Jarrik looked at the back of his leader's head. "No, lord, I would not," he admitted. "Not that it would matter in the face of their magic."
The Tail-less Ones muttered among themselves as well, and Adar wondered if their conversation ran along similar lines. The long weapons some carried had been placed on their shoulders, suspended by straps. That was encouraging at least. Nearly all of them were talking now, and a large one, with less fur than the others, talked the most. Their faces moved in a manner he had to conclude displayed emotion in some way, since they had no tails and they rarely blinked. Their strange little ears couldn't possibly convey any meaning.
Another spoke quite a lot as well, one that was smaller than the others and had very long fur on its head. The proportions of its anatomy indicated it was female, but it was difficult to tell with all the cloth they wore.
"The Scrolls make no mention of these creatures?" Keje asked, and shifted uncomfortably.
"I'm not sure, lord," Adar temporized. "Not specifically. There is the reference by Siska-Ta to the tail-less race that departed into the East long ago," he said grudgingly, "but their vessels were utterly different. They had sails, much like the Grik." He tilted his head back, remembering, and quoted a line copied from the First Scrolls taught to him as a youngling, which he now taught his apprentices. It was in the forgotten language of the ancient Scrolls themselves, and none save the Sky Priests bothered to learn it. They had to, since it was the language of the ancients in which the secrets of the stars themselves had passed to them.
"And upon the longest of the long days, when the Sun Brother was large and close in the sky, they freed their great ship from the bottom of the sea and sailed into the East, into the emptiness of the Eastern Sea." Adar smiled slightly with pride in the power of his memory. He read the Scrolls often, but he rarely spoke the words. He glanced at the Tail-less Ones and was surprised that they'd stopped speaking. All were looking at him with what he surmised to be very intent expressions. The one with so little fur stared with his mouth open wide. The one with the black fur and the darkest skin stepped near their leader and spoke into his small, misshapen ear. The leader, eyes wide, looked at the speaker with even more apparent amazement, but nodded, and the black-furred one turned to Adar.
"This said . . . speech . . . yours?" asked the creature in the ancient language of the Scrolls.
Keje lurched to his feet in shock, just as Adar hit the floor in a dead faint.
Matt stood in Walker's pilothouse staring uneasily at the huge, wounded ship to starboard. They were creeping along in a generally north-north-easterly direction, at less than four knots. He reckoned that was as fast as the Lemurian ship could go in this wind, with all her damage. The Bosun stood beside him, as did McFarlane and Larry Dowden. The rest of the bridge watch went about their duties, but the usual banter was absent as the destroyermen strained to hear their words. He knew all the details would spread as fast as if he announced it on the shipwide circuit, but he felt no particular reason to keep the conversation secret. Everyone would know soon enough anyway.
"Latin," murmured Gray. "Who would've ever thought it?" Matt nodded.
"But how?" asked McFarlane wonderingly. "I mean, how?"
"How . . . any of this, Spanky?" Matt gestured vaguely around. "It should make it easier to communicate, though I doubt many of the men know more Latin than Lemurian. But I don't know how any more than you do. That's one of the things maybe Bradford or Lieutenant Shinya will find out."
Courtney Bradford, Lieutenant Shinya, Lieutenant Tucker, and the rest of the security detail had remained behind on the Lemurian ship and would stay for the rest of the day, with orders to learn as much as they could and render any possible aid. Once it was clear that his people had nothing to fear, Matt had decided to return to Walker. There was little he could add to the discussions, since he knew virtually no Latin, and with their now common enemy abroad in such unprecedented numbers—an enemy they now had a name for—he didn't want to be separated from his ship if the Grik returned.
"Finding out about the Grik was valuable, but frustrating. We still don't know very much. I don't think the Lemurians do either. They've never been attacked in such force before, though."
"They sure seemed appreciative for what we did for them," muttered Gray, and then he grinned. "Once that Adar fella came to, he jabbered up a storm."
"You understand some Latin, don't you, Bosun?" asked Dowden.
Gray smirked. "About enough to know that's what it is when I hear it. My mother was Catholic and she made me learn a little. Spanky should know more, though. Both his parents were Catholics." His eyes twinkled. "And he sure took up with enough good Catholic Filipino gals!"
"I'm Catholic," confirmed Spanky, narrowing his eyes at the Bosun, "but as far as understanding Latin, it might as well be Greek to me." He grinned sheepishly. "I never even tried to pick any up." He frowned. "'Course, I never would have figured that little Jap could speak it!"
Gray turned to Matt. "Yeah, Skipper, what about that? I nearly joined Adar on the deck when he opened up. You think it's a good idea to leave him over there? I mean, he may have given his parole and all, but he's still a Jap. And how the hell does a Jap know Latin?" he grumped.
"Beats me," admitted Matt, "but Bradford knows it even better, and I guess he'll keep an eye on him. Besides, I think he's sincere about his parole," he added guardedly. "What possible advantage could he find in betraying us, anyway?"
"I don't know," said Gray darkly, "but he's a Jap. That's all the reason he needs to betray us."
Matt and the rest of his senior personnel were waiting for the launch when it drew alongside. He was anxious to hear what the rest of the boarding party had learned. As they came aboard, however, he quickly realized a few were missing. Bradford presented himself to the captain, although he didn't salute. He looked tired but excited.
"Where's Lieutenant Tucker?" Matt demanded immediately. "And Lieutenant Shinya and the two gunner's mates?"
Bradford made a shooing gesture. "They're perfectly fine, I assure you! Lieutenant Tucker has become engrossed in things medical and remained behind to assist with their wounded—as I'm sure you'll remember giving her permission to do." Bradford's face darkened. "They have quite a lot of wounded, I'm afraid. Perhaps half their people—and as many as a quarter killed—many of them children and the very old. The fighting must have been horrific, sir. Horrific!" He fumbled in his shirt pocket for a scribbled note. "Here's a list of supplies Miss Tucker would like sent over." Matt took the note and handed it wordlessly to Alan Letts. "In any event," continued Bradford, "the Jappo volunteered to remain and translate— extraordinary, that!" His eyes grew large. "Why ever in the world a young Jappo would want to learn Latin is quite beyond me, but I shall surely ask him! Yes, indeed! Oh, well, those two strapping lads—Silva, I believe, and . . . the other one—stayed behind to protect Miss Tucker, and the Jappo, I suppose, although they're in no danger, goodness, no! The United States Navy represented by USS Walker and all her people are quite popular and appreciated just now!"
Matt wasn't happy that Sandra had remained behind, but he had to admit she was in good hands if trouble arose. He was less sanguine about Dennis Silva's ability to refrain from starting trouble, however. "Very well," he said grudgingly.
"Were you actually able to talk with them? I mean conversationally?" Dowden asked.