Distant Thunders

CHAPTER 17

I t was long after dark when Silva’s hunting party neared the environs of Baalkpan. The bearers had dragged the masses of meat on travois down to the original riverside fueling pier and transferred it to square, flat barges. From there, they slowly towed the barges to the city behind Scott’s launch. As usual, Moe didn’t accompany them past the pier, but disappeared into the jungle as soon as the hunt was done. Even Silva didn’t know where he lived, and he was probably the closest thing to a friend the old Lemurian had. The sun went down quickly, as was its custom, and for a time the large, voracious insects pestered them as they traversed the estuary. The breeze of the bay protected them a little as they drew nearer the city.

“What the devil?” Silva asked as they caught sight of the old fitting-out pier. The city was lit up like it hadn’t been in a long time, and a major party appeared to be under way.

“Most interesting,” observed Bradford. “One would like to speculate that they’ve heard the news of our return after such an auspicious and successful venture as ours today, but I honestly doubt that’s the case.”

“Nobody invited you to a party neither?” Silva grumped.

“Indeed not. I can’t imagine what might have transpired in our absence to cause such revelry. Perhaps the war is over?”

Silva grunted. “We musta missed something, but I doubt that’s it. Besides, they wouldn’t dare win the war without lettin’ me in on it. I’m gonna personally poke that Sequestural Lizard Mother through the head with one o’ Lanier’s U.S.-marked butter knives. I told the skipper so. If she fell off the pot an’ broke her neck, I’m gonna be mighty sore.”

Abel stirred from where he’d been sleeping curled up next to Lawrence in the stern sheets. “Look!” he said a little blearily. “ Walker is lit up! Her aft searchlight tower has been reinstalled and they are shining the light about!”

“Ahhh!” roared Silva when the beam rested momentarily on the approaching launch and its train of barges. He shielded his eyes from the painful glare. “Goddamn EMs are horsin’ around! They musta managed to twist a couple o’ wires together an’ thought that was worth a hootenanny!” He chuckled. “Maybe Rodriguez’ll point the light at Laney! He can’t stand that stupid prick. ‘Hey, Ronson, what’s that smolderin’ pile o’ bones?’ ‘Oh, that’s just Laney. Thought I saw a roach on deck!’ ” Silva laughed.

Abel looked at him in the reflected light-the searchlight beam had passed on-and wondered just how serious the big man was. There were persistent rumors that Silva had actually tried to kill Laney before. Abel usually doubted it. He’d discovered that Silva was particularly skilled at killing things that he really wanted dead. But he’d also learned Silva was only slightly more predictable than the weather.

“Hey,” Dennis said, addressing the coxswain, “after we drop our load, take us over there, willya?” He was pointing at Walker. The coxswain was a Lemurian, one of Keje’s officers learning powered-ship-handling skills so he’d at least have some sort of a clue when it came time for Big Sal to join the fleet. “Whatever’s goin’ on, it looks like it has to do with our ship, so I figure anybody that’s anybody’ll be there. We can report in and find out what’s up at the same time.”

“You betcha,” came the high-pitched response.

The launch’s nose bumped against the pier and Silva winced to think what Tony Scott would have said, but he sent Bradford and Abel up the rungs to the dock. Lawrence scampered up without assistance and Silva followed him. There was clearly a party atmosphere, and it seemed as if most of the city had turned out to see the show. It took Dennis only a few minutes to figure out what all the ruckus was about. Through the noise of the revelers, mostly Lemurian but a few human as well, a long-unheard but intimately familiar sound reached his ears. He turned and stared at the ship.

Smoke was rising from the aft funnel, the number four boiler, and the blower behind the still-stripped pilothouse roared with a steady, healthy, reassuring rumble. He’d expected it any day now, just not today. He knew the reconstruction of the numbers three and four boilers was almost complete and the starboard engine, that gloriously complicated Parsons turbine, had been carefully overhauled, but the blower motor and both the twenty-five-kilowatt generators had still been in the “powerhouse” when his hunting party set out that morning before dawn. For the longest time, all he could do was stand and stare.

