Rising Tides d-5

by Taylor Anderson

  “She did not,” Reed lied smoothly with just the right tone of regret. If anyone had harbored the slightest doubt that this ridiculous man was involved in the conspiracy, it was swept away. Agamemnon had returned with the others as part of the “criminal” squadron and engaged them in battle alongside the other Imperial and Company ships. Agamemnon had been destroyed by Walker.

  “Most tragic,” commented the Governor-Emperor. “Unless Ajax turns up, Achilles will be the only survivor.”

  “A stiff price to pay for the life of a single girl,” Reed stated. “As I initially argued.”

  “But well worth the price,” Jenks jabbed, “since the princess was indeed rescued. Even now, she returns aboard Achilles in the company of a protective Allied force that carries enough fuel for Captain Reddy’s ship to return home.”

  “What size force?” Reed demanded, suddenly less haughty. “How do we know their intentions? If all Captain Reddy needs is fuel enough to go home, we can provide that.”

  “ Walker doesn’t burn wood or coal, sir,” Matt said simply.

  “Ridiculous! She’s a steamer-I saw her myself on the way over.”

  “She’s a steamer, all right,” Matt agreed, “but she burns oil-refined petroleum. You have none here.”

  “Preposterous,” mumbled Reed. He looked at Jenks. “Where’s Commander Billingsley? Company wardens are sent aboard Imperial ships to ensure there are no grievous lapses in judgment-such as bringing strangers to our sacred home. I’d like to hear what he has to say about all this.”

  Jenks shook his head. “Regrettably, Commander Billingsley desired transfer to Ajax some months ago, and as a Company warden”-he almost sneered the words-“it was not my place to discourage his whim.”

  “Then send me his deputy!” Reed demanded, his voice rising.

  Governor-Emperor McDonald stood. “You do not shout demands in This house, Prime Proprietor!”

  “Of course not, Your Majesty,” Reed replied, practically simpering. “I beg your forgiveness. I am overwrought with grief. Mr. Billingsley had entered an engagement to my niece. Regardless, I do beg an interview with his deputy.”

  “None are present,” Jenks said. “Those who remain”-he hoped there weren’t any, but it was nearly impossible to be sure-“are aboard Achilles. Captain Reddy’s ship has little extra space. Only Lieutenant Blair and a dozen of his Marines accompanied me. There was no room for more.”

  “Well, then,” Reed replied stiffly, “I suppose we have no choice but to accept your version of events until Achilles arrives.”

  “I suppose not, Prime Proprietor.”

  Reed turned to face the Governor-Emperor. “But what of these… animals… infesting that… wrongly appointed ship in question? Surely the thing must be quarantined? There has to be disease aboard. Filthy, furry creatures! Keeping an ape for a pet is one thing. My son has a parrot. But allowing them to romp all over one’s ship is quite another!”

  Matt took a step forward, but Courtney placed a hand on his arm. “Those ‘apes’ constitute a large percentage of my crew,” Matt said, seething. “They’re not apes, but people, just like us. They don’t look like us, but they’re highly intelligent, loyal, and honorable friends. The weakest among them could also unscrew your head without effort.” Matt looked at the Governor-Emperor. “ Not apes,” he emphasized again. “We call them Lemurians and that seems to suit them. They’re our friends and allies. Those aboard my ship have sworn the same oath as my men and are our countrymen. You might want to pass that word.”

  “Dear me,” Reed proclaimed with mock regret, “I seem to be striking raw nerves with every word! Perhaps I should go before I inadvertently instigate hostilities!” He bowed to the Governor-Emperor. “Joy to you, sire, for the imminent return of your daughter. Now that I have some notion what the fuss at the waterfront was about, I’ll let you treat with these strangers in peace. Please excuse me.”

  “Good-bye, Mr. Reed,” Matt said in a neutral tone. “I’m sure we’ll speak again.”

  Reed paused in the doorway, looking back. For the first time, it seemed his full attention was focused on Matt. “Indeed,” he said, then was gone.

  After Reed departed, they talked a while longer about their plan, then shifted topics to the Lemurians and the Grik, the war raging far to the west, and the stakes involved. The Governor-Emperor seemed oddly sympathetic.

  “You have told Captain Reddy of the Dominion, have you not?” he asked.

  “Of course,” Jenks said.

