Sky Above, Sea Below
A Capital Ship sequel
© 2025 by Walter Reimer


Fifteen.


“Grmnnnnn . . . “

“Bosun?”

He thought he recognized that voice.

“Nrrrr . . . “

“Bosun Ntsay?”

It sounded familiar.

“Hnnnerrghh . . .

“Bosun Ntsay, can you hear me?” The words – damn, he sounded familiar – were accompanied by a trickle of water drizzling into his half-open mouth. The red-ruffed lemur’s breathing stalled; he choked, coughed and kept coughing, rolling over on his side instinctively to clear the blockage. Dimly he felt paws supporting him as he finished coughing and started breathing again.

Francois lay back, squinting up at the unshielded light bulb over him. “Hwha – “

An antlered shadow interposed itself between him and the light. “Ah, there you are,” Doctor Mirabeau said. “Stay still,” and the buck nodded to a rating who moved the lemur to a half-sitting position before offering him a cup of water. Francois drank thirstily as the Mirabeau added, “Captain Espinoza will be pleased that you’re awake.”

“Wha . . . what happened, Soor?” Francois managed to say. He could hear a few moans, and guessed he was with the rest of the wounded on the orlop deck.

The doctor sat back. “From what I gather, it was a close engagement, but the fleet arrived and destroyed or drove off the enemy. The forces on Kelaa surrendered.” Francois nodded, and Mirabeau added, “You were wounded.”

“Bullet . . . to my leg?”

“Your left calf, yes,” the buck replied, “along with one to your hip and one to your head.”

The lemur raised a paw to his head and felt a tight-wrapped bandage. “My head?”

“Only a graze, Bosun,” Mirabeau said reassuringly. “You have a very hard head, fortunately, although it took quite a few stitches to close the wound. You’ll recover, I daresay.” Mirabeau turned as another officer stepped near. “Yes, Lieutenant?”

It was Lt. Timuríde; the tiger sported a bandage on his head that extended over his left eye, and it appeared that his left ear was missing. He seemed a little unsteady on his feet. “Captain’s compliments, Sir, but he’s asking for the casualty report.”

“Oh, of course, of course. Tell him he’ll have it as soon as possible.” Mirabeau got to his hooves and moved away.

Jahan looked down at Francois. “Hello, Bosun. I’m glad to see you’re awake.”

“Soor,” and the lemur touched two fingers to his right eyebrow in salute. “Doctor Mirabeau says we won.”

Jahan nodded. “We did,” and the look on his face triggered a memory in Francois; a younger tiger looking out over the ship’s rail as he thought about killing an erstwhile abductor: "I am from a warrior family. 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. I feel . . . ashamed.”

The tiger looked more determined and relieved, now that the battle was over. “We’re headed south to Malé for a lot of repairs, followed by a long trip to Kaapstad.” He glanced around. “The ship needs a lot of work.”

“Not just the ship,” Francois remarked. “Your eye, Soor?”

Jahan huffed. “Gone, I’m afraid. A splinter, so I’m told. Insh’allah.” A slight smile twisted his muzzle. “We should both be recovered enough to visit Madame Orr’s House again. This time, the girl’s on me.”

Francois started to chuckle, and the tiger joined him as they laughed briefly. “I must get back to the Captain. I’m very happy to see you’ll recover, Bosun.”

“Soor,” and the tiger left.

Francois lay back on the bed, his wound throbbing and feeling very tired.


***


The harbor and roads of Kaapstad were full of warships when the Temeraire finally arrived. The ship had been given some necessary repairs while in the Maldives, but not enough to make her airworthy. The news made the Engineer smile, although he did allow the rotors to be spun up at times to increase the ship’s speed. A repair lighter had tagged along with the much bigger warship, assisting the Engineer and the artificers.

Francois was on deck, favoring his left leg and side. They still pained him and would likely do so for the rest of his life. At first Dr. Mirabeau had at first refused to allow him out of bed but relented when the red-ruffed lemur pointed out that the Temeraire was undermanned and there was nothing wrong with his voice.

The buck had given way but stressed that Francois should avoid doing too much. “If you ruin my good work, Bosun,” he had said, “I will put those bullets back in you.”

The lemur also had a smaller bandage on his head to cover the stitches as he and the other petty officers supervised the ratings in the rigging. The sails were lowered and the rotors stopped as two steam tugs came close to tow and nudge the third-rate toward the drydock area.

“Soor,” and the lemur saluted as Jahan walked up. The tiger’s bandage had been removed, although he sported an eyepatch. Doctor Mirabeau had suggested a glass eye as a replacement for the missing organ. “Sails and engines are secured.”

“Good.” The tiger beckoned all the petty officers closer. “The Captain will be making the announcement, but as soon as the ship’s ready we’re rejoining the fleet to sweep the British out of Indian waters.”

“Won’t them in London say something about that, Soor?” a petty officer asked.

Jahan said, “Maybe, maybe not, insh’allah.” He accompanied the word with a shrug. It was always supposed that the East India Company was a thin façade concealing the British Crown. “Still, we’ll be getting the ship repaired, and we can rest and recover.”

“Well said, Soor,” Francois said, and the red-ruffed lemur called out, “Deck crew! Make ready mooring hawsers! Step lively now!”




end


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