Rising Tides (39 page)

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.