Bradford plowed onward, dispensing apologies. His vision was a little blurred and he stopped for a moment to clear his head. There was a commotion to his right, and he noticed a man with slick black hair doing much the same as he, working his way toward Chack with a purposeful look on his face. Courtney felt a gust of alarm and tried to pick up his pace. He tripped. So many people tried to help him up, laughing, happy, swirling people, that it seemed forever before he reached his feet. With another string of apologies, he tried to swim through the bodies.
He heard shouts. People pressed back against him, crying out in surprise. A commotion erupted where Chack had been, but he couldn’t see the Lemurian anymore. A woman screamed. Courtney began to panic. What was happening? He couldn’t see! What was he doing? He didn’t even have a weapon. Already he feared the worst. There were more shouts—indignant, offended, enraged. He thrashed his way through a ring of people, practically panting with terror—and was completely taken aback by what he saw.
In the light of the torches, Chack stood safe and sound, but he was holding Captain Reddy by one arm while Harvey Jenks held the other. The captain stood, knuckles bloody, staring at the slick-haired man with that ... frightening ... look he so rarely got. The Bosun burst into the ring, eyes casting back and forth, searching for a target for the “dress” cutlass (he’d painted the scabbard) at his side. The slick-haired man stood, a little shaky, daubing his mouth with a handkerchief. Daubing wouldn’t do the trick. Both lips were split wide open, and dark blood practically covered the silky cravat and white shirt down to his weskit.
“I velieve I ’ust de’and satisvaction!” said the slick-haired man.
“You got it, you cowardly bastard,” Matt hissed. “Anytime, anywhere! I ordered Captain Chack not to respond to rats like you. I can, by God!”
“Excellent.” The man seemed to be trying very hard not to show any pain. “The Impherial dueling grounds, then. Just after se’vices. Swords.” With that, the man turned and paced calmly through the crowd.
“What the hell?” Matt asked, stunned. He seemed to be getting his rage under control and his expression showed uncertainty. He’d been prepared for a fight right then. “When’s that? What’s going on?”
“Next Sunday, a week from today—after church services,” Jenks said severely. “Sunday’s the customary day.” He shook his head and took a breath. “We’ve been done, my friend.” He released Matt’s arm and strode out into the circle, looking at the faces there. He lifted his gaze until he seemed to see who he was looking for, some distance away. “I want there to be no doubt among any man here that this despicable episode was premeditated and engaged upon by none other than Prime Proprietor Harrison Reed!” He pointed in the direction the slick-haired man had gone. “That creature, you know! How many times has he taken the field for the ‘Honorable’ New Britain Company? He’s an assassin! A hired killer! He does nothing on his own account! He is but a tool, a coward’s weapon in the hand of Harrison Reed!”
There was a gasp and the crowd began to shift, as if unconsciously realizing that it formed a barrier between two adversaries. Eventually, a gulf widened between the circle and the Prime Proprietor himself, standing on the steps of Government House. Just a short distance away, unnoticed by most, stood the Dominion Ambassador, Don Hernan DeDivino Dicha. Reed glared back at Jenks, then flicked his kerchief as if to say, “As you will,” and turned away.
Courtney swayed just a bit and wondered if he alone noticed the odd, benevolent smile on Don Hernan’s face. “A bloody duel!?” he roared. “Seriously, we’ve come all this way for a bloody duel? Buggery!”
After the bizarre confrontation most everyone, aside from a few wellwishers, seemed willing to leave the “celebrities” alone, and they managed to secure a well-lit table away from the dancers. The ball slowly gathered speed again, but there was a new, electric excitement as people began to contemplate the “Duel of the Decade.” Jenks recognized the mood and sighed. He’d seen it before. He looked at Chack. It wasn’t the Lemurian’s fault, but Chack couldn’t help but blame himself, and it showed in his body language.
“They suckered us,” Matt growled, rubbing his torn knuckles.
“They suckered you if by that you mean they lured us into their trap instead of the other way around,” Jenks said. He smiled slightly. “I must admit, it was a glorious thing to see, however. You knocked at least two teeth out of that vile man’s head, and he’s never even been touched on the field, with sword or pistol.” He smirked. “Dueling to the death is a common occurrence in the Empire. A serious, honest punch in the mouth is rare.”
