutenant,” Jenks said forcefully. “I understand your confusion. There is much to be confused about, but my signal was clear and true. I must see the Governor-Emperor at once. Is he on New Scotland?”

“Ah… aye, sir. In Government House these last five months. The courts haven’t met, and we don’t know much about what’s happening on the other isles, beyond what we hear from sailors. The Prime Proprietor, Sir Reed, is here as well, and him and His Majesty’s been goin’ at it hammer an’ tongs, tryin’ to govern the Empire from here, without-an’ in spite of-one another.”

“I feared as much,” Jenks murmured. “Things are truly that bad?”

“I’m not sure it’s all bad, sir,” confided the lieutenant. “His Majesty is safe here at least, and since Sir Reed doesn’t dare let him out of his sight, he’s had to come here as well. You might say they’ve got each other bottled up. In the meantime, the Proprietors can’t meet without Mr. Reed, and His Majesty has to call the Directors to court-” The man’s eyes fell on Chack again and he was distracted.

“So in the meantime,” Bradford interrupted, “bureaucracy reigns! Splendid. ‘He who governs least governs best,’ ” he quoted.

Jenks gave him an odd look. “That… might be so, in ordinary times. But decisions must be made.” He turned back to the lieutenant. “And we have news of great urgency for His Majesty. Please do escort my friends and myself to Government House without delay.”

The lieutenant looked uncomfortable. “Aye, aye, sir,” he said, “but I fear I must collect the harbor fees from this ship before anyone may disembark from her.”

“What is this nonsense?”

“Yes, sir. Mr. Reed’s orders. As exchequer, he has established many new fees to cover the costs of what he calls his ‘government in exile.’ All non-military vessels tying up at military docks-all docks in this harbor-must pay a use fee.” The man cleared his throat. “It’s a rather large fee, sir.”

“I’m sorry, Lieutenant, there will be no fee for this vessel. As you can clearly see, she is a ship of war and flies the Imperial flag.”

“But…”

“No ‘but.’ Sir Reed may bring his fiscal concerns to me.” Jenks looked at Matt, Courtney, and Gray. “Shall we, gentlemen?”

Matt wanted to bring Chack along so the Governor-Emperor could meet a representative of his people, but that would have to wait. For now, leaving him aboard ship with his Marines was the better course. Courtney was the de facto ambassador for the Alliance, and Gray… well, Gray would go regardless.

Flanked by a squad of Imperial Marines, their lieutenant leading, the small party marched through the curious throngs of brown-eyed female yard workers. As on Respite, most were strikingly attractive, at least until reaching a certain age, apparently. Their exotic beauty left them then, but they retained a sturdy handsomeness that Matt, at least, had rarely seen, and that he suspected lingered for the rest of their days. Bradford removed his hat and beamed all around at young and old alike. They continued beyond the waterfront and into what looked like the business district of the city.

“This way, gentlemen, if you please,” the lieutenant said.

“I know where Government House is,” Jenks retorted.

“Of course, sir.”

They strode on in silence for a considerable distance, through crowded streets full of staring people. There were more men now, most in uniform, but a few women drifted along behind them in their brightly colored, shapeless gowns.

“Jeez, Skipper,” Gray whispered at his side. “You go from feastin’ your eyes to famine around here. What’s with the dead balloon suits?”

“I guess they’re practical, sort of,” Matt replied. “Now pipe down. What is it with you? Every time we meet new folks, you’re always saying something that’ll make me crack up and get us killed.” Gray looked at him curiously.

Ahead was a broad square with an impressive columned building. Matt was struck again by the strange attempt at a classical style of architecture. The Governor’s Palace on Respite had reflected it as well. This building was much larger, though, and four stories high, with a shining metal observatory dome perched on top. Matt was fascinated to see the large telescope protruding through a pair of open shutters, pointed at the harbor, not the sky.

More red-coated Marines with yellow facings and heavy gold lace received them at the massive door of the structure and took charge of them from the Marine lieutenant.

“Your arms, sirs,” one of them said, “if you please.” It wasn’t a request.

Jenks looked at Matt uncomfortably. “I’d forgotten,” he admitted. “One gets as accustomed to wearing weapons as to clothing. Forgive me-it is required.”

Matt nodded. “Of course,” he said, unbuckling his belt, which supported his Academy sword and holstered 1911 Colt.

Gray grumbled, but handed over his own belt and the Thompson he’d been carrying on his shoulder. “Don’t monkey with them things, fellas. You’ll shoot both your feet off.”

“Your arms will not be tampered with, sirs.”

The Marines escorted them into a large, ornate reception hall furnished in an understated Queen Anne style. A bulky man in an elaborate black-laced green frock met them.

“Commodore Jenks!” he exclaimed. “How nice ye have returned! I must say, we despaired of ye some time ago!”

“Andrew,” Jenks acknowledged, smiling. “I assume His Majesty spied our approach?”

“Aye! He was quite animated. More than he’s been fer… Well, he’ll be anxious ta see ye!” He paused, looking at Matt and the others. “Bringin’ visitors, though… Most irregular.”

“Unprecedented,” Jenks conceded.

“Ye vouch fer ’em, I assume? There’s restrictions, as ye know,” the man stated.

“I know. I will bear any consequences.”

Andrew shooed the Marines back to their posts. “Carry on,” he told them, then gestured at the visitors. “This way. His Majesty awaits ye in the library.”

“Yeah,” Gray said to the Marines. “As you were. Nice, ah, muskets, fellas.”

Matt glared at him.

Matt assumed Andrew was a butler, or something of the sort, but when they reached a tall hardwood door at the end of the hallway, he opened it and preceded them inside, moving slightly to the left to stand before a massive overburdened bookcase. Jenks had told him that every book aboard the “Passage Squadron” of ancient East Indiamen was in Imperial custody. The printing press existed here, and other books-copies and new works-were available to anyone who could afford them, but the originals received the same protection as the Governor-Emperor did.

The library was big but cozy, even cluttered in an absentminded, professorial fashion. Books (reprints, by the look of them) were scattered about, lying open. Strange machines stood on shelves, and on virtually every surface. The wood decor was dark, but the vast windows at the far end of the room permitted ample light to see and even work by, reflected by the almost universally white architecture outside. In the center of everything was a big, graying man, probably as powerful as the Bosun. He was in shirtsleeves and weskit, and a pair of spectacles rested on his nose. His silver-streaked hair was gathered in a queue with a black ribbon near the nape of his neck, and he regarded them with a magnifying glass in his left hand. Matt hadn’t really known what to expect. Jenks had described the man, but at first glance he seemed a decade older than Jenks had led him to believe. Apparently, by Jenks’s quickly concealed expression, he was surprised as well.

