13
////// Empire of the New Britain Isles
New Scotland
The Imperial Dueling Grounds stood at the forested fringe of the naval port city of Scapa Flow. It was a picturesque place, like a sports stadium designed for thousands, bordered on three sides by the royal woods. It had become a place to entertain the masses as surely as the Colosseum of ancient Rome, but there remained a significant difference. The Imperial Dueling Grounds still represented the ideal that honor and valor might overcome injustice in the end, regardless of the odds and irrespective of one’s station in life. It was the place of ultimate adjudication for civil and personal disputes that could be solved no other way. In reality, everyone knew that wasn’t always the case. Professional duelists were banned, but everyone knew they existed. Anyone with enough money could always hire surrogates to offend or take offense in their stead. But ultimately, for whatever reason, one had to choose to stand there, before God and the entire Empire, to defend his principles with his life.
Because it was considered a place of honor, the Dueling Grounds wasn’t the customary place for executions, but an exception had been made in this case. It provided the most space for spectators, and repairs to the facility—so badly damaged in the opening battle of the war against the Dominion—had only recently been completed. The execution of one of the greatest traitors in Imperial history seemed an appropriate rededication.
A fine scaffold had been erected in the center of the arena, and the stands were filled to overflowing. Nearly everyone was in uniform, not only because the military had suffered greatly due to the actions of the condemned, but also because those very actions had helped ensure that virtually everyone must serve the war effort in some capacity if the Empire was to survive. Even Governor-Empress Rebecca Anne McDonald, seated in the royal box with members of her most trusted staff, wore a naval uniform of sorts. It was heavily braided blue wool, more ornate than that of the High Admiral of the Fleet, but void of any military decorations. In ordinary times, the formfitting tunic on any woman would’ve caused enough of a stir, and the spotless white knee breeches and polished boots would’ve been scandalous. But these weren’t ordinary times. In fact, it was increasingly clear to the Empire at large that everything they’d considered ordinary for generations was rapidly slipping into history.
At the appointed hour, the crowd noises began to fade expectantly and the Governor-Empress stood, barely rising above the rail of her box. Her long hair was braided in the Navy way, but glowed like bright, burnished gunmetal around her expressionless, elfin face. With a curt nod, she signaled the tolling of a large bell that silenced further conversation. The bell sounded eight times, marking noon, and there was a hush as nine men started across the field below. Eight were Imperial Marines, in their red coats with yellow facings, bright against the dark volcanic sand. Their polished muskets and fixed bayonets glittered under the overhead sun. Between them strode another man, face drawn but defiant, wearing a rumpled, unadorned blue coat from which all decorations and braid had been stripped. He didn’t shuffle or cause the Marines to prod or drag him, but kept step with them as they marched him to the scaffold and up the thirteen steps. At the top, he turned to face his Empress.
“Lord James McClain,” Rebecca said harshly, “formerly High Admiral of the Imperial Navy, you have been judged guilty of high treason and despicable murder. Specifically, that while consorting with agents of the vile Dominion and other subversive elements, you did give aid and reassurance to our enemies. This aid included forsaking your duties as High Admiral while commanding a fleet sent to reinforce Imperial and Allied forces then engaged. The only reason you are not condemned for cowardice in the face of the enemy is that you never faced him! Instead, you deliberately abandoned your mission to pursue other aims! Specifically, and first of these, was to cause the treacherous murder of your sovereign, his wife, and two hundred and sixteen members of the Court of Directors. An additional fifty-seven persons in the vicinity of the court lost their lives when it was destroyed by the bomb you caused to be planted beneath it. There is also no doubt that you conspired with elements loyal to the Dominion to murder me—a scheme resulting in the deaths of three more loyal subjects of the Empire.” Rebecca paused before remorselessly continuing. “For your treachery and murders, and the foul reward you gave your nation’s trust, you are duly condemned to be hanged by your neck until you are dead.” She stopped, visibly forcing her voice to remain level, calm. “Have you anything to say before the sentence is carried out?”
McClain took a step forward. His hands were tied behind his back, but he still managed to project a sense of dignity, even injury.
“I do,” he paused. “Your Majesty,” he added with scorn. When he spoke again, he slowly turned to address all those gathered there. “I am guilty of the crimes specified against me,” he confessed. “But only because I am equally guilty of an overabundant love for my country! You’ve all seen the erosion of our precious institutions and traditions that began with the return of the Princess and the arrival of the American destroyermen and their . . . animalistic friends! It’s they who subvert the natural order of the Empire! They infest our lands and demand that we conform to their barbaric sensibilities! The proof of that could not be better stressed by the appearance of Her Majesty here today, attired in the likeness of a man! They insist that we eliminate the age-old system of female indenture, a move that will morally and fiscally bankrupt our land. Already they use our women in their Navy, and God only knows what . . . perversions those unfortunates endure at the hands of their bestial lackeys aboard their ships! When will women join the ranks of our own beloved navy? Quite soon, no doubt, judging by Her Majesty’s wardrobe! It’s an abomination!
