Michael was sitting up, drinking from a glass of water, as Arabella entered his bedchamber. “Michael!” she cried, and despite the presence of Dr. Fellowes and several others in the room she embraced him with heedless enthusiasm. A moment later she realized her mistake and drew back, fearing she might have damaged his already-injured body with an excess of zeal.
But her brother’s face, though ashen and sunken of cheek, showed nothing but pleasure at the sight of her. “My dearest sister,” he said, gripping her hand. His grasp seemed terribly feeble. “My dear Arabella. How I had worried about you!”
Michael’s voice was rough, hollow, and weak, but unmistakably, joyfully his own. It was a voice she’d feared so many times in the last few months that she would never hear again, and at the sound of it she was quite overcome with emotion. She sank to her knees at the bedside, still holding her brother’s hand. “Words cannot express my relief at your recovery,” she managed in a hoarse whisper.
“I am, you may be sure, astonished at your presence on Mars at all,” Michael said, “never mind here at Corey Hall. The last I had heard of you was a letter from Mother, which arrived on the last packet-ship before the insurrection. She said that according to cousin Beatrice, you suddenly ran mad and vanished into the countryside. Pray tell, how came you to be here?”
For a moment she hesitated—not knowing just where to begin, nor how much of her adventure she ought to share with him in his obviously still fragile state of health. But then she recalled the verve with which he’d raced across the dunes with her and Khema, and smiled. “I did not run mad,” she said, “let me assure you. Though I was exceedingly vexed.…”
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.”