“Commodore Jenks!” the man exclaimed, rising to stand nearly as tall as Matt. “Harvey!” He strode across the decorative rug and embraced Jenks long and hard. “I feared you were lost as well!”

“Not lost, Your Majesty,” Jenks replied, “but considerably inconvenienced for a time. May I present my friends?”

“Of course. You must, in any case.”

“Indeed. Your Majesty, Governor-Emperor Gerald McDonald, sole sovereign, by the grace of God, of the Empire of New Britain Isles and all her possessions…”

“Yes, yes, Harvey, do get on with it,” the Governor-Emperor said with a slight grin. “And no more ‘Majesty’s,’ if you please. It has always been ‘Gerald’ between us.”

“Very well. May I present Captain Matthew P. Reddy of the United States warship USS Walker. His preferred rank of ‘Captain’ does not reflect his full authority. He is, in fact, the Supreme Commander of all military forces united beneath the Banner of the Trees. I will explain all that implies in due course, but suffice for now, in this company, he has become my particular friend.”

“An extraordinary achievement, surely,” the Governor-Emperor commented wryly, but without sarcasm. “There must be quite a tale behind that.”

“Yes, sire,” Jenks agreed, dispensing with “Majesty,” but refusing to go further. “I must also present His Excellency Courtney Bradford, Esquire; scientist, naturalist, and plenipotentiary at large for the aforementioned Alliance. Accompanying them is Chief Bosun’s Mate Fitzhugh Gray. He’s more than he appears as well, despite his best efforts to conceal it.”

The Governor-Emperor forced a chuckle. Matt could tell there was one question he wanted answered before any other. Still, he faced Matt and offered his hand. “A pleasure, sir,” he said. “And please accept my profound admiration for your unusual, splendid ship. I’ve never seen her like!”

Matt bowed slightly. “Thank you, sir, and the pleasure’s mine. Your city here is beautiful, and most impressive.” He paused, glancing at the commodore. “And before saying more, I’m compelled to note that it’s my understanding that Commodore Jenks might face some… difficulty for having supposedly brought us here.”

“It’s not ordinarily done,” the Governor-Emperor confirmed.

“Well, then, let me put that issue to rest. It should be obvious to anyone that he didn’t bring us, we brought him. You see, we pretty much knew where you were without a word from him. Like your ancestors, we come from another world, and we’ve got it mapped out reasonably well. Through historical accounts, conversations with another of your subjects, and a process of elimination, we knew… these islands were the only place your civilization could be.”

Governor-Emperor McDonald gazed intently at Matt. “What subject?” he practically whispered.

“A brave, beautiful, and intelligent young lady named Rebecca Anne McDonald, sir.”

The Governor-Emperor visibly tensed. “How… extraordinary,” he managed. “And where is this… young lady, Captain? Where is my daughter?”

“It’s a long story, sir, and you’re not going to like it any more than I do,” Matt said softly.

Over the next two hours, Matt, Jenks, Courtney, and Gray told how Rebecca had survived the shipwreck, been rescued, endured the Battle of Baalkpan, and ultimately been abducted by the Company warden, Commander Billingsley. Throughout the story, the Governor-Emperor asked sufficient questions to ensure that they were telling the truth and, as Jenks foresaw, became completely convinced. He called for refreshment, chewed a quill, jumped to his feet and ranted around the room, and even shed miserable tears. He couldn’t hear enough about his daughter’s adventures, but he was in agony all the while. He blamed himself completely, since it was he who’d sent her away in the first place-to protect her from just such an attempt by the Company to gain her custody and use her welfare against him.

“I love her quite desperately, you see,” he tearfully explained. “She is my only child.” He glanced at the ceiling and by inference, the living quarters above. “ Our only child. My wife has not been the same since… Oh, God damn those evil creatures! I will have all of them hanged!”

“Of course, sire,” Jenks agreed, “but first, we need more proof than our own mere words. Ideally, we’ve beaten Billingsley here. I take it there’s been no news of Ajax?”

“None. Nor has New Dublin declared a quarantine-the only way to prevent news of her arrival there,” answered the Governor-Emperor. He paused for a moment, a troubled expression clouding his face. “Of course, there has been precious little out of New Dublin of late.” He shook his head. “But surely, they could not hide Ajax.”

“Then we must wait a bit longer,” said Jenks. “Either until Ajax arrives… or Achilles brings Icarus and Ulysses in. Either will provide sufficient proof to destroy the Company and hang half the Court of Proprietors. If you act before then, it might well fracture the Empire and cause a civil war.”

“It might regardless, but you’re right, of course.” The Governor-Emperor sighed. “What to do in the meantime? As your battle would testify, the Company certainly knows you found my daughter; they sent more ships to seize her. They cannot know of Ajax yet, so they must assume she’s either with you or left behind. Safe from them, at any rate. What will they do? We cannot pretend we know nothing of their scheme.”

“With respect, sir,” Courtney interjected, “I believe we can. They have no way of knowing we ever met their, ah, criminal squadron-not yet. I propose that Mr. Gray immediately return to Walker and make sure everyone aboard understands they must make no reference to the hostilities, or to any meeting with other Imperials besides Jenks and his people. As far as any of us are concerned, the princess is safe with the rest of Jenks’s squadron and coming on directly.”

“Oh, if only it were true!” the Governor-Emperor practically moaned, then shook his head. “Of course. An excellent stroke, Your Excellency. Playing that role might be more than my wife can bear, but I shall try to manage. Andrew?” He gestured to the man still standing just inside the door, where he’d remained since they entered. “Please escort Mr. Gray back to Captain Reddy’s ship-with your permission, Captain.”

Matt whispered something in Gray’s ear, and the older man nodded. “Absolutely, sir.”

When Andrew and the Bosun left, Jenks looked questioningly at Matt. “Is there a concern you’d like to share?”

“Not really. I hope not. It just occurred to me, though, that this ‘Andrew’ guy has heard everything we’ve said. I told Boats to keep an eye on him.”

