"That doesn't sound like the Duke," said the Old Man.
"Oh, there's more to it than that, Captain Beynon. The Bishop has managed to rub him up the wrong way somehow. And everybody knows that it's only a matter of weeks, at the outside, before the Bishop finds some excuse to do for Albany once and for all. If the Duke finds his excuse first . . . Well, I hope that I'm not in New Orleans at the time."
"I don't think that it will come to anything," said the Old Man. "The Bishop hasn't got the weapons, and the Duke hasn't got the inclination."
"Hasn't he? Tell me, Captain, how many Phibian
villages have you seen on the way up from New Orleans?"
"One. In the Bay. Why?"
"You know how the little fellows get around especially in Albany, where there are as many canals as streets. You know how much they see with those sharp eyes of theirs. And you know how they love to gossip with anybody who can spare the time to listen. Well, the Duke must have as many as twenty villages stashed away in that big lagoon just north of the town Of course, the Phibians could leave their vaillages and swim, down river—but you know how conservative they are. They drift down river, and they swim up river, and they'd never dream of getting out to swim until the village starts breaking up in the sea. As long as John feeds 'em, they're well content to stay put."
"I hope that he doesn't get awkward with the Show Boat," said the Old Man. "The Bishop's daughter, no less, is Saint-in-Charge."
"That's a possibility," admitted Kingston Maid's captain. "It might well be the incident to start the war.
Captain Beynon sent his steward to ask Adelie to come to his cabin. He said to me, "I hope she's not going to be awkward about this, Whitley. How have vou found her in your official dealings with her?"
"Very reasonable," I said
"Well, I hope she's going to be reasonable now. You wouldn't object, Captain Barbee, to towing the Show Boat back to New Orleans?"
"As long as the money's there," Barbee told us. We got to our feet as Adelie came in. Her white
robes were spotless, her face innocent of cosmetics. In her hands she held the Book.
"The peace be upon you," she murmured.
"And on you, Holiness. Please be seated."
"Thank you, Captain."
"A drink, perhaps?"
"Some lime squash, if I may."
She coughed, and we hastily stubbed out our cheroots.
"Please carry on smoking," she said, a martyred, suffering smile on her face. Knowing her as I did, I was tempted to take her at her word—but knew that t he two captains would not approve.
"Your Holiness," said the Old Man, "this is Captain Barbee of Kingston Maid.1' Barbee got to his feet again and bowed. "In view of the state of affairs in Albany, Captain Barbee has agreed to take the Show Boat in tow back to New Orleans."
"Indeed?" Her voice was icy. "You contracted, Captain Beynon, to tow the Show Boat to the head of the river and back, and to make such calls and stays en route as required by the Saint-in-Charge."
"As you say, Your Holiness. But it is agreed, also, that the Master shall have freedom to act as he thinks fit should the safety of his own vessel be jeopardized."
"And is the safety of your own vessel jeopardized, Captain Beynon?"
"No. Not yet. But Captain Barbee tells us of mounting tension in Albany. And, Holiness, you are the Bishop's daughter. It may well be that your own safety may be involved."
She laughed softly. "A hostage, you mean? Very
well. So be it. I am not afraid, if you are." Beynon flushed. "I am the senior representative of the Church for many miles around, for many miles up and down the river. Our Agent in Albany is only an Under-Bishop—and Senior Saints, regardless of sex, rank Under-Bishops. I shall be able to treat with Duke John. And should there be any unlawful detention, then the heretic will have to contend with the full might of the Church Militant."
"That," the Old Man told her, "is what I'm frightened of."
"What do you mean?"
"Just this, Holiness. If there's going to be a war, I don't want my ship to be smack bang in the middle of the start of it."
"In other words, Captain, you're frightened."
"Yes. I'm frightened. Are you satisfied?"
She turned to Barbee. "And are you afraid to tow me back to New Orleans?"
"Of course not," he replied. "Why should I be?"
"Because if you do—and, mark you, it will be against my wishes, my orders—you and your crew will face a charge of piracy."
"This is absurd," said Beynon.
