Rising Tides (38 page)

“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.”