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Sky Above, Sea Below
A Capital Ship sequel
© 2025 by Walter Reimer
Eight.
“I-I’m sorry, Bosun.”
Francois perked his ears at Jahan as he and the tiger headed back to their ship. “For what, Soor?”
Jahan had lapsed into a brooding silence after leaving the fortress, walking with his paws clasped behind his back and his striped tail whipping back and forth. “For losing my temper,” the young man finally said.
“It’s understandable, Soor,” the lemur said, “and you don’t have to apologize to me for it.”
The tiger nodded. “I also want to apologize . . . for what we did to your homeland.”
“That wasn’t you, Soor.”
“Still.”
Francois shrugged. “Forgiven, Soor.”
But not forgotten; never forgotten, he thought.
Jahan glanced at him. “Thank you, Bosun.” His and Francois’ ears went back as the Audace passed overhead at one hundred meters’ altitude with a roar of its rotors, headed out from its dock into the mostly clear sky. Two cranes were still towering over the Temeraire as its mizzenmast and port after rotor were replaced.
The tiger looked up at the cranes and sighed. “I wonder if the Captain will give any of us some liberty while repairs are ongoing. I’ve never been to the Anchor House,” and he turned toward Francois as the lemur smothered a laugh. “What?”
“Here you are, an officer – and a noble, to boot – thinking of visiting the bawdiest dive this side of Kaapstad,” Francois chuckled in a mock-indignant tone. “Aren’t you supposed to be an example of good morals to your crew?”
Jahan realized that the boatswain was needling him and smiled as he said, “I heard two ratings – devout Catholics, if their attendance at Mass is any sign – talking about the place. And I seem to recall it was you who first took me to Madame Orr’s House in Kaapstad.” He grinned at the memory. “I had fun.”
Francois was glad that the tiger’s first time with a woman went well. He’d paid out of his own pocket for the madam to supply the young tiger with a girl who wasn’t poxed. “Well, before we begin thinking about that,” he said with an exaggerated sigh, “I would recommend, with all due respect, that you report to the Captain.”
The younger man nodded. “Of course, Bosun. Business first.” He squared his shoulders as they made their way past the dockyard gate.
Captain Espinoza was waiting for them as they came up the gangplank, and the feline returned their salutes. “Were you able to get any information, Ensign?”
“Yes, Sir,” Jahan replied.
“Good. Get yourself cleaned up and in your best uniform. We’ll be conferring with the Governor. Off you go,” and as the young tiger ran off, the officer turned to face Francois. “Were you present for any of the questioning, Bosun Ntsay?”
“Yes, Soor,” Francois replied.
The feline met his gaze. “Then keep what you heard firmly to yourself,” he said.
Francois straightened to stand at attention. “Absolutely, Soor.”
“Good man.” Espinoza gave him an approving nod. “Doctor Mirabeau was looking for you earlier, so go below and see what he wants.” The feline nodded at him again. “Carry on.”
“Thank you, Soor,” and the red-ruffed lemur left.
“Ah, Bosun!” Doctor Mirabeau set aside the medical journal he’d been reading and smiled at the lemur. “I wanted to check your wounds, so take off your tunic and shirt and sit down.” The buck got to his hooves and moved around his desk as Francois complied, and Mirabeau examined the stitches in the lemur’s shoulder. “Feeling any pain from it?”
“A little,” the lemur admitted. It was always best to be truthful to the doctor.
“Hmm, no redness or swelling . . . move your arm about, please, hmm, yes, range of motion’s good,” Mirabeau murmured to himself. “Very good, Bosun. Now stand up and lean over the desk, please. I want to check the stitches in your tail.”
Francois suppressed a sigh as he obeyed. He hated anyone who wasn’t a woman touching his tail and felt very conscious of the fact that part of his tailfur had been removed so the shrapnel wound he’d received could be stitched up.
Mercifully the doctor realized this without being told, and Mirabeau stepped back. “You can get dressed, Bosun. Your wounds are healing, and you can return to duty tomorrow morning.” He abruptly wagged a finger. “But if you experience any pain or swelling, report to me immediately, understand?”
“Yes, Soor,” Francois said as he buttoned up his shirt.
The deer nodded. “Good man. Off you go,” and the lemur scooped up his tunic and left the cabin, headed for the galley. He wanted to get something to eat before going to his bunk to think.
Repairs to the Temeraire would be paused the next morning, and the ship would sail out of the harbor to conduct the funerals of those who’d died in the action against the British ship. The ship’s carpenter and sailmaker had assembled the platform and canvas bags for each of the deceased. But there’d be no weighted canvas for Captain de Ville and two sailors.
Francois crossed himself and prayed momentarily before tucking into the bowl of thick fish stew that the ship’s cook had prepared for the crew’s lunch. He paused midway through the meal as the gunner, Ratsiraka, took a seat across from him. “You all right, Francois?” the lemur asked.
His countryman nodded. “Thinking.”
“Heh. That’s why I don’t want your job,” Ratsiraka chuckled. “The guns are a lot easier, just point where the Captain tells you, and boom!” He thumped the table for emphasis and grinned at Francois’ grim smile.
“We sank two and chased three off,” Francois said after swallowing a mouthful of stew. “They might come back, so don’t let the guns get cold.”
“Hah! No chance of that.”
<NEXT>
<PREVIOUS>
<FIRST>
A Capital Ship sequel
© 2025 by Walter Reimer
Eight.
“I-I’m sorry, Bosun.”
Francois perked his ears at Jahan as he and the tiger headed back to their ship. “For what, Soor?”