“I have no sympathy for the Doms, and am in no way in league with them, but I confess to using them to advance my efforts to stop the degradation and eventual destruction of the country I love. We would have survived their initial attempts against us, which I knew nothing about, without the Americans and their pets. Alone we would have prevailed against them, as we’ve done before. But Governor-Emperor McDonald embraced the unholy Alliance against my pleas. Gerald was like my brother, but someone had to act if the old order, our way of life, was to endure! I am sorry it came to what it did, but I saw no other option.” He lowered his head. “I will die now, in defense of my principles, like so many have done before upon this hallowed ground. I will die without even the courtesy or comfort of a sword or pistol in my hand. But I will die knowing in my heart that I did my duty to God and the Empire of the New Britain Isles!”
Governor-Empress Rebecca Anne McDonald leaned forward in the rumbling mutters that followed. “Are you quite finished?” she demanded, her small voice carrying with the force of a trumpet. She looked around. “I am young,” she admitted, “a child, most would say. I am also an orphan, thanks to that supposedly pious creature standing upon the scaffold! How many other children are orphans today because of his wicked treachery? How many more will there be because of the losses our forces suffered on New Ireland, at Saint Francis, the Enchanted Isles and elsewhere, all directly due to his patriotic acts? In addition to the murders he has confessed to, every battle death we’ve suffered in this war can be directly or indirectly attributed to his actions or inactions, and that was just to get us ‘back’ to where we were when the war began! The so-called Honorable New Britain Company played its part, as we now know, along with their puppets in the Court of Proprietors, but they’ve been dealt with. This should have been a time of union, when my father—” Her voice cracked. “When my father,” she continued more firmly, “led us to final victory against the Dominion, which I fear has tainted even men such as Lord McClain in some insidious way. Instead, we’ve had nothing but strife among ourselves, while the true enemy of our land, our very existence, has been allowed to run amok. Only our friendship with the Western Allies has saved us!” She looked McClain straight in the eye when she resumed with a steely resolve. “Your pathetic appeal for a pistol or sword defiles the sanctity of this place. You are an admitted traitor and murderer. When, in the long history of our land, have such been afforded the right to defend their deeds? Not now, not ever. My father had prepared an address that he meant to give that fateful day when his voice, and that of so many others, was silenced forever. I will make that same address in his stead very soon. In the meantime, I want you to drop to the end of your well-earned rope with the following decree ringing in your ears: Henceforth, from the date of your execution—this Manumission Day forward—all indentures throughout the Empire without the legal protection of a true and voluntary contract will revert to the possession of the Crown. Any persons subject to those indentures, male or female, are, and shall be forevermore free of any obligation other than that they owe to the laws of the Empire of the New Britain Isles and myself, their Governor-Empress, as subjects and citizens. Likewise, they shall henceforth enjoy all the rights and benefits associated with complete citizenship, including the privilege of bearing arms in their country’s defense!”
Her eyes lingered a long moment on the horrified expression spreading across Lord James McClain’s face before she looked at the Marines standing beside him. “Do your duty,” she commanded softly.
* * *
Sister Audry was disconcerted by the suspicious, almost hostile stares that followed her as she and the middle-aged Lemurian “Lord” Sergeant Koratin approached the broad porch of Government House in Scapa Flow. She knew the stares weren’t directed at Koratin; the ’Cat Marine had a checkered past in his homeland of Aryaal, but here he was a hero to Lemurians and humans alike. No, it was she who drew the stares, and she knew why. She was a Catholic nun, a “papist witch,” as far as many in the Empire were concerned. They saw little distinction between what she was and represented, and the vile practices of the evil Dominion with which they were at war. She’d finally confirmed—to her relief—that there were quite dramatic, fundamental differences between her faith and the abomination of the Doms during the time she’d just spent on New Ireland. She’d stopped there to interview the Dom prisoners of war interred at the devastated town of Waterford, on the shore of Lake Shannon. The prisoners were engaged in cutting down the massive central forest that had burned in the fighting there, and preparing the timbers for transportation to Imperial shipyards. Audry had spoken to many New Ireland civilians as well. She knew it was up to her to teach them—and people across the Empire—just how profound the difference was between the truth and what they’d been taught. Maybe that would help, and she thought she’d made a start. She hoped so. In the meantime she’d endure the stares, and Sergeant Koratin was there in case anyone wanted to do more about her presence than glare at her.
