“Plubenda constabulary from Fleet Air Arm,” the radio was squawking as Entigh entered the small communications room. “Plubenda constabulary from Fleet Air Arm, come in please Plubenda constabulary, over.”

Henry took a seat in the straight backed chair before the shortwave set, keying the mic and leaning forward. He unkeyed and straightened in the chair, hesitating for a moment.

He wasn’t sure of the procedure, or how much it was safe to say over the air. He’d been shirking his mayoral duties, he supposed. There were written instructions for this sort of thing back in his office that he’d been meaning to go over when he could spare the time. They’d been there in his desk drawer for six or seven years now. Who knew?

“Fleet Air, from Plubenda civil militia forces,” he sent finally. We read you. Plubenda constabulary is unavailable. Er... over.”

There followed a long pause, during which they could hear the six naval aircraft continuing to circle.

“Plubenda civil militia,” the reply came at last. “Flight leftenant Robertson, fifteen-fourteen squadron. Heard you chaps were having a spot of bother and thought we’d pop by. What’s your situation? Over.”

“Resolved, Flight Leftenant,” Henry replied. “Hostiles have been contained and eliminated. Ah, over.”

Another long pause. “Plubenda civil militia,” the voice now sounded suspicious. “Identify please. Over.”

Henry snorted. “Hendrel Entigh,” he said evenly into the microphone. “Mayor of Plubbetton and overall commander of the Plubenda militia. You can check my credentials at colonial house if you’d like. Er, over.”

“Very good, Commander Entigh,” the voice came back. “You’ll have the current code phrase then. Over.”

Of course he did. Or had done right up until this moment! Damn, what was it?”

“Commander Entigh?” the voice had dropped a few octaves.

“Sixpence and tuppence are all the same to a fish.” Henry said hastily. Over.”

Another pause before the voice came back — friendlier this time. “Righto, Commander Entigh. Congratulations. HMAS Indomitable is inbound and will be arriving shortly to render whatever additional assistance you might require. Over.”

Henry whistled. Indomitable was a carrier of the line. For a single pirate ship? And why continue to respond to an incident that was already resolved?

“How many prisoners will there be for transfer? Over,” the flight leftenant asked.

“None,” Henry lied smoothly, glaring those men in the room into silence. “over.”

“Fought to the last, did they?” the flight leftenant asked not quite casually. “Not quite like the buggers to do that. Over.”

“The action was fairly quick,” Henry lied. “Our forces acted more abruptly than they might have, had women and children not been in danger. Over.”

“Right-o, then,” the flight leftenant said. “I’m sure his grace will have it all sorted when he arrives.

“In the meanwhile, we’ll just have ourselves a look about. With your permission? Over.” as though it were needed.

“Suit yourselves,” Henry struggled to keep his voice calm despite his nervousness. “over, and out.”

He had yet to learn the method Av was employing to move the prisoners. It wouldn’t do to have RN fighters discover a prisoner convoy that wasn’t supposed to exist. Henry had no desire to see the inside of an Admiralty courtroom. Not with his history, or lack thereof.

The staccato of the big rotaries surged and dwindled as the SkyFuries peeled off in three directions to begin their survey.

Henry remained at the radio for long minutes, unmoving, ordering his mind. But there were things to be done, and quickly, for there was no telling how far behind the fighters Indomitable followed. He scraped back the chair and all but lunged to his feet.

“Follow me,” he told those men crowded into the small room.

Through the stead office, where he grabbed an umbrella from a stand beside the door, for his leg was beginning to ache abominably, and down the short hall to the saloon where the menfolk retired after formal dinners and the hands took their entertainments, time permitting.

The remainder of the militia not otherwise occupied outside had already collected here, leaning up against the bar or the billiard table. The room was already thick with tobacco smoke, swirling with the rotation of the slow-moving fans depending from the ceiling. No one had yet breached the bar, and the assembly remained alert. That was good.

He hobbled purposefully around to the edge of the bar where it met the wall, leaning heavily on the umbrella. Lifting the hinged section, he slipped behind.

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

It was a long bar, for Pascal had been quite the party giver. It took up an entire corner of the large room, with the two perpendicular sections of the bar forming a square with the racks and shelves along the walls behind. There was even a large mirror, as though it were a commercial enterprise. All that lacked was the risqué painting, which Evie had never allowed.

Henry laid out the paper and ink he’d retrieved from Pascal’s office desk on his way through, and took up the pen. Thinking a moment, he began writing under the watchful eyes of the gathering militia. Halfway into the document, he began smiling. He loved a good joke, did Hendrel Entigh, formerly Henry Entmann, originally Heinrich. Particularly a devious one. And this particular example was proper sly.

* * *

Dar came awake with a start. Where was he? Something had his hand! He tried to jerk it away, but whatever it was had a grip like a ten ton press.

He opened his eyes and was startled to see Mailyn’s tear-streaked face nearly touching his own. She was being a girl again, he saw, and she was getting better at it. Even marred by the tears, and sorrow, he thought she probably looked better than just about any girl on the island. Even Jenny Malone couldn’t— he jerked back of a sudden and looked down. His captured hand was clamped between both of hers.