Walker was alive again. She inhaled, exhaled, and her proud heart stirred once more. Her lifeblood flowed to the boiler, where hellish fires flared and water flashed to steam and sang joyously through the pipes to her turbines. At least one refurbished generator fed electricity to her blower and the spotlight. Silva’s eye patch felt soggy and his good eye quit working right. Someone was calling his name, but it just didn’t register at first. He noticed a slight weight land upon him, pulling his neck forward with small, strong arms. The passionate kiss suddenly inflicted on him finally brought him to his senses and he realized Pam Cross had jumped on him like a kid on a set of monkey bars. The small nurse clung to him and the curves pressed against him brought a smile to his tear-streaked face.

“Why, there you are, my little honeydew!” He still held the massive rifle in his right hand, but his left arm was more than sufficient to support the dark-haired, Brooklyn-born firecracker. “Where’s Risa? I kinda missed you gals t’day. Killed me a super lizard! But I wish I’d’a been here, now!”

“Risa’s on Big Sal, but she’ll be heah.” Pam giggled. “Probably give you the same kind of welcome… except I ain’t going to lick you!”

“Always glad to oblige my adorin’ ladies!”

Pam hugged him tight. “Gotcha a super lizard with your”-she giggled again-“big gun, huh? That’s swell. I’m just glad you’re back safe.”

Silva pretended innocent confusion. “Say, where’d Bradford run off to? That reminds me. I need to talk to somebody. Mr. Letts or Spanky, I guess. I gotta make a ree-port. We saw somethin’ kinda screwy today.”

Pam kissed him again and climbed down. “He went over theah, with the kid and the lizard. They’re talking to Mr. Letts and Adar already. Hurry back, you big lug.”

Silva bowed theatrically. “A hero’s toil never ends, m’dear. I’ll be back to perform whatever chore you require di-rectly!”

Someone pushed a mug of seep in his hand as he made his way to where Bradford, Letts, Adar, and now Spanky, Sister Audry, and Keje stood. Adar studied him intently.

“Why didn’t you kill them?” Adar asked. “Mr. Braad-furd says they looked quite like Grik.”

“Yeah, well, they wasn’t, was they? Last time I shot somethin’ only looked like a Grik, he wound up bein’ one of my best buddies.” Lawrence and Abel had joined them and Silva tousled Lawrence’s young crest. The Tagranesi irritably shook his head. “Call me soft if you like, but I’ve decided shootin’ fellas may not always be the best way to say how-dee-do. ’Specially with guns that won’t leave much to get acquainted with.” He hefted his rifle proudly. “A super lizard with one shot! This thing woulda spattered them little Injun jungle lizards all over the clearin’. Might coulda brung one of ’em back in a snuff can to meetcha.”

“Injun lizards?” Spanky demanded.

“I discovered ’em!” Silva said, stubbornly. “I can call ’em what I want.” He nodded at Adar. “Question is, what’s the dope on ’em? Does his purple presidential holiness think we shoulda killed ’em, captured ’em, or left ’em be?”

Adar was highly accustomed to Silva’s irreverent humor by now. He even shared it in good measure. Besides, if anyone had earned the right to make sport of him, or “josh” him a little, as the Amer-i-caans said, Silva certainly had. He wasn’t the least offended now.

“Actually, I think you did precisely the right thing. As a Sky Priest of the sea folk who has just lately inherited a land domain, I confess I knew nothing of this species. Nakja-Mur never spoke of them, nor did Naga. I suspect your Moe and other hunters may have been carrying on this war of theirs for generations. Only he and others like him often venture into the wilds around Baalkpan. Nakja-Mur was a thoughtful, wise High Chief and a careful steward. I suspect if he had truly known of your ‘Injun lizards,’ he would have told us.”