The Governor-Emperor looked shocked. “Preposterous! I’ve known Andrew my entire life.”

“As you knew Sean Bates?” Matt asked.

“How the devil do you know that name?”

“Through Commodore Jenks,” Matt replied. “I knew the man by another name-‘Sean O’Casey.’ I still call him that.”

“Good God!” The Governor-Emperor looked at Jenks in amazement.

“Yes, sire,” Jenks admitted. “He never abandoned us, though we abandoned him. It was he who first saved your daughter, and lost an arm doing it.”

“Good God!” he repeated. “Bates! Where?”

“Aboard my ship,” Matt said.

Governor-Emperor McDonald’s face worked. “He was right all along,” he said. “We knew it too. We just didn’t know how right.” He straightened. “You were wise to leave him aboard ship. Even missing an arm, he would be recognized. Please convey to him my deepest appreciation, affection… and apology, until I can do it in person.”

“Yes, sire.”

There came a knock at the door, and a sentry opened it slightly. Without waiting to be announced, a small, plain, unremarkable-looking man strode through the gap, an annoyed expression on his baggy face. “We are invaded by strangers, and I only learn of it from my barber!” he complained. Despite his bold entrance, the man’s voice was wispy, almost whiny.

The Governor-Emperor regarded the man coldly and Matt feared that Courtney’s new plan would disintegrate immediately. Instead, Jenks spoke. “They’re not strangers to me, Sir Reed, and they have certainly not invaded. They brought me here at my request aboard their remarkably swift vessel so I might acquaint His Majesty with the results of our expedition.”

“Jenks!” the man exclaimed, taking a step back as if he’d met a ghost.

In the meantime, the Governor-Emperor had regained his composure. “Yes, it is Jenks,” he said. “Not lost after all. You’ll have to withdraw your self-serving appropriation to erect a monument to ‘the noble explorer.’ ” In an aside to Matt, he said, “This is the ‘Honorable’ Harrison Reed, supposedly former Director of Company Operations. He is currently my chief antagonist in the Court of Proprietors, among whom he holds the Prime Seat.”

So this-unimposing person-was the instigator of all the hardships and loss they’d endured, first through Billingsley, then through his subsequent responses to news of the princess’s rescue. Keeping his features carefully neutral, Matt stood. “Mr. Reed,” he said in greeting, “I’m Captain Reddy.” Was there the slightest hint of recognition?

“ Sir Reed,” the man said, almost absently. “But where is Ajax… and Achilles?” Reed plowed on, clearly dismissing him. “And the other two-I can’t remember their names.”

“ Achilles will be along shortly,” Jenks said. “I regret to report that the others were variously lost, one to a leviathan, and Ajax is missing and presumed lost. There were storms… In any event, I dispatched Agamemnon home some time ago with news of our situation and the happy rescue of the Princess Rebecca. Did Agamemnon not arrive?”

“She did not,” Reed lied smoothly with just the right tone of regret. If anyone had harbored the slightest doubt that this ridiculous man was involved in the conspiracy, it was swept away. Agamemnon had returned with the others as part of the “criminal” squadron and engaged them in battle alongside the other Imperial and Company ships. Agamemnon had been destroyed by Walker.

“Most tragic,” commented the Governor-Emperor. “Unless Ajax turns up, Achilles will be the only survivor.”

“A stiff price to pay for the life of a single girl,” Reed stated. “As I initially argued.”

“But well worth the price,” Jenks jabbed, “since the princess was indeed rescued. Even now, she returns aboard Achilles in the company of a protective Allied force that carries enough fuel for Captain Reddy’s ship to return home.”

“What size force?” Reed demanded, suddenly less haughty. “How do we know their intentions? If all Captain Reddy needs is fuel enough to go home, we can provide that.”

“ Walker doesn’t burn wood or coal, sir,” Matt said simply.

“Ridiculous! She’s a steamer-I saw her myself on the way over.”

“She’s a steamer, all right,” Matt agreed, “but she burns oil-refined petroleum. You have none here.”

“Preposterous,” mumbled Reed. He looked at Jenks. “Where’s Commander Billingsley? Company wardens are sent aboard Imperial ships to ensure there are no grievous lapses in judgment-such as bringing strangers to our sacred home. I’d like to hear what he has to say about all this.”

Jenks shook his head. “Regrettably, Commander Billingsley desired transfer to Ajax some months ago, and as a Company warden”-he almost sneered the words-“it was not my place to discourage his whim.”

“Then send me his deputy!” Reed demanded, his voice rising.

Governor-Emperor McDonald stood. “You do not shout demands in This house, Prime Proprietor!”

“Of course not, Your Majesty,” Reed replied, practically simpering. “I beg your forgiveness. I am overwrought with grief. Mr. Billingsley had entered an engagement to my niece. Regardless, I do beg an interview with his deputy.”

“None are present,” Jenks said. “Those who remain”-he hoped there weren’t any, but it was nearly impossible to be sure-“are aboard Achilles. Captain Reddy’s ship has little extra space. Only Lieutenant Blair and a dozen of his Marines accompanied me. There was no room for more.”

“Well, then,” Reed replied stiffly, “I suppose we have no choice but to accept your version of events until Achilles arrives.”

“I suppose not, Prime Proprietor.”

Reed turned to face the Governor-Emperor. “But what of these… animals… infesting that… wrongly appointed ship in question? Surely the thing must be quarantined? There has to be disease aboard. Filthy, furry creatures! Keeping an ape for a pet is one thing. My son has a parrot. But allowing them to romp all over one’s ship is quite another!”

Matt took a step forward, but Courtney placed a hand on his arm. “Those ‘apes’ constitute a large percentage of my crew,” Matt said, seething. “They’re not apes, but people, just like us. They don’t look like us, but they’re highly intelligent, loyal, and honorable friends. The weakest among them could also unscrew your head without effort.” Matt looked at the Governor-Emperor. “ Not apes,” he emphasized again. “We call them Lemurians and that seems to suit them. They’re our friends and allies. Those aboard my ship have sworn the same oath as my men and are our countrymen. You might want to pass that word.”

“Dear me,” Reed proclaimed with mock regret, “I seem to be striking raw nerves with every word! Perhaps I should go before I inadvertently instigate hostilities!” He bowed to the Governor-Emperor. “Joy to you, sire, for the imminent return of your daughter. Now that I have some notion what the fuss at the waterfront was about, I’ll let you treat with these strangers in peace. Please excuse me.”

