The Choir Boats

by Rabuzzi, Daniel

  “Viaticum, indeed,” said Tom, remembering the Cretched Man’s private name for the ship. “Oh horrible, such destruction on deck. Where’s Billy?”

  Billy was still at the stern, what remained of it, firing his rifle at the Ornish line.

  At that instant, Yount Major’s steam frigates darted from behind the remnants of the battle line in front of the breakwater and made for the Ornish. The steam frigates fired steadily, concentrating on the Ornish flagship. The frigates swarmed past the wounded Seek-by-Night and blazed away at the Ornish line. The Ornish answered but could not afford to aim solely at the Cretched Man’s ship. The rest of the Yount Major fleet fired now as well, further engaging Ornish attention. A steam frigate cast ropes around the Seek-by-Night’s foremast and bowsprit and began to tug. Slowly, under the claws of the bear, the Cretched Man’s ship was hauled into the harbour. Tom yelled as he saw the pennant through the smoke, the red-edged orb with its flaring streaks reading “Facienti quod in se est Deus non denegat gratiam.” He ran from the roof as fast as he could to greet the Seek-by-Night as it reached the quay. Nexius ran behind him.

  Down the gangplank walked the Cretched Man. Beyond the breakwater the artillery exchange continued, and the occasional cannonball fell in the harbour or on the promenade. Few in the throng quayside heeded these dangers. All eyes were on the Seek-by-Night and its crew, and especially on the bleached man in the red clothes who was its captain.

  No one spoke as Jambres reached the quay. Behind him from the smoking ship came Billy Sea-Hen and three of the four other Minders, each helping a wounded Yountian sailor. The growing crowd at the quay stared at the Cretched Man: the goblin of their most ancient dreams stood before them, having just performed a wonder on their behalf, so unpinning all that they thought they knew of him and his role in their imprisonment. Every species of dread, hope, disbelief, and astonishment was in the eyes of the crowd. Eager to see the Cretched Man, yet fearing to touch him, the crowd seethed backwards and forwards. Jambres stood like a peninsula in the midst of a querulous sea. He had streaks of smoke and grime on his perfect face and his hat was missing. He looked in vain for someone to greet him, to embrace his crew, to aid his wounded men and women.

  In vain? No, not entirely, for Tom pushed his way through the crowd, yelling in English and broken Yountish. The crowd gasped as Tom ran to the Cretched Man and took his hand.

  “Jambres,” said Tom.

  “Young Thomas,” said Jambres, though it almost sounded as if he said “Jannes.”

  Over the Cretched Man’s rusty shoulder, Tom caught sight of Billy. He yelled, “Dumbledores don’t die!”

  “Not this day, Tommy, not this day,” said Billy. “But there’s others will if they don’t get help and fast.”

  Nexius appeared at Tom’s side. He looked the Cretched Man long in the eye, then turned to the crowd and shouted orders to the many Marines nearby. Marines took the wounded from Billy and the other Minders, and moved onto the Seek-by-Night to begin immediate aid and removal. The Seek-by-Night’s crew moved down the gangplank, Yountians all, some with the marks of Ornish enslavement on arms or legs made visible by torn clothing. The crowd on the quay was startled to see a Yountish crew. Seek-by-Night sailors spoke with the crowd, and word spread quickly of the existence of Sanctuary and the Cretched Man’s mission. Some in the crowd believed, others were still to be convinced.

  A woman in the crowd screwed up her courage and shouted to the Cretched Man: “What is your ship called?” Nowhere on the Seek-by-Night was its name painted. The crowd hushed, waiting to hear the Cretched Man speak. He said its name to the woman. The name travelled quickly throughout the crowd.

  The woman hesitated and then said, “Thank you. May the Mother bless the Seek-by-Night.” This too rippled through the crowd. Many nodded and cast blessings upon the ship. Jambres thanked the woman. Tom saw that Jambres’s hand trembled as he did so.

  Jambres said to Tom and Nexius, “I have crossed a threshold now and can never go back. Take me to the Queen. But first, tell me, please, where my crew will be housed, and where our wounded will be repaired. And how we shall bury our dead. We lost twenty-two, and I fear several more shall succumb to their wounds.”