  “Well,” continued the Governor-Emperor, looking at Matt, “with the

  … displacement… of our government here to New Scotland, the Dominion ambassador, a particularly unpleasant Blood cardinal with the perversely ironic name of Don Hernan DeDivino Dicha, has followed us here. I shouldn’t wonder if he contacts you, quite soon in fact, requesting a meeting.”

  Matt was taken aback at first, but supposed he should have expected it. “He’ll be just as curious about us as your people are,” he surmised, then snorted. “Divino Dicha! Shit!… Ah, excuse me, sir.”

  “Precisely.”

  “What do you recommend I do?”Matt asked.

  Governor-Emperor McDonald looked at Jenks.

  “As I said, sire. He is my friend. I trust him completely.”

  McDonald looked back at Matt and shrugged. “Meet with him,” he said. “As these Grik of yours might someday threaten us here, his nation could eventually threaten yours. I suggest you get to know him.”

  It was almost dusk before Matt, Jenks, and Bradford left Government House on their way back to the ship. The Governor-Emperor had halfheartedly asked them to stay and dine with him, but everyone was tired, and Matt suspected the man needed some time alone with his wife. Now they spoke quietly as they walked, so the squad of Imperial Marines escorting them wouldn’t overhear.

  “Lord,” Matt said, “what a screwed-up mess.” He felt the reassuring weight of his belted weapons. “Good thing I didn’t have either of these with me. I might’ve killed that slimy bastard Reed.”

  Jenks shook his head. “You wouldn’t have. I’ve seen you angry-very angry-but never enough to lose your senses. We’ve constructed a delicate web of deceit for Reed and his creatures to entangle themselves in. No doubt they have planned a similar trap for us, with much more time to prepare. Hopefully ours will startle them into revealing theirs, or launching their plot before it is complete.” He shook his head and slowed. “With your permission, Captain, I won’t return to the ship tonight.”

  “Why, what’s the matter?”

  “Well, I’ve been away from home a long time, and certainly by now my wife has learned of my return…”

  “Oh…” Matt said, his face reddening. He’d been around bachelors for so long it had completely slipped his mind that Jenks was married. “Harvey, I’m sorry,” he said. “Of course you need to see her. Ah, give her my best.”

  Jenks chuckled. “She has an unwed sister, you know.”

  Matt shook his head. “Thanks, but no thanks.” His voice was hard.

  Jenks was seared with regret. “Of course. How ridiculous of me.”

  “Skip it. You run along, though. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  Almost as soon as Jenks veered away, walking briskly, a man in an elegant frock coat and a large, wide hat appeared in the gloom ahead, forcing the escort to pause. One of the Marines, a corporal, spoke to him and then turned to Matt.

  “This villain of a Spaniard asks if you’d join his master for dinner,” the Marine said.

  “Who is his ‘master’?”

  “Which it’s that slicky-fish Dom ambassador, Hernan the Happy. His residence is in the Dom embassy.”

  Matt turned to Courtney, frowning thoughtfully. “Well, Governor-Emperor McDonald did say we ought to get to know him, but I wasn’t expecting the… opportunity so soon. Are you up to it?”

  Courtney grinned gamely.

  “What about you, Marine?” Matt asked.

  “Which I’
m at yer disposal ’til yer back on yer skinny ship, Your Honor.”

  Matt considered. “Very well. We won’t dine, not tonight, but we’ll meet him briefly. It’s been a long day. I’m sure you wouldn’t mind a rest either.”

  “No, Your Honor.”

  “Please send a man to my ship, if you please, and tell them where we’re going and who we’ll see.” He made sure to speak loudly enough for the messenger to hear. “We should be along shortly.”

  The corporal-who didn’t look much different from the “villainous Spaniard”-and his squad led them through a seedier part of the city. “Professional” ladies lewdly entreated them to join them in a guttural English-Spanish mix that Matt would once have considered a type of “Tex-Mex,” but this he could barely understand. Courtney beamed at them and tipped his hat as they passed. They pressed on into the gathering gloom.

  “Which here it is,” the corporal said.

  The building looked like a smaller version of Government House, but it didn’t stand independently. Other, somewhat dingy white structures butted right up to it. The Dominion embassy, or whatever it was, had fresher paint, and flew an odd red flag. Embroidered upon it was a large golden cross with some kind of weird bird perched on top.