“Good-bye, Mr. Reed,” Matt said in a neutral tone. “I’m sure we’ll speak again.”

Reed paused in the doorway, looking back. For the first time, it seemed his full attention was focused on Matt. “Indeed,” he said, then was gone.

After Reed departed, they talked a while longer about their plan, then shifted topics to the Lemurians and the Grik, the war raging far to the west, and the stakes involved. The Governor-Emperor seemed oddly sympathetic.

“You have told Captain Reddy of the Dominion, have you not?” he asked.

“Of course,” Jenks said.

“Well,” continued the Governor-Emperor, looking at Matt, “with the

… displacement… of our government here to New Scotland, the Dominion ambassador, a particularly unpleasant Blood cardinal with the perversely ironic name of Don Hernan DeDivino Dicha, has followed us here. I shouldn’t wonder if he contacts you, quite soon in fact, requesting a meeting.”

Matt was taken aback at first, but supposed he should have expected it. “He’ll be just as curious about us as your people are,” he surmised, then snorted. “Divino Dicha! Shit!… Ah, excuse me, sir.”

“Precisely.”

“What do you recommend I do?”Matt asked.

Governor-Emperor McDonald looked at Jenks.

“As I said, sire. He is my friend. I trust him completely.”

McDonald looked back at Matt and shrugged. “Meet with him,” he said. “As these Grik of yours might someday threaten us here, his nation could eventually threaten yours. I suggest you get to know him.”

It was almost dusk before Matt, Jenks, and Bradford left Government House on their way back to the ship. The Governor-Emperor had halfheartedly asked them to stay and dine with him, but everyone was tired, and Matt suspected the man needed some time alone with his wife. Now they spoke quietly as they walked, so the squad of Imperial Marines escorting them wouldn’t overhear.

“Lord,” Matt said, “what a screwed-up mess.” He felt the reassuring weight of his belted weapons. “Good thing I didn’t have either of these with me. I might’ve killed that slimy bastard Reed.”

Jenks shook his head. “You wouldn’t have. I’ve seen you angry-very angry-but never enough to lose your senses. We’ve constructed a delicate web of deceit for Reed and his creatures to entangle themselves in. No doubt they have planned a similar trap for us, with much more time to prepare. Hopefully ours will startle them into revealing theirs, or launching their plot before it is complete.” He shook his head and slowed. “With your permission, Captain, I won’t return to the ship tonight.”

“Why, what’s the matter?”

“Well, I’ve been away from home a long time, and certainly by now my wife has learned of my return…”

“Oh…” Matt said, his face reddening. He’d been around bachelors for so long it had completely slipped his mind that Jenks was married. “Harvey, I’m sorry,” he said. “Of course you need to see her. Ah, give her my best.”

Jenks chuckled. “She has an unwed sister, you know.”

Matt shook his head. “Thanks, but no thanks.” His voice was hard.

Jenks was seared with regret. “Of course. How ridiculous of me.”

“Skip it. You run along, though. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Almost as soon as Jenks veered away, walking briskly, a man in an elegant frock coat and a large, wide hat appeared in the gloom ahead, forcing the escort to pause. One of the Marines, a corporal, spoke to him and then turned to Matt.

“This villain of a Spaniard asks if you’d join his master for dinner,” the Marine said.

“Who is his ‘master’?”

“Which it’s that slicky-fish Dom ambassador, Hernan the Happy. His residence is in the Dom embassy.”

Matt turned to Courtney, frowning thoughtfully. “Well, Governor-Emperor McDonald did say we ought to get to know him, but I wasn’t expecting the… opportunity so soon. Are you up to it?”

Courtney grinned gamely.

“What about you, Marine?” Matt asked.

“Which I’m at yer disposal ’til yer back on yer skinny ship, Your Honor.”

Matt considered. “Very well. We won’t dine, not tonight, but we’ll meet him briefly. It’s been a long day. I’m sure you wouldn’t mind a rest either.”

“No, Your Honor.”

“Please send a man to my ship, if you please, and tell them where we’re going and who we’ll see.” He made sure to speak loudly enough for the messenger to hear. “We should be along shortly.”

The corporal-who didn’t look much different from the “villainous Spaniard”-and his squad led them through a seedier part of the city. “Professional” ladies lewdly entreated them to join them in a guttural English-Spanish mix that Matt would once have considered a type of “Tex-Mex,” but this he could barely understand. Courtney beamed at them and tipped his hat as they passed. They pressed on into the gathering gloom.

“Which here it is,” the corporal said.

The building looked like a smaller version of Government House, but it didn’t stand independently. Other, somewhat dingy white structures butted right up to it. The Dominion embassy, or whatever it was, had fresher paint, and flew an odd red flag. Embroidered upon it was a large golden cross with some kind of weird bird perched on top.

“Fascinating symbolism,” Courtney muttered. Matt was an historian of sorts, having received his degree in history at the Academy, but it didn’t mean anything to him. The “messenger” with the big hat who’d led them there told the Marines to wait, then stepped forward and knocked sharply on the large, iron-reinforced doors. A small window slid aside, revealing a peephole, and muted words were exchanged.

“The Imperial heretics will await you here,” the man said, speaking to Matt for the first time. “Since you will not dine, your visit will be brief. Follow me, please.” The door creaked inward.

Matt looked at Courtney and, somewhat ostentatiously, waved him forward. “After you, Mr. Ambassador.”

Inside, the reception area was gloomy, all red and gold, with baroque iron lamps adorning the walls. Busy tapestries hung between them with far too much detail to absorb as the visitors were led past. The “messenger” preceded them up a winding staircase to an upper floor that opened into a broad, uninterrupted audience chamber. At the far end of the room, suffused in an orangish light, rested a dark-skinned, silver-haired man dressed entirely in red, except for the frilly gold shirt peeking from beneath his crimson robe. Beyond him on the red wall was a huge gilded cross with crude golden spikes jutting from the areas where Jesus had traditionally been nailed to his. The man stood to meet them as Matt and Courtney were presented to him-by name. Obviously, the ambassador had spies-and didn’t care if they knew. They’d have to be careful.

Thank God The Bosun isn’T here, Matt thought. Gray was Catholic, but he just couldn’t have stopped himself from making cracks about “popes and witch doctors.” It was his way. The man before them clearly took his position very seriously, and if Matt had burst out laughing this time, they probably would have wound up impaled or burnt at the stake-assuming everything he’d heard about the Dominion was true.

