Rally Cry (15 page)

"I would be honored, Colonel Keane, but I hope you understand what I've told you, and that you'll respect my feelings."

Andrew nodded lamely, his hand dropping away from hers.

With a quick curtsy she turned and stepped into her cabin.

For a long moment Andrew stood outside her door, feeling like a foolish schoolboy. Turning, he started back for his cabin, not even noticing that his headache had disappeared.

"Regiment, present arms!"

As one the men of the 35th snapped muskets to the present position, the dark blue of the state flag snapping in the wind and dipping in salute, while the national colors stayed upright.

Swinging his mount out, Andrew positioned himself in the middle of the open gate. Drawing his sword, he brought the weapon to the salute position while controlling Mercury with his knees.

Proceeded
by the sun-and-crossed-swords standard of Suzdal and the bear-head emblem of the house of Ivor, the column of knights came through the gate, with Ivor at the lead. Sheathing his sword, Andrew swung his mount around, coming up to ride by Ivor's side.

Riding next to the massive Clydesdale-like horse, Andrew felt as if he were accompanying a giant. Ivor perched atop his huge mount, looked about with a regal bearing through Emil's spectacles, which were perched upon the end of his round bulbous nose. Andrew watched his companion closely. He had learned already that Ivor was not the type to keep his emotions well hidden. He could see Ivor's surprise at the accomplishments of the last four weeks.
Fort
Lincoln
was well laid out, with spacious streets, the village green as a drill field, surrounded by earthwork fortifications that were truly intimidating.

Somehow Ivor presented a somewhat incongruous appearance, the plate-mail armor, pointed steel helmet, and shield and spear offset by the nineteenth-century technology of glasses, and the
carte de visite
of
Lincoln, presented by Andrew, which Ivor had attached to his shield as if it were a talisman.

"Your health is good?" Ivor asked in Rus.

Not wishing to reveal any knowledge yet of the language, Andrew looked to Kal, who, balanced precariously on Emil's mare, was now riding alongside Andrew.

He knew Kal was aware that Andrew had gained some command of the language—after
all,
it was Kal and now Tanya who were teaching him. But the peasant revealed nothing and rendered the necessary translation.

"Ask his lordship if he is ready for the boat ride," Andrew asked.

Ivor forced a smile.

"Da, da," but Andrew could see his nervousness, for undoubtedly among the people who had watched the docking yesterday had been some who had gone straight to Ivor with reports. Turning slightly, Andrew noticed that Rasnar was with the company, and from what little he had gained of politics so far, he knew that the priest was most likely a sworn enemy.

As the column passed down
Gettysburg Street
, the various companies fell in behind the small procession, and with drums rolling the regiment marched smartly on its way. There was a long flourish and roll, and the regiment broke into an old favorite, a slightly obscene version of "
Dixie" that made Andrew wince. Of course, Ivor and his companions wouldn't know the words, but it was something he'd give Hans a chewing-out for later.

Approaching the dock, they passed O'Donald's command, three of the field pieces unlimbered in action front along the road, the gunners standing to their position. Pulling out his sword again, Andrew managed a salute, which Pat returned with his usual dramatic flourish, his massive red mutton-chops and walrus mustache drawing more than one envious look from the knights.

Unable to contain himself, Ivor looked back over his shoulder, surveying the cannons and the regiment marching behind him. From the look on his face it was obvious that he was deeply impressed by the precision and discipline of the troops.

Going out the west gate, the procession reached the dock and ramp that led to the deck of the
Ogunquit.
The vessel was decked out with all its signal flags upon the bare poles of the masts, so that it appeared ready for a festival. Tobias was there, the thirty men of his command turned out in their best dress blues, all of them obviously proud to have their ship back.

Again Andrew was forced to draw sword while mounted, and snapped a salute to the captain, who for once gave a sharp reply. Andrew could not help but notice how the diminutive captain was puffed up because his transport vessel was now the center of all this attention.

Dismounting, Ivor and his companions stood around nervously, all except for Rasnar, who stood to one side, flanked by a single priest, eyeing all that he saw with suspicious disdain.

O'Donald and the half of his command set for a day in town came forward, and after a brief explanation through Kal they finally convinced the knights to relinquish their bridles so that the horses could be led up the ramp and tied on deck.

Once the animals were secured, Tobias came up to Ivor, saluted, and invited him to come aboard.

"My people tell me your ship moves without sails," the boyar said, looking to Kal and Andrew, his anxiety finally showing in spite of the front he had to maintain for those around him.

"Through demon craft," Rasnar growled sharply.

"If such were true, then your presence on the deck would drive the demons away," Andrew replied, looking straight into Rasnar's eyes, "and thus it would not move."

Kal, obviously uncomfortable with the exchange, sounded nervous as he translated.

Rasnar, caught by Andrew's offer, fell silent, staring at Andrew with open hatred.

"My men worship Kesus as well, for is it not true that both your people and mine come from the same place, where Kesus was God?"

"Yet you speak not of
Perm," Rasnar ventured, "Father God of all."

"Another name but the same God."

"Kneel and beg the forgiveness of
Perm," Rasnar barked, "then perhaps I shall know better what you are."

"In my belief I do not kneel to God," Andrew said quietly, "for that is not my way." And besides, it would mean my acknowledgment of you in front of the others, he realized.

"I and my men would consider it a good act if your holiness would bless the ship," Andrew finally replied, shifting the subject away from the confrontation. "Thus if your suspicions of demons is true, they will flee at once, before the presence of one as holy as you. If demons drive the ship against wind and current, it will not move, and thus you will be proved right and I will then kneel before you for forgiveness."