  Nexius answered the Cretched Man’s questions as they walked to the Palace. Besides the Marines, a swelling crowd accompanied them.

  Eyes red, Billy leaned to Tom and said, “We lost Pinch, taken by a musket ball square in his cheekbone.”

  Tom bowed his head. Pinch had been the youngest of the Minders, from a Lancashire weaving village, quick to offer a song or a bit of tobacco (hence his name). He would be badly missed.

  Rifle slung over his shoulder, Billy looked around at the crowds and said, “So, now the fight is on, like I said, Tommy boy. We can give ’em worse than we get, only we need more fighters.”

  Someone in the crowd came alongside Billy and Tom, gave them each a carnation. They put them on. Billy smiled and said, “This is like Vauxhall Gardens, ain’t it just? Pinch would have liked this; he was partial to fairs and flowers. Here we are, on the other side of the bloody rainbow, and it’s like Vauxhall!”

  As they reached the gates of the palace, the woman who had asked the Cretched Man for the name of the Seek-by-Night reappeared at Jambres’s side. She shyly held out a bunch of carnations. Jambres stopped and took them. Everyone watched as he did so. He held the flowers up in a salute to the crowd, which sighed in a peculiar half-cheer. But even a half-cheer jolted Jambres: his arm trembled and his voice shook as he thanked the woman again.

  Taking his hat off and pointing to the carnations, Billy had the last word: “See, Tommy me boy? Our redemption begins. Twenty-two dead, including little Pinch. But see? The flowers, them’s the immarcesible palms of glory. Yes, Tommy, trust my word on this, we’ll reach the crown of heaven, one bleeding bloom at a time.”

  Chapter 16: Stone-Corbies on the Quay

  “Figs and feathers,” said Barnabas to Sanford a week after Jambres, Billy, and the Seek-by-Night had sailed into Yount Great-Port. “These Ornish devils are worse than Turks or Saracens.”

  Sanford raised an eyebrow.

  “Well, I mean,” said Barnabas, suddenly remembering Afsana and her religion. “Confound it, then, man, I meant no disrespect, leastways not to her. Anyway, Afsana’s an Indian, not a bloody Levantine . . . oh, Quatsch.”

  Sanford cut his remaining husk of bread in two, and offered half to Barnabas. Rations were short, and tempers shorter in the city under siege.

  “Thanks, old friend,” said Barnabas. “Not much of a dinner for either of us, is it? Here, have a drink of my beer, make us quits.”

  Sanford drank and said, “The Ornish are devils.”

  Barnabas looked over the rooftop wall of the palace at the line of Ornish warships outside the breakwater. An osprey circled the harbour, flew over the ships into the dusk.

  “Though they’re no different from the planters in Jamaica or the Carolinas when it comes to it,” murmured Barnabas. “Funny to see that so clearly only when we are quite fully out of our own world.”

  Sanford nodded.

  Tom came up behind them, followed by Afsana. One was rarely seen without the other. Afsana said something softly in Hindi as the last light of day caught the silver threading in her hair.

  “No change in their position, I see,” said Tom, pointing at the Ornish ships with his good hand.

  “No,” said Sanford.

  “Any word from Nexius?” asked Tom.

  “No, nephew, nor from Dorentius or Reglum or Noreous. Seems they’re all off at various points in the line, little time for chat with foreign guests these days. Not as I blame them, of course; I would just like to hear a bit more about what is happening.”

  Tom and Sanford smiled. Poor Barnabas! He so wanted to be part of “handlin’” the Ornish, and was despondent that no one consulted him on strategy. Most days Barnabas was seen bustling through the palace halls, still cutting a figure even if his stockings were faded and his
vest frayed, his hands full of maps, approaching anyone in uniform with his latest scheme for victory. The Queen listened to Barnabas one morning — “Most interested, she was too, indisputably liked my idea about hauling ten-pounders up onto the Commissary roof” — but had not yet put any of his plans into action.

  “Where is Sally?” asked Afsana.

  “With the fraulein,” said Barnabas, happy to speak with Afsana on a topic without sinkholes. “Visiting the fraulein’s little niece.”

  “Malchen,” said Tom. “Amalia Elisabeth.”