“Who was that guy?” Matt asked.
“An assassin, as I said,” Jenks replied. “A damn good one, actually. If you’ll pardon the irony, you should feel flattered.”
“I feel like an idiot.”
“You don’t understand. One way or another, there was going to be a duel provoked this night. I should have expected it, but I never dreamed Reed would be so bold ... or is it boldness? Desperation? What if Time is the issue?” He shook his head. “Put that aside for a moment. That man—that assassin—knew exactly what he was doing, and which keys to stroke. I doubt he expected quite as vigorous a response to his taunts”—he grinned again—“but he knew you would react the way you did. Who else has insulted our Lemurian friends lately?”
“Reed.”
“Precisely. The thing is, it didn’t matter if you responded or not. Say Chack had responded. There’d be a duel. If neither you nor he responded, I’ll wager Mr. Gray would have, and there’d be a duel.”
“Not without orders,” the Bosun stated piously.
“Oh, don’t be absurd, you ancient beast!” Courtney burst out. “Of course you would have—but that’s not the commodore’s point, is it?”
“No, it’s not,” Jenks said. “There would have been a duel if that man had had to bite your feet to provoke one. That’s what he does. All you lost by striking him was the dubious advantage of choosing weapons.”
“I’m good with a pistol,” Matt said.
“A licensed, inspected, flintlock dueling pistol? Mmm. I thought not. That may have made you almost even, at best. No, it will have to be swords now, and you simply can’t beat him ... in the kind of fight he expects. I doubt I could.”
Matt sat up straighter, but didn’t speak.
“Well ... then how come you jumped in too?” Gray demanded, a little loudly. He glowered at a man at a nearby table who’d glanced up when he spoke. Gray’s question was mirrored in the eyes of Jenks’s attractive young wife, seated beside him. She had dark hair and was dressed just as ridiculously as all the other women, but somehow she pulled it off. She didn’t voice the question as Gray had, though; it wasn’t her “place.”
“Why not? The incident was obviously contrived. No doubt there was another hireling in the crowd waiting to challenge me, or vice versa. I simply beat them to it by publicly blaming Reed to see his reaction—and the reaction of others. Most interesting.”
“At least you get to kill Reed,” Matt said, almost jealously.
“What? Oh, of course not! He’ll hire a substitute. It’s his right as the offended party. Can’t have people running around picking duels with others simply because they dislike them or they’re weak,” he scoffed sarcastically.
“Then ... why do it?”
“Because it was contrived. ‘They’—Reed, the Company ... perhaps even Don Hernan, by the look on his face—have an agenda, that’s plain. What isn’t at all clear is what it is ... and what next Sunday has to do with it.” He became silent, thoughtful. Matt looked at the others. Clearly he was missing something. Finally, Jenks shook his head. “I did what I did to surprise them, to see their unprotected reactions.”
“You’re gonna fight a duel ’cause you wanted to see the look on their faces?” Gray demanded.
“Quietly!” Jenks cautioned. “We don’t want Them to know that! Besides, once more, I presume I would have been compelled to in any
case. Consider this: if they only wanted us dead, I assure you they would resort to assassination. What do they have to gain by a public duel?”
“Excuse me, Jenks,” Matt said. “You keep forgetting we’re new here. Dueling’s illegal in the U.S. Navy! What do you mean, public?”
Jenks looked around the table. He even had Courtney’s attention now. “Oh. I see. I was beginning to wonder why you were being so obtuse! Duels in the Empire are very public affairs. That’s probably why there aren’t more of them. They’re not rare, by any means, but I suspect some are more afraid of the crowd than they would be of an opponent on the field!”
“Crowd? Like this?”
Jenks almost laughed. “Um ... not exactly.”
“Bigger?”
“Exponentially. Even under normal circumstances.”
“Normal?” Courtney asked.
Jenks sighed. “I am, deserving or not, a fairly well-known personality. Particularly in certain circles.” He grimaced. “I’ve been ‘on the field’ twice before, for various reasons.” He patted his wife’s hand when it suddenly touched his arm. “On both occasions, the event was ... quite a spectacle.”
