CHAPTER 5
Yap Island (Shikarrak)
“
H
ow much longer do you suppose they’ll be?” Princess Rebecca Anne McDonald, daughter of the Governor-Emperor of the New Britain Isles, asked anxiously; her large jade eyes narrowed with worry. Her sun-lightened blond locks had gone horribly astray under the constant battering of the stiff sea breeze, and finally getting some growth, she’d also suddenly begun to sprout from the battered Imperial dungarees she wore. Her waiflike appearance did much to undermine her “princess” status. She glanced fretfully westward, where the sun was making its final rapid equatorial plunge.
Nurse Lieutenant and Minister of Medicine Sandra Tucker’s bad sunburn was beginning to turn tan, but her normally sandy blond hair had gone peroxide. She looked at the bedraggled and somewhat gangly royal teen. “Don’t worry,” she said with a smile. “They’ll be along.”
“But it’s nearly dark!”
“I assure you, my dear,” insisted Sister Audry in her precise Dutchaccented English, “Mr. Silva would be far safer in any wilderness you chose to drop him than any poor creature he might happen upon.” Sister Audry’s words were meant to reassure, but there was a subliminal thread of condemnation in her tone as well. Like the surviving Imperials, she harbored a deep suspicion that Silva was at least mildly psychotic. She stepped from beneath the sailcloth shelter they’d rigged against the daily rains and stood beside Sandra and Rebecca. She wore dungarees now too, although her practically destroyed habit was kept safely stowed in a bundle of oilcloth.
“I’m concerned about poor Lawrence as well,” Rebecca said, “and perhaps ever so slightly about Messers Cook and Brassey.”
“And Captain Rajendra?” Sandra asked dryly.
“Him too, I suppose,” Rebecca conceded. “I really should be, shouldn’t I?” she asked Sister Audry. Rebecca had learned to respect the nun’s moral authority, even if most of the other Imperial castaways still considered her some form of Roman witch. Rebecca knew better. She knew there was no more similarity between Sister Audry’s “Catholic” faith and that practiced by the “Holy Dominion” than there was between night and day.
“One should always try to think charitable thoughts about all people,” Sister Audry replied, but it was clear by her tone how difficult even she found that at times.
A panicked cry arose near the shoreline, where Captain Lelaa and Carpenter Hersh were wrapping up their day’s repairs to the boat. Three other men, armed with muskets, raced to the spot from where they’d been posted along the beach to provide security for the laborers and their important charges. A loud
Thump
and a jet of fire flashed in the rapidly deepening gloom.
Captain Lelaa, the Lemurian commander and possibly only survivor of the destroyed sloop USS
Simms
, raced past them, tail curled high in alarm, toward the ranks of muskets they kept loaded and under cover. “Shik-saak!” she shouted breathlessly as she passed.
A large shadow, almost indistinguishable from the color of the sea behind it, lunged up onto the shore, barely missing the overturned boat where it lay chocked and supported on the sand. The carpenter was on his back, frantically scrabbling up the beach on his hands and heels, shrieking as he went. The security detail raced to that side of the boat and fired a volley directly into the monster before fleeing as fast as they could, reloading as they ran. It was a tactic they’d practiced before; get the shiksak’s attention, then lead it away from the boat and camp. They had no real hope of killing it with their muskets, and wouldn’t have wanted to kill it
There
in any case. Its carcass would only draw more predators. Their intent in this instance was to preserve the boat, protect the camp, and—hopefully—save the carpenter by provoking the beast into chasing them. It worked.
With a mighty froglike leap, the shiksak lunged after them, absorbing its fall with its semi-rigid front legs, or flippers, and the mattresslike cushion of fat on its belly. It emitted a kind of croaking wail when it struck the ground, but immediately gathered itself for another hopping leap. In a flat-out sprint, the security detail avoided being crushed beneath the massive body or taken by the gaping jaws, but they’d learned in a previous encounter that
only
a flat-out sprint would save them—and they’d practiced the technique against a considerably smaller shiksak. They’d discovered then that the slightest misstep, fall, or stumble would spell their death. It looked as though this larger, more powerful beast would render their tactic moot. Without a word among them, they split up.