Rasnar stood silent for a moment, and finally with a muffled comment that Andrew suspected was a curse, the priest pushed his way past the knights who had been watching the harsh exchange of words.

Raising his staff, the priest in a soft voice muttered a prayer, finishing with a wave of his staff in the sign of the cross.

Andrew quickly looked over to O'Donald and his mostly Catholic command. But the men had already been briefed and did not make their sign of the cross when the blessing was finished.

"Captain Tobias, have we your permission to board?" Andrew asked.

Tobias, obviously enjoying the fact that Andrew was now on his territory, merely nodded, and then, broadening to a smile, touched Ivor on the shoulder and invited him to climb the ramp.

Falling in behind Ivor and Tobias, Andrew and Kal mounted the deck. After that prayer he could only hope that Tobias's boilers were in good working order; otherwise there'd be hell to pay with Rasnar.

After the knights
came
the men of Company A, obviously delighted with their first prospect for a day's pass. Behind them came O'Donald's men, who were shouting back to their forlorn companions about the pleasures that awaited them.

Mounting the quarterdeck, Tobias stepped into the pilot house with Ivor at his side. With a dramatic flourish, Tobias pulled down hard on the whistle, and a high-pitched shriek echoed down the valley.

With shouts of dismay the knights standing on the quarterdeck looked wildly about. Some fell to their knees blessing themselves, while others drew swords, ready for battle against whatever terror was being unleashed upon them. Even Rasnar blanched at the sound, which quickly turned to rage at the bemused looks of the foreigners.

There was a long moment of tension, as Kal ran through a quick round of translations to calm their fears. After several moments, Ivor was finally convinced to pull the rope himself. Another round of shouts greeted his action when he pulled the rope down, and instantly released it as if he had touched a venomous snake. Smiling understandingly, Andrew gestured for him to try again. There was another tentative whistle. Then, nerving
himself
, the boyar pulled down hard. Craftily Ivor watched his knights' look of terror.

Finally the boyar broke into a rolling gale of laughter and like a schoolchild given permission to raise a racket repeatedly sounded the whistle.

"I want one!" Ivor shouted. "I want scream maker for my palace!"

"It'll take a couple of days," Andrew replied, thinking quickly who in the ranks could fashion a small boiler and steam whistle, "but we would be honored for you to have such a gift."

Ivor was all smiles with this promise.

"Colonel, sir."

Andrew turned to see
Hawthorne standing by the quarterdeck railing.

"What is it, son?"

Hawthorne
stepped forward, pulling his knapsack off from his shoulders. Opening it up, he brought out a small wooden clock, carved by hand.

"Sir, I thought with your permission I could give this to Boyar Ivor as a token of friendship from myself and the enlisted men."

Andrew could not help but smile at the boy's earnestness.

"Does it keep time well?" Andrew asked.

Smiling, Vincent pulled out a small pendulum, attached it beneath the clock, and set it to ticking.

"There's only an hour hand, sir—it made the gearing a lot simpler. I set it to the time on this world, which seems to be twenty-three hours long. But it'll do."

"Well done, lad," and Andrew patted the young Quaker on the shoulder. Kal quickly translated the conversation and following
Hawthorne's lead explained the workings of the clock.

Opening up the back panel, Vincent showed Ivor the gears working inside, and the boyar cried aloud with wonder at this new toy, which he accepted with evident delight.

Ivor cuffed Vincent playfully on the shoulder, sending him reeling back, and the knights laughed gruffly at the sight.

"If we could get started?"
Tobias finally asked, interrupting the conversation, and with a nod of agreement from Andrew, the ship's captain called for a casting away of lines.

Tobias signaled below to the boiler room, and dark puffs of smoke belched from the smokestack and the lines were cast off. A vibration ran through the vessel, and then ever so slowly, and then with increasing speed, the
Ogunquit
started on its way.

Forward the leadsmen called out the sounds, keeping a sharp watch for sandbars and snags as the
Ogunquit
swung out into midstream and then pointed its bow upstream. It was soon making a good ten knots.

Ivor, Rasnar, and the knights stood in stunned silence for several minutes, while Tobias, with Kal's help, worked quickly to explain the nature of what was happening. Finally Tobias simply pointed to a hatchway, and the party went below, Andrew bringing up the rear.

The engine deck was hot, the thunderous pounding of the twin reciprocating cylinders working their steady rhythm.

Tobias tried to explain the workings of the steam engine, pointing to the spinning driveshaft leading aft to the single screw, but it was obvious that this device was completely beyond the assembly. Andrew noticed, though, that the priest standing behind Rasnar, whom he heard addressed as Casmar, seemed filled with an enrapted awe of the thundering heat-shimmering device.

The priest, as if sensing that he was being watched, turned and looked at Andrew. A friendly smile lit his features, which Andrew returned.

Shaking their heads, the party went topside, with Rasnar whispering darkly to several of the knights, who obviously were listening rather intently to what was being said. Andrew and the priest fell in at the end of the group. Casmar pointed to the machine.

"Wonderful," he whispered, looking about nervously as if checking to see if Rasnar had noticed him. And then, lifting the hem of his robes, he went up the ladder.

Returning to the deck, Andrew saw Kathleen and O'Donald deep in conversation, and they beckoned for him to come over.

"So what do they think of the old demon kissing machine?" O'Donald asked merrily.

"Just don't call it that," Andrew said, trying to sound reproachful. "Rasnar might hear you."

"Ah, him.
I know the type—most likely
thinks
our language is demon speech and wouldn't soil his tongue or mind to learn it, now would you, fellow?" And as Pat spoke he looked straight at the prelate, all the time smiling his biggest grin, which showed the blank spot where two front teeth had been knocked out in some now forgotten barroom brawl.