Prologue

 

Out there in the Universe there are millions of stars, some just like our Sun. Tens of millions of planets exist, thousands probably supporting life similar to that on Earth. It is unlikely that their life forms will be identical to that on Earth, but in some cases it may well be very similar.

 

 

Chapter One

 

Panting, he came jogging up the steps to the quarterdeck, doffing his felt cap as he arrived. "Third Lieutenant Rambone, sir!" he said in crisp fashion.

"You took your time," the commodore replied, in his usual sarcastic manner.

He knew that there was an element of resentment on Commodore Oatker's part towards him. There were two principal gripes that the commodore laid at Rambone's feet, not that either of them were really any of his doing. The first was that the galleon, Magdor, had no separate captain serving under the commodore so he was required to undertake those duties in addition to commanding the squadron, the king's parsimony having cut back on that additional officer. The second thing that rankled was that Jace Rambone had been quickly promoted, he only eighteen, his mother being a favourite at court, whereas the commodore's own son still languished as a midshipman at the age of twenty-two. Another thing that had now upset the commodore's disposition was that two nights ago the storm had scattered the three galleons and no sight had since been had of the two forty-gunners, Pintor and Tigor, which were accompanying them.

"I was checking the bilges, sir. The ingress is no worse than yesterday and the pump will discharge it in two hours," Rambone said, putting his hat back on his head.

"Some of the planking really needed replacing before we sailed. But of course the king wanted us to make haste." The first lieutenant restated what he had said on several other occasions.

They had sailed three months ago, intelligence having advised the king that three vessels of the Ligurranian navy had sailed to the Silesian Ocean, it thought in a search for undiscovered lands. There was an uneasy truce between Bativia and Ligurrania, the two empires constantly eyeing the other with suspicion, each fearful that the other may gain some advantage.

"I did not call you all to the quarterdeck for discussions on the galleon's condition, gentlemen," the commodore said, raising his hand and pointing to beyond the prow. "What do you make of that? I've never seen anything like it in all my forty-four years at sea."

Jace and the other officers turned and faced ahead. Several things now registered with him. There was not a hint of wind but a strong current was moving the galleon forward at something like four knots. Many of the crew on the upper deck were also craning their necks, taking a look, most muttering in awe or fear. And there, filling the horizon, he spied a bank of fog. But it was not like any fog he had ever observed. For as far as he could see, running north to south, was what looked like a huge white cumulous resting on the surface of the sea, the height of it soaring high into the clear blue sky. The huge disc that was the sun shone brightly in the north, they being in the southern parts of the Silesian Ocean, and its heat did not appear to be dissipating the cloud one little jot.

"By all that's sacred, what is it?" the first lieutenant said, turning a deathly white. "Mariners have always said this ocean is enchanted by demons and sea monsters." He was well known for his many seafaring superstitions.

"Fear not, First Lieutenant, I and my men will protect you," the pompous Major Diascus said, he the commander of the soldiers that were onboard the Magdor.

"Well that's as it maybe, but unless the wind returns we are going straight into it so let us hope that it does not obscure some reef or sunken island," the commodore said. "First Lieutenant, get the leadsman to the prow and double the lookouts. Tell them to keep their eyes and ears open. And, double the men on the wheel."

"Yes, sir," the first lieutenant replied, clicking his heels together before setting about his task, barking out his orders.

"Second Lieutenant, get the boats uncovered and made ready. In case they have to be launched in an emergency."

"Yes, sir," the second lieutenant responded, stepping away briskly, yelling, "Coxswain! Make ready the boats!"

"Major, tell your men not to impede the crew as they sail the galleon as best they can. And, as for you, Rambone, tell the gun crews to ensure the ports are covered as we don't want any sudden turbulent sea we might encounter pouring in."

"Yes, sir," both replied in unison, each setting off towards a separate set of steps.