“My friends.” The man greeted them in a strangely silky-gentle, cordial voice, “I am Father Don Hernan DeDivino Dicha, Blood Cardinal to His Supreme Holiness, Messiah of Mexico, and by the Grace of God, Emperor of the World.”

“The entire world! How impressive,” Courtney blurted out. Matt could have kicked him. Apparently he didn’t need Gray to get him killed-and at least Gray could fight.

“Oh, how charming!” said Don Hernan, with evident pleasure. “You truly are from an unknown land! Your manner of speech is most refreshingly odd. Perhaps the rumors that you come to us from the Old World are true as well!”

“Rumors spread fast,” Matt commented. To his surprise, their host chuckled and touched a golden goblet. Wordlessly, a beautiful, unadorned, and entirely naked girl-who might have been fourteen, Matt realized in horror-raced in and filled three goblets, then virtually sprang from the room. Somehow, she hadn’t spilled a drop-Matt watched their host actually check to see if she had. He shuddered, wondering what the penalty would have been.

“Indeed,” the man continued in that disconcertingly soft voice. “Quite ‘fast’ indeed. Almost as quickly as your extraordinary ship!” He paused. “And never doubt that all of this world will one day beg for the benevolent rule of His Holiness! It was given unto him and his order by the very breath of God!” He shook his head, still smiling. “Of course, spreading the Word and Intent of God is a tedious process. The world is filled with unbelievers and heretics who must be forced to come to His understanding.” The ambassador performed a slight, modest bow. “I merely state the fact of the matter. Time and perseverance alone will make that fact clear to all.” He paused and smiled more broadly. “Call me Don Hernan. Wine?”

Courtney began to accept, but Matt held him back. “Thank you, no. Spirits aren’t allowed on United States ships, and while I may not be aboard right now, I am on duty. As is Ambassador Bradford. Perhaps another time.”

“Perhaps,” Don Hernan answered pleasantly. “Tell me, how stands the Faith on the Old World?”

Matt shrugged. “Pretty well, I guess. Lots of people believe in God. I do.”

Don Hernan’s lip twitched. “I mean the Roman Faith. Is it universal?”

Matt looked at Courtney. “Ah, no. It’s spread all over the place, but it’s not universal.”

Don Hernan’s smile faded slightly. “As I feared,” he said. “Too weak. Force is the key. They must have forgotten that. All will be heretics now, to one degree or another.” He looked at Matt. “Tell me of your faith.”

“Why don’t you tell me about yours first?” Matt replied, hedging. “We’re new here, and everything we’ve heard comes from the Brits-I mean Imperials.”

“Yes,” agreed Courtney enthusiastically. “We know almost nothing about your… crossover experience. We’ve heard tell of an Acapulco galleon, but that’s about the size of it.”

“Ah, so you know some small part, even if it has been… corrupted.” He sipped his wine. “ Nuestra Senora de La Quezon was indeed a Galeon de Manila y Acapulco.” Don Hernan warmed to his subject. “She was a noble ark, gentlemen, made of teak, mahogany, and lanang wood, almost as if her builders were divinely inspired to prepare her for the Holy Pilgrimage she would make. She departed Manila to serve God on this world in July of 1681. Her logs still exist, and are as revered as the Book of Exodus!”

“Oh, how marvelous!” Courtney gushed. “Such a tale they must tell!”

“Well,” Don Hernan said, his smile growing again, “I am always pleased to tell how God took messengers from one imperfect world and placed them here to make a better one. Perhaps a longer… interview might be arranged.” He focused on Courtney. “With you, at least.” He closed his eyes in sadness. “In sum, mistakes had already been made, you see, terrible mistakes. The conquerors of New Espana conquered too well, destroying the fiercer, purer words of God already known by the native peoples. Things may still have been salvaged, but the Church was weak and did not press its victory. Here, we rediscovered those crucial instructions God had left for us, and added them to the ones we knew. After that, we… resolutely advanced the true, complete Word and never looked back. This will be our world, in His name.”

“So your Founders encountered natives who’d crossed as well-earlier!” Bradford said eagerly. “What were they? Inca? Maya? Tol

…”

“What they were is unimportant,” Don Hernan interrupted, with a first trace of annoyance. “What we are now, all of my people, are children of God, and subjects of the Holy Dominion!”

“But… Well, what was gleaned from them? What ‘Word’ was rediscovered?”

Don Hernan smiled, pleased by Courtney’s interest. “Simply that as Jesus Christ suffered for us, we must suffer for Him. Pain alone is the purifier of sin, and the blood, the Precious Water, He sacrificed on our behalf must be returned manyfold. That is the Word that awaited those who came to this world! That to be truly holy in the eyes of God, one must emulate his Son in all things, but most particularly, one must ultimately die in pain at the hands of another!”

Bradford could only gape, stunned by such profound perversity.

“Dear God,” Matt murmured aside to him, “Jenks was right. These guys are crazier than bilge rats!”

Don Hernan was pleased as he watched the visitors leave. He thought the interview had gone quite well. Captain Reddy was doubtless an unrepentant heretic. The man had disrespectfully called directly upon God several times-such impudence!-but at least he did believe. Bradford displayed genuine fascination, perhaps even an attraction to the True Faith. At least he’d been eager to learn more about it. Don Hernan cared little exactly where the strangers were from, or what their situation was; he already knew much, and his spies would discover the rest. He’d wanted to learn about the men themselves and thought he had. Their animalistic “allies” never entered his thoughts. He’d determined, despite their advanced ship, that they couldn’t pose much of a threat. They were clearly somewhat tentative-understandable in this new setting. They would move slowly, feel their way, try to be “friends” with everyone. They shouldn’t be a factor, particularly after they were conveniently dead. A waste, it was true; he would have liked to explore further possibilities with the curious one, but that would only have edified him, and such deep curiosity was a mortal sin in any case. He sighed.

“Tea?” he asked aloud after a long moment.

Prime Proprietor Reed entered the room, huffy. “Your Holiness, you simply must not summon me here like a wayward child,” he insisted. His wispy voice was adamant but querulous. “It grows more difficult to move about unobserved, and at this late date I cannot be thought to be closely associated with you! Not just yet.”