"Isn't it, Captain? But leave me here, either moored to the bank or made fast to Captain Barbee's vessel, and sooner or later—sooner rather than later —a pigeon will come fluttering into the mail room of the Palace, and my father will read of how you abandoned his daughter, and all her company, to her fate, all because you were afraid that the upstart infidel in Albany might speak unkindly to you . . . But wait! It is well known that you and the Duke are on hiendly terms. Tell me, has the Duke a Fifth Column?"
It was long seconds before the Old Man replied. Then he said, "I have warned you, Your Holiness. You insist that I carry out the original contract. So be it. All I ask is a written indemnity from you, signed by yourself and witnessed by Captain Barbee and Mr. Whitley. Four copies—one for you to keep, one for me to keep, one to be sent air mail to New Orleans and one by surface mail, per Kingston Maid. That is all."
Adelie rose gracefully to her feet. "I shall instruct my secretary to prepare the precious document now. The peace be upon you, Captains and Mr. Whitley."
"And on you, Your Holiness."
When she was gone, Beynon muttered, "A dangerous woman."
"You have my sympathy, Paul," said Barbee. He helped himself to more rum. "Oh, by the way, did I tell you that the Albany batteries are holding firing practice every day, now?"
"You were a witch," I told Adelie later.
"Perhaps. But tell me, darling, how did I go down in Memphis?"
"You had them eating out of your hand. But you always do, and you know it. When you came to the front of the stage, during the last chorus, and called, 'Are you with me? Are you for the Salvation? Are you with me?' you could have had them all marching on Albany that very moment. All the men, anyhow."
She said somberly, "It's the men who'll have to fight."
"But why should there be any fighting? And, getting back to the first question, why were you like that to the Old Man?"
"I just wanted to be," she admitted. "Oh, I could have turned on the charm and talked him into taking me on—-easily, so very easily. But I have power—and I don't mean the power of my sex—and I just wanted to use it. Just once."
"Will you ever use it on me?"
She got to her feet then, and looked down at me. All that I could see were the hard lines of her face, the hard, cold eyes.
"If I have to," she said.
We should have made Albany with first daylight, but during the middle watch we ran into a great, drifting field of tangleweed. It was a case of putting out a boat and digging and hacking a lead through for the ship. It was hot, tiring work in the yellow glare of the searchlight, not made any more pleasant by the fetid gas escaping from the bursting bladders of the weed. And there were the inevitable accidents—one of my men cut his foot half off with the sharp edge of his spade; another was bitten on the hand by a weed runner. Anyhow, we cleared a lead, foot by foot—and foot by foot Richmond Queen followed us through the dark, heaving mass, a snorting, fire breathing dragon, impatient of the delay.
When, at last, we were in clear water once again it was broad daylight, a hot, golden day. Beneath the brazen sky the river shone like burnished metal, on either hand the low banks seemed to be smoking in the heat. And ahead of us was the dark haze, the low lying smog, that marked the position of the city.
I dropped alongside the ship, caught hold of the boat rope, hooked on to the falls. Leaving the Bosun to hoist the boat I went up to the bridge. The Old
Man was in the pilot house, sitting on the high stool, staring ahead through his binoculars.
He said, "Get cleaned up, then grab your breakfast as soon as you can. I'll want you for'ard—we may want to drop the anchor in a hurry."
"Anything wrong, sir?"
"I don't know. While you were down in the boat I heard the sound of firing up river. It may have been practice, but . . . And there was something in the sky, big ... It's gone now."
"Gunboat coming down river, sir," reported the Third Mate.
We watched the little sidewheeler steaming fussily out of the haze, saw the puff of white steam from her bows as she fired her cannon. The dull, flat thud of the explosion arrived almost simultaneously with the ball that threw up a column of muddy spray only a few feet from our stem. "Full astern!" snapped the Old Man. "Three short blasts!" He turned to me, his face white with anger. "What the hell do they think they're playing at?"
"The way's off her now, sir," reported the Third.
"All right. Stop her."
