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Sky Above, Sea Below
A Capital Ship sequel
© 2025 by Walter Reimer
Seven.
The Agha looked a great deal older than the five years since Francois had last seen the tiger. He had a few old scars, and a bandage on one arm promised a newer scar when it healed. But he also looked tired, and the tiger’s shoulders sagged and his manacles clinked as he buried his face in his paws. “Jahan,” he mumbled.
The lemur stepped back as Jahan stepped forward, and the marshal leaned toward the bosun. “They, um, they know each other?” he asked quietly.
Francois nodded. “The old man’s his uncle,” he said in the same quiet tone while he kept his eyes on the younger man.
The marshal nodded sagely. “Ah.”
Slowly the older tiger mastered his emotions. He straightened up, his natural eye blinking back tears before he rasped in Hindi, “I . . . I had prayed to Allah that you would be safe, only to find you wearing the uniform of our enemies – “
“You gave me into the paws of the French, Uncle,” Jahan said. “What was I to do? Beg in the streets?” The younger tiger’s tail swished back and forth in agitation. “Or sit in a golden cage and play with toys while my brothers tear their throats out and lacerate our nation?”
“But why – “
“You yanked me out of the harem as soon as Father was cold, and gave me to infidels,” Jahan growled, his ears laying back. “I had to find my own way, so don’t you dare say anything to me about ‘enemies,’ Uncle.”
The Agha glanced at Francois before shaking his head. “We shall discuss this later, Nephew.”
Jahan stiffened. “I’m not a boy any longer, Uncle – and since you brought up consorting with infidels, what are you doing sniffing English ass? How did they talk you into attacking the Maldives?”
The older tiger growled. “I am following my orders – “
“From which of my brothers?” Jahan demanded. “Or do you dance to an English tune now?”
Francois winced inwardly, and the red-ruffed lemur’s ears went back as the older tiger growled.
A growl that was immediately followed by the sound of flesh striking flesh.
Jahan stepped back as the Agha blinked and he brought one manacled paw up to touch the unaugmented side of his face where his younger nephew had slapped him.
The marshal nodded. “Yeah, they’re family, right enough.” He came out from around his desk. “Ensign?”
“Yes?” Jahan wasn’t taking his eyes away from his uncle.
“Please don’t hit my prisoners,” the marshal said, adding, “That’s my job.”
Jahan’s ears slowly rose, but his tail continued to twitch back and forth angrily. “Yes. I apologize, Sir,” he said in French. “I’m – I’m sorry for striking you, Uncle,” he said in Hindi to the older tiger. “Please forgive me.”
The Agha gazed at his nephew, his ears dipping as he finally said, “I forgive you, Nephew. I admit I was remiss. I should have tried to stay in contact after getting you away from Delhi safely.”
“But I will not apologize for the question. Why invade the Maldives?” Jahan asked.
The older tiger moved to cross his arms across his chest defensively but stopped as the manacles holding his wrists clinked. Reminded of his current predicament, he replied, “I am an admiral,” and his artificial tail rose up to point at where his rank insignia had been crudely cut off his uniform. “I followed orders.”
Jahan blinked. “Your tail’s shorter than I remember.”
“They took part of it.”
The younger tiger glanced at the marshal. “Why is part of his tail missing?”
The jailer shrugged. “I didn’t like the look of it. We found two knives concealed there.” He twitched his whiskers. “One was poisoned.”
“Poisoned, Uncle?” he asked the older tiger.
“It’s a fact of life, Nephew, that it is a dangerous world. Had your father lived, you would have come to realize that.”
“Probably, yes. So whose orders were you following, Uncle? Zahar, or Mahmud?”
The Agha looked away. “Zahar.”
Jahan nodded. “From what I remember of him it makes sense that he’d want you by his side. Why the Maldives?” As the older man paused, the young ensign turned to the marshal. “Could you bring a chair for my uncle, and some water?” The man nodded, and the older tiger drank deeply after he sat down. “Well, Uncle?”
“The British,” the Agha finally growled.
Francois kept his tail and whiskers still. He didn’t want the old man knowing that the red-ruffed lemur understood Hindi, but he was listening closely.
And wishing that he had the older tiger aboard the Temeraire, at two thousand meters’ altitude and out of sight of land.
“The British?” Jahan echoed.
The Agha nodded. “They’ve been licking your brother’s ears like the dogs they are, filling his head with tales of regaining the parts of the Empire lost to the French. Like the Maldives or,” and here he looked straight at Francois, “Madagascar.”
Francois held very still, while the tattoo on the back of his head burned.
<NEXT>
<PREVIOUS>
<FIRST>
A Capital Ship sequel
© 2025 by Walter Reimer
Seven.