“That’s it!” Courtney said emphatically, and Matt began to nod.
“Indeed. It must be,” Jenks said seriously. “Imagine the spectacle at a multiple duel involving not only myself but the primary representative of the first ‘new’ people the Empire has encountered in over a century. The spectacle is the thing!”
“And the timing,” Matt reminded.
“The timing,” Jenks agreed. “I’m convinced of it! Somehow, our arrival or the impending arrival of Achilles—perhaps their belief that the princess is aboard her or that we have some proof of their scheme—has put that scheme, whatever it is, in jeopardy!”
“Ahem,” said Courtney. The table grew silent and they all looked up to see Andrew, the Governor-Emperor’s man, approaching. Without waiting to be invited, he sat.
“His Majesty has asked me ta ask all of ye, quote: ‘What in the name o’ God those fish-headed sailors think they’re about?’ Ah, end quote.” He looked around the table severely.
Jenks looked at the man with a calculating expression. “How long have we known each other, Andrew?”
The man blinked, but stared right back. “I’m forty,” he said. “Ye and His Majesty is both thirty-nine. As the eldest, I was in charge when we all first went a’fishin’ at the docks when we was tots. The Empress Mother, bless her lovely, sweet soul, bade me take ye both, as well as young Sean, sport shootin’ in the Highlands for the first time when I was ten, so ye an’ His Majesty woulda’ been nine. Ye got excited reloadin’ fer a second shot at a dragon foul, an’ fired yer rammer away. Ye cried.” Andrew sighed. “I stayed on when ye an’ Sean went off ta sea, ta fight Dom pirates an’ have yer fun. It was I, stood by His Majesty when his mother died, an’ the ... Rebellion came. Aye, even then! An’ it’s me that’s stayed ta brother him when his sweet daughter was lost. You tell me, Harvey Jenks, how long have we known one another?”
Jenks nodded and looked at Captain Reddy. “Andrew Bates,” he explained, ironically, and Matt’s eyes widened. Jenks looked back at Andrew. “I’m sorry, old friend, but we can leave nothing to chance, and I wanted Captain Reddy to trust you as I do. Tell His Majesty that by leaping into the enemy’s web, we may have snared him in ours. We’re convinced that something will happen next Sunday, either at or during the duel.”
“What do ye think it’ll be?”
Jenks held out his hands. “We’ve no idea, not yet, but whatever it is, it will be for ‘all the marbles,’ as my friends here would say. We have a week to uncover the plot.”
“I believe I already know,” Chack said suddenly. “Not what they hope to gain, but I suspect I understand the reason for the provocation tonight.” He looked at Jenks, blinking intensity. “I will tell you ... if you tell me how to save Captain Reddy from that ... aas-saassin.”
“Chack!” Matt reprimanded.
Jenks chuckled. “Oh, no, that’s quite all right.” He looked at Chack. “Do you believe me when I say I have a plan—in that respect at least?”
Chack blinked skeptically, then nodded. “Yes.” His tail twitched and he looked around the table. “You may be right about the reasons for this ‘duel’ thing, but regardless how it started, I believe you were the ultimate target, Commodore Jenks, not Captain Reddy. You say a lot of people will come to witness this duel, this fight. More than are here?”
“That’s right.”
“Many will come just to watch?”
“Yes.”
“Who will come to support you? To be on your side? To be your friend?”
“Why, I expect ...” Jenks’s face paled in the torchlight. “Oh my God! Captain Reddy, I apologize. It wasn’t you who was ‘suckered,’ it was me! I won’t be fighting him, but my duel is, in essence, against Reed! The vast majority of those who will come to directly support me against him are Marine and Naval officers ... and we don’t dare tell them to stay away!”
CHAPTER 25
Off Tagran Island
“There it is!” Lawrence practically squealed. “Home!” Ajax’s battered longboat was cruising north, northeast through a sickening, quartering swell, under her dingy triangle of canvas. The sky was clear and blue, but the sea was running fairly high. All the occupants of the boat were “old salts” by now, however, and no one noticed any discomfort, except perhaps from sunburn.
