Nurse Lieutenant and Minister of Medicine Sandra Tucker’s bad sunburn was beginning to turn tan, but her normally sandy blond hair had gone peroxide. She looked at the bedraggled and somewhat gangly royal teen. “Don’t worry,” she said with a smile. “They’ll be along.”
“But it’s nearly dark!”
“I assure you, my dear,” insisted Sister Audry in her precise Dutchaccented English, “Mr. Silva would be far safer in any wilderness you chose to drop him than any poor creature he might happen upon.” Sister Audry’s words were meant to reassure, but there was a subliminal thread of condemnation in her tone as well. Like the surviving Imperials, she harbored a deep suspicion that Silva was at least mildly psychotic. She stepped from beneath the sailcloth shelter they’d rigged against the daily rains and stood beside Sandra and Rebecca. She wore dungarees now too, although her practically destroyed habit was kept safely stowed in a bundle of oilcloth.
“I’m concerned about poor Lawrence as well,” Rebecca said, “and perhaps ever so slightly about Messers Cook and Brassey.”
“And Captain Rajendra?” Sandra asked dryly.
“Him too, I suppose,” Rebecca conceded. “I really should be, shouldn’t I?” she asked Sister Audry. Rebecca had learned to respect the nun’s moral authority, even if most of the other Imperial castaways still considered her some form of Roman witch. Rebecca knew better. She knew there was no more similarity between Sister Audry’s “Catholic” faith and that practiced by the “Holy Dominion” than there was between night and day.
“One should always try to think charitable thoughts about all people,” Sister Audry replied, but it was clear by her tone how difficult even she found that at times.
A panicked cry arose near the shoreline, where Captain Lelaa and Carpenter Hersh were wrapping up their day’s repairs to the boat. Three other men, armed with muskets, raced to the spot from where they’d been posted along the beach to provide security for the laborers and their important charges. A loud Thump and a jet of fire flashed in the rapidly deepening gloom.
Captain Lelaa, the Lemurian commander and possibly only survivor of the destroyed sloop USS Simms, raced past them, tail curled high in alarm, toward the ranks of muskets they kept loaded and under cover. “Shik-saak!” she shouted breathlessly as she passed.
A large shadow, almost indistinguishable from the color of the sea behind it, lunged up onto the shore, barely missing the overturned boat where it lay chocked and supported on the sand. The carpenter was on his back, frantically scrabbling up the beach on his hands and heels, shrieking as he went. The security detail raced to that side of the boat and fired a volley directly into the monster before fleeing as fast as they could, reloading as they ran. It was a tactic they’d practiced before; get the shiksak’s attention, then lead it away from the boat and camp. They had no real hope of killing it with their muskets, and wouldn’t have wanted to kill it There in any case. Its carcass would only draw more predators. Their intent in this instance was to preserve the boat, protect the camp, and-hopefully-save the carpenter by provoking the beast into chasing them. It worked.
With a mighty froglike leap, the shiksak lunged after them, absorbing its fall with its semi-rigid front legs, or flippers, and the mattresslike cushion of fat on its belly. It emitted a kind of croaking wail when it struck the ground, but immediately gathered itself for another hopping leap. In a flat-out sprint, the security detail avoided being crushed beneath the massive body or taken by the gaping jaws, but they’d learned in a previous encounter that only a flat-out sprint would save them-and they’d practiced the technique against a considerably smaller shiksak. They’d discovered then that the slightest misstep, fall, or stumble would spell their death. It looked as though this larger, more powerful beast would render their tactic moot. Without a word among them, they split up.
Lelaa snatched a pair of muskets and raced into the jungle that paralleled the beach. With a glance that encompassed Rebecca and Sister Audry, Sandra did the same, following Lelaa as fast as she could.
“I must go as well!” Rebecca insisted, “I can handle a musket as well as any!”
Sister Audry grabbed her. “No, child, you must remain here. Those others are willing to sacrifice their lives to save yours. If any die and you are not saved, their sacrifice will have been in vain. It is a harsh and heavy burden to bear, but it is yours to bear.”
They heard another thundering, croaking groan, this time accompanied by a shrill scream. Sister Audry muttered something and crossed herself with her free hand while holding Rebecca even tighter against her renewed efforts to escape. The night was punctuated by more musket fire and shouts. Evidently pausing to devour its victim, the shiksak did not immediately leap again, allowing the survivors to gain some distance. It was almost pitch-black now, and the musket flashes of a suddenly augmented skirmish line pulsed in the darkness a considerable distance up the beach.
“I would attest that that volley was comprised of more guns than Miss Tucker and Captain Lelaa alone would have added!” Sister Audry assured Rebecca hopefully. The shiksak leaped again and again, moving beyond their ability to hear the dreadful sounds it made or see any movement. Rebecca collapsed against the nun and began to sob. Even if she broke free now, the action had drawn too far away to join.
Sister Audry led the girl carefully out onto the beach, keeping a wary eye on the deadly sea, until they reached the traumatized carpenter. The scrawny man was standing now and almost blubbering with relief.
“I thought the bugger had me!” he gasped. “So big and fat, and yet so fast!” He calmed himself slightly and glanced apologetically at the princess. “Pardon the ‘bugger,’ if you please, Your Highness.”
Through the tears that filled her eyes, Rebecca could still occasionally see the distant sparkle and bloom of a musket shot, but the hissing surf now drowned any report. Suddenly, to her surprise and almost infinite relief, she saw the muzzle flash of what might almost have been a cannon. A moment later, she did hear a muffled boom punctuate that shot. Shortly afterward, there came a veritable flurry of flashes, followed by another massive discharge. Then there was only the darkness and the surge of the marching sea.
“It would seem that your inimitable Mr. Silva has come to the rescue once again,” Sister Audry observed with an apparent mix of relief and disgust. “I only hope his various schemes to save us don’t cost a life with each attempt.”
“What happened?” Sandra asked impatiently. Silva sat on a large fallen tree trunk, ravenously devouring a plate of stew. He brandished a spoon, delaying his answer while he chewed. Finally, he pointed the spoon at Rajendra.
“Things went pretty much the way His Surliness said, except it wasn’t as tough a trip as he made out. Sure, hacking through all that bamboo stuff was a chore, but I had tougher days behind a mule when I was seven. Once we got through that stuff, wasn’t anything to it. Might’ve found a good channel through the breakers too.”
“Then what took you so long, and what’s the matter with Mr. Cook? ”
“He took to acting strange on the way back. Poked his finger on something in that kudzulike stuff. Went all silly on us. We had to throw together a stretcher, sort of, to get him back here. Even had to tie him down eventually. That’s why we was dee-layed.” He waved the spoon. “As for what’s the matter with him, you got me. You’re the doc. See for yourself.”