  “Fascinating symbolism,” Courtney muttered. Matt was an historian of sorts, having received his degree in history at the Academy, but it didn’t mean anything to him. The “messenger” with the big hat who’d led them there told the Marines to wait, then stepped forward and knocked sharply on the large, iron-reinforced doors. A small window slid aside, revealing a peephole, and muted words were exchanged.

  “The Imperial heretics will await you here,” the man said, speaking to Matt for the first time. “Since you will not dine, your visit will be brief. Follow me, please.” The door creaked inward.

  Matt looked at Courtney and, somewhat ostentatiously, waved him forward. “After you, Mr. Ambassador.”

  Inside, the reception area was gloomy, all red and gold, with baroque iron lamps adorning the walls. Busy tapestries hung between them with far too much detail to absorb as the visitors were led past. The “messenger” preceded them up a winding staircase to an upper floor that opened into a broad, uninterrupted audience chamber. At the far end of the room, suffused in an orangish light, rested a dark-skinned, silver-haired man dressed entirely in red, except for the frilly gold shirt peeking from beneath his crimson robe. Beyond him on the red wall was a huge gilded cross with crude golden spikes jutting from the areas where Jesus had traditionally been nailed to his. The man stood to meet them as Matt and Courtney were presented to him-by name. Obviously, the ambassador had spies-and didn’t care if they knew. They’d have to be careful.

  Thank God The Bosun isn’T here, Matt thought. Gray was Catholic, but he just couldn’t have stopped himself from making cracks about “popes and witch doctors.” It was his way. The man before them clearly took his position very seriously, and if Matt had burst out laughing this time, they probably would have wound up impaled or burnt at the stake-assuming everything he’d heard about the Dominion was true.

  “My friends.” The man greeted them in a strangely silky-gentle, cordial voice, “I am Father Don Hernan DeDivino Dicha, Blood Cardinal to His Supreme Holiness, Messiah of Mexico, and by the Grace of God, Emperor of the World.”

  “The entire world! How impressive,” Courtney blurted out. Matt could have kicked him. Apparently he didn’t need Gray to get him killed-and at least Gray could fight.

  “Oh, how charming!” said Don Hernan, with evident pleasure. “You truly are from an unknown land! Your manner of speech is most refreshingly odd. Perhaps the rumors that you come to us from the Old World are true as well!”

  “Rumors spread fast,” Matt commented. To his surprise, their host chuckled and touched a golden goblet. Wordlessly, a beautiful, unadorned, and entirely naked girl-who might have been fourteen, Matt realized in horror-raced in and filled three goblets, then virtually sprang from the room. Somehow, she hadn’t spilled a drop-Matt watched their host actually check to see if she had. He shuddered, wondering what the penalty would have been.

  “Indeed,” the man continued in that disconcertingly soft voice. “Quite ‘fast’ indeed. Almost as quickly as your extraordinary ship!” He paused. “And never doubt that all of this world will one day beg for the benevolent rule of His Holiness! It was given unto him and his order by the very breath of God!” He shook his head, still smiling. “Of course, spreading the Word and Intent of God is a tedious process. The world is filled with unbelievers and heretics who must be forced to come to His understanding.” The ambassador performed a slight, modest bow. “I merely state the fact of the matter. Time and perseverance alone will make that fact clear to all.” He paused and smiled more broadly. “Call me Don Hernan. Wine?”

  Courtney began to accept, but Matt held him back. “Thank you, no. Spirits aren’t allowed on United States ships, and while I may not be aboard right now, I am on duty. As is Ambassador Bradford. Perhaps another time.”

  “Perhaps,” Don Hernan answered pleasantly. “Tell me, how stands the Faith on the Old World?”

  Matt shrugged. “Pretty well, I guess. Lots of people believe in God. I do.”

  Don Hernan’s lip twitched. “I mean the Roman Faith. Is it universal?”

  Matt looked at Courtney. “Ah, no. It’s spread all over the place, but it’s not universal.”

  Don Hernan’s smile faded slightly. “As I feared,” he said. “Too weak. Force is the key. They must have forgotten that. All will be heretics now, to one degree or another.” He looked at Matt. “Tell me of your faith.”