Don Hernan understood Reed’s concern and realized, with a bit of surprise, that his admonishment had required a measure of real courage. Despite Reed’s nervous tone, Don Hernan knew the man wasn’t a complete coward; he couldn’t be to have facilitated such a lengthy and risky scheme, but his voice and demeanor were incapable of conveying forceful resolve. He was perceived as timid, which was possibly appealing to his ever-fearful constituents, but not very inspiring to others. It was just as well. That very demeanor allowed him to be profoundly underestimated by his opponents.

“I apologize, my son,” Don Hernan said smoothly, calmingly. “So tedious. Our ‘association’ will be apparent soon enough, and we no longer need pretend. In any event, I thought you should like to hear my interview with the heretics. The sea captain, particularly.”

“Well… yes, of course.”

“You spent some time with him today. What do you think?”

Reed sighed and sat, uninvited, then poured a cup of tea from the pot just brought by the naked girl. “Dangerous, unpredictable. A complication we did not need.”

Don Hernan was surprised. He considered himself a good judge of character, but he knew Reed was better. The man was a “politician,” after all. “Well, then, if you’re sure…”

“I am.”

“… perhaps I shall order them killed as they return to their ship. I can easily arrange an attack on the Marine escort by the ‘disaffected mob.’ ” He chuckled. “Regrettably, the strangers would die in the scuffle.”

Reed shook his head, horrified. “No, Holiness! That won’t do at all! My spies have been badgering the crew of the iron steamer all day, and have learned little except that their Captain Reddy is a most formidable man. Simple street thugs would likely not succeed, and he might suspect the true motive for the attack and become remarkably vengeful! Apparently, he has a towering temper.” Reed paused. “Perhaps worse, Jenks and His Majesty would surely suspect, and they might well take precipitous steps.”

Don Hernan tugged at his sculpted chin whiskers. “Interesting. Very well. There will be no… covert assassins. You say Captain Reddy has a temper?”

“That is what I understand. I have begun to learn a few things that provoke it…”

“Excellent.” Don Hernan sipped the wine still before him on the table, then looked at Reed and smiled. “As you know, my first inclination has always been to destroy the enemies of God, but I can be patient when I sense opportunity. Perhaps the arrival of Jenks and these ‘Americans’ is heaven-sent.”

“How so?”

“It could provide just the right distraction. We are not quite ready-another month would have been ideal-but the ‘complication,’ as you put it, of their arrival and the approach of Achilles makes that month uncertain. You agree there is more to their story than we know?”

Reed nodded. “There’s been nothing out of Respite in weeks. That is the course they would have taken. I fear, if nothing else, they know that Agamemnon did return and the Company sent ships to intercept the princess.”

“But they said nothing of it… to you. I would warrant they shared considerably more with His Majesty. Achilles must bear proof, and they are awaiting her before the Empire goes on the rampage, leveling accusations against the Company. Achilles has an escort?”

“American ships of unknown power, but if their iron steamer is any indication…”

“Certainly faster than anything we might confront them with. If we attempted another interception, even if we succeeded, they wouldn’t have to fight-they could just outrun our ships… and arrive here with even further proof.” Don Hernan tapped the goblet with his fingers. “As I said, we are not quite ready, but with a distraction

… we are surely ready enough.” He stood, decisive. “We cannot wait until the planned ‘Founders’ Day’ date for the operation. I will have to send dispatches, speed things along, but the gift of the moment must not be ignored. You say this Captain Reddy has a temper? What makes it burn most bright?”

“I do not know, but I provoked him several times… as I do… and in our brief exchange, I learned he takes especial offense to slanders against his ape-like crew! He protects them vigorously and they are one weak spot, at least.”

“Would he rise to a challenge over them?”

Reed smiled. “I should think so. I didn’t even press him. He seems quite fond of the creatures. I suspect that if any were present when offense was given, he would be even more likely to rise.”

Don Hernan chuckled. “The Pre-Passage Ball is in three days. I think we should arrange an… entertainment that should quite consume Imperial attention while we implement our plan. Commodore Jenks will be there, of course. Ensure that Captain Reddy is invited-make it impossible for him to refuse-and do invite at least one of his… animals.”

“You are most wise, Holiness,” Reed said, bending to kiss the offered ring.

The music was Vivaldi and Courtney Bradford was entranced by the unexpectedly familiar melody of the “Spring (La primavera)” concerto from The Four Seasons, played by an excellent violin quartet. “Unbelievable,” he muttered over and over when not distracted by the apparently endless stream of people trying to meet him. Matt was at least as overwhelmed by guests and dignitaries, many in Imperial Navy uniforms. Jenks and his wife stood near Matt, and Jenks did most of the talking, while Matt tried to be engagingly distant to the horde of young ladies fluttering around him in their colorful, cloudlike gowns. The Bosun stood off a little, virtually alone, toying with a glass of something and generally grimacing all around.

The fish-flesh clouds were bright pink overhead as the sun vanished in the gap between the high, distant mountains. The Governor-Emperor spoke to the attendees with his wife, a frail-looking thing, smiling bravely, beside him. He said something about Jenks’s miraculous return, and welcomed their distinguished guests from another land. Courtney didn’t catch it all. Lanterns and torches sprang to life, dancers orbited one another on the close-cropped Government House lawn, and the music became increasingly difficult to hear as the Pre-Passage Ball commenced in full force. Jenks had told them that the festivities commemorated a ball (or it might have been a small dinner party) that occurred a week or so before the three ancient Indiamen departed some East Indian Island (Bradford couldn’t remember which, and it hardly mattered now) bound for India. The Founders’ Day celebration, barely a month away, took note of the survivors’ arrival here, thirteen months later. It was a kind of “before and after” observance. Over the years, the Founders’ Day event had become more a time of remembrance and thanksgiving, while the Pre-Passage Ball evolved into a party.

Bradford didn’t much care just then, as he was nearly half drunk. It was time to taper off, he decided. He’d promised Captain Reddy that he’d keep his wits about him. He noticed Chack was still under siege and began moving toward him. Besides himself, Matt, Gray, and Chack were the only people from Walker at the ball. The entire crew was anxious for liberty, but they understood things were tense ashore, and they needed to remain ready for anything. People came every day to gawk at the ship and the Lemurians aboard her as they went about their duties. There’d apparently even been an attempt to abduct a ’Cat who’d jumped down to the dock to help a screaming child. At the ’Cat’s cry of alarm, Spanky and another pair of ’Cats leaped to his aid, sending four rough-looking men running back into the crowd. The distressed child was nowhere to be found, and even some of the onlookers suspected a plot and urged them back to the ship.