  “The very one,” said Barnabas. “The little songster.”

  “I hope they are back soon then,” said Tom. “We Karket-soomi are not welcome everywhere in this city right now. There’s been trouble in the streets, stones thrown, beatings. Reglum should be with them.”

  “He is,” said Sanford. “I made sure of that.”

  Boom! A cannon on one of the Ornish ships fired, a red streak in the dark. Boom! Boom!

  “Come,” said Barnabas. “The nightly bombardment begins, let’s get below.”

  Sally and the fraulein heard the first cannon of the evening and knew it was time to leave the fraulein’s sister and niece.

  “Oh please, Auntie, let us sing one more song,” said the little girl.

  “Ach, warum nicht?” the fraulein said. “Why not? Something with oomph, ja? The sound of the Ornish cannons will be our — what is the word, Sally — powk-drums?”

  “Kettle-drums,” said Sally. They might have been at Mincing Lane, gathered for a family evening. She looked at Reglum, drinking tea in a corner, and smiled.

  So Amalia sang, accompanied by her mother on a spinet. Sally joined in as she began to understand the melody (from Stabat Mater), matching her voice to Amalia’s. For a few moments everyone forgot the siege.

  An explosion nearby forced them to stop.

  “Come, time to go,” said Reglum, boots creaking.

  “Alas, you are right,” said Sally. “Malchen, my dear, you are almost a choir unto yourself.”

  The girl’s eyes gleamed in the candlelight. Sally carried that image with her as she, the fraulein, and Reglum walked back to the palace.

  “Here is Isaak, ready to pounce on Ornish raiders,” said Sally when she returned to her room. The cat leaped onto her shoulder.

  “What news?” asked Tom.

  “Very little. We get grim looks in the streets from some, and flowers given us by others. Disconcerting. Ornish cannonballs fall at random and people worry about food supplies. What news here today?”

  “None, really,” said Afsana before Tom could reply. “Stalemate. The Ornish sit just beyond reach of our cannon. They have us half-encircled, so supplies can still get in overland to the city. Very odd, and not well thought out, if you ask me.”

  “Indeed, something is amiss here,” said Tom. “The latest news is that the Ornish are negotiating with the Land of the Painted Gate to thwart Farther Yount’s embassy. But there is so much rumour. This morning I heard that Ornish troops were being ferried about in hot-air balloons, hundreds of ’em ready to descend on the city! That’s a good one. ‘Why not imagine the Ornish will sprout wings and fly themselves?’ I said.”

  The truth was more prosaic. Four days after Sally sang with Amalia, Reglum interrupted the McDoons’ meagre breakfast.

  “Disaster!” he said. “Oh damn it! We underestimated Ornish cunning: they landed troops far to the west, screened by their fleet so that we caught no news of them. Their soldiers marched through the Nale, the hills ramping the city, whose hikes and hews we thought to be impenetrable. This morning they overran our landward pickets — too few, for we never expected assault from that direction — and now we fight for life and liberty above the city. Come and see!”

  The McDoons raced to the ramparts and looked behind the city, not out across the harbour. The wind was from the sea so they could not hear the sounds of war, but the smoke rising from the hills told them all they needed to know. Nexius stalked up as they stared landwards.

  “The Ornish outwitted us,” he said, before he stormed off. “Shame on us. But we will make them pay. We will fight for every house and every street.”

  The city was now surrounded and, with every hour, the Ornish tightened the vise. All day the McDoons heard tales of the dawn’s surprise attack, of Ornish legions crashing out of the woods, the patrols of Farther Yount overwhelmed. Nexius and the other captains had stopped the onslaught in the city’s outer precincts, but all day Ornish troops flowed down out of the Nale.

  “The battle joins in earnest very soon,” said Reglum. He looked at the McDoons with a peculiar glint in his eyes. “Well, now we have our chance for glory. Which will it be: the Teutoberg Forest or Alesia?”

  “Are we the Romans or the barbarians?” asked Jambres, who had just walked up, along with Billy and the other Minders.

  Reglum bowed his head.

  “We aren’t in a tutorial at Oxford — it was Oxford, wasn’t it?” continued Jambres. In his red coat and pants, he looked ready for the parade ground, a hussar lost from heaven.