“Moe said he did.”

“Nakja-Mur never left this city in his life,” Adar said. “Naga did, but only by sea. Nakja-Mur also knew of the Grik threat from the west, but didn’t truly believe it until it was upon him. The same is probably the case with those you saw today. All of us know there are aboriginal tribes of Grik-like creatures. Lawrence is proof of that. But no one ever considered the possibility they might not all be Grik in anything other than form. Captain Reddy has sent that they discovered the remains of Grik-like creatures in Aryaal that had apparently been used as slaves or worse. He believes they were like the ones that attacked your shore party when you first came to this world.” Adar sighed.

“We have neglected studying these almost mythical creatures long enough-on the islands, and apparently here as well. Perhaps they are yet more enemies, as we have always assumed, but just perhaps”-he glanced at Lawrence and blinked fondness-“they are more like him than we could have ever dreamed. We learn more about even the Grik all the time,” he added cryptically. He bowed to Courtney Bradford. “You will have your expedition. I want to make contact with these creatures. Perhaps we can even be friends, if they can forgive generations of violence most of us knew nothing about!”

“The only ‘expedition’ I want is back in the war!” Silva insisted.

“You’ll get that,” Letts said. “And before much longer.” Subtly, during the conversation, Letts and Spanky had turned toward Walker so they could stare at the miraculously vibrant… living ship. Silva joined them, and eventually, so did all the others. They were here to celebrate her resurrection, after all. Even Sister Audry, who’d done everything she could throughout the day to prevent any spiritual significance from being attached to the event, was moved.

“She still looks a fright, Spanky,” Silva said, “but you’ve done a swell job.”

“Everybody has, you moron,” Spanky replied gruffly. “Even you.”

Silva belched loudly. Seep had that effect on him. So did the local beer, which he’d begun to prefer. Actually, Dennis Silva belched fairly often, regardless. “Try to be nice to a snipe,” he grumped, “and what’s he do? Slanders and insults.” He shook his head. “Where’s Loo-tenant Tucker and the munchkin princess? I woulda figured they’d be here for somethin’ like this.”

Spanky McFarlane looked around. “Well, they were here, just a little while ago.”

“They went for a cool drink,” Adar supplied, “and perhaps they have retired for the night. It is quite late.”

“Yeah, well, me and Larry’d better find ’em and report in. I am one of the o-fficial pro-tectors of Her little Highness, after all, and I doubt Larry can stand it much longer without lickin’ her er somethin’.” Lawrence hissed at Dennis through his fangs, kind of a chuckle for him. “ ’Sides, Miss Loo-tenant Tucker’s prob’ly worn out from dealin’ with the little twerp all day!”

The others laughed. Not only did they know Silva was devoted to the girl and considered her anything but a twerp, but they knew Sandra loved the princess like a daughter.

“So long then.” Spanky grunted. “And good riddance. Come back and brag when you kill a super lizard with your teeth!”

“That’s the very next stunt on my list,” Silva called back, heading toward Pam. “And I’ll do it too, right after you build a battleship out of a beer can.” Reaching the dark-haired nurse, he crushed her in another embrace. “You run along home now. Ol’ Silva’s kinda tired. Won’t be good for more than three or four hours o’ labor, I’m afraid. I’ll be along directly!”

Pam giggled and moved away through the crowd.

“Mr. Silva?” asked a hesitant voice. It was Abel Cook. “May I accompany you, sir? That is, if you’re going to see Lieutenant Tucker and… the princess, I would like to join you. To say good evening.”

Silva belched at him. “Sure, I guess. What about Mr. Bradford, though? You’re kinda his caretaker now, ain’t ya? He’ll be skunked in half an hour with all the booze down here-Captain Reddy would have a fit! Bradford’s liable to puke on Adar or dance nekkid in the searchlight!”

“I’ll come right back, I promise!”

