Arabella of Mars(82)

“No explanation could excuse the abduction of a royal egg. But if he has kept it safe and warm, it may still be viable.” Khema contemplated her, considering. “You and your brother are very close, I know. If you can convince him to release the egg alive and unharmed, the siege will be lifted, the violence will end, and the Rukesh Kthari may be persuaded to spare his life.”

“All I ask is that you convey me to my brother.”

Khema thought for a moment, then clacked her mandibles in assent. “I will provide you with a storek—a mark of safe conduct—that can get you as far as the gates. Every thing beyond that is up to you.”

Arabella was both pleased and terrified at the prospect, but before she could manage to express her thanks another voice interrupted.

“I cannot allow this.” It was Captain Singh, his deep brown eyes fixing Arabella with a stern fatherly captain’s gaze.

“I must try to save my brother!” Arabella protested.

“And so you must.” His gaze, still fatherly, now softened. “But I cannot permit you to go alone. I will accompany you.”

“But sir!” protested Richardson. “The ship—!”

“The ship will be safe here, under the protection of Miss Khema’s people; the men I entrust to your care. I feel I owe a personal debt to Miss Ashby, for the services she did me while I was unconscious as well as for her advice and assistance today. I will accompany her to Corey House and provide any protection and aid I can in rescuing her brother and bringing this unfortunate incident to a close.”

Richardson seemed about to burst, but Stross laid a hand on the first mate’s elbow. “We’ll do well enough without him for a few days, sir.”

At that Richardson sputtered and deflated, then finally said to the captain, “Very well, sir, if you must.”

“I must,” said the captain, looking to Arabella, who was so overwhelmed that she could do no more than drop a curtsey in acknowledgement of his generosity. She hoped she was not blushing, but feared that she was.

Richardson took the captain’s hand. “Take care, sir, and return safe. The ship needs you.”

“I will do my best.”

Then Richardson bowed to Arabella, swallowed, and said, “Best of luck, miss.” A small smile then appeared upon his usually serious face. “Take care of our captain.”

Arabella, too, smiled in her nervousness. “I will endeavor to do so.”

Khema then clapped her hands together, with a noise like two sacks of coal colliding. “Very well, then.” She put her hands to her mouth-parts, then touched Arabella and the captain on the forehead. A cool moist sensation quickly dissipated into Mars’s dry air, leaving behind a strong scent reminiscent of cinnamon and horses. “This storek marks you as my emissary and should prevent you from harm by any Martian of sound mind. Do not wash or rub the spot.”

“Thank you, itkhalya,” Arabella said, and she and the captain bowed to her in the Martian fashion. “I will do every thing I can to resolve this conflict with honor for all.”

“I have every confidence you will, tutukha,” she replied, returning the bow. “You have already made me very proud.”

*

Arabella and the captain returned to the ship, where each of them packed a ditty bag with the necessities for a trip of some days’ duration. After one final exchange of instructions and best wishes with the officers and crew, they set off on huresh-back for Corey House, accompanied by three of Khema’s people.

But the captain’s inexperience at huresh-riding slowed them considerably, and by the time they drew within sight of the house—the lights in its windows far outnumbered by the fires of the Martians camped all around it—full dark had descended. Arabella’s escort halted their progress at a sheltered canyon just outside the encampment. “It would be foolish to approach an armed camp in the dark,” said the escort leader. “They might loose their arrows before we are close enough for the storek to be smelled. We should make camp for the night here, and proceed at first light.”

Not having come prepared for camping, they gathered and roasted hoktheth-roots over an open fire for their dinner, then lay themselves down on the huresh-blankets under the Martian stars.

Arabella lay awake for quite some time, staring up at the bright unwinking stars and worrying about what the morrow might bring. Tiny creatures chittered in the darkness; the fire crackled as it burned down; their escort, those who were not on watch, shifted and clattered in their sleep.

But the captain, she noted, was not snoring. She turned her head to where he lay nearby … and saw him sitting up on one elbow, looking at her, his dark eyes reflecting the fire’s embers.

“I have not slept,” he confessed.

“Nor I. I am too concerned about my brother.”

“All will be well, I am sure.”

“I wish I shared your confidence.”

He blinked, the two stars of his eyes vanishing for a moment, then said, “May I entrust you with a secret, regarding confidence?”

“Of course.”

“Bravery, as I am sure you are well aware, consists not of the absence of fear but in the taking of action as though the fear were not felt. Confidence, likewise, consists of the presentation of assurance as though there were no doubt as to a successful outcome. Such presentation, however false its origin, is remarkably efficacious in its effect both on others and on oneself.”