Jace was soon bawling out his instructions, telling the crew how to prepare the lower decks for any unexpected emergency. It was rather ridiculous, he reckoned, he telling seasoned hands what they had to do, they knowing far better than he. All his training had taken place in home waters and on the Inland Sea. He had never been on an ocean before but he had so desperately wanted to come on this exploration that he had begged his mother to use her charms and persuade the king to appoint him to the Magdor. After all, even though Commodore Oatker might well be obsessed by his own importance and did not particularly like him the man did have a justifiable reputation for being a great seafarer and fighter so Jace knew that if anyone was going to lead them to glory it was surely him.

Within two hours the thousand-ton galleon was engulfed by the strange cloud, everything eerily quiet, even the men for some reason speaking in whispers. The forty-eight gun Magdor had left her home port of Gravelotte with a crew of one hundred and fifty plus four hundred soldier whose main function was to man the cannon during any battle. Scurvy, accidents and the odd age-related death had since taken fifty-one to watery graves. The last to go was the young cabin boy who went yesterday having dropped a round-shot on his foot a week or more back and had subsequently developed gangrene. Other than that, Jace reckoned that those onboard were in reasonable health and spirits, nothing that a supply of fresh fruit and vegetables would not quickly fix.

The Magdor drifted on the strong current throughout the rest of the day and all of the night, it heavily cloaked by the billowing cloud. By dawn he was convinced they had travelled at least one hundred miles engulfed in this white shroud. The current, that was conveying them, was, if anything, getting stronger, moving them at five or six knots. It was noon when the galleon emerged from the wall of cloud, the sun shining down on them briefly, it not long however before they ran into a wet mist. The breeze at last arrived, it blowing from the south. It, combined with the current, took them rapidly northwards.

"Land off the starboard beam!" Jace heard the lookout in the crow's nest shout.

He dashed to the upper deck and scanned hard through the driving drizzle. All he could see was an occasional glimpse of a rugged coastline and towering grey-green mountains, their peaks capped with white. None of their charts gave any clue what land this might be. In fact, nothing was indicated as being known for a couple of thousand miles or more in any direction. The commodore therefore decided to cruise northwards and see if they could discover some safe anchorage so they could reconnoitre. The decision to go north was not really voluntary - the current and wind gave them very little choice. All day and through the night they continued on their heading. During the hours of darkness the commodore gave orders for most of the sails to be furled, the current on its own now moving them at five knots.

Jace had just awakened from his night's slumber, ready for his early morning watch, when there was a very loud - "CRUNCH!"

The galleon lurched violently, swinging Jace in his hammock wildly. He needed no explanation. Scrambling out, putting on his breeches, he dashed down to the hold, buttoning up his shirt as he went, calling, "Boatswain! Boatswain! Follow me!"

His and the Boatswain's worst fears were quickly confirmed, twenty feet of the starboard side planking had been cracked, water gushing in. "We'll have to get her beached quickly, sir, otherwise the pressure will stove her in," the boatswain advised, looking grave.

"Do what you can. I'll go and tell the commodore," he said, starting up the ladder. "Man the pump! Man the pump!" He yelled towards a dazed-looking gaggle of the crew, but to no one in particular.

When he arrived on the quarterdeck the commodore was busy buttoning up his coat, issuing his orders. "Second Lieutenant, hurry up and get those boats towing us into that inlet."

The crew had already launched the longboats and were now busily manning them. As for the galleon it appeared to be caught in an eddy, turning slowly around and around. Yet again there was no wind, the sails merely flapping. The sky was a perfect early-morning blue with not a cloud in sight.

It took Jace a moment or two to see the gap between the hundred-foot cliffs that the commodore was referring to, it currently dead ahead of them. "We need to beach, sir. The boatswain reckons much of our side is in danger of giving way."

"I thought as much. Now go and get dressed, Third Lieutenant," the commodore instructed, pointing to the fact that Jace was in his stocking feet and without his jacket and his sword. "First Lieutenant, order the gun ports opened and the cannon loaded but not run out! Tell Major Diascus to get his musketeers to their stations, just in case we should encounter any hostiles!"