“Hmm. You better keep yer grabbers to yourself! I seen how you look at her. You go to gropin’ at Her Highness, me and Larry’ll eat you!”

“No, sir, Mr. Silva! Never…! I-”

“Oh, come on. If they went for a cold one, maybe they’re at the Screw. Neither one’s much for booze, but Pepper keeps some juice an’ such.”

They didn’t find them at the Busted Screw; nor were they at the Fem Box, as the female bachelor officers’ quarters was called.

“Say,” said Dennis, “I wonder where they’re at?” He wasn’t really worried, but he was growing a little annoyed-and anxious. “Maybe they went to see Sister Audry? She ain’t half bad for a gospel shark. Has some brains. Ever’body knows I’m as pious a critter as there is, but if you go jabberin’ religion at folks all the time, without a break, pretty soon they’ll tune you out-like a worn bearing. That, or they’ll get sick o’ hearin’ it squeal and replace it with a new one.”

“What did you say?” asked Lawrence, and Silva laughed.

The party had wound down considerably by the time they realized Sandra and Rebecca weren’t at the little hut Sister Audry kept near the fishers’ wharf. But Sister Audry wasn’t there either. “Now, this is startin’ to stink,” said Silva. “Only place left they might be is Big Sal, in the dry dock, seein’ Selass. She and Miss Tucker are pals.” He shook his head. “Or maybe they’re back where we started, oglin’ the ship some more. I doubt it, though. It is gettin’ late. Way too late for Miss Tucker to be sendin’ love letters to the skipper at the wireless shack. Must be at Big Sal!”

Unconsciously picking up their pace, the man, boy, and Tagranesi headed back toward the shipyard. They met a few revelers on the way, but Baalkpan was a weary city. There were so many wildly different projects under way, employing such a large percentage of the populace, even the all-night bazaar that had once been the center of Baalkpan social life had shrunk to a mere shadow of its former size. Those not actively engaged in the war effort still had to labor: fishing and doing the chores of everyday life for more mouths with fewer hands. Others hunted, as they’d done that day. In any event, what had once been a city that never slept shut down almost entirely after dark these days. Even something as grand as bringing Walker back to life couldn’t keep most from their bedding too long.

All that remained of the party at the dock were oil lamps and a few sozzled mounds lying on the planks. Walker ’s blower still rumbled, but there was no light aboard. There was clearly still a lot of electrical work yet to accomplish, and besides the spare bulbs they’d stored ashore before the battle, few of those aboard the ship had survived the fight and subsequent submergence. Still, even darkened, she was alive. Silva noted as they passed her that a wisp of smoke rose from the number four stack and stars shimmered in the heat plume above it. He grinned.

Big Sal wasn’t much farther, the once distinctive outline changed forever by the alterations under way. She was still lit and work continued aboard her. Keje was pushing her people relentlessly to finish the job so his Home might have water beneath her again. Silva knew the dry dock gave Keje the willies. Big Sal had often been flooded down for a variety of reasons, and she was built in something like a dry dock, but she wasn’t ever supposed to be completely dry again. For her to be totally divorced from her natural element as she now was struck Keje and most of his people as an unnatural thing, worse even than the perverse changes their Home was undergoing.

“Least there’ll be somebody there we can ask,” Silva muttered. They were crossing the old, smooth ramp once used by the PBY to get her out of the water. There were several other ramps here and there, but this had been the one closest to the shipyard.

Almost across, Lawrence stopped and his head jerked toward the water. “Dennis!” he hissed, using Silva’s first name. Usually he tried to say, “Mr. Silva,” but it came out mangled. The others noticed the sudden difference and recognized the significance. They stopped.

“What’s up, Larry?” Silva asked quietly.

“At the ’ater’s edge, there is acti’ity-and the scent o’ the ladies!”

