Arabella of Mars(97)

She sketched out the story quickly, knowing that the details would be filled in over many conversations to come, but despite the shocked expressions on the faces of Dr. Fellowes and Mr. Trombley, neither of whom had heard any of it before, she felt no need to either moderate or exaggerate her tale. She simply told it as it had happened. Michael’s reactions were quite satisfying, ranging from gape-jawed astonishment to hearty laughter.

“Privateers?” he gasped.

“Privateers,” she repeated, and went on to describe the battle in some detail.

Just as she was describing the ship’s arrival at Mars, a commotion came to Arabella’s ears from the corridor outside, followed by a knock at the door. Mr. Trombley opened it, to reveal the captain.

Suddenly she recalled the continuing danger of the Martians without, which she had quite forgotten in the excitement of her brother’s return to consciousness. But though she ached for news of the insurrection, the forms must be obeyed. “Michael,” she said, “please permit me to present to you Captain Prakash Singh of the Honorable Mars Company airship Diana. Captain Singh, my brother, Michael Ashby.”

The two men shook hands with great propriety. “I have heard so much about you, Captain,” Michael said. “I thank you for taking my sister on in your crew, though I must apologize for her deception as to her sex.”

“No apology is required,” the captain replied with a bow. “Her position was earned, and well-earned, with intelligence, skill, and bravery.”

“Please, sir,” Arabella interrupted, bursting with anxious curiosity, “what of the Martians?”

He paused. “Your, ah, Miss Khema, is in the entry-way, being too large to pass through the inner door. She says that the council of clans has met and, having heard and considered her entreaties upon our behalf, has decided to accept your cousin’s death as sufficient recompense for the egg’s abduction.”

At the words “your cousin’s death,” Michael’s face showed shock and sadness. “My cousin Mr. Ashby? He who saved my life in the fighting at Woodthrush Woods?”

“I am afraid so, sir. It was he who took the egg, which triggered the insurrection, and it was his confession and death which brought it to an end.”

“I should never have imagined him capable of such a thing.” Michael turned his pale, stricken face to Arabella. “Nor, of course, of imprisoning you.”

“He did,” she replied, “and much else besides.”

The captain cleared his throat and continued. “We are free to depart the house, and once the word has reached the rest of the Martians, the insurrection will be at an end.” He raised a finger. “However, Miss Khema acknowledges that considerable ill will has been raised, on both sides, by the recent violence. She invites you, Miss Ashby, to consult with her on matters of improving relations between the Martians and English, and to represent the English to the council of clans.”

Before Arabella could reply to this extraordinary invitation, Dr. Fellowes interrupted. “If we may depart this house, I believe we should do so, and the sooner the better.” A groan from the timbers above confirmed the urgency of his suggestion. “Though I fear Mr. Ashby may be in no condition to be moved, my fear of the house collapsing about our ears is greater still.”

At that Michael managed to lever himself up onto his elbows. “How did the house become so damaged?” he asked.

Arabella touched the back of his hand reassuringly. “We will explain later. For now we must put all our attentions on moving you to some safer place.” She paused, considering. “But where? Surely all of Fort Augusta is in ruins.”

“Woodthrush Woods,” Michael said, grasping Arabella’s hand. The very thought seemed to lend some strength to his tremulous grip. “Take me home.”

Dr. Fellowes frowned deeply at the prospect. “It is over two miles distant!”

“The Ashby house is in much better condition than this one,” the captain observed, “thanks to Miss Khema’s efforts. And she might be prevailed upon to aid us in transporting him.”

“We must move him there at once,” Arabella said to the doctor, then turned to the captain. “Give Khema my thanks for her invitation, but tell her that my brother’s health must take precedence for now, and ask for her help in moving him. After we are settled at Woodthrush Woods, I will consult with her as she requests.”

“I will do so,” he said, and with a brisk bow he departed.

*

After leaving the house, they waited on the road outside while Khema arranged for a huresh to carry Michael back to Woodthrush Woods. While the doctor inspected her brother’s dressings, Arabella looked back at Corey House.

The house, never beautiful, was now a collapsing ruin, so battered that in places it could scarcely be distinguished from the rocks on which it had been built. Even as she watched, a section of the roof fell in, sending a cloud of dust into the air. The landscape around it, too, had been demolished, pleasant paths and gazebos completely vanished beneath piles of rubble and thousands of Martian footprints. The Martians themselves were mostly departed, leaving only a few burnt patches on the sand, and the catapults with their pyramids of stones.

This place, Arabella knew, would be honored as a battlefield some day. For now it was nothing but a waste—a desolate waste of destruction and death.