around the perimeter. The steamers moved away and joined the frigates, where they could defend against any attack from the sea, while covering the ground force with their guns. It struck Matt how differently this landing was going from the first one they’d made on these very shores. Then, it had been dark and chaotic, and the Army was largely untested. It wasn’t quite as big either. He was confident that if he’d brought these troops ashore back then, they could easily have defeated the nearly twenty thousand Grik despite Rasic’s treachery, without any help from Aryaal at all. The weapons were the same as before, even though there’d been some familiarization training with the new prototypes. Full-scale production was just beginning when they left, and there was no sense “trickling” the new weapons in. The main difference between this Army and the old was, literally, a level of professionalism that came only with experience and confidence.
Alden and Chack approached and saluted. Alden was the overall field commander and the various regimental commanders would have already reported to him. “Skipper,” he said, “we’ve pushed nearly to the gates.” He scowled. “Close enough to get a good look at all the heads.” He glanced at Jenks appraisingly. “Lord Rolak’s supporting the Second Marines and the Six Hundred with the First and Third Aryaal. He begs the… ah… privilege of being the first to enter his city.”
Matt nodded. “Very well. Chack, you and Queen Maraan let him through, but I want you both to support him closely. No telling what surprises the enemy may have left. Form a perimeter inside the gate, in that open area around the big fountain like we did last time. Use other supporting regiments. After the plaza’s secure, proceed to secure the rest of the city. Once we’re sure the enemy’s gone, we’ll form details to take those damn heads down.”
“Aye-aye, sir,” Alden and Chack chorused, and trotted off. Matt turned to Jenks, who’d remained mostly silent since coming ashore.
“A most impressive display, Captain Reddy,” Jenks said. His tone held no irony.
“I guess you could do it better, though,” muttered Gray sarcastically. Despite the slightly more cordial relations between Jenks and his captain, the Bosun hadn’t thawed.
Jenks rounded on Gray, snatching the kerchief from his face. “It was a genuine compliment, Mr. Gray. I do grow weary of your attitude, however. You have harbored a grudge for long months now and perhaps I provoked it. If so, I sincerely apologize in the presence of”-he waved toward the countless pikes-“these tragic dead. That said, and the apology made, I will gladly oblige you if you insist on a confrontation.” Jenks took a breath and suddenly gagged violently. “Excuse me,” he muttered, and, stepping a short distance away, he retched. His companion, kerchief still in place, joined the commodore while he continued to heave and gasp.
Gray was stunned. “I’ll be damned,” he managed. “That Bakelite Brit can bend a little after all.” He lowered his voice. “Even if it did break him to do it.”
“Leave him be, Boats. He’s been ‘bending’ quite a bit lately. More than you know. And seeing that”-he nodded at the city-“could break anybody. We’ve kind of gotten used to it,” he said bitterly, “and it still makes me want to puke.”
Jenks finally composed himself and returned to face them. His color was ashen. “My apologies again, gentlemen.” His voice was rough.
“No need,” said Matt, almost gently.
“I… guess I’m sorry too,” said Gray. “I didn’t mean to make you move your hanky… and… blow.”
It was all Matt could do, even under the circumstances, to keep from cracking up. The Bosun had always had a talent for the backhanded compliment, apology, or… anything. Jenks looked at the big man intently for a moment before deciding to accept Gray’s… statement.
“Actually, as I was saying,” continued Jenks, forcing himself to keep the kerchief from his face, “your landing was most impressive. Very businesslike and coordinated. And somewhat ominous to a”-he glanced again at the heads-“a neutral observer such as myself.”
“Surely you practice such things? Your Marines, for example.”
“Certainly, but you have clearly had much more practice, on a considerably larger scale of late. My nation relies as heavily on naval power as does yours. Even more so, I’d wager, but we rarely engage in major land actions. The most recent of those was several years past. As you know, there are just under a hundred Marines aboard my ship, and I’m sure they could have come ashore just as creditably. But even their modern weapons might not have added much punch to your force.”