The gunboat rapidly approached within hailing distance. At her masthead she wore the red flag with the golden, toothed wheel—the ensign of Albany. On her foredeck the steam cannon was manned, the
gunners keeping the weapon trained on us with every alteration of relative bearing. Aft was a flimsy seeming affair of light rails, on which rested half a dozen vaned shapes—the rocket launcher.
"What ship?" came the hail from the gunboat.
"Richmond Queen—up river from New Orleans."
"What is your tow?"
"Can't you read?"
"I repeat—what is your tow?"
"Gospel Show Boat."
"Who is the officer in charge?"
"Adelie Dale—daughter of the Bishop of Beulah Land."
"Tell her to come to your bridge."
"What right . . . ?" began the Old Man.
"A good head of steam and a four inch ball, Captain!" shouted the gunboat commander. "Tell the woman I want to see her."
The Old Man turned to the Third. "Give her Holiness my compliments, ask her to step up to the bridge."
She must have been waiting for the summons. She was dressed for effect, as for the stage of the Show Boat. She was wearing her theatrical make-up. She did not employ her trumpeters to precede her with a fanfare—but the effect was almost as though she had.
She took the megaphone from Captain Beynon's hand. She called, her voice loud and clear and golden in its pride, "I am Her Holiness Adelie Long, Saint-in-Charge of the Gospel Show Boat. The peace be upon you."
"And on you," replied the gunboat commander
automatically. We could see his confusion after the words had slipped out. We could see his face redden.
"Captain!" he called. "Tell that woman, and all her gang, that her ship is under arrest during her stay in Albany."
"Captain," said Adelie, her voice pitched to carry across the water, "tell the commander of that little gunboat that the personal envoy of the Bishop of Beulah Land claims audience with the Duke."
From the gunboat came the clanging of signal bells.
"Follow me to your berth!" shouted the commander.
On our way up to the city we could see signs of the State of Emergency of which Captain Barbee had spoken. The forts were fully manned, and from each and every one of them rose the column of black smoke that told of the maintenance of a full head of steam for the cannon. On the western bank we saw a company of the Duke's rocketeers, flashing swiftly by on their bicycles, each machine towing either a wheeled launching rack or a light wagon loaded with missiles. And there was the Duke of Albany, a stern wheeler half as big again as Richmond Queen, with cannon fore and aft, launching racks all along the hurricane deck and extra boilers for the steam artillery.
Adelie stayed on the bridge, and, rather to my surprise, the Old Man made no move to have her sent below. He was pointing out to her things of interest, was discussing with her, as one man to another, the city's defenses. She was, it was all too evident, turning on the charm, ensuring that here, among the enemy, no matter what her diplomatic status was, she would rank as a friend of a friend of the Duke.
I didn't have much time to feel jealous. It was not long before I was on stations, before Richmond Queen was nosing cautiously up a narrow channel and into a swinging basin, was turning head out to the river, was dropping stern first alongside a wharf hard by the entrance to the Grand Canal. From where we were lying we could look right up this main thoroughfare of Albany, could see the light, graceful bridges, the tall buildings with their balconies overhanging the water, the bright, gay colors of facade and roof and gable dimmed a little, blurred a little by the bright, golden haze of the golden day.
No sooner were we fast when the Duke's state pinnace was alongside. I went aboard the Show Boat to receive the visitors—we were port side to the wharf, and the Show Boat was still fast to starboard— and looked with admiration at the little craft with its scoured, spotless decks, highly polished brass and glossy paintwork. From the cabin stepped the Duke— a small, slight man, black bearded, with the face of a scholar—and the Duchess—tall, red haired, inclined to heaviness. Following them came a stout, black-clad dignitary, holding himself aloof, whom I supposed, correctly, to be the Agent of the Bishop of Beulah Land.
I saluted. "Good morning, Your Highness. Glad to have you aboard."
"Good morning, Whitley. I trust that my good friend Captain Beynon is well?"
"He is waiting for you, sir. If you will come this way . . ."