The people of New Scotland were fascinated by the Lemurians, however, and what little they’d learned about them was the talk of Scapa Flow, and even posted on broadsheets. Therefore, while all of the visitors were celebrities and near the center of attention since arriving at the ball dressed in their best, the very center space had been unwillingly taken by Chack-and he was in hell. Despite his immaculate and very martial Marine dress, every diaphanously dressed female in attendance stopped to fawn over him like a helpless, squirming youngling. Some even stroked his fur! He was mortified, and Captain Reddy glanced his way almost constantly, clearly tense on his behalf.

Bradford plowed onward, dispensing apologies. His vision was a little blurred and he stopped for a moment to clear his head. There was a commotion to his right, and he noticed a man with slick black hair doing much the same as he, working his way toward Chack with a purposeful look on his face. Courtney felt a gust of alarm and tried to pick up his pace. He tripped. So many people tried to help him up, laughing, happy, swirling people, that it seemed forever before he reached his feet. With another string of apologies, he tried to swim through the bodies.

He heard shouts. People pressed back against him, crying out in surprise. A commotion erupted where Chack had been, but he couldn’t see the Lemurian anymore. A woman screamed. Courtney began to panic. What was happening? He couldn’t see! What was he doing? He didn’t even have a weapon. Already he feared the worst. There were more shouts-indignant, offended, enraged. He thrashed his way through a ring of people, practically panting with terror-and was completely taken aback by what he saw.

In the light of the torches, Chack stood safe and sound, but he was holding Captain Reddy by one arm while Harvey Jenks held the other. The captain stood, knuckles bloody, staring at the slick-haired man with that… frightening… look he so rarely got. The Bosun burst into the ring, eyes casting back and forth, searching for a target for the “dress” cutlass (he’d painted the scabbard) at his side. The slick-haired man stood, a little shaky, daubing his mouth with a handkerchief. Daubing wouldn’t do the trick. Both lips were split wide open, and dark blood practically covered the silky cravat and white shirt down to his weskit.

“I velieve I ’ust de’and satisvaction!” said the slick-haired man.

“You got it, you cowardly bastard,” Matt hissed. “Anytime, anywhere! I ordered Captain Chack not to respond to rats like you. I can, by God!”

“Excellent.” The man seemed to be trying very hard not to show any pain. “The Impherial dueling grounds, then. Just after se’vices. Swords.” With that, the man turned and paced calmly through the crowd.

“What the hell?” Matt asked, stunned. He seemed to be getting his rage under control and his expression showed uncertainty. He’d been prepared for a fight right then. “When’s that? What’s going on?”

“Next Sunday, a week from today-after church services,” Jenks said severely. “Sunday’s the customary day.” He shook his head and took a breath. “We’ve been done, my friend.” He released Matt’s arm and strode out into the circle, looking at the faces there. He lifted his gaze until he seemed to see who he was looking for, some distance away. “I want there to be no doubt among any man here that this despicable episode was premeditated and engaged upon by none other than Prime Proprietor Harrison Reed!” He pointed in the direction the slick-haired man had gone. “That creature, you know! How many times has he taken the field for the ‘ Honorable ’ New Britain Company? He’s an assassin! A hired killer! He does nothing on his own account! He is but a tool, a coward’s weapon in the hand of Harrison Reed!”

There was a gasp and the crowd began to shift, as if unconsciously realizing that it formed a barrier between two adversaries. Eventually, a gulf widened between the circle and the Prime Proprietor himself, standing on the steps of Government House. Just a short distance away, unnoticed by most, stood the Dominion Ambassador, Don Hernan DeDivino Dicha. Reed glared back at Jenks, then flicked his kerchief as if to say, “As you will,” and turned away.

Courtney swayed just a bit and wondered if he alone noticed the odd, benevolent smile on Don Hernan’s face. “A bloody duel!?” he roared. “Seriously, we’ve come all this way for a bloody duel? Buggery!”

After the bizarre confrontation most everyone, aside from a few wellwishers, seemed willing to leave the “celebrities” alone, and they managed to secure a well-lit table away from the dancers. The ball slowly gathered speed again, but there was a new, electric excitement as people began to contemplate the “Duel of the Decade.” Jenks recognized the mood and sighed. He’d seen it before. He looked at Chack. It wasn’t the Lemurian’s fault, but Chack couldn’t help but blame himself, and it showed in his body language.

“They suckered us,” Matt growled, rubbing his torn knuckles.

“They suckered you if by that you mean they lured us into their trap instead of the other way around,” Jenks said. He smiled slightly. “I must admit, it was a glorious thing to see, however. You knocked at least two teeth out of that vile man’s head, and he’s never even been touched on the field, with sword or pistol.” He smirked. “Dueling to the death is a common occurrence in the Empire. A serious, honest punch in the mouth is rare.”

“Who was that guy?” Matt asked.

“An assassin, as I said,” Jenks replied. “A damn good one, actually. If you’ll pardon the irony, you should feel flattered.”

“I feel like an idiot.”

“You don’t understand. One way or another, there was going to be a duel provoked this night. I should have expected it, but I never dreamed Reed would be so bold… or is it boldness? Desperation? What if Time is the issue?” He shook his head. “Put that aside for a moment. That man-that assassin-knew exactly what he was doing, and which keys to stroke. I doubt he expected quite as vigorous a response to his taunts”-he grinned again-“but he knew you would react the way you did. Who else has insulted our Lemurian friends lately?”

“Reed.”

“Precisely. The thing is, it didn’t matter if you responded or not. Say Chack had responded. There’d be a duel. If neither you nor he responded, I’ll wager Mr. Gray would have, and there’d be a duel.”

“Not without orders,” the Bosun stated piously.

“Oh, don’t be absurd, you ancient beast!” Courtney burst out. “Of course you would have-but that’s not the commodore’s point, is it?”

“No, it’s not,” Jenks said. “There would have been a duel if that man had had to bite your feet to provoke one. That’s what he does. All you lost by striking him was the dubious advantage of choosing weapons.”

“I’m good with a pistol,” Matt said.