Matt avoided commenting on Jenks’s definition of “modern weapons” and the dubious advantage Matt considered muskets to be over the Lemurian’s powerful longbows, but he knew his troops had won Jenks’s respect. It remained to be seen whether that was a good thing or not.
The wind veered slightly and a gentle, merciful breeze diverted most of the stench northeast, toward B’mbaado. That or their noses were growing desensitized. Flags flapped and popped within the perimeter where the command staff awaited the first reports from the city. They’d heard no shots, but it was possible they might not have. The few rifle-armed scouts might have penetrated far enough by now that the ruins and the breeze could swallow the reports of their Krags. Eventually however, a runner appeared in the gateway and raced down through the ranks until he stood before Matt.
“General Rolak’s compliments, Cap-i-taan Reddy,” announced the ’Cat with surprisingly little accent. “The city is secure from the north gate, halfway to the south. There is no sign of the enemy other than a few… curious corpses. The Royal Palace has also been secured, and General Rolak begs you to come to him.”
Matt arched an eyebrow. “Any resistance? Casualties?”
“No casualties, sir… but there is resistance-of a sort. Nothing to be concerned with,” the ’Cat added with a snort, “but something my general prefers you see for yourself.”
Matt shrugged and looked at Gray. “Very well. Tell him we’ll be along.”
Gray hitched his pistol belt and shouted for an orderly to assemble the rest of the Captain’s Guard, some of whom were still aboard ship. Matt rolled his eyes, but knew it was pointless to complain. He looked at Jenks.
“Care to join us?”
They entered the city and the entourage was joined by an even larger security force that escorted them to the Royal Palace. Pete Alden met them there, reporting that Rolak and Queen Maraan were inside. Chack was leading his troops on a deeper penetration of the city. As the runner had told them, Alden confirmed that the only signs of the enemy were some “strange” corpses, but cryptically added that they had discovered a few Grik. Matt was curious, but knew if there was a threat, they’d have told him. They probably just wanted him to see whatever it was in the same context they’d first viewed it. Sometimes, context was important, and maybe they didn’t want to prejudice his perceptions. The palace was filthy and full of reeking droppings. Matt wondered whether the enemy had done that deliberately. Surely even the Grik couldn’t live amid such filth? The ships they’d captured hadn’t been clean, but they hadn’t been defiled to this extent.
Alden paused before a macabre scene. A Grik-or was it?-was staked to heavy beams resembling an inverted cross. It flashed through Matt’s mind that the thing had been crucified right here in the palace! Its tail had been hacked off and was nowhere in sight. All the claws were torn away, leaving mere jagged stumps of fingers and toes. It looked like even some of the creature’s teeth had been knocked out. Both eyes were missing from the desiccated corpse but whether they’d been gouged out by scavengers or during the evident “entertainment” was impossible to guess. By the amount of dark, dried blood spattered all around, it had clearly been alive for at least part of the process.
“That’s not an ordinary Grik,” Gray said.
“Yeah,” agreed Matt. “The fur color’s wrong. It looks more like one of those aborigine Griks we saw on Bali.”
“Wow,” muttered Gray. “Bastards must not get along. Wonder why they didn’t just eat him?”
“He’s not the only one,” Alden said. “And there’s something else you need to see.”
They followed the Marine up a long, winding stair that landed upon another wide chamber, not quite as filthy as the one below. Pete then advanced to a high-arched, guarded doorway. “Open it,” he said to one of the guards, and the ’Cat pushed the heavy door inward. Pete glanced back, his face grim, and made a “follow me” motion with his head.
Rasik-Alcas, king of Aryaal, sat upon what had so briefly been his ornate golden throne. The throne had suffered the ravages of the Grik and was now somewhat the worse for wear-but so was Rasik-Alcas. His once elaborate robes were dingy and weather-beaten, faded and stained. His pelt was a loose shroud draped over what had been a powerful frame. His cheeks were hollow and his whiskers were long and shaggy. Within the well-defined
