Melville watched with wonder and horrified admiration as some of the engineers were launched into the air with the explosion. Bits and pieces of them came down with the debris. The rain greatly increased the possibility that fuses might not work, so they didn't take the time or the risk to rig the bridge to be blown from afar. Instead the engineers set off the explosion while some of them were still on the bridge. They'd traded certain death for the absolute certainty that the bridge would be destroyed.
Others may sing of the wine
and the wealth and the mirth,
The portly presence of potentates
goodly in girth;—
Mine be the dirt and the dross,
the dust and scum of the earth!
They ran their weary way up the final slope to the Pier with a steady, shuffling gait, the healthy supporting the wounded. Behind them the artillery battery was punishing the enemy as they tried to make their way down the steep ravine, across the rushing stream and back up again. Eventually they'd make it, but by then the fleet would be gone.
As he trotted up the road Melville began to realize that he was wounded in several spots, spots which began to ache now that the battle was over. On the way Melville conducted a head count and, miraculously, all their troops were with them, although most of them were wounded. A close inspection of the monkeys' belaying pins disclosed the great number of hits that had been deflected by their little friends. The secret of the monkeys' ability was now well and truly out of the bag.
At the top of the hill the Stolsh admiral, the high commander of the forces on Ambergris, met Marshall DuuYaan. With tears streaming down his face the old admiral looked down the road and then faced his marshall. "Where is myy rear guaard?" he asked.
The marshall tore off his mangled, blood streaked helmet and tossed it to the ground with one final, sad "clunk." Drawing himself to his full height in his dented, besmirched armor, he replied, "Sire, I aam the rear guaard."
" 'Ere now. Wat about us, damit!" muttered Broadax, "I seem ta recall 'at we was there too!"
"Aye," replied Hans, "an' all the other boys 'at died out there; the great, glorious, God damned, magnificent bastards."
And Melville whispered to himself,
"Theirs be the music, the colour, the glory, the gold;
Mine be a handful of ashes, a mouthful of mould.
Of the maimed, of the halt and the blind in
the rain and the cold—
"Of these shall my songs be fashioned, my tale be told. Amen."
Then they boarded their ship. The Stolsh had considered destroying the Pier with demolitions charges after the last refugees boarded. Denying this valuable resource to their enemy would have been tactically and strategically wise. But they couldn't bring themselves to destroy an ancient, living creature that had served them well and faithfully across the years. They were as likely to destroy their world, another living creature that had befriended and aided them across the centuries. They would return, and when they did, old friends would be waiting for them.
Fielder had already taken their share of the refugees aboard. Many new hands had flocked to join Fang's crew during their period on Ambergris, and most of them had already been integrated into the crew. Now the first officer took charge of getting the ship under way while Melville saw to their wounded. The captain would be needed to command his ship if the Guldur opposed the evacuation fleet, but for now he must see to his injured shipmates.
Melville insisted that the worst cases be tended to first. Finally it was his turn. Through the dim haze of his pain he saw Lady Elphinstone and smiled. Ah, now for an encouraging word. One medicinal dose of ancient, soothing Sylvan wisdom, coming up . . .
"Thee again?" she said, looking at him with a warm, sad smile that belied her words.
"I think it was George Bernard Shaw who said, 'I want to be thoroughly used up when I die.' "
"That may be sooner than ye think. Hast thou not learned that people die here?"
"Thanks," he replied. Responding to her expression and not her words he returned her smile and forgot his pain for a moment. "I needed an encouraging word. You're a good friend."
"One does what one can. So, can I have thy stuff?"
Chapter the 14th
Transition: The Rose is within the Thorn
O wad some Power the giftie gie us,
To see oursels as ithers see us!
Robert Burns
The honorable Milton Carpetwright didn't make it to the Pier for evacuation. Shutting the curtains and cocooning inside his office meant that he and his staff didn't get sufficient warning of the collapse of the defenses. His squad of marine guards did discover the danger, however belatedly, and tried to evacuate him. He dithered, and then he died, taking most of the consulate down with him. Pretending that the outside world doesn't exist proved to be bad policy. Sooner or later the big bad old world will come knocking at your door, or knocking it down, as the case may be.