She was anxious to see the Governor-Empress. She loved the child who’d been through such a terrible ordeal. The Dom attack that ravaged her homeland had been bad enough, but then to lose her parents, whom she’d been separated from for so long, to domestic treachery . . . It was almost more than Audry could bear. She’d yearned to comfort poor Rebecca ever since learning the news, and now that she was here, the yearning had become an almost desperate thing. She hoped Rebecca, who’d asked her to come, would feel the same way.
Sister Audry was disappointed when the Governor-Empress didn’t meet the ferry that brought her over from New Ireland, but neither did the Prime Factor, the one-armed giant named Sean Bates, whom she also considered a friend. Concern began to blossom in Audry’s heart. There was a small honor guard led by Koratin, so she hadn’t been forgotten, but Koratin was tense as he led her through the city.
Since the attack that killed Rebecca’s parents and virtually wiped out what remained of the Imperial government, Scapa Flow had become the de facto capital of the Empire. Even if the Court of Directors in New London hadn’t been destroyed, Bates would’ve insisted that Empress Rebecca remain here in the heart of the Empire’s most important military city. The populace, military and civilian, was uncomplicatedly devoted to her, and there was nowhere near the level of intrigue that thrived across the strait in New London. She was safe here, and felt safe, which was important. It was bad enough that she’d been forced into the role of war leader at such a tender age, without having to constantly worry that one faction or another would try to have her killed.
“Bear in mind that she has changed, Sister Audry,” Koratin warned as they mounted the steps to the porch. “She remains a youngling, but must act the adult. That alone would not have changed her, I think; she has always been wise beyond her years, but on a personal . . . feeling way, she has gone to ground like a sorely wounded beast. She reminds me much of General Queen Protector Safir Maraan in that respect.” He blinked sadness. “Our odd Alliance has so many orphan queens! Her will and mind are as strong as ever, but even as she knows she cannot retreat in war if she would win, her youngling’s heart tries to retreat from anything that might scar it further.” He paused. “And this is likely to be a most trying day, a day to rub her wounds quite raw.” They stopped and he nodded at the red-coated sentries at the door.
“Her Excellency the Ambassador Sister Audry begs an audience with Her Majesty on behalf of the western members of the Grand Alliance.”
“Afternoon, Sergeant Koratin,” one of the men replied. “Afternoon, Yer Excellency,” he added neutrally. “Her Majesty ain’t got back yet. Ought’a be here d’rectly. I figger it’s over by now.”
“Where has she gone?” Sister Audry asked.
“To the hanging, Your Excellency,” Koratin himself answered her. “The hanging of her parents’ murderer, Lord High Admiral James McClain.”
Their escort deposited Audry’s things on the porch, and Koratin dismissed them. Then, for a while, he and Audry just sat there and waited. One of the guards summoned refreshments, and they drank chilled tea in silence. There was a commotion on the street beyond the lawn, and a squad of mounted guards clattered up, leading an ornate coach. Behind it were more armed riders, and they all drew to a halt opposite the porch. A footman leaped down from the back of the coach and opened the door, even as half the guard dismounted and formed a cordon around it. Other guardsmen tramped out from the house, across the porch, and assumed their place in ranks staring outward.
“My,” Audry whispered.
“The precautions are necessary,” Koratin insisted. “And Factor Bates—you remember him as Mr. O’Casey—is very serious about them, despite the young lady’s protests.”
“I see.” Audry stood and moved forward to greet the approaching figures. She barely recognized Rebecca in her naval dress, but Sean looked much the same except for his fine clothes. There was a little gray in his magnificent mustache, but he hadn’t changed otherwise. “My dear Rebecca!” Audry said, accelerating toward the girl, arms outstretched. A guard stepped in front of her, but Bates physically pushed him back in place.
“Och, let the lass through! She’s a particular friend o’ the Empress!”
Audry grabbed Rebecca’s hands in hers and stood staring searchingly at the girl. “I have so ached for this meeting,” she exclaimed.
Rebecca’s features softened, but she didn’t step into the embrace that Audry expected. “As have I,” she said quietly, almost shyly. “I’m so glad you’re here. Let us step inside, to my father’s library. There is much to discuss.”
In the library, the Governor-Empress invited them to sit and told yet another guard to pass the word for Mrs. Carr to bring more tea. Mrs. Carr had been a fixture at the New Scotland Government House as long as anyone could remember. In some ways, she was similar to Juan Marcos, the Filipino steward who’d carved out such an unassailable position of moral superiority aboard Walker. Utterly unlike Juan, however, she was large and matronly, and spoke very little. She was the household cook, maid to the Imperial family, and had been Rebecca’s nanny when she was very young. She remained her body servant, and had very definite notions about propriety. Of all the inner circle Rebecca trusted completely, Mrs. Carr was likely the only one who disapproved of the reforms she’d enacted. There was no question of her loyalty, but despite her usual silence, she still managed to radiate her opinions quite effectively. She did so now when she entered the chamber and poured tea for Rebecca and her guests, lingering a moment longer than necessary at Audry’s side. But her frowns and sighs were all apparently aimed at Sergeant Koratin and Factor Bates. Both were used to her and ignored the nonverbal admonishments.
