Barnes sat at the outer desk and watched over the enemy fleet as it approached. His lieutenant took the inner command station, from which the rotational navigation of the Marin was conducted – in effect its wheel, though it was, itself, a wheel. Barnes, as the captain, surveyed the situation and ordered the operation of the Marin via a system of speaking tubes that traveled through the corridors to the various departments of the ship. They converged on the captain’s command desk and could be opened or closed individually, as the need arose.
“Have we reached full buoyancy, Maticks?” Barnes called into the speaking tube.
A hollow, tinny voice came back, “Yes, sir: three hundred feet.”
“Very good, and the ballast tanks?”
“Full but prepared for ejection – we can sink at your order.”
“Closed and complete,” and Barnes closed the tube to the engineering compartment. He opened another, “Hornhonker, we’ve reached full buoyancy: raise the spikes and prepare for ramming.”
“Yes, sir.” Pause. “Done, sir.”
“Closed and complete.”
The spikes were sharp metal spears that protruded from the sides: anyone who attempted to board would be run through by his own energy. As for the maritime battering rams, there were twenty aboard the Marin: a five foot ax head attached to a long lever, able to be raised and lowered powerfully. In peace they were used for mining minerals, in war for mining enemies.
As he spoke, the enemy fleet began to charge.
Barnes opened every speaking tube and said, in a slightly excited voice, “They come, gentlemen. Prepare for battle.”
Meanwhile, the Fardy brothers had also taken command of their Marin. The brown Fardy sat at the inner desk, the blond brother at the outer, and the black brother at the central, running between the two and giving liberally of his advice. He now stood behind his blond brother, who surveyed the situation and drew vigorously on a chart of the area.
“Barnes raises his to full buoyancy,” the black Fardy offered. “I am patient, of course, but war is not a patient man’s pen name. Perhaps we should reach for the clouds?”
“Barnes is a fine sailor, but we are the Fardy brothers; and who designed these Marins? He will ram them high and harass their rigging, we will ram them low and destroy their hulls. You will see,” he winked, “We will show them our barnacles.”
“Genius; pure, insightful genius,” and the black Fardy ran across the room to his other brother. “We fly low today.”
“Then I will have the pleasure of piloting our craft into the bosom of our enemy.”
“My brother, do you disdain our rebel beauties enough to fly into the arms of those Hibernian haberknacks? You know, we have as many pillows here as ever they did.”
“Patience bids me consider that you make me a mockery. Still, I am glad, for it extols your own virtues by contrast: that I assume worst and you best. I have never known a better assumer,” and he returned to his work with a dubious smile.
The black Fardy’s eyebrows raised themselves like towering thunderclouds that threatened to wash out his clam-shell eyes. “This is beyond the cause of goodness and I cannot but repent of it if it makes me seem your superior in virtue.” He brought his hands together as if he were clanging cymbals; yet his cymbals were his brother’s ears.
“I beg to agree,” whereupon the other stood and faced his brother.
They were interrupted by the call of their blond relative, “My brothers, the enemy charges! Your patience must be patient to be proved, for we must first survive!”
“Yes,” the two belligerents chorused, and they set to work at once.
Meanwhile, de Casanova and Lyndon paced the deck of The Barber.
“What keeps them? Can the resistance have been fierce?”
“Would I know?” de Casanova growled, seeing in his sovereign a picture of the woman who scorned his love. “Perhaps it was better guarded than he thought. We can only wait.”
“So it is,” Lyndon sighed and returned to his seat. He was thoroughly soaked, even with the canopy.
De Casanova continued pacing, his eyes latched onto the coast where Gylain and Montague had landed. Then, seeing something, he stared into the impenetrable forest. At this time, Gylain and Meredith were engaged in combat, but de Casanova could not see this. Instead, he saw the sparks from Gylain’s sword as he lashed at his opponent.
“They have done it, Lyndon!” he cried, “The signal has been sent.”
The King of Hibernia took his feet. “Forward, Captain! Signal the charge!”
“The chain, my lord?”
“It is removed, begin the attack,” and Lyndon danced in glee and terror at the upcoming clash of arms and convictions.
The massive fleet began to move. It was a small island off the coast, a dense metropolis of war. Those in front began to charge: slowly at first, then with gathering speed. Those behind followed, and like water coming from a mountain they grew faster as they went, flowing down in a frenzy of pride and patriotism.
But the chain was not yet lowered. The first ships wrecked upon it, sliced in two and sunk to the bottom of the sea.
“What is this?” Lyndon cried, “Gylain signaled us, yet the chain remains!”
“Should we pull back?” the captain asked.
“No,” Lyndon hesitated, “No, I will take Gylain’s word: forward.”
Then, with a crash and a splash, the massive chain snapped from its anchor and itself sank into the sea. The fleet continued without losing its momentum and the rebels were left exposed. Meanwhile, the storm grew stronger. The attacking fleet was thrown forward by a powerful swell, landing on top of the rebel ships. The archers shot and the boarders were forced back. But they came in greater numbers. The rebels lost their advantage. The archers released their birds of prey, but the decimated ranks of the enemy did not fall back a second time. Instead, the rebels were left to fight off their enemy with their meager weaponry. It was a massacre. The blood was only kept from overflowing the deck by the waves that washed it away.
“Do not fear, my men,” the Admiral roared, “Courage is the devil’s handmaiden, but fear foments defeat,” and he grabbed a bow from a dead man’s hand and fitted an arrow to its string. A soldier came from behind, hoping to cut him down; but the Admiral turned to him just as his sword began to descend. “Death, fool!” he cried, and shot the arrow through the man’s eye. He died at once.
But elsewhere the battle soured into defeat. The deck was swarmed with Gylain’s soldiers. As one died another took his place. The ships were overtaken; only the desperate attempts of the crew kept them from complete destruction. The Marins broke their opponents to driftwood, perhaps, with their rams above and spikes below; but they could not leave their position, lest the enemy flank them and cut them off from the shore. At length, the Admiral sounded the retreat.
“We are taken, fire the ships!” and he dashed the lantern down the hold, into the hull.
The crew followed his command. The boarders were too confused to stop them. The ships were lit, and the rebels jumped onto the Marins, which came alongside to gather the survivors. It took only a moment, for few of the crew remained alive.
“All that live are aboard, head for home!” the Admiral called to Barnes through the command window.
Barnes obeyed and the Fardys followed; the rebel fleet abandoned the harbor to Gylain’s force. Still, their burning ships blocked the passage for a moment, for the fleet could not risk being dashed against them and thrown to the fire.