Only one of his marine guards had managed to fight his way out, and that was the redoubtable Corporal Petrico. Mighty tales were already being told of his blazing pistol craft, with a .45 in each hand, as their dwindling band of marines tried to carry the diplomat to safety. They had fought every step of the way, but the hapless, incompetent consul had been his own undoing in the end.
"Cap'n, we tried ta keep dat pockin' diplermat alife. We did," said the little armorer in tears. He was stretched out in their operating room as Lady Elphinstone tended to his many wounds. "Bud 'e wass usaless. If'n 'e coulda 'elped jist a lidder bit we mida safed 'im. Bud da pocker dinkent no one end off a pistul frum da udder. He wass dedd wate. Dedd wate. It wass like pissin' up a rope efer step a da way. Wit dem mawdikkers cummin' at us conskantly."
"It's not your fault, Corporal," said Melville kindly. "You did all you could."
"Aye," said Fielder bitterly. "Less time on the golf course and more time on the range. That is the recipe for survival. Any man who doesn't follow it deserves what he gets, and God damn him for every good man he takes down with him."
Melville hated to speak ill of the dead, but in the end that summed it up and all he could do was nod.
Aside from Corporal Petrico, only one other consulate staff member was successfully evacuated from Ambergris. He was that rarest of creatures, a citizen of Old Earth. Cuthbert Asquith XVI had decided to make a foray into two-space, to see "primitive, exotic worlds." Upon being contacted by the government of Earth, the Westerness foreign ministry was happy to oblige by giving Asquith what seemed to be a safe billet in a sleepy little consulate. So it was that Asquith purged his body of all nanotechnology, reversed some minor gene engineering, and arrived on Ambergris just in time for some of the excitement he thought he was seeking.
He happened to be at the Pier, checking the plans for the consulate's accommodations on board Fang, when the world came unglued. Needless to say, he was eager to go home. He was not enjoying his little adventure, and was attempting to share his unhappiness as he sat at his first dinner in the wardroom.
"I know all about your precious, low-tech worlds! Every citizen of Earth is taught, from the earliest ages, how you people live. Yes, we know all about how you live. You usually get married in June because you take your yearly bath in May and still smell pretty good by June. But your brides still stink, so they carry a bouquet of flowers to hide their body odor."
The members of the wardroom were enjoying his diatribe. It was the best entertainment they'd had since their marine lieutenant bounced the first officer off the bulkhead.
"Your annual bath consists of a big tub filled with hot water. The man of the house gets to bathe first, in the fresh, clean water, then all the other sons and men, then the women and finally the children."
" 'Ere now!" said Hans in mock indignation. " 'Ave you been looking through our windows again?"
Undetered, Asquith continued. "Last of all is the babies. By then the water is so dirty you people can actually lose someone in it. That's wher
e the saying, 'Don't throw the baby out with the bath water,' comes from."
The mess members' faces were aching from their efforts to avoid open laughter. This was a guest, and it wouldn't be polite to laugh at him, even if he was a total prat.
"Aye," said Hans, leaning back in his chair and shaking his head with a look of mock consternation as he sat at dinner. "'Tis true. We lose more babies 'at way."
"Yes!" said Asquith, oblivious to the derision all around him. "And your houses have thatched roofs, nothing but thick straw piled high, with no wood underneath. That's the only place for animals to get warm in the winter, so all the dogs, and the cats and the mice and bugs live in the roof. When it rains, your roofs get slippery and sometimes the animals slip and fall off the roof. Thus the saying, 'It's raining cats and dogs.' "
"Yeah, it's true," drawled Westminster. "Once, back home when ah was a kid, a big old yeller dawg came skittering off the roof in a hard rain and killed mah little brother. So sad."