“Thank you, Mrs. Carr. That will be all for now,” Rebecca said quietly. Without actually huffing, the large woman stepped from the room and closed the door behind her. Bates rolled his eyes, and for the first time, Audry saw the faintest flicker of genuine amusement cross Rebecca’s face. The girl turned to Audry. “To business. As I said, I’m happy you’re here, and I do apologize for not meeting you myself.” She grimaced. “It has been a most unpleasant day, in some respects.”
“Damned pleasant for me, Your Majesty,” Bates said. “I heartily enjoyed watchin’ the traitorous b . . .” He cleared his throat. “Divil’s face when ye made yer proclamation.” He grinned. “An watchin’ ’im drop through the trap shortly after was a relief as well. I feel much more comfortable with Lord McClain’s dead corp molderin’ in the sod, where he can cause no further mischief.”
Rebecca took a long breath, her small nostrils flaring. “Quite,” she agreed. “Now, Sister Audry, what news?”
Audry smiled tentatively at the child. “I’m sure you know more of the war than I, in the East and West, but I’ve brought some personal letters from your friends. I have them in my baggage. All but this one,” she reached into her handbag and produced a folded, tied sheaf of papers, and handed them over. “Young Lieutenant Cook begged me to give you this the moment I saw you, and I promised. He was preparing for an expedition into the heart of Borno at the time.” She saw concern flash across Rebecca’s face. “Never fear. That monstrous brute Dennis Silva was to accompany him. He promised me that no harm would come to the lad! He also asked me to give you a, um, ‘double-barreled squeeze’ for him.”
For just an instant, Rebecca’s eyes seemed to mist over, but she dashed a hand across them and forced a brittle smile. “Thank you, Sister Audry.” She laid the letter aside. “But now, what is the situation—as you see it—on New Ireland? What of the Dom prisoners? Can they ever be truly human? Can we even trust the populace there, particularly those that rose in support of the Doms?”
“I’ve learned much, Your Majesty, and confirmed much we already suspected. The Doms are not Catholic at all. They’ve embraced some of the trappings, but there is otherwise almost no similarity. The civilians of New Ireland, many of them, are rather Catholic, I believe, and did not embrace the Doms as much as they hoped to use them to further their own cause of independence.” She shook her head. “Although I’m sure they didn’t want independence nearly as much as they wanted religious equality. They were duped by the appearance of Catholicism the Doms project, and most fought alongside our troops to destroy them in the end. You’ve nothing to fear from them that you cannot cure with leniency. As for the Doms themselves,” she sighed. “Some are not human. Many of their officers in particular can never be brought to see the light, nor can the few elite ‘blood drinkers’ that were captured alive. I’ve never seen such fanaticism before, except perhaps among the Grik, and I fear their sect, or whatever it is, will cause great suffering when our forces invade their homeland.” She paused. “As for the rank-and-file Dom troops, I do hold out great hope. They are not as mad as the others, and the skillful and most imaginative way that Mr. Silva slew their leader was not supposed to be possible. That act in itself sowed fertile seeds among them that their faith might be misguided.” She chuckled. “Once again, our inimitable and inestimable Mr. Silva may have found himself the coarsest of tools in the hand of God.”
Even Rebecca laughed in delight, and Bates grinned at that. Koratin merely blinked sour amusement.
“In any event,” Audry continued, “perhaps a thousand prisoners volunteered to hear the untainted word”—she glanced down shyly—“and I spoke a sermon as best I could. Several, in fact. I left chaplains among them, Lemurian, and those who preach the true Catholic and English faiths. As you know, a common thread binds all three, and I didn’t see the harm.”
“You did well,” Rebecca assured her, “and I shall be more inclusive toward our Catholic subjects. After the decree I made today, how could I not?” She smiled at Audry’s curious stare. “I will tell you all about it, but I suppose only time will tell what we must ultimately do with our prisoners.”
“We may enlist a few, eventually,” Bates said thoughtfully. He glanced around at the stunned expressions. “Aye. What’d ye do if ye discovered all the sufferin’ in yer land, an’ that which ye’d heaped on others was based on a horrible, nasty lie? Would ye nae try ta’ put a end to it, as we ha’ done ourselves?”