Lelaa snatched a pair of muskets and raced into the jungle that paralleled the beach. With a glance that encompassed Rebecca and Sister Audry, Sandra did the same, following Lelaa as fast as she could.
“I must go as well!” Rebecca insisted, “I can handle a musket as well as any!”
Sister Audry grabbed her. “No, child, you must remain here. Those others are willing to sacrifice their lives to save yours. If any die and you are not saved, their sacrifice will have been in vain. It is a harsh and heavy burden to bear, but it
is
yours to bear.”
They heard another thundering, croaking groan, this time accompanied by a shrill scream. Sister Audry muttered something and crossed herself with her free hand while holding Rebecca even tighter against her renewed efforts to escape. The night was punctuated by more musket fire and shouts. Evidently pausing to devour its victim, the shiksak did not immediately leap again, allowing the survivors to gain some distance. It was almost pitch-black now, and the musket flashes of a suddenly augmented skirmish line pulsed in the darkness a considerable distance up the beach.
“I would attest that that volley was comprised of more guns than Miss Tucker and Captain Lelaa alone would have added!” Sister Audry assured Rebecca hopefully. The shiksak leaped again and again, moving beyond their ability to hear the dreadful sounds it made or see any movement. Rebecca collapsed against the nun and began to sob. Even if she broke free now, the action had drawn too far away to join.
Sister Audry led the girl carefully out onto the beach, keeping a wary eye on the deadly sea, until they reached the traumatized carpenter. The scrawny man was standing now and almost blubbering with relief.
“I thought the bugger had me!” he gasped. “So big and fat, and yet so fast!” He calmed himself slightly and glanced apologetically at the princess. “Pardon the ‘bugger,’ if you please, Your Highness.”
Through the tears that filled her eyes, Rebecca could still occasionally see the distant sparkle and bloom of a musket shot, but the hissing surf now drowned any report. Suddenly, to her surprise and almost infinite relief, she saw the muzzle flash of what might almost have been a cannon. A moment later, she did hear a muffled boom punctuate that shot. Shortly afterward, there came a veritable flurry of flashes, followed by another massive discharge. Then there was only the darkness and the surge of the marching sea.
“It would seem that your inimitable Mr. Silva has come to the rescue once again,” Sister Audry observed with an apparent mix of relief and disgust. “I only hope his various schemes to save us don’t cost a life with each attempt.”
“What happened?” Sandra asked impatiently. Silva sat on a large fallen tree trunk, ravenously devouring a plate of stew. He brandished a spoon, delaying his answer while he chewed. Finally, he pointed the spoon at Rajendra.
“Things went pretty much the way His Surliness said, except it wasn’t as tough a trip as he made out. Sure, hacking through all that bamboo stuff was a chore, but I had tougher days behind a mule when I was seven. Once we got through that stuff, wasn’t anything to it. Might’ve found a good channel through the breakers too.”
“Then what took you so long, and what’s the matter with Mr. Cook? ”
“He took to acting strange on the way back. Poked his finger on something in that kudzulike stuff. Went all silly on us. We had to throw together a stretcher, sort of, to get him back here. Even had to tie him down eventually. That’s why we was dee-layed.” He waved the spoon. “As for what’s the matter with him, you got me. You’re the doc. See for yourself.”
“I can barely see
him
with just the light from the fire,” Sandra said in frustration. “I certainly can’t diagnose what’s wrong with him.”
Silva shrugged. “Look at him in the morning, then. He might live that long.”
Sandra shook her head. “You
are
a heartless bastard,” she observed, almost amazed.
“Nope. I like the little guy a lot. I’m just sick o’ getting blamed whenever somebody croaks.” He pointed his spoon at Rajendra. “Bastard said it was my fault another one of his guys got ate. What was I supposed to do? I wasn’t even here.”
“That’s just the point,” Rajendra snarled. “If we’d been here, it wouldn’t have happened!”
“You mean if me and the Doom Whomper’d been here it wouldn’t have happened. Another few muskets wouldn’t have made a difference. You want me to sit here all day and guard everybody until we starve or I run out of lead to cast my bullets? What the hell good is that gonna do when there’s too many of the damn things to kill? Look, I’m sorry you lost a fella, but sometimes bad sh ... stuff just happens, an’ it ain’t always my fault!”
