Intellivore - Diane Duane [75]
A pause, and the second gun fired, landward; a pause, and the third fired, toward the sea. Smoke drifted slow across the deck, stinging the eyes. A pause, and then the second group of three, slow-spaced, each waiting until the whistle and splash of the ball was gone. Picard looked through the drifting smoke, over toward where the rum bottle stood on the empty steersman’s bench. A pause, and then the third group of three, slow and measured.
Picard swallowed. Then the fourth group, for it was a captain who was gone, after all. The smoke drifted by.
A longer pause, and the optional fifth group of shot, for protection, for such times as this were times when the doors of men’s hearts stood open; and at such times of pain, and remembrance, there were things that waited out in the dark, to creep in and make the innocent their own.
Not this time, Picard thought. Because of him … not this time.
Silence. In it, the echoes died. The offshore breeze began to freshen, and the ship rocked as the smoke blew away.
We won, Picard said softly. At what a price … but we won. Your victory, Captain … and a glorious one.
Rest well.
Moore came back to him, saluted. “Sir,” he said, “honors are made.”
“Very well, Mr. Moore. Stand down.”
The crews ran the guns back in. Picard walked down to the steersman’s bench, picked up the rum flask, and turned eastward.
Blinding, a splinter of sun came up over the edge of the world. The sky began to flush rose with the swift Caribbean sunrise; and high up, singular and undaunted, the morning star burned white.
Picard tossed the rum back, flung the flask out into the waves, and, very slightly, smiled … before starting, uncontrollably, to cough.
From across the water, faint and suddenly uproarious, came the sound of laughter.
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten