Kaapstad

A Capital Ship story
© 2019 by Walter Reimer



The bat followed his orders, and as soon as he had dove off the fantail and flapped to a safe distance from the ship, he extended the flying harness’ wings and set alight all eight of the phlogiston rockets that the harness had attached to it. He had been ordered to get to Port Natal as quickly as possible with Dr. Mirabeau’s message.

Francois watched him go, then caught a motion out of the corner of his eye and turned to see Prince Jahan standing at the aft rail beside him. The tiger had largely kept to himself apart from standing watches and spending time with Dr. Mirabeau.

Now, the young man looked a bit older.

“Meree galatee.”

If he hadn’t been standing next to the tiger, he would have missed it. “Mr. Timuríde,” Francois said, in as gentle a tone as he could muster.

“Hmm? Yes, Bosun?”

Francois leaned a bit closer to the Prince and kept his voice down. “It is not your fault.”

The tiger’s whiskers semaphored and his tail twitched. “If I hadn’t come aboard – “

“You’d likely have been killed. Think about that.”

“But Villiers – “

“He’s still alive,” the lemur said firmly, “and so are you. And you’ve killed your first man.” The lemur’s ear flicked. “How do you feel about that?”

The tiger gazed out at the crumpled landscape below, a carpet of forest and veldt covering the lines of hilly terrain. Finally he sighed and said, “I am from a warrior family.” He paused and favored the lemur with a hard glare. “The blood of the Great Amir runs in my veins, Bosun. My forefathers swept down upon India and subdued it. My – My father would have his enemies beheaded in the garden of the palace. I watched.”

He swallowed convulsively and turned away. “I feel . . . ashamed.” He glanced at the red-ruffed lemur. “Have you killed, Bosun?”

Francois nodded. “I have,” he replied. “And you never forget any of them. I’ve been in His Majesty’s service for many years, young Prince, and I’ve killed men before. Afterward, I have confessed, and prayed to the Virgin and the saints for forgiveness. But it’s part of my job, to kill for the King-Emperor.” The lemur huffed, his thick tail winding around one of his legs.

“Not die for him?” the tiger asked.

Francois snorted. “I wouldn’t be much use to His Majesty if I was dead, would I?” That raised a ghost of a smile on the younger man’s muzzle.

Jahan gazed out at the landscape again for a long moment before saying, “Thank you, Bosun,” and walked away to resume what he was doing.

Francois watched the ground passing beneath the ship before surreptitiously crossing himself and going back to his own duties.

Later in the afternoon, one of the lookouts called out, “Bat sighted, two kilometers away.”

“Good. Rig for capture,” the Officer of the Deck said, and deckpaws jumped to obey, raising the net between the yards on the mizzenmast in case the messenger needed it.

The bat jettisoned the two still-smoking rockets he still had, then cranked the harness’ wings to full extension and glided toward his target. He suddenly retracted the wings and spread his own, gritting his teeth as the membranes stretched so taut against the wind that they appeared translucent. He slowed and dropped the remaining meter to the deck, landing on one knee.

“Showoff,” the Bosun heard one rating say.

The bat saluted the flag, then the Officer of the Deck, and offered an envelope to the otter. Dismissing the messenger with a nod, he opened and read it as the red-ruffed lemur superintended the lowering and stowing of the net. Francois glimpsed the lutrine heading below, apparently to pass the message on to the doctor and to the Captain.

Shortly thereafter, the Temeraire sped up and increased altitude to get over the Natal hill country south of the Drakensberg Mountains.

The sun was starting to go down as the warship descended, maneuvering out to sea past the port city and approaching the dock from the water. Francois could see two Jacquot ambulances on the dock, facing back toward the land. There were stretcher bearers and a doctor standing outside them, waiting for the Temeraire to touch down.

Plumes of spray erupted from the surface of the harbor, and the party on the dock took cover behind the ambulances as the ship settled onto the water scant meters from the pilings. Hawsers were thrown to the waiting deckpaws and the ship was pulled alongside. The gangway was swung into place and secured.

As the ship was being tied up and the engine noises died away, Doctor Mirabeau and a stretcher party brought Mr. Villiers on deck. The greyhound looked like a sick child, chest stirring the blanket fitfully. The buck bent over the canine and the two exchanged a whispered conversation before Mirabeau signaled for the bearers to carry him ashore. The doctor followed and passed a sheaf of papers to the other physician and they talked briefly while Villiers was loaded aboard one of the ambulances.

The hospital’s doctor climbed into the Jaquot with the injured greyhound, the doors were closed, and the electrically-powered vehicle started forward silently. Halfway down the length of the dock, its siren began ululating to clear traffic out of the way.

Several other ratings came down the gangway and headed for the remaining ambulance. All sported bandages and one was on crutches. They climbed into the vehicle and it too drove away, without the siren but with the occasional mournful hoot of its horn.

“Bosun?”

“Soor?” Francois turned to see the Captain striding up to him.

“Prepare a working party to refuel the ship. I want to be aloft and headed for Kaapstad in two hours. Understood?”

The lemur saluted the bulldog. “Clearly, Soor.” The Captain returned the salute and the Bosun started shouting orders.

The Temeraire cast off and left the dock with ten minutes to spare, ascending into the sky as the sun dipped below the horizon. As soon as it moved to a heading that would take them to their goal, a sharp chime was heard in the crews’ earpieces. “Now hear this,” Captain de Ville said, “I am ordering the engines to full power. Crewmembers on open decks will wear safety harnesses and ear protection; helm, look sharp.” Another chime, and the crew scrambled to get themselves secured as the sound of the ship’s engines increased to a roar.

After making two inspection tours of the main, fore and quarterdecks, Francois went below to get a cup of coffee. The sugar had been infused with vanilla from his homeland, and Francois was savoring the aroma briefly as Prince Jahan came in with a few ratings. The sailors were all lemurs, but none of them seemed to resent the tiger’s presence, based on the way they held their tails. They were accepting him as a member of the crew.

He found that he didn’t know how to feel about that.

The Prince drew a cup of coffee from the urn and took a seat facing the Bosun. He had a safety harness on over his uniform. “Going above deck, Soor?” Francois asked.

The tiger nodded. “The First Officer has told me that I will have the watch tonight.” He didn’t look very sure, and glanced up at the red-ruffed lemur. “This isn’t very safe, is it? I mean, we’re flying over land.”

Francois nodded. “True, Soor. Usually, we won’t do this for too long. If anything happens to the engines, we won’t land on the water – we’ll crash.” Jahan gulped at that, and took a quick sip of his coffee. “But the Captain trusts the ship and the crew, and we should see Table Mountain by dawn at the rate we’re going.”

“’Table Mountain?’”

The lemur nodded. “It’s the biggest landmark in Kaapstad, and it’s exactly as its name says – broad and flat. There are a few landing cradles up there for smaller ships, but we’ll be landing in the harbor.” Francois glanced left and right. “Three things, Soor.”

The tiger nodded. “First, keep your eyes open while on watch. Second, if you have any questions, seek out one of the senior petty officers,” and he pointed one out to the midshipman.

“I understand, Bosun. And the third thing?”

“Your crew know their jobs. Let them do the job.” Francois sat back and took another drink of his coffee. “We’re over friendly territory, so no surprises.” He yawned and smacked his lips. “With your permission, Soor, I’ll turn in.”

Jahan nodded and looked up at the Bosun as he stood. “Thank you, Bosun.”

Francois nodded and headed for his quarters.


***


Again, the lemur was awake at three bells, and was on deck as the sun came up aft of the Temeraire. Before them lay Kaapstad, the colonial capital, sprawling like a wave of stone and wood that lapped at the base of Table Mountain. The Tablecloth, the local name for a massive, cottony fog bank, rested on top of the mountain, the mist draping down the sides like lace. The Sun would soon burn it off.

The ship passed south and angled in toward the harbor as signal flags were raised and lowered, communicating with the semaphore tower to make sure that the vessel would have an unobstructed landing. The Captain came on deck and the bulldog held a whispered conversation with the First Officer before gesturing at Francois to join them. “Bosun, have all crew not on watch turn out to man the rails.”

“Yes, Soor.”

The ship slowed, decreasing its altitude as it swept toward the dock and gently settled into the water. The crew, attired in their best uniforms, lined the rails as the ship was brought alongside the dock and secured. The gangway was run out and put in place as the ship’s officers appeared, also in formal uniform.

There was a small party waiting for them, all wearing formal uniforms or stiffly brocaded suits. One of them was a tall elk in an admiral’s uniform.

Francois, standing at the head of the gangway, saw the First Officer pass a coin to Captain de Ville.

The elk approached the gangway, and as the crew on the rail saluted, Francois drew his boatswain’s whistle and piped the Viceroy aboard. The Admiral saluted the flag as he stepped aboard, then returned de Ville’s salute before smiling and taking the bulldog’s paw. “Captain, welcome home,” Duke Jean said.

“Thank you, Your Highness.” De Ville presented his officers, and finally said, “Your Highness, may I present His Highness Prince Jahan of the Imperial Mughal Court.”

The tiger was dressed in the silks he came aboard in, looking ill-at-ease as the elk bowed but acknowledging the courtesy with a nod. “Your Highness,” de Ville said, “I have the honor to present Jean de Bourbon, the Duke of Brittany and Viceroy of South Africa.” Jahan bowed.

“I have been told,” Duke Jean said with a glance at de Ville, “that Your Highness asked to become a midshipman and part of the Temeraire’s crew.”

“Yes, sir,” Jahan replied.

“And you’ve acquitted yourself well, I hear.” The elk smiled and patted the tiger’s shoulder. He then lowered his arm and turned, raising his voice so that the crew could hear him. “On my authority, I have brought this ship and its crew to the attention of His Majesty, and I am honored to bestow a fifth star to the ship and all its company.”

This news was greeted by a cheer. The Temeraire had been awarded the Cross of Military Valor, and it was a source of pride to the crew. Five stars meant that a silver palm would be embroidered on the ship’s commissioning pennant. It would be something to live up to, as well as defend, whether in battle with adversaries or in bars against the crews of other ships.

Duke Jean waited for everyone to pay attention again, and added, “Further, in recognition of their bravery, every member of the crew is to be awarded the sum of fifty francs.” This was a month’s pay for a seaman, and the cheers were correspondingly louder. This was followed by a cheer for King Henri, to which the King’s cousin nodded in acknowledgement.

“Captain, I invite you and your officers to dine with me at the Palace tonight. For now, I would to have you accompany me, and I will hear your report.”

De Ville replied, “Of course, Your Highness.” The elk and the bulldog left the ship, and after establishing a liberty schedule the First Officer dismissed the ship’s company.

Naval provisioners soon brought autowagons alongside and delivered food and supplies; working crews refilled the hold with food and the other things that a ship required to function and keep its crew fed, and the Engineer and his furs broke out their tools and set to work overhauling the engines. As each section completed their work to the First Officer’s satisfaction, they were allowed to go into the city.

Tomorrow might mean scrubbing the decks or painting the hull while dealing with a hangover, but the night was all theirs.

Francois came out on deck, a piece of cheese in one paw, in time to see the Captain and the ship’s officers leaving for dinner. The lemur’s tail twitched in surprise when he saw that the prince was not wearing Mughal silks, but a midshipman’s formal uniform. I guess the Captain gave him a choice, he thought.

He put the tiger out of his mind, intent on getting a drink and a decent meal in town at a place where the food was better than the waitresses and footpads were rare.

The bells in the city’s clock tower chimed eight as the lemur walked back to the dock. It had been a strenuous several days, and his bed was becoming more attractive than any amusements. He rounded a corner and stopped, nose twitching.

“Mr. Timuríde?”

The tiger was standing in the middle of the street, looking toward the dock where the ship lay moored. “Hello, Bosun.”

“I’d thought you’d still be up at the Palace with the Captain.”

Jahan’s whiskers twitched up and down in time with his tail. “His Highness the Viceroy was a very good host. He wanted me to have my things collected and brought up to the Palace, because he wanted me to stay there until I could be put on a ship for France.” He drew a breath and let it out in a sigh. “I refused his courtesy.”

“May I know why?” Francois asked.

The tiger glanced at him. “His Highness said – I guess he thought he couldn’t hear me – that I could be useful when the quarrel between my brothers is over. I told him that I would prefer to be useful here, closer to the land of my birth.” He quirked a smile. “I also asked to stay aboard the Temeraire.”

Francois’ eyebrows went up. “Why?”

“As I told Captain de Ville, I want to do something,” Jahan replied with a lopsided smile.

The red-ruffed lemur smiled. “Well then, Soor, I think that you if you’re going to be a sailor, you need to learn a bit more of a sailor’s ways.” He beckoned to the tiger. “Come on; I know just the place.”


***


Francois stood at attention in Captain de Ville’s quarters the next day as the bulldog sat at his desk and glowered at him. Nearby, the First Officer was taking notes. “Let’s go over this again,” the Captain said, rubbing his fingertips against his temples. “You took a Prince of the Imperial Mughal Court . . . where?”

“Madame Orr’s House, Soor,” the lemur replied. “I felt that Mr. Timuríde needed to relax like a proper sailor. I had a talk with the Madam.”

De Ville had his eyes closed; he opened one and glared at Francois. “A talk.”

“Yes, Soor. I told her that Mr. Timuríde was . . . probably . . . a novice at such things, and paid her extra to make sure that the girl wasn’t poxed, and more to make sure that no harm would come to him.”

De Ville glanced at the First Officer, who instantly wiped the grin off his face. He turned back to the lemur. “How did he do?”

“Madame Orr told me that the girl had told her that Mr. Timuríde ‘acquitted himself like a sailor.’” He almost smiled, but caught himself and stood straighter.

The two officers looked at each other, and they started to chuckle. De Ville waved a paw at Francois. “Stand easy, Bosun. Duke Jean was disappointed that Prince Jahan didn’t want to stay here in Kaapstad, or go on to Versailles, but he’ll respect his wishes.”

The bulldog smiled. “And he couldn’t ask for a better occupation, while waiting for his homeland to settle down.”

Francois nodded. “Or a better ship to serve in.”




THE End






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