The Agha looked a great deal older than the five years since Francois had last seen the tiger. He had a few old scars, and a bandage on one arm promised a newer scar when it healed. But he also looked tired, and the tiger’s shoulders sagged and his manacles clinked as he buried his face in his paws. “Jahan,” he mumbled.
The lemur stepped back as Jahan stepped forward, and the marshal leaned toward the bosun. “They, um, they know each other?” he asked quietly.
Francois nodded. “The old man’s his uncle,” he said in the same quiet tone while he kept his eyes on the younger man.
The marshal nodded sagely. “Ah.”
Slowly the older tiger mastered his emotions. He straightened up, his natural eye blinking back tears before he rasped in Hindi, “I . . . I had prayed to Allah that you would be safe, only to find you wearing the uniform of our enemies – “
“You gave me into the paws of the French, Uncle,” Jahan said. “What was I to do? Beg in the streets?” The younger tiger’s tail swished back and forth in agitation. “Or sit in a golden cage and play with toys while my brothers tear their throats out and lacerate our nation?”
“But why – “
“You yanked me out of the harem as soon as Father was cold, and gave me to infidels,” Jahan growled, his ears laying back. “I had to find my own way, so don’t you dare say anything to me about ‘enemies,’ Uncle.”
The Agha glanced at Francois before shaking his head. “We shall discuss this later, Nephew.”
Jahan stiffened. “I’m not a boy any longer, Uncle – and since you brought up consorting with infidels, what are you doing sniffing English ass? How did they talk you into attacking the Maldives?”
The older tiger growled. “I am following my orders – “
“From which of my brothers?” Jahan demanded. “Or do you dance to an English tune now?”
Francois winced inwardly, and the red-ruffed lemur’s ears went back as the older tiger growled.
A growl that was immediately followed by the sound of flesh striking flesh.
Jahan stepped back as the Agha blinked and he brought one manacled paw up to touch the unaugmented side of his face where his younger nephew had slapped him.
The marshal nodded. “Yeah, they’re family, right enough.” He came out from around his desk. “Ensign?”
“Yes?” Jahan wasn’t taking his eyes away from his uncle.
“Please don’t hit my prisoners,” the marshal said, adding, “That’s my job.”
Jahan’s ears slowly rose, but his tail continued to twitch back and forth angrily. “Yes. I apologize, Sir,” he said in French. “I’m – I’m sorry for striking you, Uncle,” he said in Hindi to the older tiger. “Please forgive me.”
The Agha gazed at his nephew, his ears dipping as he finally said, “I forgive you, Nephew. I admit I was remiss. I should have tried to stay in contact after getting you away from Delhi safely.”
“But I will not apologize for the question. Why invade the Maldives?” Jahan asked.
The older tiger moved to cross his arms across his chest defensively but stopped as the manacles holding his wrists clinked. Reminded of his current predicament, he replied, “I am an admiral,” and his artificial tail rose up to point at where his rank insignia had been crudely cut off his uniform. “I followed orders.”
Jahan blinked. “Your tail’s shorter than I remember.”
“They took part of it.”
The younger tiger glanced at the marshal. “Why is part of his tail missing?”
The jailer shrugged. “I didn’t like the look of it. We found two knives concealed there.” He twitched his whiskers. “One was poisoned.”
“Poisoned, Uncle?” he asked the older tiger.
“It’s a fact of life, Nephew, that it is a dangerous world. Had your father lived, you would have come to realize that.”
“Probably, yes. So whose orders were you following, Uncle? Zahar, or Mahmud?”
The Agha looked away. “Zahar.”
Jahan nodded. “From what I remember of him it makes sense that he’d want you by his side. Why the Maldives?” As the older man paused, the young ensign turned to the marshal. “Could you bring a chair for my uncle, and some water?” The man nodded, and the older tiger drank deeply after he sat down. “Well, Uncle?”
“The British,” the Agha finally growled.
Francois kept his tail and whiskers still. He didn’t want the old man knowing that the red-ruffed lemur understood Hindi, but he was listening closely.
And wishing that he had the older tiger aboard the Temeraire, at two thousand meters’ altitude and out of sight of land.
“The British?” Jahan echoed.
The Agha nodded. “They’ve been licking your brother’s ears like the dogs they are, filling his head with tales of regaining the parts of the Empire lost to the French. Like the Maldives or,” and here he looked straight at Francois, “Madagascar.”
Francois held very still, while the tattoo on the back of his head burned.
<NEXT>
<PREVIOUS>
<FIRST>
Category Story / General Furry Art
Species Lemur
Gender Male
Size 120 x 97px
File Size 60.7 kB
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