“Well, sir,” replied the purser, leaning against the railing in his brown robes, “I think I can show you better than I can tell you. Valandil, if I may use your dog as a demonstrator?”
“Certainly,” replied the ranger, looking down at his dog with mild bemusement.
Petreckski dropped down on one knee and patted the dog on the side. “Cinder, I need to show the captain your teeth, please.”
Cinder, thought Melville to himself, her name is Cinder. Why didn’t I know that?
The Sylvan dog looked up at Petreckski in amiable compliance, as the purser peeled back her lips and showed the captain her teeth. “Do you see this lower right canine tooth?”
“They named the Ship after a fang?”
“No sir, not a fang, although they have a specific word for each of the four fangs, two upper and two lower. Actually, the Guldur have a very specific word for every single tooth in their head. Their teeth are very important to them. Do you see the little gripper teeth in between the two lower canines?”
“Yesss . . .”
“Well, sir, the second one from the left is what this Ship is named after. Apparently this whole class of Ships has each been named after one of these little gripper teeth.”
“Hmm, I don’t think that we can name our Ship ‘Her Majesty, the Queen of Westerness’ Ship, the Second Little Gripper Tooth in from the Canine.’ Since we only have one of these Ships, instead of a whole class of them, I propose that we shall name her Fang. Does anyone see a reason why this would be a problem?”
“No sir,” responded Mr. Barlet, the gunnery warrant, “but that still leaves open the class of Ship she represents. I think that the cannonball these big guns fires is close to a 24-pounder, so may I suggest that we call her ‘Her Majesty, the Queen of Westerness’ 24-Pounder Frigate, Fang.”
“Very good,” responded the young captain with a smile, “and so it shall be!”
Of course, he didn’t have the authority to take this action. It would have to be approved by the Admiralty. When the time came his actions would be judged, and his only real defense would sound something like, “Hey, it followed me home. Can’t I please keep it?” But right now, what other option did they have?
“Chips,” Melville went on, looking at his carpenter, “at the end of the day watch I intend to go down and talk to the Ship. Would you be so kind as to come with me then?”
“Aye, sir,” Mr. Tibbits replied. He appeared benumbed, still in deep shock and mourning from the loss of Kestrel. It reminded Melville of an Edgar Allen Poe poem,
For, alas, alas, with me
The light of life is o’er!
“No more—no more—no more—”
(Such language holds the solemn sea
To the sands upon the shore)
Shall bloom the thunder blasted tree,
Or the stricken eagle soar!
Truly something ancient and magnificent had been lost. The stricken falcon would soar no more, no more. She was lost to mankind, and lost to the Kestrel’s old crew. But Tibbits had been in close daily telepathic contact with the Ship for many long years. For him it was like losing a spouse, a soul mate. Only the duty of coordinating with this new Ship seemed to be keeping him afloat.
“Now, gentlemen, there is one more task I want to take care of before we begin our first full day watch aboard our new Ship. A happy task. I’m going to give Midshipman Archer and Midshipman Crater field commissions to acting lieutenant. Lieutenant Fielder will have the night watch and I will take the day watch. Each of us will now have a lieutenant to command the lower quarterdeck, while we command the upper deck.”
Melville looked at the two young men. Jarad Crater was a tall broad-shouldered lad with an open grin and a scraggly wisp of beard on his chin. He’d seen Crater in action and the boy was very good, but he still managed to communicate an image of gangly awkwardness. Buckley Archer was a slender lad of average size, with brown hair, and elegant red sideburns and goatee. He carried himself with an air of self-confidence and poise, but there was always an underlying note of wary concern. They were both academy graduates and extraordinary young men. They were fully proven. Given their skills and the current circumstances, Melville felt completely justified in giving them field commissions.
“Lieutenant Archer. Lieutenant Crater,” he said, looking them each in the eye and shaking their hands as he said their names. “My congratulations to both of you. You understand that this commission may not be approved upon our return to Admiralty authority, but regardless, it will look good on your records.” They both nodded their stunned reply.
“My friends,” he continued, looking at his officers, “now we must replenish the ranks of our midshipmen. Look for ship’s boys that you can nominate to be midshipmen. Give me your suggestions at the end of the watch. We’ll put them right to work and begin training them immediately. When we get the chance, we’ll nominate them for the academy.”
Melville looked around at his officers and could see that they were thinking about the young men under their command. “We should also draw from our seamen and perhaps even our petty officers for midshipmen. Most of you know that I began my career as a seaman and a young petty officer, before being selected for the academy. Mr. Fielder also spent some years as a seaman before being selected as a midshipman and then receiving a field promotion to lieutenant. I think,” Melville continued with a grin and a glance at Fielder, “that we can agree that some quality officers can come from the ranks.”
Melville looked at young Midshipman Aquinar. He could guess the boy’s thoughts. Archer and Crater were promoted to lieutenant. Midshipman Faisal was in the hospital and Midshipman Chang was dead. Aquinar was now the senior midshipman.
The monkeys had developed a habit of stretching out their accordion necks and placing the top of their heads on their master’s shoulder so that their upside-down face was now right-side-up. Perhaps this was an attempt to look more like their friends, or simply their impish sense of humor. The result was that it appeared as though a small, second head was growing from your shoulder. Now Aquinar’s monkey was doing that, and it was mildly disconcerting as both heads looked at their captain with wide eyes.
“Mr. Aquinar, you are now the senior midshipman. The midshipman berth will be empty except for you, but it will fill up soon. Some of them will be quite a bit older than you, but I expect you to remain in charge. If you need any assistance, don’t hesitate to ask any of the officers.” Both heads looked at him and both nodded in solemn, silent understanding.
Melville looked over at his own monkey’s face. It was resting on his shoulder just like Aquinar’s, and he could swear that its right-side-up face winked at him as it also nodded.
” . . .” Blink. ” . . . Yes, well, then let us get to work. This is the beginning of day watch. Mr. Crater, you take command of the lower quarterdeck. Mr. Aquinar, you’ll be assigned to assist the carpenter in his duties; tomorrow you’ll have a new crew of midshipmen to break in. Mr. Fielder, Mr. Archer, you have the night watch, we’ll see you in twelve hours. Sleep well.”
Melville stood and rejoiced in his first full watch as captain. He stood beside a young helmsman, who stood at the Ship’s wheel. Under the watchful eye of the quartermaster, the boy was looking carefully across the maindeck, keeping the Ship on course by keeping the bowsprit pointed at a specific star. Melville still ached, but his body was young, as was his soul. Body and spirit seemed to be working together, in spite of his wounds, to find some enthusiasm for his duties.
At the beginning of the watch they’d measured the Ship’s speed by heaving the log. Melville, as the officer on duty, stood holding a timer. He said “Go,” and turned over the small half-minute glass. The “log” consisted of a small piece of Keel attached to a line, since anything other than a Keel wouldn’t remain in two-space but would sink into interstellar space. On his command the quartermaster threw the log off the back of the quarterdeck. The log hit the sea, bobbed once and began to recede into the distance as the Ship sailed away. A young quartermaster’s mate stood holding the reel as the line raced off, marked periodically by knots in the cord. When the last grain of sand ran out of the tiny glass, Melville said, “Stop,” and the young sailor stopped the cord.