I led the way round the fore part of the house, along to the short brow between the Show Boat and Richmond Queen. I expected that the Bishop's Agent would stay aboard the Show Boat, but he followed us aboard the ship, up the companionways to the texas. When we got to the Captain's accommodation the Old Man asked me in with the others. Adelie Dale was still with him, sitting in his best chair as though it were a throne. She rose to her feet as we entered, greeted the Duke as one ruler to another, gave a brief and condescending smile to the Agent.
Abruptly, there was tension in the room. The Old Man flushed, moved from where he was standing, close—too close—to Adelie, went to talk to the Duchess.
I had no intention of eavesdropping, but I heard her say, "Paul! Are you getting religion? At your age?" And I remembered little things about previous visits to Albany.
"Duke John," said Adelie, "I wish to make a protest. Now."
"Your Holiness!" expostulated the Bishop's Agent. "I . . ."
"Under-Bishop Sherman, had you discharged your duties efficiently there would be no need for me to deal with this business in person. Duke John—I wish to complain of the high-handed conduct of the commander of the gunboat which intercepted us below the port. I wish to protest against the placing of my Show Boat under arrest."
"There is a State of Emergency, Your Holiness," said Sherman.
"Yes, Miss Dale. As your Agent has told you, there is a State of Emergency. I am still waiting for a reply from your father to the note sent only two days ago. It is possible that diplomatic relations may be broken off, that war may be declared."
"Indeed? Until such time as it is, I claim the right of free transit. And, as my father's representative, may I ask what is the reason for all this?"
"You may, Miss Dale. Perhaps you have heard that I have been attempting to revive the lost art of aviation."
"Indeed? Hardly a legal enterprise."
"Albany does not recognize the laws of Beulah Land.
"To continue—a week ago one of my experimental aircraft broke down in the air, over my territory. The crew made every effort to repair the damage and to set the ship down on the soil of Albany, but the ship was carried south by the wind, finally grounding just west of Thebes. The aircraft was burned by your father's militia, the crew hanged from trees. I am demanding that those responsible for the massacre be executed and that compensation be paid to the dependents of my airmen."
"And my father has not yet replied? And you are consideri
ng holding me as a hostage?"
"The thought, my lady, had flickered across the surface of my mind," said the Duke.
"On the other hand," said the Old Man, "we have to remember that my contract with Miss Dale is for towage to and from all ports on the river, and that one of the clauses of the Treaty of Baton Rouge denies either Albany or Beulah Land the right to interfere with river commerce."
"A fine point for the lawyers. Is a Show Boat commerce?"
"Perhaps not. But the towage of her is."
"And you'd miss the odor of sanctity, wouldn't you, Paul?" asked the Duchess.
The Old Man colored; the Duke gave his Duchess a hard, suspicious look. Adelie smiled—a slow smile, thoughtful, and she turned towards the Captain.
"It would be a shame, Paul, to have the trip over so soon."
"The Treaty of Baton Rouge," said the Duchess. "Didn't they interfere with commerce, John, when they destroyed your airship?"
"Even so," said the Duke, "this taking of hostages can be a ticklish business. I am a peaceful man . . ."
"So is my father," said Adelie, "but he will not tolerate any insult to or ill treatment of his daughter."
"He murdered our airmen," said the Duchess.
"Indeed? He must have received the news of the unfortunate occurrence in New Orleans at about the same time as you did in Albany. You cannot hold him responsible for the actions of a mob of ignorant peasantry."
"Can't we?" said the Duchess.
"Madam," said the Duke, "I would be vastly obliged if you would leave the governance of this state to its legal and rightful ruler. As for you, Madam," he bowed to the Bishop's daughter, "I will deal with you only because of your official rank in the somewhat absurd and complicated hierarchy of your father's country—but I would sooner deal with a man. Captain Beynon—I regarded you as a friend. Now I am not so sure. As things stand at present I shall be pleased to send you, and your ship, and this lady and her ship, up river with the minimum of delay. My port officials will be instructed accordingly."
"Show Their Highnesses to the gangway, Mr. Whitley," said the Old Man.
He avoided looking at the Duchess as I ushered her to the door.
CHAPTER FOUR
Glory Planet Page 3