Silva’s heart pounded in his chest. He’d been using his big gun as a kind of walking stick, and he slowly brought it up, peering hard into the darkness. There was no moon and almost no light, but suddenly he could see something outlined against the gentle gray wave tops that lapped at the ramp. “Those Imperial sons o’ bitches!” he seethed. “They’re swipin ’ the gals!” He looked quickly around. Apparently, they hadn’t yet been seen.

“ ’Kay,” he hissed. “Abel, you stay put. If there’s a ruckus, run like hell, screamin’ your head off!”

“But-”

“Shut up. Larry, see if you can ease down the left side o’ the ramp. I’ll try to creep up on ’em from this side, close to the edge. We gotta see what’s what before we raise the alarm. Don’t want anybody panickin’! That said, if either of us sees a chance, we’ll kill our way in to the girls. You move, I move, and vicey versey. Got it?”

Lawrence jerked a nod.

Abel was terrified, and a little indignant he’d been left out, but he was also chilled by how quickly and easily the jovial giant and servile, companionable Tagranesi became focused, single-minded killers. He stepped slowly back as the others all but disappeared in the darkness.

Silva began to hear muffled whispers as he drew near. Slowly, eight-no, nine-human shapes resolved themselves, gathered onshore near a longboat. The white paint of the boat had been darkened. Three of the shapes stood a little apart, huddled together, while two others apparently watched over them. That’s gotta be them, Silva thought. One’s shorter than the others. He wondered who the third one was. Must be Sister Audry. She wasn’t home neither. Weird. He paused and took a silent breath. Them devils are actin’ impatient. I wonder what they’re waitin’ for? They musta had the girls for a while. Why not just scram?

Being a single-shot muzzle loader, Silva’s big gun wouldn’t be much use. Now, if the two guards would line up… Wait! One was moving away, fumbling with his trousers. With a wicked grin and a slow, fluid motion, Dennis slung the rifle and crept up on the man beginning to relieve himself. Dennis knew the human eye, like any predator’s, keyed on motion, but it was always amazing how much movement one could get away with if the motion was slow and smooth.

The pissing man never had a chance.

From behind him, like driving his knuckles into his hand, Silva brought his left palm down on the top left side of the man’s head and drove his right fist into the hinge of his jaw. There was a loud crunch, like a slick boot sliding on gravel, when the pointed part of the man’s jaw crashed into his brain, but there was no other sound. “Sorry, sir,” he hissed aloud, like an underling apologizing for making a noise.

“Silence, fool!” came the hoped-for muffled order.

Dennis eased the dead man to the ground, then slowly pulled his Pattern 1917 cutlass from its sheath. Like his giant rifled musket and his 1911 Colt, he never went anywhere without it. Trying to imitate the pissing man’s stride, he moved back toward the prisoners. He had maybe a couple of seconds at best before he was discovered. For one thing, he was much taller than his victim.

A dark form fluttered in the corner of his good eye and he saw Lawrence pounce on the man farthest from him. In the same instant that Lawrence dug his hind claws into the man’s chest, clamped his jaws on his throat, and launched himself backward into the darkness, Silva drove the cutlass into the ill-defined torso of the other guard. Both emitted hideous, wrenching screams. He yanked Sandra’s gag down under her chin. “Surprise!” he said. “It’s me!”

“Our feet first!” Sandra gasped. “It’s Billingsly! He’s trying to take the princess!”

“I figgered that!” Silva said, hacking at the ropes that bound their feet with just enough slack to walk or stand. A musket fired and a jet of blinding flame flashed from the boat. “Ow!” he said. The ball had grazed his hip. In the darkness, it could just as easily have hit one of the girls.

“Stop them!” someone bellowed. “They mustn’t escape!” A pistol flared with a loud ker-thump!

“Help! Help!” screamed Abel’s voice. “The Imperials are attacking! They are taking the princess! Help!”

Lawrence killed another man and a musket flashed in his direction.

With their feet free, Silva started working on their hands.