Jahan had lapsed into a brooding silence after leaving the fortress, walking with his paws clasped behind his back and his striped tail whipping back and forth. “For losing my temper,” the young man finally said.
“It’s understandable, Soor,” the lemur said, “and you don’t have to apologize to me for it.”
The tiger nodded. “I also want to apologize . . . for what we did to your homeland.”
“That wasn’t you, Soor.”
“Still.”
Francois shrugged. “Forgiven, Soor.”
But not forgotten; never forgotten, he thought.
Jahan glanced at him. “Thank you, Bosun.” His and Francois’ ears went back as the Audace passed overhead at one hundred meters’ altitude with a roar of its rotors, headed out from its dock into the mostly clear sky. Two cranes were still towering over the Temeraire as its mizzenmast and port after rotor were replaced.
The tiger looked up at the cranes and sighed. “I wonder if the Captain will give any of us some liberty while repairs are ongoing. I’ve never been to the Anchor House,” and he turned toward Francois as the lemur smothered a laugh. “What?”
“Here you are, an officer – and a noble, to boot – thinking of visiting the bawdiest dive this side of Kaapstad,” Francois chuckled in a mock-indignant tone. “Aren’t you supposed to be an example of good morals to your crew?”
Jahan realized that the boatswain was needling him and smiled as he said, “I heard two ratings – devout Catholics, if their attendance at Mass is any sign – talking about the place. And I seem to recall it was you who first took me to Madame Orr’s House in Kaapstad.” He grinned at the memory. “I had fun.”
Francois was glad that the tiger’s first time with a woman went well. He’d paid out of his own pocket for the madam to supply the young tiger with a girl who wasn’t poxed. “Well, before we begin thinking about that,” he said with an exaggerated sigh, “I would recommend, with all due respect, that you report to the Captain.”
The younger man nodded. “Of course, Bosun. Business first.” He squared his shoulders as they made their way past the dockyard gate.
Captain Espinoza was waiting for them as they came up the gangplank, and the feline returned their salutes. “Were you able to get any information, Ensign?”
“Yes, Sir,” Jahan replied.
“Good. Get yourself cleaned up and in your best uniform. We’ll be conferring with the Governor. Off you go,” and as the young tiger ran off, the officer turned to face Francois. “Were you present for any of the questioning, Bosun Ntsay?”
“Yes, Soor,” Francois replied.
The feline met his gaze. “Then keep what you heard firmly to yourself,” he said.
Francois straightened to stand at attention. “Absolutely, Soor.”
“Good man.” Espinoza gave him an approving nod. “Doctor Mirabeau was looking for you earlier, so go below and see what he wants.” The feline nodded at him again. “Carry on.”
“Thank you, Soor,” and the red-ruffed lemur left.
“Ah, Bosun!” Doctor Mirabeau set aside the medical journal he’d been reading and smiled at the lemur. “I wanted to check your wounds, so take off your tunic and shirt and sit down.” The buck got to his hooves and moved around his desk as Francois complied, and Mirabeau examined the stitches in the lemur’s shoulder. “Feeling any pain from it?”
“A little,” the lemur admitted. It was always best to be truthful to the doctor.
“Hmm, no redness or swelling . . . move your arm about, please, hmm, yes, range of motion’s good,” Mirabeau murmured to himself. “Very good, Bosun. Now stand up and lean over the desk, please. I want to check the stitches in your tail.”
Francois suppressed a sigh as he obeyed. He hated anyone who wasn’t a woman touching his tail and felt very conscious of the fact that part of his tailfur had been removed so the shrapnel wound he’d received could be stitched up.
Mercifully the doctor realized this without being told, and Mirabeau stepped back. “You can get dressed, Bosun. Your wounds are healing, and you can return to duty tomorrow morning.” He abruptly wagged a finger. “But if you experience any pain or swelling, report to me immediately, understand?”
“Yes, Soor,” Francois said as he buttoned up his shirt.
The deer nodded. “Good man. Off you go,” and the lemur scooped up his tunic and left the cabin, headed for the galley. He wanted to get something to eat before going to his bunk to think.
Repairs to the Temeraire would be paused the next morning, and the ship would sail out of the harbor to conduct the funerals of those who’d died in the action against the British ship. The ship’s carpenter and sailmaker had assembled the platform and canvas bags for each of the deceased. But there’d be no weighted canvas for Captain de Ville and two sailors.
Francois crossed himself and prayed momentarily before tucking into the bowl of thick fish stew that the ship’s cook had prepared for the crew’s lunch. He paused midway through the meal as the gunner, Ratsiraka, took a seat across from him. “You all right, Francois?” the lemur asked.
His countryman nodded. “Thinking.”
“Heh. That’s why I don’t want your job,” Ratsiraka chuckled. “The guns are a lot easier, just point where the Captain tells you, and boom!” He thumped the table for emphasis and grinned at Francois’ grim smile.
“We sank two and chased three off,” Francois said after swallowing a mouthful of stew. “They might come back, so don’t let the guns get cold.”
“Hah! No chance of that.”
<NEXT>
<PREVIOUS>
<FIRST>
Category Story / General Furry Art
Species Lemur
Gender Male
Size 120 x 97px
File Size 57.2 kB
The ship’s carpenter and sailmaker had assembled the platform and canvas bags for each of the deceased. But there’d be no weighted canvas for Captain de Ville and two sailors.
We know Monsieur le Capitaine had his body committed to the deep rather unceremoniously. May I assume something similar happened with the two ordinary seamen as well?
We know Monsieur le Capitaine had his body committed to the deep rather unceremoniously. May I assume something similar happened with the two ordinary seamen as well?
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