The Choir Boats (53 page)

Noreous said, “Which ship then? How will the ship break the
blockade? We are at war!”

Dorentius replied, “We have one tough ship still relatively
unharmed: the
Gallinule
. We could leave in two days time. We will
simply have to blast our way through the blockade and outrun the
Ornish until we reach the gates to the Interstitial Lands.”

“We will divert the Ornish fleet with a general attack from the
harbour,” said Nexius.

“I will cast a glamour on the
Gallinule
,” said Jambres. “Something
to baffle the aim of the Ornish cannoneers.”

The Chamberlain said, “Even if the
Gallinule
wins through and
returns to build this gargantuan Fulginator, Yount Great-Port will . . .
I hesitate to say this, but we have no time for false courtesies — will
have fallen. We are straitly besieged now. You speak of possible
salvation to come in, what, a year, two years, maybe three? We who
remain will be dead or worse by then.”

Afsana said, “We will never surrender!”

“No, but we may be overrun nevertheless,” said the Queen. “My
duty is to think of even such terrible possibilities. What say you,
Captain Nexius?”

Nexius clenched his fists and said, “You are both right: we will
never surrender but we may be overrun. We cannot withstand the
siege much longer. I have already been making plans for breaking
the blockade and taking to the hills to continue resistance.”

The room was silent for a moment.

“That means death and enslavement for many,” said Afsana.

“Yes,” said Nexius. “But a chance to fight again for some. We have
no choice.”

The room fell silent again.

Jambres broke the silence. “The Captain is right, I fear. But his
point brings us back to Sally’s London voyage, which can also be a
mission to seek aid from the British government . . . and from other
sources.”

Everyone spoke at once.

“Buttons and beeswax!” said Barnabas. “Splendid idea!”

“You mean we should break our ancient policy, and announce
ourselves to Karket-soom?” said the Chamberlain. “You know that
could lead to civil war within Farther Yount, ruining whatever
chance Farther Yount has of defeating the Ornish.”

“Nonetheless, this is the path I advocate,” said Jambres. “British
troops, British technology . . .”

Tom, Barnabas, and Sanford thumped the table in agreement.

“There’s more,” said Jambres. “I will send William and his
companions back to their home-country with Sally, not only to
protect her with their lives, but also to recruit an army for you. Yes,
an army of the dispossessed, the poor and hungry, those searching
for justice and freedom. Oh yes, William will return with a great
army fit to battle the Ornish here — and those on Karket-soom who
think like the Ornish. Sally’s machine, the choir boat, the Fulginator
the size of a ship, has been called other things: ‘The breast-plate
of judgement, the throne-chariot of God.’ We shall build it in the
workshop of desire, anneal it with our passion. What do you say to
that, William?”

Billy Sea-Hen and the other Minders stepped forward as one, out
of the shadows on the wall and into the light from the lamps above
the table. Billy winked at Tom across the table.

“Judgement, your Grace, has a very fine ring to it,” Billy said.
“We’ll rouse the Claverites, we will, and the preachers of the
Deathless Sermon. We’ll enlist the followers of John Jea and the
congregations of the Potter. We’ll arm the Grantlings in their
tabernacles, the flocks of Lady Huntingdon’s Connection, the
ragged pastors of St. Adelsina, and the Matabrunians. Our officers
we’ll find at the Tailor’s shop in Charing Cross Road, and among the
disciples of Spence at the Pineapple and Mulberry Tree. Your Grace,
Your Majesty, and gentlefolk, we will bring you an army of fiery love
with iron in its soul.”

Sally did her best to translate Billy’s words, though she could
not decipher many of the specifics. No one needed a translation,
however, to understand Billy’s meaning.

Jambres cocked his head and said, “I must leave now — the
Learned Doctors know I am here; they will find us out. I will help
you outfit the
Gallinule
and in whatever other ways you want. Send
Sally back to London the day after tomorrow.”

The Queen rose and said, “So be it! All old prescriptions have run
dry; all our wisdom has been turned upside down. We send Sally
and her company to Karket-soom on the
Gallinule
. Captain Nexius,
please direct this to happen.”

The meeting broke up. Jambres lingered long enough to hand
Isaak back to Sally.

“Thank you,” he said to Sally and to the Queen.