  Reglum inclined his head again.

  “Ho, Tommy Two-Fingers,” said Billy Sea-Hen. “I don’t know nothing about Toodleburgers or who is a Roman and who ain’t. All’s I know is true-born Englishmen must fight now. You coming with me? Will you help an old dumbledore one more time?”

  Tom stepped forward. Afsana did too.

  “He goes only if I am with him,” she said. Isaak ran around her ankles.

  Billy smiled and took off his hat.

  Barnabas clutched at his vest and stepped to his nephew’s side.

  “No, uncle,” Tom said, gently. “Stay here. We may need you, and Sanford, for the final defence. Seek the Queen. Help protect her if it comes to that. And protect Sally, above all.”

  Tom hugged his sister and moved off with Billy and the other Minders. Afsana took Sally’s hands.

  “We’ll be back, I promise. But our duty here is less, I think, than the responsibility laid upon you,” Afsana said.

  Releasing Sally’s hands, Afsana looked swiftly at Barnabas and Sanford before racing off to join Tom on the way to the front.

  “Oh, figs and feathers! What a wretched mess!” said Barnabas. He brushed past Jambres and stamped away.

  The siege dragged on. Some outer neighbourhoods changed hands several times in the course of a single day. The dead and wounded filled the streets. Rumours leaped from mouth to mouth, stories of assassinated cattle, prisoners flung into wells, houses burned with the inhabitants inside. Some called for the Queen to surrender Sally to the Ornish, others marched to the palace swearing to die in Sally’s defence.

  Amid the fevered talk and garbled news, one story grew steadily in the weeks after the Ornish broke through the pickets on the Nale: a tale of a Karket-soomi pair, a young brown woman and a young white man, who fought side by side wherever the fighting was most desperate. Many recalled the forbidden prophecy, wondered if Tom and Afsana were the heirs to the Hullitate throne.

  “Just like Palmerin and the Lady Fiona when they slew the Buccine Knight,” said Barnabas to Sally. “Or Gosse of Frinder when he defeated the giant what-was-his-name, when the Daughter of the Moon helped him by firing silver arrows. What if Tom and Afsana are the next King and Queen of Farther Yount?”

  Sally started to respond but Barnabas cut her off, saying, “Such a thing that would be! Hah! Think of their children. I would be a grandfather . . . and the children would be among the heirs of the McDoon fortune . . . oh yes, that would put paid to my uncle.”

  Sally stepped back, seeing the look in Barnabas’s eyes. Outside was the low boom of cannons, but the heartbeats inside were louder.

  “I venture to say that Tom is a better soldier than lover,” said Sally. “I mean, he has not to my knowledge declared his love for Afsana. Silly, since it is plain for all to see. If I were Afsana, I would be pressing for a resolution.”

  Barnabas laughed, “I believe you are right. B
ut don’t be too harsh on your brother. He is like most men: bold in the fray but cack-handed in love.”

  “Why do you suppose that is?” said Sally, more to Isaak than to Barnabas.

  “Courage comes in many forms,” said Barnabas, more to himself than to Sally.

  “You are wiser than you pretend, Uncle,” said Sally. “Women are not always as courageous as you make out.”

  Barnabas shuffled his feet, gripped his vest, and said, “I do not understand.”

  “Imagine, dear uncle, that a woman loved two men at the same time.” Sally stopped. “No, no, this is impossible. I — ”

  “I cannot guide you here, though I wish I could,” said Barnabas. “I am a most unreliable mentor in such matters, as you know. But I might observe that one of the men of whom you speak is far away while the other is right here with you.”

  Sally looked straight at the floor and said, “So true, so true. Yet the distant one has not left my thoughts in all this time. No more than Rehana left yours even after years had passed.”

  Barnabas sighed. “Ah, I begin to understand. Sally, you will have little joy of ghosts and memories, please believe me. Better to trust in someone close at hand, someone who you can hold.”

  “Enough of my trivial, selfish concerns!” cried Sally. “Let us talk rather of Tom and Afsana. Fraulein, what do you think of the stories we hear?”

  The fraulein, who was doing needlework in a corner of Sally’s room, shook her head and said, “Is the most astoundingest thing, ganz unglaublich.”