She let go of him with one hand and moved it to stroke at his hair in a tender way, her soft touch sending electricity throughout his body that he didn’t really want to contemplate. He found himself not shrinking from it.

Shifting his eyes without moving his head, he failed to recognize his location. It was a bedroom, obviously. A boy’s room. There were photos and cut out magazine pages hanging from the walls, and a rack across from the bed supporting a single shot rifle and a small gauge shotgun. He couldn’t really see anything out the window but bright sky, so he figured he was on an upper floor and that he’d been out all night.

“You’re in Rolly’s room,” Mailyn answered his unvoiced question, still leaning in close. “They brought you in here last night when you collapsed.”

Collap—? Oh, yeah. He had, hadn’t he. Right in front of his father. Damn!

“How hard was the blow to the head?” she asked him, laying the back of her hand against his forehead and interrupting the thought.

“Blow to the head?”

“The one that made you stupid!” her voice grew a brittle edge and she squeezed his hand the harder. “So stupid that you were running around bleeding to death without bothering to tell anyone!” Tears were squeezing from her eyes in greater volume. “So stupid that you’d challenge an experienced swordsman with a sword you’d only just found!”

“Saber,” he said.

“What?” she reared back in surprise.

“It was a saber,” he explained. “And I didn’t—”

Her eyes blazed hot. “Do you think that makes a difference, Darnan Palanna?” she hissed. “Stupid! You nearly died!”

“It wasn’t that—”

“He cut you almost in half!”

Well that was just silly. The wound hadn’t been nearly—

“You are not allowed to die without me, Darnan Palanna!” she ordered, sobbing.

He froze, his mind going blank. What had she just said?

“Awake, is he?” His mother’s voice, and a rescue. In the nick of time, too.

His head twisted towards the door, drawing an involuntary wince as the action pulled at two or three of the lesser cuts he’d suffered.

She stood in the doorway holding a pan and towels, some sort of bag clamped under one arm. She looked more angry than concerned.

“Good morning, Darnan,” she said almost coldly. “How are you feeling?”

Truth? Or artful lie to make her feel better? “It hurts pretty bad, I guess,” he said lamely.

“And well it should,” she said. “That would be your body telling you to stop being an idiot.”

So, not a rescue, then. they were just ganging up on him now.

“Mom?”

“Idiot,” she repeated. “A foolish or stupid person. Would you like the medical definition? It concerns those incapable of guarding against common dangers.”

Wow! Was she ever mad. She’d lit into Pop like this once when he’d come home with a new tractor that she hadn’t thought they could afford.

“Mom, I—”

“Didn’t think?” she answered for him. “I know that, Darnan.” She entered the room, finally, approaching the bed like a wind of doom.

“No, I—”

“Acted foolishly and without regard for others? Yes, you did. People were relying on you and you chose, instead, to...” her head tilted slightly, mockingly. “What exactly was it that you thought you were doing, Darnan?” She asked mock-sweetly.

“STOP IT!” he heaved himself up, falling back in agony as the full measure of his folly was reinforced. He may have cried out. He looked blearily down at the spreading red stain wicking out of the bandages wrapping his lower torso.

Mailyn cried out, and his mother hurried her pace, anger forgotten.

“I’m sorry, Mom,” he groaned into her blouse as she cradled his head, stroking his hair and rocking him gently.

“I know you are, Darnan,” she whispered. “I know. I’m sorry too. I was so afraid....

“Now let’s have a look at those stitches, shall we?” she was all business again, only a sheen in her eyes hinting at her true emotion. “Perhaps you haven’t ripped them all out after all.”

Av bounced off the doorframe and into the room as she was reaching for the metal clasps holding the bandages in place. His face was pale and he looked old and tired for the first time in all the years since Dar had first laid eyes on him.

“Everything alright?” he gasped. “I heard him holler!”

“Fetch ‘Tilda,” his daughter told him coldly and without turning from her task. “Have her bring the silk thread and curved needle again.”

He took a couple of steps toward the bed before he faltered and turned to carry out the orders.

“You really did very nearly get yourself killed, you know,” Lissenne Palanna sniffed as she sewed fresh stitches into her son’s wound. “I won’t ask what you were thinking, though. I’ll leave that for your father when he returns. I’m sure I’ll get some sort of comprehensible translation from him at some point in the future.”

Dar gulped, wondering what sort of typhoon his old man would bring along to that conversation. Worse yet, he still wasn’t sure himself what sort of nonsense it might have been. How was he supposed to pony up answers he didn’t have?

So worried was he that he barely felt the needle lacing him back together like the knee of a torn pair of dungarees.

And then there was Mai. She still had hold of his hand like she wasn’t planning on letting go any time soon, and it was obvious she wasn’t thinking things were like they had been. A fact which was starting to turn everything else sort of fuzzy around the edges.

He was trying not to sink too deep into that particular bed of quicksand with all his other problems, but every time he’d start to sort of figure out what to do about his impending doom in the form of his father, things would kind of fade and he’d find himself gazing into her tear streaked face, just watching her gaze back and smiling like an idiot.

He was still doing that when his mother finished re-wrapping his bandages and left the room, shaking her head, a bemused smile on her face.