  “Why don’t you tell me about yours first?” Matt replied, hedging. “We’re new here, and everything we’ve heard comes from the Brits-I mean Imperials.”

  “Yes,” agreed Courtney enthusiastically. “We know almost nothing about your… crossover experience. We’ve heard tell of an Acapulco galleon, but that’s about the size of it.”

  “Ah, so you know some small part, even if it has been… corrupted.” He sipped his wine. “ Nuestra Senora de La Quezon was indeed a Galeon de Manila y Acapulco.” Don Hernan warmed to his subject. “She was a noble ark, gentlemen, made of teak, mahogany, and lanang wood, almost as if her builders were divinely inspired to prepare her for the Holy Pilgrimage she would make. She departed Manila to serve God on this world in July of 1681. Her logs still exist, and are as revered as the Book of Exodus!”

  “Oh, how marvelous!” Courtney gushed. “Such a tale they must tell!”

  “Well,” Don Hernan said, his smile growing again, “I am always pleased to tell how God took messengers from one imperfect world and placed them here to make a better one. Perhaps a longer… interview might be arranged.” He focused on Courtney. “With you, at least.” He closed his eyes in sadness. “In sum, mistakes had already been made, you see, terrible mistakes. The conquerors of New Espana conquered too well, destroying the fiercer, purer words of God already known by the native peoples. Things may still have been salvaged, but the Church was weak and did not press its victory. Here, we rediscovered those crucial instructions God had left for us, and added them to the ones we knew. After that, we… resolutely advanced the true, complete Word and never looked back. This will be our world, in His name.”

  “So your Founders encountered natives who’d crossed as well-earlier!” Bradford said eagerly. “What were they? Inca? Maya? Tol

  …”

  “What they were is unimportant,” Don Hernan interrupted, with a first trace of annoyance. “What we are now, all of my people, are children of God, and subjects of the Holy Dominion!”

  “But… Well, what was gleaned from them? What ‘Word’ was rediscovered?”

  Don Hernan smiled, pleased by Courtney’s interest. “Simply that as Jesus Christ suffered for us, we must suffer for Him. Pain alone is the purifier of sin, and the blood, the Precious Water, He sacrificed on our behalf must be returned manyfold. That is the Word that awaited those
who came to this world! That to be truly holy in the eyes of God, one must emulate his Son in all things, but most particularly, one must ultimately die in pain at the hands of another!”

  Bradford could only gape, stunned by such profound perversity.

  “Dear God,” Matt murmured aside to him, “Jenks was right. These guys are crazier than bilge rats!”

  Don Hernan was pleased as he watched the visitors leave. He thought the interview had gone quite well. Captain Reddy was doubtless an unrepentant heretic. The man had disrespectfully called directly upon God several times-such impudence!-but at least he did believe. Bradford displayed genuine fascination, perhaps even an attraction to the True Faith. At least he’d been eager to learn more about it. Don Hernan cared little exactly where the strangers were from, or what their situation was; he already knew much, and his spies would discover the rest. He’d wanted to learn about the men themselves and thought he had. Their animalistic “allies” never entered his thoughts. He’d determined, despite their advanced ship, that they couldn’t pose much of a threat. They were clearly somewhat tentative-understandable in this new setting. They would move slowly, feel their way, try to be “friends” with everyone. They shouldn’t be a factor, particularly after they were conveniently dead. A waste, it was true; he would have liked to explore further possibilities with the curious one, but that would only have edified him, and such deep curiosity was a mortal sin in any case. He sighed.

  “Tea?” he asked aloud after a long moment.

  Prime Proprietor Reed entered the room, huffy. “Your Holiness, you simply must not summon me here like a wayward child,” he insisted. His wispy voice was adamant but querulous. “It grows more difficult to move about unobserved, and at this late date I cannot be thought to be closely associated with you! Not just yet.”

  Don Hernan understood Reed’s concern and realized, with a bit of surprise, that his admonishment had required a measure of real courage. Despite Reed’s nervous tone, Don Hernan knew the man wasn’t a complete coward; he couldn’t be to have facilitated such a lengthy and risky scheme, but his voice and demeanor were incapable of conveying forceful resolve. He was perceived as timid, which was possibly appealing to his ever-fearful constituents, but not very inspiring to others. It was just as well. That very demeanor allowed him to be profoundly underestimated by his opponents.