“No time!” Sandra shouted. “We’re tied together too! We can’t run like this!”

“Got to!” Silva replied. “Go!” He unslung his rifle and pointed it at the boat. With a mighty roar that anyone in the city who saw or heard it would recognize, he hoped he’d scuttled Billingsly’s escape. Another musket fired from near the top of the ramp. Not the cavalry then, Silva realized. None of the new Springfield muskets had been issued yet. Must be the ones these others were waiting for! He heard Abel scream again, in pain this time. He dropped his rifle and pulled the Colt, flipping the safety with his thumb. “Get down, boy!” he roared, and emptied the magazine in the direction of the shot. “Run!” he shouted at the three ladies. “Run like hell that way!” He spun back toward the boat.

Evidently, he’d miscounted. Other men must have been in the boat as well, because there still seemed to be as many enemies as he and Lawrence had started with. He had only the cutlass now. “C’mon, Larry!” he thundered. “Kill ’em all! No pris’ners!”

Gilbert Yeager awoke from a happy, muzzy dream of happy, muzzy steam coursing joyfully through clean, tight pipes and leaping energetically at polished turbine blades. Something was booming somewhere and somebody had definitely stepped on him. Silly, rude bastards! Couldn’t they tell he was asleep? Now somebody was shaking him, trying to get him off the miraculously cool pipe where he was listening to the glorious song of steam. “Whatcha fagarattin’ ta da boomin’ slip!” he demanded indignantly. He sat up, realizing he was still on the warm, damp dock where he’d apparently passed out. He blinked in the darkness. A bright flash not far away lit sparklers in his eyes. “Ahhhg!”

“Somebody’s tryin’ to swipe the princess!” Tabby said beside him. She was still shaking his head.

“So? Lemme alone!”

“No! We must do something! There is a fight, and Si’vaa and Larry are outnumbered! The princess and Minister Tucker, at least, are in danger!”

Gilbert blinked again. “Well, why the hell didn’t you wake me up, goddamn it?” He leaped to his feet with a board in his hand, swayed, then brandished the piece of wood. “Death to whoever the hell it is we’re fixin’ ta kill!” he screeched. A probably errant pistol ball struck the board and slapped it into his face. He went down as though poleaxed. “I’m keeled!” he wailed through busted lips. “I knew it! Just a matter o’ time!”

“You ain’t killed!” Tabby shouted, trying to drag him to his feet. “But you are drink too much!” She dropped his arm. “Me too,” she admitted. Leaving Gilbert where he lay, she ran toward Walker, trilling a cry of alarm.

There was much alarm already. Weary as Baalkpan was, most of her sentries were alert. Those who could be. A coast defense gun, situated to protect the shipyard, lit the night with a mighty roar. Another went off and a red alarm rocket screeched into the sky. Bronze pipe-gongs began sounding throughout the city. Spanky McFarlane ran past a still-babbling Gilbert dressed only in his hat and skivvies. There was a. 45 in each hand. Mallory and Rodriguez wore only their skivvies, but they both had ’03 Springfields. Keje rushed to the scene with half a dozen armed ’Cats. Blindingly, Walker ’s searchlight flared down on the scene like an angered God. The tableau it revealed was stunning not only in its unexpectedness, but in the magnitude of the implications and the scope of the slaughter.

Commander Billingsly stood behind all three females, who were still tied together, and held a long-barreled pistol pressed painfully under Princess Rebecca’s jaw. Another man with blood on his face held a cutlass across the throats of Sandra Tucker and Sister Audry. Five other men still stood, although all seemed wounded to some degree, but there were at least a dozen bodies scattered on the old seaplane ramp. One of them was Dennis Silva.

Silva, at least, didn’t seem dead, but he was covered with blood and just sitting on the ground at the women’s feet. Lawrence was there too, equally bloody, but apparently uninjured. He was supporting Silva and looking intently at the princess.