Their corporate spirits were high. The blockading Guldur fleet hadn't offered battle. Perhaps in part because of the relieving Sylvan fleet that hung just over the horizon, ready to join in. And in part it was probably the sight of Fang closing in on them, with all her vast array of "laundry" hanging out, that convinced them to exercise the better part of valor. The enemy now owned Ambergris, why worry over a few refugees?
With the boundless boorishness and bad manners of the truly well bred, Asquith continued. "Since there is nothing but straw to stop things from falling into the house, this means that bugs and other droppings can fall through. This is especially a problem in the bedroom, so you use a big, four-poster bed with a sheet hung over the top to keep the bugs off. That's how canopy beds came about."
Petreckski nodded his head, poured himself some wine, and said, "Aye, I hate it when all those bugs fall on you while you're sleeping." The purser was in a contented, cheerful mood. He'd sold the cargo of saltpeter from Pearl at a very good price on Ambergris. Then he had bought a huge assortment of trade goods at fire sale prices from fleeing Stolsh merchants before leaving Ambergris. These would be the last trade goods to come from that world, or any Stolsh world, for a very long time, and they should bring good prices on Osgil. Truly, war had been profitable for him.
"Aye," added young Lieutenant Archer, getting into the spirit. "Once a cat came right through the roof, tore plumb through the canopy netting over their bed, and onto my ma and pa. You should'a heard the howling and shouting that night."
Asquith used a pencil to take a note on the pad that he always had with him, and then continued. "And your floors are bare dirt. Only the wealthy have anything besides dirt on the floor, that's where we get the saying, 'dirt poor.' "
"That's where that came from?" said Tibbits, the carpenter, as he finished off his dessert. "I always thought it was because, during real hard times, when we didn't 'ave any food, sometimes momma used to make us eat dirt."
" 'Eat dirt,' mumbled Asquith in fascinated horror as he jotted down more notes, then he continued. "The wealthy have slate floors that get slippery when they're wet, especially in the winter, so you scatter leftover stems of grain, called 'thresh,' on the floor to help keep your footing. As the winter goes on, you keep adding more thresh until when you open the door it can all start slipping outside. So a piece of wood is placed in the entranceway, hence, a 'thresh hold.' "
"I wouldn't know about that," said Barlet, their gunnery officer. "We was all too poor to have any of that fancy stuff. How about you, Mr. Fielder, did you have one of them fancy-pants 'threshold' jobbies when you was a kid?"
Fielder wasn't participating in their game. Lamenting the loss of his .45 auto and keeping a careful eye on Broadax was preoccupying him at the moment. The .45s and BARs were brought on board (couldn't leave them to the enemy!) where they'd quickly become pieces of junk. He found comfort in the double-barreled two-space pistol tucked into his sash, and never went anywhere without it. In response to the gunner's question Fielder just waved his hand deprecatingly and said, "the bottle stands by you, Mr. Crater," as Asquith continued in his fatuous deconstruction of Westerness civilization.
"I suppose it's also true, as reported by many observers, that you cook in the kitchen with a big kettle that is always hung over the fire. Every day you light the fire and add things to the pot, mostly vegetables and not much meat. Usually you eat stew for dinner, leaving leftovers in the pot to get cold overnight and then start over the next day. Sometimes the stew had food in it that's been there for quite a while. Hence the rhyme, 'peas porridge hot, peas porridge cold, peas porridge in the pot nine days old.' "
"Aye, you've got us on that one," said Tibbits. "Matter o' fact, we do that on board ship here. No telling how long the chow you just et's been cookin'."
Asquith actually shuddered in horror as he looked at his empty plate and continued. "Sometimes you get pork, which makes you feel special. When visitors come over, you hang up the bacon to show off. It's a sign of wealth that a man can 'bring home the bacon.' You cut off a little to share with guests and all sit around and 'chew the fat.' "
"Yep," said old Hans, "Many's the evening we sat around chewing the fat with friends. 'Course, when ya ain't got no fat, we could always chew bark."
