Irvin gently tore the rest of the shirt away. The red mark was already turning black. “Lie still! You may have some broken ribs! No wonder it was able to knock the ’Cat off the gangway! You’re lucky it didn’t stop your heart.”
“I think it did, for a minute.”
“Well… we don’t have a real doctor. Sid knows a thing or two. Should be able to tell if anything’s broken. You’ll be taking it easy for a while, anyway.” He motioned for some ’Cats to move Tex under the lean-to he’d been napping under. “Danny, form a detail to bury our man,” he said, referring to the half-eaten ’Cat. “And get that damn nasty thing’s corpse out of my sight!”
“Yes, sir,” Danny said. Only later did it occur to Irvin that the man had called him “sir.” He raised the 1911 Colt and looked at it. Filthy. The new rounds might work okay, but they sure dirtied up a gun. “Mr. Hardee, you and Spook gather up all the weapons that were fired and clean them thoroughly. Step on it, too. No telling when we’ll need them again.”
Irvin sighed and looked at the submarine while workers either resumed their tasks or performed the duties he’d just ordered. Somehow, he’d managed to last until no one was looking before the shakes overtook him. For a long moment, he just held his trembling hands tight against his sides, waiting for the spell to pass-hoping it was just a spell. He’d been wondering more and more whether he was ready for this. In the past, he’d always had someone to turn to, to turn things over to when it started getting rough. Now he was it. He had to come to grips with that. Ultimately, that was the real test Captain Reddy had given him, and in an even greater sense it was the test he’d set himself.
So far, in spite of everything, they’d made a lot of progress. S-19 hadn’t been badly damaged before it wound up here, just out of fuel. Time and the elements had treated her more harshly than the Japanese did. “Task Force S-19” had done good work and with any luck, they’d get her off eventually. The trouble was, did they have time? Would the island even let them go? One thing was almost certain: they’d lose more people before they were done. He hoped it would be worth it, and he hoped he wouldn’t lose his mind-or his nerve. He wished Lelaa were here!
Without noticing when it happened, he realized that his hands had stopped shaking. It was just a spell after all, he decided. This time. He looked at the lean-to, where Sid was inspecting Sheider. They were talking in low tones and he even heard a faint laugh. He shook his head and started back toward the sub.
Lelaa was mad as hell. She’d had Simms heaved to, just as the commander of the steamer had instructed. Her orders were not to fire on the Imperial ship for any reason, and while she understood the orders, she was still frustrated. Not that it would have done much good. The Imperial frigate was more than a match for her and both sides knew it. Still, this order to heave to only added insult to injury. Two feluccas, the ones she’d been dispatched to meet, had also loosed their sails.
Their mission had been to avoid contact, to observe from a distance and report, but the wind had died away and the steamer came to them. Helpless now, all they could do was what they were told. The enemy (she could think of it as nothing else) steamer closed the distance until she saw a form raise a speaking trumpet.
“I am impressed by your people’s persistence,” an amplified but distorted voice called, “but this is becoming ridiculous. I can’t have you hounding us all the way to our destination! This is the last time I will suffer any interference! The next Allied vessel that crosses my path will be destroyed.”
Lelaa quickly motioned for a speaking trumpet as well. Raising it to her lips, she caught herself wishing Irvin were there. She knew her English was better than good, but he’d always just seemed to have a way about him. “Excuse me, please,” she called back. “We have neither the desire nor the ability to interfere with your progress. It is you who closed the distance with us. Our mission is merely to ensure that the hostages are safe and well. This is no more than I understand you invited us to do!”
“That is all? You don’t mean to menace us with your mighty fleet?” mocked the voice.
Lelaa’s tail swished with rage, but she managed a civil reply. “That is all, I assure you.”
The man across the water didn’t speak for a while, as if he were considering something. Finally he raised the trumpet again. “Since, as I said, this is the last time I will be bothered by you or your Alliance, I will allow you to come across and interview my guests. Come aboard alone. If I see any weapons, you will be fired upon!”
Lelaa lowered her trumpet, stunned. “Hoist out a boat,” she said.
Clambering up the side of the Imperial frigate, Lelaa was not met by the sort of side party she’d grown to expect. Instead, a pair of armed men essentially took her into custody and escorted her to a small gathering by the rail. She’d never actually met Princess Rebecca, but she recognized her on sight. She bowed. “Greetings, Your Highness,” she said in her most respectful tone. “I trust you and your companions are well?”
“Look. The monkey talks!” muttered a large, dangerous-looking man in the group.
“There, there, Mr. Truelove! Let’s attempt to be civil!” admonished another, probably Billingsly, Lelaa decided.
“Well enough,” the girl replied. “For now.” She seared the one who must be Billingsly with a glare. “But one takes these things day by day.”
Lelaa addressed Billingsly. “And what of the other hostages? She says they are well, but where are they? Have you any idea how important they are to us?”
Billingsly smiled. “Honestly, at first I did not. I expected my resolve to be tested and I’d be forced to, um, release a few of them over the side, as it were. Imagine my surprise when that did not occur! We quickly learned the truth of the matter. We knew who the Roman witch was, but good gracious! You cannot imagine how amazed we were to discover one of our guests, the noble Minister Sandra Tucker, is practically affianced to your Supreme Commander!” He chuckled. “Honestly, I confess to a professional lapse. I never had any idea, yet the young princess let it slip as if it were common knowledge!”
Rebecca loosed a glare of perfect hatred at Billingsly.
“I’ll wager your Captain Reddy was a tad upset? I understand you have some means of rapid communication, so I expect he has been informed.”
“He knows,” Lelaa admitted, “and I submit that you cannot imagine the wrath you have brought down upon yourself!”
“Oh, splendid!”
Lelaa was confused. “In any event, if any of the hostages have been mistreated…”
“Not a hair on their heads! They are confined, of course-no end to mischief in a couple of them-but their wounds are healing nicely and they thrive in their accommodations. It is a bit cramped, and I’m afraid privacy is at a premium, but no one would say they’ve been mistreated!” A strange expression crossed Billingsly’s face. Unlike most Lemurians Lelaa was good with human face moving, but this was.. . different. “Nor will you be, so long as you behave.”
“What… what do you mean?”
Truelove laughed and Billingsly’s lips quirked into something like a smile. “Why, you will be joining them, of course.” He turned to a darker-skinned man with a graying mustache. “Is that ridiculous ship still there? I believe I gave them fair warning that I did not wish to be pestered again! Open fire!”
“What! Wait!” cried Lelaa, struggling against the two guards who’d suddenly seized her arms. “You said ‘the next time,’ damn you!”
Billingsly turned to her. “When you had the insolence, the gall to raise your speaking trumpet and answer back at me… at me! You who are not only a lesser species, but a female!” Billingsly barked an incredulous laugh. “That was the next time. Captain Rajendra, I gave you an order!”
The dark-skinned man replied, clearly forcing his voice to remain calm. “Commander Billingsly, firing on that ship would be an act of willful murder. They are completely unprepared… Their guns are not even run out!”