The mighty chief gunner’s mate Dennis Silva clambered down the rungs last, with Her Highness Rebecca Anne McDonald clinging to his back. Silva winced occasionally, pained by his many wounds, and Matt wished again he’d insisted the big man remain behind. But Silva took his role of protecting the princess seriously and Matt couldn’t bring himself to discourage anything the irreverent, depraved pain in the ass actually wanted to do-as far as his duty was concerned. Of all of them, Silva might have changed the most-maybe even more than Matt himself. He didn’t seem much different to the casual observer, despite the patch that covered his ruined left eye. He was still huge, powerful, and still kept his blond hair burred close-even as he let the sun-bleached brownish beard grow longer than everyone knew the captain approved. He remained coarse, profane, and fearlessly reckless, and there was still the more or less unresolved question of what, exactly, constituted the relationship between him, Nurse Pam Cross, and the ’Cat female Risa-Sab-At. Risa’s brother, Chack, probably knew, but no one else did… for sure. Other than that, however, Silva caused few real problems anymore.
Maybe his wounds slowed him down, but Matt had seen him shoulder more and more responsibility-sometimes of his own accord-even before he was injured. It was as if he’d taken his role as Walker ’s Hercules to heart, and saw it as his personal duty to protect her survivors as best he could-with the possible exception of his primary rival,
Chief Machinist’s Mate Dean Laney. His protectiveness was particularly focused on the little girl clinging to his back. She had
… done something… to Dennis Silva, and Matt believed the big man would somehow contrive, with his bare hands, to destroy the ship they were about to visit if it threatened the girl in any way.
When all the passengers were aboard, Gunner’s Mate Paul Stites advanced the throttle and the launch burbled across the choppy sea to Achilles ’ side. The closer they drew to the “British” ships, the more impressed Matt became. Each Imperial frigate seemed quite well made, and mounted twelve to twenty guns that looked somewhat larger than the American frigates’ improved eighteen pounders. Maybe twenty-fours? But the ships simply couldn’t be as imaginatively and redundantly reinforced as his own Lemurian-built frigates, and their steam power would be an advantage only until their vulnerable paddle wheels were damaged. Then they’d become a terrible liability. They were more than a match for his “prizes,” though, and he had only one frigate to oppose them if it came to that. Of course, there was no way they could enter the bay past the guns of Fort Atkinson and the other big guns they’d quickly emplaced on the southeast entrance. For a melancholy moment, he considered that Walker could have taken all of them by herself, but he shook that off. He didn’t want to fight them, and despite Gray’s assessment, he doubted he’d have to. Most likely, they just wanted to take the girl and go, but it was always wise to consider possibilities-particularly when they weren’t necessarily going to get what they wanted.
The barge bumped alongside and Captain Reddy hopped across to an extensive ladder arrangement, complete with manropes that had been rigged while they crossed. Climbing to the top, he saluted the curiously familiar ensign, with the red and white stripes and Union Jack in the field at the ship’s stern, then saluted a man he suspected was Captain Jenks, by the description Gray had given him.
“Captain Matthew Reddy, United States Navy. Supreme Commander, by acclamation, of the Combined Allied Forces united under the Banner of the Trees. I request permission to come aboard, sir.”
A side party was present, with drums and a pair of trumpets, but they made no sound. The man in the elaborately laced white coat with braided mustaches frowned, then returned the salute with a curious rigidity. “Of course,” he said gruffly, apparently somewhat taken aback, “do come aboard.” He gestured at the side party. “And please forgive our incivility,” he added when he recognized a much cleaned-up Chief Gray reaching the top of the ladder. “We were under the impression your people preferred informal greetings.”
“An impression you got when you were rude to us right after a fight,” Gray growled over his shoulder. He took the girl from Silva, who’d passed her up from below. Turning, he set her on the deck and glared at Jenks. He pointedly didn’t salute the flag or the Imperial officer. Jenks stiffened, but then beamed at the girl before him. At the signal of another officer, the drums rolled loudly and the trumpets blasted a rapid and again tantalizingly familiar fanfare.
“Your Highness!” Jenks exclaimed, going to a knee and sweeping off his hat when the trumpets subsided. Everyone in the vicinity did the same, leaving the Americans standing awkwardly beside the girl.
At that instant, Silva stuck his head over the rail and gawked around, festooned with the evidence of his wounds. His hands were bandaged and blood seeped through the cloth of his white tunic. The garish black patch covering his eye, and the gap-toothed grin that split his bearded face gave him a decidedly piratical air. Faced with an opportunity, he proceeded to prove that nothing could temper his customary irreverent exuberance. “Goddamn,” he muttered in the silence, “the skipper just hops aboard and a whole shipload o’ limeys surrenders to him!” Jenks’s face flushed.
“Silva!” Matt hissed.
“Rise!” Rebecca Anne McDonald said loudly, forcing down a giggle. Behind her, the rest of the occupants of the launch continued to arrive on deck-all of them, even the Lemurians, saluting the flag.
Jenks’s face turned even redder, if possible, perhaps with shame over his pettiness. He stood, followed by his officers, and took a step forward. “I’m so glad!” he said to Rebecca, ignoring the other visitors. “Surely it’s a miracle. We’ve found you at last! We’d nearly lost hope, searching much farther and longer than most believed you could possibly survive. Thank God I decided to search among the Ape Folk, thinking they may have taken you in. Only chance brought us to their huge ship, which told us strangers were also searching for others of their kind in waters you may have reached! I believed it possible they may have found you and hurried here, but I honestly cherished little remaining hope!”
“You have found me,” the girl agreed, “and I give thanks for your diligence. Sadly, of all those who accompanied me on that ill-fated voyage, only one remained to aid me. Injured though he was, I could not have survived without him. Alas, even he was denied this happy reunion.” Rebecca spoke of O’Casey, who’d begged her not to mention him, since he was, after all, a wanted man. But she was determined that he receive his due and, ultimately, a pardon. What she’d said would suffice, however. For now, she’d let him remain anonymous.
“A noble man, surely,” Jenks commiserated, “but at least the Empire has you safely back! Their Majesties will be so relieved!”
“How are my parents?” Rebecca asked anxiously.
“Well enough when we left, five months ago, though desolate with worry and grief. Your father blamed himself, you see, for sending you to stay with your uncle, the governor of the Western Isles.”
“He sent me to protect me!” the girl insisted.
Jenks glanced at his other visitors again, perhaps wondering how much they’d learned about his nation. “Of course, but…”
Matt cleared his throat. “Excuse me, please. This is all very touching and even fascinating, but”-he pointed toward land-“we’ve recently fought a great battle against a rather large fleet of Grik. I understand you know about them?”
Jenks seemed annoyed by the interruption, but nodded. “From legends, the old logs of the founders.” His eyes went wide when Lawrence scrambled aboard. Wide with surprise, but not shock or horror, Matt noticed.