Jace dashed back to his little cabin and put on the rest of his uniform. Quickly back on the quarterdeck, he leaned over the side to get a better look. The launch and the longboats had already towed them through the narrow entrance into what proved to be a mile-wide estuary. He guessed it stretched inland something like some seven miles. It was bounded on both sides by precipitous, densely-wood, hills. He could see a long sandbar where the river entered the tidal area, and that was clearly where they were heading. With his hand shielding his eyes, he scanned about, noting there was no sign of habitation or people.

Upon instruction, he went below and took up his battle-station on the upper gun deck. He now had to glimpse the outside world through an open starboard port and as a consequence his view was very restricted. As the Magdor got closer to the sandbar he heard the keel scrape the bottom and then it came to a juddering stop. It was then he noted that another dense mist was springing up off the water, he unable to see more than forty feet.

No sooner had he pulled his head back inboard when he heard someone somewhere outside the galleon screech, "Eeeyah-aka-aka!"

It was quickly followed by what sounded like hundreds of voices issuing forth similar cries. Poking his head out again, he was astounded, the sky momentarily blackened by a barrage of flying arrows. In addition, there were hundreds of scantily clad women racing across the sandbar, they all appearing to be carrying assegais.

Dashing to the larboard side, he looked out through a gun port, seeing scores and scores of canoes in the water below each with four occupants similarly attired and equipped. He was confused, women in the civilised parts of the planet did not fight, but it was his duty to assume the worst. Turning back inside, he shouted, "Prepare for boarders!"

He had hardly got the words out when war-painted faces appeared at eight or nine of the gun ports opposite, their owners swiftly slithering through the openings, jabbing furiously with their stabbing spears. Other such women followed, more still now coming in through the larboard ports, he having to step back sprightly to avoid being skewered. Yet more were coming down the amidships companionway. All the time these women were repetitively shrieking, "Eeeyah-aka-aka!"

Their skin gleamed with a coating of some type of oil, they not appearing to have as yet broken into any sort of sweat due to their efforts. As for Jace, he was perspiring from the shock and from an uncomfortable feeling - these fighters were extraordinarily aggressive

"BANG!" Someone obviously fired one of the lower decks culebrina, the ships timbers shaking a little. "Bang!" a quarterdeck falconete had been fired. That sound was instantly followed by the noise of half a dozen matchlocks being discharged. There was an eerie silence for a few seconds, everyone seeming to stop dead in their tracks, uttering not a sound. It gave him just enough time to draw his thin-bladed sword.

"Eeeyah-aka-aka!" - "Eeeyah-aka-aka!" - "Eeeyah-aka-aka!" Three attackers screeched as, eyes wide, nostrils flaring, their teeth snarling, they charged at him, jabbing the points and then the butts of their assegais at him. He backed rapidly towards the stern companionway, but at least a dozen similar women were now prancing down it. Several sprang at him like infuriated cats, knocking him off his feet, the shafts of their weapons pummelling against his stomach, chest and arms. He was soon overpowered, arms wrenched behind his back violently, wrist painfully tightly tied. Two of his assailants dragged him to his feet and bundled him up the companionway. Battered and bruised he may be, his pride dented by having been overpowered by women, but he noted he was at least in a better condition than the boatswain, he having been stabbed two or three times.

Up on the top deck all seemed to be chaos, most of the crew appeared to have been overpowered, scores of these women apparently everywhere. Some had blood on their spears, some had it on their bodies, but there seemed to be no let up in their enthusiasm for a fight. He was forced to the side and practically hurled down the gangplank, someone having run it out. Tripping, he tumbled to the bottom, landing with a thump on the fortunately-soft sand of the sandbar. Sprawled there for a second he suddenly realised that there was no longer any hint of the mist, the bright blue sky no longer hidden.

Women with round shields and assegais pulled him to his feet, looping a noose made of plaited leather strips about his neck, it, along with forty-nine more, were in turn attached to a long rawhide rope. No sooner was the noose tightened, preventing it from being easily pulled off over his head, than a women holding a fancy knobkerrie instead of an assegai shouted, "Mush!"

"Mush! Mush! Mush!" twenty guards yelled, several of them also cracking fearsome leather whips.