“You’re sure this time?” Silva grunted skeptically.
“Sure, I sure! That is Tagran!”
“That’s what he said last time,” Silva reminded everyone darkly. Lawrence shot him a savage look and hissed. “Petey” hissed too, and possibly sensing a brightened mood, chirped, “Eat?”
“No eat, dear,” Rebecca called. “Later perhaps.” They weren’t exactly on short rations—yet—but nobody wanted to waste food on Petey except Rebecca and Dennis, and Silva only claimed to want him fed to keep him fat enough to eat themselves.
Petey hop-glided from the bow of the boat, past the mast, and landed lightly in Rebecca’s lap. He wasn’t much bigger than a housecat and weighed considerably less. His claws and teeth would have made him a handful for many larger predators, though. He looked up at the girl with big eyes, surrounded by scaly skin, that gradually turned to downy feathers. “Eat?” he pleaded pitifully.
“I’m sorry,” Rebecca replied soothingly. “Not now!”
“Little creep,” Silva grunted. He looked at Lawrence and patted his arm companionably. “I know how it feels, little buddy, bein’ a ex-pet. There used to be this gal in Olongapo ...” He shook his head and nodded forward. “That little bump over there’s Tagran? It don’t look any bigger than Yap.”
“It is, just ... not as high, less ... hilly,” Lawrence said. “See that ... grayness there?” He pointed. “That is the island I lived on as a hatchling!” Lawrence was genuinely excited. Everyone was. Their escape from Billingsley, their existence on the island, and their ultimate departure had been harrowing enough, but then they were faced with a rough voyage in a leaky boat with only a vague idea of their true position in relation to Lawrence’s home. The map they had wasn’t much good. Silva had been mightily tempted just to say the hell with it and make for the Philippines. Only the current and an insufficient water supply put that notion to rest. He had no doubt they’d make it, they couldn’t miss the Philippines, but it would be a hard trip. Besides, many islands in the Fil-pin Lands were practically unexplored, with lots of nasty beasties. Now, after all they’d all been through, Lawrence’s assurance that they would be met as friends and given aid was a huge relief.
Dennis had a weird thought. “Say, you keep carryin’ on about how happy ever’body’ll be to see you. After gettin’ fooled by the princess, how do I know you ain’t some sort o’ lizard king, or somethin? Why get worked up over you comin’ home?”
Lawrence made a happy sneezing sound, a belly laugh for him. “I not king! I just L
awrence. Tagranesi nice ’olks, though. They love stories, adventure. I have ’oth. Lots to tell! No one has ever returned to Tagran after so long, and I have gone far!”
“Hell, they’ll prob’ly just think you’re a ghost and ignore you.” Silva stopped, glancing aft again, far to the southwest. “Whoa. What the hell?” Others in the boat looked where he was facing. The distant horizon was smudged dark, brooding, where it had been clear just a short time before.
“Is it a storm?” Sandra asked anxiously.
“No,” said Lelaa. “I don’t think so. I don’t know what it is ... unless . . .”
“Unless it’s that damn Talaud.” Silva finished for her. “You said it was gettin’ antsy. Couple o’ times now, I seen som’thin’ like that—when we was further south, on Yap. Might be a big ash cloud, spreadin’ out from it.”
“You said nothing before,” Rajendra said accusingly. “Why not?”
“Why should I? It’s a goddamn volcano! Nothin’ we can do about it. Why worry?”
“But ... it is hundreds of miles away!” Rebecca objected. “Surely it cannot threaten us here?”
“When Krakatoa erupted in 1883, the explosion was heard thousands of miles away, and the shock wave is said to have circled the earth numerous times,” Sister Audry said nervously. “Tens of thousands died in the resultant waves.”
“Lieutenant Laumer’s men spoke of a ‘Kraa-katoa,’ ” Lelaa said thoughtfully. “I think some of them feared Talaud was ‘gearing up’ to ‘pull one,’ if I do not mistake the terms.”
“No mistake, Cap’n Lelaa,” Silva said grimly. “Dumb-asses prob’ly jinxed themselves, talking about it.”
“You don’t believe that!” Audry said severely.
Rising Tides Page 38