"Those with money have plates made of pewter. Did you know that food with a high acid content can cause some of the lead to leach onto the food, causing lead poisoning and death? This happens most often with tomatoes, so I bet you still consider tomatoes to be poisonous."
They looked at each other in mock wonder and horror, sipping their after-dinner wine as they listened.
"Most people don't have pewter plates, but instead they use trenchers, a piece of wood with the middle scooped out like a bowl. Often trenchers are made from stale bread which is so old and hard that it can be used for quite some time. Trenchers are never washed and a lot of times worms and mold get into the wood and old bread. After eating off wormy, moldy trenchers, one would get 'trench mouth.' "
"Damn," said Tibbits, "that explains it. I'm glad we have high-tech friends like you to enlighten us, Mr. Asquith."
He nodded condescendingly and continued. "Your bread is divided according to status. Workers get the burnt bottom of the loaf, the family get the middle, and guests get the top, or 'upper crust.'
"You see," he continued, "we know all about your 'retroculture' and where it leads. Often lead cups are used to drink ale or whiskey. The combination can sometimes knock people unconscious for days. It's common to mistake such an individual for dead and prepare them for burial. They're laid out on the kitchen table for a couple of days and the family gathers around and eats and drinks and waits to see if they'll wake up. Hence the custom of holding a 'wake.' "
"Aye," said Hans. "I remember when my uncle Bob got in such a state. We thought 'e was a gonner 'til he woke up in the middle o' 'is own wake! Gave us all a start, I tell ya. Then he proceeded ta drink all the likker ever'one brought ta the wake. He said if ya needed the hair o' the dog 'at bit ya fir a hangover, then ya needed the whole damn'd hide o' the dog 'at kilt ya!"
"Yes," said Asquith after the laughter died down, "it happens more often than you'd think in your low-tech worlds. We have a report from one area where they dug up coffins to move to a new location. When they reopened these coffins, one out of twenty-five coffins was found to have scratch marks on the inside. They realized that they'd been burying people alive! So that's why you tie a string on the wrist of the corpse, lead it through the coffin and up through the ground and tie it to a bell. Someone would have to sit out in the graveyard all night (this was the 'graveyard shift') to listen for the bell; thus, someone could be either 'saved by the bell' or they're considered a 'dead ringer.' "
All the members of the mess smiled genially as they heard this, but their smiles disappeared when the earthworm continued.
"But the saddest thing about your so-called civilization is this fixation with our long-outdated Earth literature. Especially your infatuation
with Jay Tolkien. On Earth we know that he was a kook, a religious fanatic with views and values long since discarded by reasonable people."
Suddenly the members of the mess were deathly quiet. They all set down their silverware or wine glasses and leaned forward in their chairs, looking intensely at their guest, and cutting glances to Mr. Fielder, waiting for him to say something.
"Sir," began Fielder. "As the president of our little mess, I must tell you that you have gone astray. I respectfully request that you drop the topic, or we will reach the point where your only options are a duel or an apology."
"Apology? What have I got to apologize for? If you people can't handle the truth, that's your problem. You should be apologizing for your sad civilization."
Petreckski shook his head and tried to reason with the earthworm. "We are amused by your application of a witty piece of fifteenth-century Earth history to us. The truth is that our culture is based on a society that is several hundred years more advanced, and the field of hygiene and medicine is the one area where we draw selectively from more advanced cultures. You, from your one sad little world can say whatever you want about our kingdom, spanning thousands of worlds. But sir, when you speak of our respect, nay veneration, of J.R.R. Tolkien, it is like insulting our religion. Religion and politics are topics which gentlemen can agree to disagree about, and set aside from polite conversation. In your ignorance you have gone across the line, and a simple apology will be accepted with a willing spirit."
"Apology? You pathetic bunch of neanderthals! Let me just ask you one thing. So where are the Hobbits? Eh? Where are the damned Hobbits in your little delusion, your cultish fixation! You found an existing situation, overlaid this sad Tolkien template on reality, and convinced yourselves you are living it. Deluding yourselves that it is prophecy, but it's really a self-fulfilling prophecy!"
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