“Drop your weapons!” Billingsly demanded.

“Eat shit!” Spanky growled back. “Clearly you don’t know who you’re monkeyin’ around with!”

“I admit to some uncertainty in that regard,” Billingsly admitted. “Your man here, the big one, is not dead. I must say both his arrival and his courage came as a significant surprise. It is a shame you force me to kill him.” Billingsly nodded at one of his remaining men, who pointed a pistol at Silva’s apparently senseless head.

“Ronson, Ben,” Spanky said quietly. “You got enough light on your sights?”

“Yeah.”

Both Springfields spoke almost as one and the henchman’s head geysered up and backward in what appeared an almost neon spray under the harsh light.

Billingsly flinched and drove the pistol more savagely into the princess’s neck. “Well,” he said, recovering himself. “Touche. A most impressive demonstration of marksmanship! You have saved your man, bravo! It changes nothing, however.”

“How’s that?” Spanky asked. “At one word from me, these two guys can do the same to you and your pals and this little game’ll be over.”

“That would be a most unfortunate word for you to give. You see, I have yet another hostage in the boat behind us, a young Mr. Abel Cook, if I don’t mistake his name. He is lightly injured, I’m afraid, but he is also in the hands of a most dedicated friend of mine, a Mr. Truelove. He is perfectly prepared to cut that young man’s throat, and you can’t even see him.” Billingsly shrugged. “Mr. Truelove is also performing a number of other tasks, highly specialized for this occasion.”

Spanky glanced to his right as a winded Adar and Alan Letts arrived. He knew both would have enough sense to say nothing until they knew more about the situation. “Such as?” Spanky asked.

“Mr. Truelove is holding a hooded lantern over the side of the boat. As long as that colored lantern is visible to my ship, Ajax, she will not fire a full broadside of grapeshot into this very gathering. If you carry out your threat I will die, which would certainly disappoint me, but then Mr. Truelove would drop that lantern into the sea and everyone here, including many of you-who I predict are leaders of this ridiculous Alliance-would also die. A most tragic ending to what I had hoped would be a very peaceful little rescue.”

“Kidnapping, you mean!” Letts snarled.

Billingsly shrugged again. “Semantics. A great hobby among philosophers, but quite tedious for me, I’m afraid.”

“You’re bluffing,” Spanky declared. “I can still see your ship’s lights, riding where they’ve been for months!”

“A regrettable subterfuge… Mr. McFarlane, is it not? A mere anchored raft with lights. I assure you, Ajax stands less than two hundred yards offshore this very moment. You could adjust your annoying light to see her if you wish. No? Well then, you should probably take my word.”

“You can’t possibly expect to get away with this!” Adar remarked forcefully. “We will chase you; we will hunt you! We will never give up! You are committing an act of war against a people who mean you no ill!”

“Oh, I certainly hope so!” Billingsly said. “War with you might suit our plans quite nicely just now! As for pursuit, what will you make it with?” He gestured at Walker. “Surely not that. It is not even armed and requires more weeks of repair before undertaking a chase. The bulk of your fleet is elsewhere, and that which is here and nearly ready to sail-your ‘new-construction steamers,’ you call them-are about to suffer a mischief.” He looked about. “Does anyone happen to have the time?”

A red pulse of light engulfed the waterfront and a towering, roiling ball of flame gushed into the heavens. A moment later, there was a second flash, as large as the first, and the thunderous detonations reached them at last.

“My God! The fuel storage tanks!” Letts whispered. “They must have bombed the whole tank battery!” It was true. It also wasn’t lost on anyone that the flash had indeed illuminated Ajax, just offshore.

“You son of the Devil!” Princess Rebecca finally screamed. “You filthy, vile, reptilian monster! These people needed that fuel to fight the Grik, not us, you pathetic fool! You’ve destroyed us all!”