Sandra glared at Rajendra. “You know, he’s right. All you’ve done is whine ever since we got here. You stood up and pulled your weight on the boat, but now all you do is complain and blame. That’s not good enough! Do you want to save your princess? Do you want to
live
? Look, you don’t like taking orders from a woman. I get that, but here’s the deal: I already command my people, Rajendra, and your princess has placed me in command of you and yours. Our numbers are about even, with a dozen of us left, counting Rebecca and Larry. Even if this was a democracy, you’d lose. If more of you besides Hersh and Mr. Brassey don’t pitch in and pull your weight, we aren’t going to make it because we’re just dragging the rest of you along. Well, I have the cure for that! By the authority vested in me by the United States Navy and Princess Rebecca Anne McDonald, and as Minister of Medicine for all the Allied powers, I’ll consider any further dereliction of duty or refusal to obey my orders tantamount to mutiny and punishable by death. Do I make myself perfectly clear?” Her voice had risen to a roar that her small frame seemed incapable of producing, but it would have made the Bosun proud. In a quieter voice she continued, “Mr. Silva and I have discussed his plan and it seems the most viable option. If we all work together, we can get it done with hands to spare. If I were you, I’d try very hard not to give the impression that I was a spare hand. I’m completely, deadly serious about this, and I advise you not to test me.”
She took a long breath and continued to glare at the darkened faces as if measuring each one. “Tomorrow we start moving the boat. We’ll need rollers, and plenty of them. Those not actively cutting rollers will be widening and clearing the path Mr. Silva and Captain Rajendra’s party made through the bamboo today.” She looked at Rajendra. “Now, I know you’ve been saving back some candles and at least two lanterns. I want them. All of them.” She allowed only the slightest hesitation, as the Imperials glanced at their commander, before she pulled the .45 from its holster and racked the slide.
“Captain Rajendra,” she said very softly, “must I repeat myself?”
“Princess?” Rajendra asked.
“Obey her this instant, you fool!” Rebecca demanded harshly. “I have told you she alone commands! If you ever ask my approval for her orders again, I swear I’ll shoot you myself!”
“Very well, Your Highness. Please accept my apologies. I was only trying—”
“What you were trying to do, what you’ve
been
trying to do, is quite clear! The traditions of the Empire have no bearing here, and you will obey this woman as you would me.”
“Brassey,” Rajendra said stiffly, “please fetch the items Miss Tucker requested.” Brassey leaped to his feet and raced to the pile of supplies the Imperials had kept somewhat segregated.
“A wise choice, Captain Rajendra,” Sandra said as her thumb pushed upward on the pistol’s safety and she thrust the weapon back into its holster. “You might be interested to know that I was counting to myself and you had less than three seconds to live.” She smiled, then moved off toward where Abel Cook lay.
Silva shook his spoon at Rajendra. “And here all this time you thought I was a bad man.” He chuckled quietly. “You don’t know doodly.”
With the help of the lanterns and a couple of mirrors, Sandra was finally able to examine Abel’s hand. The boy was conscious and even tried to cooperate with the inspection, but he had a fever and was acting almost euphorically drunk. He was still tied to the stretcher so he couldn’t get up, but he sometimes almost desperately wanted to, as if his main goal in life had suddenly become to run off into the jungle as far and fast as he could. He alternated between begging them to turn him loose and apologizing for being a bother. Silva held his arm still when necessary, and Rebecca dabbed at his forehead with a cool, damp cloth. Most of the others had gathered around to watch interestedly, but they kept a respectful distance. Only Sister Audry and Captain Lelaa remained in attendance to hold the mirrors and reflect the best light.
“Good Lord!” Sandra said when she at last got a good look at the wound. “What on earth did he get into?” She could see where the initial puncture had been. The area around it was almost black, and the finger had swelled to three times its normal size. The skin was mostly pink and seemed stretched tight enough to burst. The boy should have been in agony instead of acting, well, like he was. On closer inspection, she thought she saw tiny bluish-green filaments radiating outward from the blackened region as if they were following the capillaries and veins within the finger. She’d never seen anything like it.
“Uh, he was pierced by a thorn,” Brassey supplied. “It was just a little thing, and we gave it no thought at the time.”