The portholes were open and a mild wind filled Skvoreshniki’s sick bay. Clotilde paced, a shut book in one hand and cup of tea in the other. There was a rustle outside the door, it could not be the surgeon, he was not so loud. A marine opened it and stepped through. He was followed by two sailors who guided Vice Admiral Locke over the threshold and into the compartment. Locke’s eyes were still bandaged, he had been a patient here not long ago and Clotilde understood him to be permanently blinded by debris from Strator’s - and it had been Strator’s - explosion.
Clotilde moved quickly out of his way, standing at Bethany’s bedside.
Locke was led to the opposite side. He patted his coat until he found a pocket, reached haltingly in and produced a small velvet box. Gripping the box firmly in one hand he searched another pocket for a folded sheet of paper. He placed the paper, with a sailor’s help, on the table beside Bethany and then shakily opened the box. Inside was small medal suspended on a ribbon. The same sailor guided his Admiral’s hand to the pillow that supported Bethany’s head, opened the clasp behind the ribbon and then stepped back. Locke pinned the medal to the pillow and recited, “to Bethany Esterhouse, the Wartime Service medal with a South Seas ribbon.”
Clotilde stepped closer to the bed, inspecting the medal.
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“Sir, this is a modest medal, is it not?”
“No medal is modest, miss, certainly not one for war service,” Locke replied.
“Everyone who took part in the battle near Hegalia received one, I know that.”
Locke sighed, “I know what she did, I cannot doubt it, it has been repeated to me too many times. However, medals for valor must be witnessed by three officers, Fletch at the time had only two since Miss Esterhouse cannot, even were she awake, be a witness for herself...” Locke placed a hand on the table near the paper, “I submitted the recommendation for this medal alongside my resignation, the Admiralty had to specially approve it, for she does not even have a proper commission. I can do no more miss.”
“Can an exception not be made?”
“There have been too many exceptions, the Admiralty made that clear, and I must agree this whole, debauched business has been a chain of exceptions: special formations, special orders, secret movements but... but that is not your fault, nor hers.”
Clotilde softened, “is that why you have resigned? I am sorry to hear it.”
“No, I have resigned to preempt the order to do so, it would have come as soon as they learned I was blind. It is good of you to be concerned but I will do alright, I have already begun a text on naval doctrine, I shall dictate the rest to my daughter, and then, well, I shall have to develop a love of music and conversation.”
Locke smiled and turned, nearly knocking over one of his sailors, they helped him out of the compartment.
When the door was shut, Clotilde sat, opening her book. She went on reading aloud.
Behind Skvoreshniki, Howl’s battered hulk moved along under tow. Fletch ran ahead. The broken fleet beat north into the wind.
THE END