Every station conducted a dozen drills.
After the batacitor and the grails were charged at evening, the Not For Hire went for a five-mile circular cruise, and more drills were conducted. Radar swept the lake and reported that the Rex was not within its range.
Before the crew went to bed, Clemens talked to almost all the crew in the grand salon. His short almost entirely serious speech went out over the loudspeakers to those on duty.
"We've had a fantastically long ride up The River, the longest river in the universe, perhaps. We've had ups and downs, our tragedies, our pains, our boredoms, our comedies, our cowardly deeds, our heroic. We've faced death many times. We've seen those we loved die, though we've been somewhat recompensed for this by also seeing those we hated die.
"It's been a long long ride. We've gone 7,200,020 miles. That's about half of the estimated 14,500,000 miles of The River. It's been a long voyage. But if we'd walked it, we'd still be walking. We would've walked only about 127,500 miles, leaving more than 7,000,000 miles to go.
"Everybody who signed on knew before signing what the ride on the greatest and most luxurious vessel in the world would cost him. He and she were made aware of the price of the ticket. This ride is paid for at the end, not the beginning.
"I know each of you well, as well as one human being can know another. You were all hand-picked, and you've all justified my judgment. You've gone through many tests and passed them with flying marks. So I have complete confidence that you'll pass the final, the hardest, test tomorrow.
"I'm making this sound like an arithmetic examination in high school or like the speech a football coach gives before his team goes out to play. I'm sorry about that. This test, this game, is deadly, and some of you alive today won't be by tomorrow's end. But you knew the price when you signed up, and none should think of welshing.
"But after tomorrow is over..."
He paused to look around. Joe Miller, sitting on a huge chair on the podium, looked sad, and tears were trickling down his craggy cheeks.
Little de Marbot leaped up then and raised his glass of liquor and cried, "Three cheers for our commander and a toast to him!"
Everybody huzzaed loudly. After they had drunk, tall big-nosed rapier-thin de Bergerac stood up and said, "And a toast to victory! Not to mention death and damnation to John Lackland!"
Sam stayed up late that night. He paced back and forth for a while in the pilothouse. Though the boat was anchored, there was a full watch in the room. The Not For Hire could up-anchor and paddlewheel into the lake at top speed within three minutes. If John should try a night attack despite his promises not to, Sam's vessel would be ready for it.
The pilothouse watch said little. Sam left them with a good night and walked for a few minutes on top of the flight deck. Ashore, many fires blazed. The Virolanders knew what was coming tomorrow, and they were too excited, too apprehensive, to get to sleep at their customary time. Earlier, La Viro himself had appeared on the bank in a fishing boat and requested permission to board. Clemens had told him, through a bullhorn, that he was certainly glad to meet him. But he could not discuss anything until after tomorrow. Sorry. That was the way it had to be.
The big dark man with the lugubrious features had departed, though not before blessing Sam. Sam felt ashamed.
Now Sam walked the length of every deck on both sides to test the alertness of the sentries. He was happy with the results, and he decided it was foolish to spend any more time prowling the boat. Besides, Gwenafra would be expecting him to come to bed. She'd probably want to make love, too, because one or both of them might not be alive after tomorrow. He didn't feel like it at the moment, but she had some irresistible ways of arousing his spirits, among other things.
He was right. She did insist on it, but when his lack of enthusiasm became obvious, and she couldn't generate any, she quit. Nor did she reproach him. She only asked that he hold her tight and that he talk to her. It was seldom that Sam didn't have time to talk, so they spent at least two hours in conversation.
Shortly before they drifted into sleep, Gwenafra said, "I wonder if Burton could be on the Rex! Wouldn't that be funny if he were? I mean, peculiar, not laughable. It would also be horrible."
"You've never gotten over your little-girl crush on him, have you?" Sam said. "He must have been something. To you, anyway."
"No, I haven't," she said, "though I couldn't be sure, of course, that I'd like him now. Still, what if he were one of King John's men, and we killed him? I'd feel terrible. Or what if someone you loved were on the Rex?"
"It's just not very probable," he said. "I'm not going to worry about it."
But he did. Long after Gwenafra was breathing the easy breath of the deep sleeper, he lay awake. What if Livy were on the Rex! No, she wouldn't be. After all, it was one of John's men who'd killed her in Parolando. She'd never come aboard his boat. Not, that is, unless she wanted to kill him for revenge. No, she wouldn't do that. She was too gentle for that, even though she'd fight fiercely in defense of her loved ones. But revenge? No.
Clara? Jean? Susy? Could one of them be on the Rex! The chances were very very low that they could be. Yet... the mathematically improbable sometimes happened. And a missile fired from his boat might kill her. And she'd be lost forever to him since there were no more resurrections.
Almost, almost, he rose from bed and went to the pilothouse and had the radio operator send a message to the Rex. A message that he would like to make peace, to call off the battle and the hatred and lust for revenge.
Almost.
John would never agree anyway.
How did he, Sam, know that he wouldn't unless he tested him?
No. John was incorrigible. As stubborn as his enemy, Sam Clemens.
"I'm sick," Sam said.
After a while, he slid into sleep.
Erik Bloodaxe pursued him with his double-headed axe. Sam ran as he had run in so many nightmares about this terrible Norseman. Behind him, Erik screamed, "Bikkja! Droppings of Ratatosk! I told you I'd wait for you near the headwaters of The River! Die, you rotten backstabber! Die!"
Sam awoke moaning, sweating, his heart pounding.
What irony, what poetic justice, what retribution if Erik should happen to be on the Rex.
Gwenafra murmured something. Sam patted her bare back and said, softly, "Sleep, little innocent. You never had to murder anyone, and I hope you never will."
But, in a way, wasn't she being called on to commit murder tomorrow?
"This is too much," he said. "I must sleep. I must be in top physical and mental condition tomorrow. Otherwise... an error on my part... fatigue... who knows?"
But the Not For Hire was too much larger than the Rex, too much more heavily armored and armed, not to win.
He must sleep.
He sat up suddenly, staring. Sirens were wailing. And from the intercom on the wall, Third Mate Cregar shouted, "Captain! Captain! Wake up! Wake up!"
Clemens rolled out of bed and crossed to the intercom. He said, "Yes, what is it?"
John was making a sneak attack? The rotten son of a bitch!
"The infrared operators report that seven people have gone overboard, Captain! Deserters, it looks like!"
So... his little speech about everybody having passed the test, about their proven courage, had been wrong. Some men and women had lost their bravery. Or, he thought, had come to their senses. And they'd taken off. Just as he had when the War Between the States had started. After two weeks in the Confederate volunteer irregulars in Missouri, after that innocent passerby had been shot by one of his comrades, he had deserted and gone west.