“A licensed, inspected, flintlock dueling pistol? Mmm. I thought not. That may have made you almost even, at best. No, it will have to be swords now, and you simply can’t beat him… in the kind of fight he expects. I doubt I could.”

Matt sat up straighter, but didn’t speak.

“Well… then how come you jumped in too?” Gray demanded, a little loudly. He glowered at a man at a nearby table who’d glanced up when he spoke. Gray’s question was mirrored in the eyes of Jenks’s attractive young wife, seated beside him. She had dark hair and was dressed just as ridiculously as all the other women, but somehow she pulled it off. She didn’t voice the question as Gray had, though; it wasn’t her “place.”

“Why not? The incident was obviously contrived. No doubt there was another hireling in the crowd waiting to challenge me, or vice versa. I simply beat them to it by publicly blaming Reed to see his reaction-and the reaction of others. Most interesting.”

“At least you get to kill Reed,” Matt said, almost jealously.

“What? Oh, of course not! He’ll hire a substitute. It’s his right as the offended party. Can’t have people running around picking duels with others simply because they dislike them or they’re weak,” he scoffed sarcastically.

“Then… why do it?”

“ Because it was contrived. ‘They’-Reed, the Company… perhaps even Don Hernan, by the look on his face-have an agenda, that’s plain. What isn’t at all clear is what it is… and what next Sunday has to do with it.” He became silent, thoughtful. Matt looked at the others. Clearly he was missing something. Finally, Jenks shook his head. “I did what I did to surprise them, to see their unprotected reactions.”

“You’re gonna fight a duel ’cause you wanted to see the look on their faces?” Gray demanded.

“Quietly!” Jenks cautioned. “We don’t want Them to know that! Besides, once more, I presume I would have been compelled to in any case. Consider this: if they only wanted us dead, I assure you they would resort to assassination. What do they have to gain by a public duel?”

“Excuse me, Jenks,” Matt said. “You keep forgetting we’re new here. Dueling’s illegal in the U.S. Navy! What do you mean, public?”

Jenks looked around the table. He even had Courtney’s attention now. “Oh. I see. I was beginning to wonder why you were being so obtuse! Duels in the Empire are very public affairs. That’s probably why there aren’t more of them. They’re not rare, by any means, but I suspect some are more afraid of the crowd than they would be of an opponent on the field!”

“Crowd? Like this?”

Jenks almost laughed. “Um… not exactly.”

“Bigger?”

“Exponentially. Even under normal circumstances.”

“Normal?” Courtney asked.

Jenks sighed. “I am, deserving or not, a fairly well-known personality. Particularly in certain circles.” He grimaced. “I’ve been ‘on the field’ twice before, for various reasons.” He patted his wife’s hand when it suddenly touched his arm. “On both occasions, the event was… quite a spectacle.”

“That’s it!” Courtney said emphatically, and Matt began to nod.

“Indeed. It must be,” Jenks said seriously. “Imagine the spectacle at a multiple duel involving not only myself but the primary representative of the first ‘new’ people the Empire has encountered in over a century. The spectacle is the thing!”

“And the timing,” Matt reminded.

“The timing,” Jenks agreed. “I’m convinced of it! Somehow, our arrival or the impending arrival of Achilles -perhaps their belief that the princess is aboard her or that we have some proof of their scheme-has put that scheme, whatever it is, in jeopardy!”

“Ahem,” said Courtney. The table grew silent and they all looked up to see Andrew, the Governor-Emperor’s man, approaching. Without waiting to be invited, he sat.

“His Majesty has asked me ta ask all of ye, quote: ‘What in the name o’ God those fish-headed sailors think they’re about?’ Ah, end quote.” He looked around the table severely.

Jenks looked at the man with a calculating expression. “How long have we known each other, Andrew?”

The man blinked, but stared right back. “I’m forty,” he said. “Ye and His Majesty is both thirty-nine. As the eldest, I was in charge when we all first went a’fishin’ at the docks when we was tots. The Empress Mother, bless her lovely, sweet soul, bade me take ye both, as well as young Sean, sport shootin’ in the Highlands for the first time when I was ten, so ye an’ His Majesty woulda’ been nine. Ye got excited reloadin’ fer a second shot at a dragon foul, an’ fired yer rammer away. Ye cried.” Andrew sighed. “I stayed on when ye an’ Sean went off ta sea, ta fight Dom pirates an’ have yer fun. It was I, stood by His Majesty when his mother died, an’ the… Rebellion came. Aye, even then! An’ it’s me that’s stayed ta brother him when his sweet daughter was lost. You tell me, Harvey Jenks, how long have we known one another?”

Jenks nodded and looked at Captain Reddy. “Andrew Bates,” he explained, ironically, and Matt’s eyes widened. Jenks looked back at Andrew. “I’m sorry, old friend, but we can leave nothing to chance, and I wanted Captain Reddy to trust you as I do. Tell His Majesty that by leaping into the enemy’s web, we may have snared him in ours. We’re convinced that something will happen next Sunday, either at or during the duel.”

“What do ye think it’ll be?”

Jenks held out his hands. “We’ve no idea, not yet, but whatever it is, it will be for ‘all the marbles,’ as my friends here would say. We have a week to uncover the plot.”

“I believe I already know,” Chack said suddenly. “Not what they hope to gain, but I suspect I understand the reason for the provocation tonight.” He looked at Jenks, blinking intensity. “I will tell you… if you tell me how to save Captain Reddy from that… aas-saassin.”

“Chack!” Matt reprimanded.

Jenks chuckled. “Oh, no, that’s quite all right.” He looked at Chack. “Do you believe me when I say I have a plan-in that respect at least?”

Chack blinked skeptically, then nodded. “Yes.” His tail twitched and he looked around the table. “You may be right about the reasons for this ‘duel’ thing, but regardless how it started, I believe you were the ultimate target, Commodore Jenks, not Captain Reddy. You say a lot of people will come to witness this duel, this fight. More than are here?”

“That’s right.”

“Many will come just to watch?”

“Yes.”

“Who will come to support you? To be on your side? To be your friend?”

“Why, I expect…” Jenks’s face paled in the torchlight. “Oh my God! Captain Reddy, I apologize. It wasn’t you who was ‘suckered,’ it was me! I won’t be fighting him, but my duel is, in essence, against Reed! The vast majority of those who will come to directly support me against him are Marine and Naval officers… and we don’t dare tell them to stay away!”