“No, thank you,” said the Queen. “Truly, this is a world gone mad,
and a fitting end to the Hullitate line, that I should be the first ruler
of Farther Yount to ally herself with, of all people, the Cretched
Man.”

“Stranger things may yet happen, Your Majesty,” said Jambres.
He bowed, put his hat on his head, and walked out of the room
through a dark corner, followed by Billy and the Minders.

The Ornish bombarded the city that night with great force. Fires
burned unchecked, as water ran low. Smoke filled the streets. Just
before dawn a Marine banged on Sally’s door and escorted her to a
guardhouse in one of the palace enclosures. Reglum met her there,
with a bloody bandage on his face. Sally ran to him.

“Reglum, what is it? Dear Reglum!”

“Sally, oh Sally . . . I have . . . here, prepare yourself. . . .”

“Reglum . . . Reglum?”

Sally knew then, as grey light entered the square, as smoke seeped into her lungs, as Reglum turned away, at that moment Sally knew Fraulein Reimer was dead.

“Oh no,” she said. “Oh no, no, no . . .”

“Sally, I am so sorry,” said Reglum. “We . . . nothing we could
do. We went to collect the Rehnstock girl, me and five Marines, and
your German governess.”

“Malchen? Is she . . . ?”

“I’m sorry,” said Reglum. “I cannot hear very well, you see,
because of the explosion. Oh, the little girl . . . yes, she is alive, and
so is her mother — they are both inside.”

Sally grabbed Reglum’s shoulder but refused to buckle further.
She said, “What happened? Spare no details.”

“The bombardment grew worse on the way back. We heard a
whistling near us several times, ducked for cover. The last time —
right overhead — the explosion knocked us all down. The fraulein
never got up.”

Sally walked into the guardhouse. Malchen and her mother sat
on a bench, too shocked to cry. A Marine covered in blood lay on one
table. He was missing a leg. Sally went first to the Marine.

“What was his name?” she said.

Reglum told her. She nodded and then slowly turned to the figure
on the other table.

“Oh,” Sally said.

The fraulein’s right arm was ripped off ragged at the elbow. Her
jaw was askew and her right eye was gone. Her black dress seeped
blood. Sally did not cry until she saw that the fraulein’s shoes were
missing from her otherwise unharmed feet. When Tom, Barnabas,
and Sanford arrived, they found Sally bowed over the fraulein’s body,
crying and reciting over and over again the names of the churches
in Hamburg.

They had no choice but to bury the fraulein that morning. At the
graveside (a hastily dug pit for a dozen other bodies, including that
of the Marine who had died protecting the Rehnstocks), Malchen
held her mother’s and Sally’s hands. Sally knelt before Malchen and
said, “Take this as a memento, a little
Fussnickel
, and I will do the
same.”

Sally handed Malchen a half-finished needlework picture, one
of several Sally found under the fraulein’s bed. The picture was of a
ship sailing on a sea strewn with roses. Sally had never seen it before
and realized the fraulein had contained mysteries that Sally would
never be able to discover. For herself, Sally kept the picture of the
house on Mincing Lane.

“Oh
Quatsch
,” said Barnabas as they left the funeral, and burst
into tears.

That night the McDoons gathered at the quay on the canal where the
Gallinule
lay ready. On the landside of the quay, opposite the ship,
was a building used for the fitting out of ships. On the ground floor
a table had been set, amid crates, barrels, and pallets of supplies.
The Queen and Chamberlain were there, with a dozen Marines.

“I come myself to mark this most desperate cast of the die,” said the
Queen. “We can spare only thirty for the crew, and no Marines to guard
you, but that may be a good thing since we can only supply the ship with
enough rations for a reduced company.”

“War or no war, siege or no siege,” said the Chamberlain, “we will
hold the sending-off supper as we always have, for all the centuries that
we have sent tough ships on the voyage to Pash. Come and dine!”

Round the table the dishes were passed, from the Yountians to
the McDoons to Jambres and the Minders. Dorentius explained the
meaning of each dish, the order of its presentation, the prayer to be
said each time. The Minders and the Marines ate with gusto but no one
else had much appetite, least of all Sally.

