Nation

wearing a sort of birdcage. At least, that’s what it looked like at first sight. Closer to, he could see that it was a fine metal framework with a thin gauze around it. The person inside walked in a shimmering cloud of disinfectant.
    “Sir Geoffrey?” said the captain, just to be sure, as the man began to walk slowly up the glistening gangplank.
    “Indeed, Captain. I’m sorry about this outfit. It’s called a salvation suit, for obvious reasons. It is necessary for your protection. The Russian influenza has been worse than you can possibly imagine! We believe the worst is over, but it has taken a terrible toll at every level of society. Every level, Captain. Believe me.”
    There was something in the way the chairman said every that made the captain hesitate.
    “I take it that His Majesty is…isn’t—” He stopped, unable to force the rest of the question out of his mouth.
    “Not only His Majesty, Captain. I said ‘worse than you can possibly imagine,’” said Sir Geoffrey, while red disinfectant dripped off the bottom of the salvation suit and puddled on the deck like blood. “Listen to me. The only reason the country is not in total chaos at this moment is that most people are too scared to venture out. As chairman of the line, I order you—and as an old friend, I beg you—for the sake of the Empire, sail with the devil’s speed to Port Mercia and find the governor. Then you will—Ah, here come your passengers. This way, gentlemen.”
    Two more carriages had pulled up in the chaos of the dockside. Five shrouded figures came up the gangplank, carrying large boxes between them, and lowered them onto the deck.
    “Who are you, sir?” the captain demanded of the nearest stranger, who said:
    “You don’t need to know that, Captain.”
    “Oh, don’t I, indeed!” Captain Samson turned to Sir Geoffrey with his hands open in appeal. “Goddammit, Chairman, pardon my French, have I not served the line faithfully for more than thirty-five years? I am the captain of the Cutty Wren , sir! A captain must know his ship and all that is on it! I will not be kept in the dark, sir! If I cannot be trusted, I will walk down the gangplank right now!”
    “Please don’t upset yourself, Captain,” said Sir Geoffrey. He turned to the leader of the newcomers. “Mr. Black? The captain’s loyalty is beyond question.”
    “Yes, I was hasty. My apologies, Captain,” said Mr. Black, “but we need to requisition your ship for reasons of the utmost urgency, hence the regrettable lack of formality.”
    “Are you from the government?” the captain snapped.
    Mr. Black looked surprised. “The government? I am afraid not. Just between us, there is little of the government left at the moment, and what there is is mostly hiding in its cellars. No, to be honest with you, the government has always found it convenient not to know much about us, and I would advise you to do the same.”
    “Oh, really? I was not born yesterday, you know—”
    “No indeed, Captain, you were born forty-five years ago, the second son of Mr. and Mrs. Bertie Samson, and christened Lionel after your grandfather,” said Mr. Black, calmly lowering his package to the deck.
    The captain hesitated again. That had sounded like the start of a threat; the fact that no actual threat followed made it, for some reason, quite discomfiting.
    “Anyway, who do you work for?” he managed. “I like to know who I’m sailing with.”
    Mr. Black straightened up. “As you wish. We are known as the Gentlemen of Last Resort. We serve the Crown. Does that help you?”
    “But I thought the king was—” The captain stopped, not wanting to say the dreadful word.
    “He is dead , Captain Samson. But the Crown itself is not. Let us say that we serve…a higher purpose? And to that purpose, Captain, I will tell you that your men will get four times their usual pay for this trip, plus ten guineas a day for every day under the record for the run to Port Mercia, plus a further one hundred guineas on their return. The promotion prospects for every man and officer on board will be much improved. You, Captain, will of course receive enhanced payments as befits your rank and, since we understand your plan is to retire shortly, the Crown will certainly wish to show its gratitude in the traditional way.”
    Behind him, Sir Geoffrey spoke and coughed at the same time: “cough knighthood cough.”
    “I’m sure Mrs. Samson would like that,” said Mr. Black.
    It was like