I'd hold my road for a Kinga"

To the Triple Crown I would not bow downa"

But this is a different thing.

I'll not fight with the Powers of Air,

Sentry pa.s.s him through!

Drawbridge let fall, 'tis the Lord of us all,

The Dreamer whose dreams come true!"

Melville laughed in sheer delight to hear Fielder wield poetry on him. The first officer was, as usual, half mocking and half flattering, and always clever.

"We are destined to the back of beyond," Fielder continued, "where there is no possible duty but mail delivery and a lifetime of carrying borderline cargos. But I will follow. We may have a long dull life in front of us, but at least we have a life, and the story will continue. I've always hated short stories, and I've always had a soft spot for a good series."

And it will get you away from that crazy Sylvan ex-girlfriend of yours, thought Melville with a knowing smile. "Daniel, we are headed out to the frontier," he said, leaning forward intently. "The frontier. The wildest, most unknown, exotic part of the galaxy. We will find adventure and glory there!"

"d.a.m.n. I was afraid of that."

There, there was that grin again.

After Fielder left, Melville sat in his cabin, looking out the stern windows at the wonder of Flatland spreading out before him and the brilliant, vivid stars strewn above him. He had one hand on his dog, scratching behind its ear, and one hand on the white, Moss-coated bulkhead, faintly in commo with his ship. His monkey and his dog's monkey were in the corner chittering to each other and a.s.siduously hunting down some poor, tormented vermin.

He shook his head in wonder, still thinking about Hans and Broadax. To each his own, he thought. The contented panting of his dog blended into his mind, echoing in perfect harmony with the contentment he felt coming from his ship. To each his own. As for me . . .

I must down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,

And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by,

And the wheel's kick and the wind's song and the white sail's shaking,

And a gray mist on the sea's face and a gray dawn breaking.

I must down to the sea again, for the call of the running tide

Is a wild call and a clear call that must not be denied;

And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover,

And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick's over.

Poetry References

Chapter 1:.

An orphan's curse would drag to h.e.l.l . . .

"The Rime of the Ancient Mariner," Samuel Taylor Coleridge

Chapter 2:.

The fighting man shall take from the sun . . .

(and following stanzas)

"Into Battle," Julian Grenfell

I never shall forget the way . . .

"The Modern Traveler," Hilaire Belloc

Chapter 3:.

. . . The burning sun no more shall heat . . .

"As Weary Pilgrim," Anne Bradstreet

Chapter 4:.

Here dead lie we because we did not chose . . .

"Here Dead Lie We," A.E. Housman

There's a land that is fairer than day . . .