Sandra, a bloody gag back in her mouth, struggled against the man holding her until he pressed the cutlass tighter, drawing blood. Billingsly silenced the princess with another jab of the pistol.

“There, now!” Billingsly exclaimed cheerfully. “No doubt you will replace the fuel shortly, but I am reliably informed that your new boilers do not thrive on wood or coal.” He shook his head. “You may now regard that as an oversight in design, but perhaps not. The oil you use instead seems to have a number of advantages… but it is frightfully flammable, isn’t it? In any event, you have little left with which to chase us! Your better-sailing frigates, gone with the fleet, alas, might have had a chance if the winds favored them, but your steamers will be no faster than we-and helpless if the wind fails! We would have a good start on them regardless. As for your ‘prizes,’ all the swifter variety of those are either gone as well, or their conversions are not yet complete.”

“We will chase you, nevertheless,” Adar warned grimly.

“Please do! Be my guest to try, but remember this: for each hostile act on your part, a hostage will fall into the sea with his or her throat cut! The one-eyed giant will die first. He has cost us much and spoiled what would have been a perfect plan. Next, the injured boy. After that, the Roman witch priestess will die, followed by your precious Minister of Medicine, Miss Tucker. I trust things will never proceed that far. If they do and if Ajax is ultimately somehow destroyed, the princess will, regrettably, die with the ship. Do as you will. Try what you like.” He paused. “Test me,” he taunted.

“We will chase you and we will watch you,” Adar promised, “and we had better see our people alive when we do!”

“As you will. As I said, you are welcome to try. Beware if I tire of your company, however!”

Billingsly looked about for a moment, apparently pondering, then nodded to himself. Spanky recognized the look of someone who thought he’d covered all his bases. For the life of him, Spanky couldn’t figure out what the man might have missed.

“Gather the giant’s weapons,” he instructed one of his men. He glanced at Spanky and raised his voice. “You will be safe,” he assured the reluctant underling. “If they kill you, Truelove will kill the boy. Now hurry; we are leaving this place at last!”

“You’ll regret this, Billingsly!” Spanky shouted. He saw Silva move a little and knew at last that the big man still lived. Oh, Lord , he thought, but it was something, at least. With a little more certainty, he shouted again, “I guarantee you’ll regret this!”

“Perhaps,” Billingsly replied. “I have few regrets, actually. I’m sure I would regret killing these poor souls now in my care. Pray, spare me that.”

Somehow, Sandra must have worked her gag loose. Suddenly she shouted out, “Give Captain Reddy my love! Tell him to do whatever he must!” There was a loud slap and a muffled cry. The still-growing mass of warriors, sailors, and townsfolk pushed forward with a growl.

“Now, now!” yelled Billingsly. “That was sensible advice; do what you must! At present, you must let us leave and you must signal your fort to let us pass!”

“We cannot just let them leave!” Keje said, moving close to Spanky, Adar, and Letts.

“We have no choice for now,” Adar replied heavily. He turned to Letts. “Quickly, have someone pass the word along the waterfront and to Fort Atkinson: do not fire; let them pass! We will save them somehow, but we cannot do it here or now!”

“What about Captain Reddy?” Letts asked. “He’s going to flip!”

For a moment, Adar said nothing while he watched the hostages briskly moved into the boat. Someone was bailing water out of it as the oars dipped clumsily and it shoved off, away from the ramp.

“Cap-i-taan Reddy will be mounting his assault on Sing-aapore about now,” he said woodenly. “Perhaps it would be best not to tell him just yet. He can do nothing but worry about our situation here, and his attack must proceed. Torn in two directions at once, he might behave rashly.”

Keje grunted assent.

“I will never forgive myself for allowing this to happen,” Adar continued, “and Cap-i-taan Reddy may not forgive me for keeping it from him, even briefly.” He blinked beseechingly at Keje. “But if he is… distracted now, and somehow he or our effort suffers for it, our world will not forgive me-for however long it remains.”