Chapter 81: A New Thing Part 2

"Well then, permission granted." Paul met her at the top of the ramp. "I'm guessing you need your gear from your cabin. You know where it is."
Cal and Bundo packed up her clothes and the little rug in a duffle; it didn't take much time. She put sketchbooks in her satchel. The bottle of brandy from Captain Jenkins was still a quarter full. Cal picked it up, while Bundo shouldered the duffle and they returned to the deck.
"Captain." Paul stood at attention along with Joliu and Jorges. "I will call you Captain one last time," he asserted when she attempted to demur. He saluted her along with the others. Wherever you go, know the Kestrel and her crew will come if you call."
Cal returned their salute, then handed Paul the bottle.
"Drink this as a toast for me. I've said it before, but I'll say it again. You are the best-damned crew afloat."
She walked down the gangway and didn't look back.
***
The day after they'd returned to the city, Bundo drove Cal to the Naval Academy. He'd decided driving was a necessary skill to protect her, so Hans had taught him. He picked up driving as quickly as he had the duties of purser on the Kestrel.
"I don't know how long I'll be, so you might as well head home. I'll hire a cab."
"I'll wait." Bundo pointed across the yard to where a tree offered shade. "You live as if you are safe. I will live as if you are not."
"Very well. I can hardly hire you, then ignore your advice." Cal waved at him and climbed the steps to the imposing door. Guards in dress uniform stood on either side of the door, but she noted the worn hilts on their swords and the freshly oiled metal on their rifles. One of them nodded slightly to her as she stepped through the door.
She'd considered wearing her captain's uniform, but since she'd effectively resigned, it didn't feel right. The plain, tailored dress would have to do in its place. The only accent was the gold Royal Engineer pin the Crown Prince had given her.
The atrium echoed with voices, sounding like surf on the shore. Cal looked around for a logical person to speak to and spotted an older man sitting behind a desk. The worn heels of her boots tapped out a staccato rhythm as she walked across the marble floor, lavishly inset with a compass rose in the centre. The ceiling had a scene painted on it, but she wasn't about to stop and admire it.
"I was asked to stop in at the Naval Academy."
"What's your business, so I can direct you properly." The man looked up at Cal.
"I'm not sure. Captain Jenkins told me to come. He wrote a letter for me." She handed it to the man, who looked at it with wide eyes.
"I see." He stood up. "Follow me."
They walked along a hallway with paintings of ships in all kinds of weather. One caught Cal's eye.
"I didn't know anyone had done a painting of The Gates of Hell."
"HMSS Oberon. First Navy ship to travel through the Gates. When Captain Abrams retired, he took up painting. That's one of his."
"It's very good. He's captured the feel of the Gates." Cal pointed to the ship cresting a wave, water pouring off the deck. "We had a hard enough time with a steamship. I can't imagine passing through them under sail."
"Captain Abrams wrote a very descriptive passage in the ship's log. All officers in training are required to read it. He lost five men and very nearly sank more than once. His comments summarize the pain of losing men under one's command."
"It is painful beyond measure to find your imagined invulnerability doesn't extend to the men in your command. A healthy fear of death may save more than one."
"You've read the passage?" The man looked at her with renewed interest.
"A plaque on the bridge of a ship I didn't understand until too late." Cal put her hand on her heart and breathed slowly until the tide of guilt subsided.
"Come." The man turned away and walked along the hall to the first double doors. A guard stood outside them.
"He's got a few minutes free before the Admiralty meets. It's rumoured Himself is planning to be there so it will be a tough one."
"Thanks for the warning." Cal's guide held up Captain Jenkins' letter. "He'll want to see this one."
"Very well." The guard opened the door and announced them. "Chief Petty Officer Gallahad, with a guest. He says you will want to meet her."
"Fascinating." The baritone voice could have rattled the doors on their hinges. Cal got the impression the speaker constantly restrained its power. "By all means send them in."
Cal followed the Chief Petty Officer into a room which made her stop dead in shock. She'd expected more art, wood panelling, even luxurious furniture, but the large room was sparsely decorated and what furniture it contained was utilitarian. While she examined the room, her guide handed the letter to a man behind a large desk. He turned and left the room, giving Cal a slight nod on the way past. She shook her head and approached the desk. The man wore a working uniform as plain as his office, but his insignia indicated he held a high rank.
The man frowned slightly as he read Captain Jenkins' letter. Cal stood patiently waiting for him to finish.
"Why didn't you sit?" He put the letter on his desk.
"I wouldn't take a seat on a Captain's bridge without his permission."
"I think I see what Captain Jenkins was talking about." He waved at a chair. "Take a seat. Did Gallahad tell you whom he was taking you to see?"
"No, Sir."