From the hills came the constant mutter of gunfire. Periodically
the volume grew. Each time it did, Nexius would smile, take out his
watch (made in London, a gift from his brother), and say, “Right on
time, that will be Srix and the Tenth Foot” or “Very good, we are
holding the bridge in Duchmennaney.” Tom and Afsana would nod,
sometimes adding comments.

“They would not recognize you in the coffeehouses back home,
Tom,” said Barnabas. “I am so sorry not to have you with us on the
voyage.”

“I am sorry too, Uncle. But I think my duty keeps me here this
time.”

Afsana put down her fork and said, “Duty only?”

Tom opened his mouth but no words came out.

Barnabas did his best to rescue a floundering nephew, saying
to Afsana, “I hear that you are like the Lady Fiona fighting with
Palmerin. You know, against the wicked knight.”

“Actually, no, I do
not
know,” said Afsana. “I do not know that
story since no one has bothered to tell it to me. Perhaps instead
I
should tell
you
about the archer Srikandi, who married the warrior-prince Arjuna in the stories my mother told me, that she heard from
her Hindu nursemaid in India.”

Barnabas opened his mouth but no sound issued. Sanford
rescued a flailing friend, saying to Afsana, “I have some recollection
of that tale, from evenings in Bombay. I would like to hear it in full
sometime from you, upon our return.”

Afsana smiled, “Then so you shall, over a
hara masala —
better
made this next time, so I promise! Only now you are committed to
returning, no matter how short the rations or how terrible the foes
you face.”

Sanford smiled, that rarest of occurrences, “The thought of
hara
masala
and the story of Srikandi and Arjuna will raise my spirits
even as our rations run low.”

Even Sally smiled at this exchange.

Talk turned to the voyage itself. A Yountian unknown to the
McDoons stood up and said, “Your Majesty, and all assembled
guests, especially those from Palipash, allow me to introduce myself.
I am the new captain of the
Gallinule
, and my name is Aynellian
Limmilanax, formerly serving on the
Murrelet
. I am sad to say that I
must replace the old captain, who was killed in the fleet-battle while
serving on the
Pratincole
.”

Everyone raised a glass and toasted the dead captain.

“I can only promise you my utmost dedication and my unswerving attention to the execution of the mission,” said Captain
Aynellian.

The Yountians closed the dinner with the Song of Return, which
Tom translated for the Minders, and which ends:

Witness the bonfires on shorelines,

Rime-stippled strandlines,

Glad flames on spithead, the finisterre

Awakens to ship’s wheeling turn.

In the ember-weeks and

Cricklewood gloaming,

Sun harvest home rowan, stripped birch and willow,

A magpie skates light, bright slate, white hillow.

Stone-corbies on quays shake frost from their feathers,

Cold-drakes in furrow slit eyes open and listen:

Rook the leaper

Salutes the ship’s

Return

Return

Return.

“By old Peg Tantrum, that had a ghostly feel,” said Billy. “‘Return,
return, return’ . . . very solemn. Not that I don’t like it, but I wonder if
we need to stir our blood somewhat. I think we might offer something
a bit more lively for the company, with your lords’ permission.”

“Yes, but be swift,” said the Queen. “The ship must leave within
the hour.”

“Oh, we will, ma’am, we will,” said Billy.

Tat’head said, “Fair gillicks and filthy straw, said the sherehog to
the farmer, let’s get this over with! Where are we going, Billy?”

Billy chanted back:

We’re off to skin the devil, boys,

We’re off to flay Old Nick.

We’ll scorch him in a frying pan,

We’ll beat him with a stick!

Booriley booriley booriley, boys,

Rooriley rooriley rah!

The Minders clapped and stamped their feet in time. Billy waved
for Tom to join them, which he did.

“What shall we do with that little madge-owlet, Billy?” asked
Tat’head.

“We’ll spatch-cock that wicked bird,” sang back Billy. “We’ll cut
him into collops.”

“What else, Billy?” said Tat’head.

“His eyes we’ll sweat like day-old cheese, them we’ll crush like lusky
peas. Come sing with me now: We’re off to skin the devil, boys . . .”

By the end of the second refrain, all the Yountians had joined in,
if only for the “rooriley rooriley rah!” which they roared at the tops of
their lungs.

“Is there more, Billy?” shouted Tat’head.