If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken

Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,

Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,

And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools:

Two alleged Malayans sat at a table. They didn't share much else – not age, not gender – and no observer would draw the connection… but 'Malayans' they were, even if one had two parents of European stock (unless you believed the Cingalese princess rumor), while the other had no parents at all.

Fisher thought he saw a hint of resemblance between Malaya and her siblings, even if they differed in complexion. The same smile, the same stubborn remnants of baby fat doggedly clinging on – not that they had ever been babes – and the same scowl when something hadn't gone their way.

(They had a similar look when seeing someone they admired, too. But perhaps that just made the feeling of having disappointed him worse.)

Hadn't gone their way indeed. Jellicoe not falling upon the Germans as they retreated… they didn't manage to draw any silver lining from Jutland other than the cubes. The thought of the advancement ten cubes might lead to didn't outweigh the embarrassment of Jutland. Years of work sent down to the bottom of the sea with very little to show for it…

But his fury at Jellicoe shouldn't be directed at the ships. Well, not the ship before him. Queen Elizabeth's spectacular insubordination at Jutland was almost universal knowledge (among those men who knew the secret) but her sisters each had merit to counter Elizabeth's performance, working like fiends to make up for their late arrivals.

Malaya wore gauze over the larger wounds she gained at Jutland, physical proof of that strange sympathy between her and the battleship. Despite Elizabeth's performance, he was as certain about cubes as he was about Dreadnought, when they first planned her. Naval history was split into before and after, and suddenly being on a nearly even playing field with the Germans meant they couldn't lose the race.

(That was a common critique when he first dreamt up Dreadnought. She was so revolutionary as to make all her predecessors obsolete. Cubes weren't quite that powerful, but when dreadnoughts came along Germany could catch up easier than if they were trying to close the massive gap of older battleships.)

If she wasn't a girl, she'd look the part of a bashful midshipman cadet before an officer. He had no authority over here, but his reputation proceeded him. She shifted in her seat awkwardly and reached for another sip of tea. She'd nearly finished the cup already. For what it was worth, Barham had been worse.

"You entered the fight around four?"

"Yes, sir. We began firing about as soon as we were in range. No hits to start with, likely due to extreme range, poor visibility… and lack of practice." She wilted.

As a younger man, Fisher had crusaded against a Navy that valued keeping a ship painted and polished over frequent practice for combat. They were old, caught up in restrictive tradition. Shipgirls were about as free from tradition as any rational being could be… and, unfortunately, they were limited by Rosyth.

If they hadn't moved down to Rosyth or if some training had been done when Jellicoe was away… things could have been different. They could have been different. (He had a feeling that the specter of Jutland would linger over all of them for long years.)

"Would you say that's the biggest reason behind our performance at Jutland?"

Malaya gulped and shifted in her seat again. Her eyes shifted from the floor on the left side of her chair to the right. "And there were… issues with command."

Issues with command indeed. Again, Fisher was struck by the feeling of sitting before an embarrassed child, although he had met grown men who were equally unwilling to admit their own faults when the moment came.

"For example?" He prompted. Most of the shipgirls had good heads on their shoulders, and Malaya's had the extra benefit of not being quite as swollen as her eldest sister's. Evan-Thomas was taking a shine to Valiant, or so the rumors said, although she seemed to have a similar ego problem.

(Ego problems? In the Royal Navy?)

"New Zealand and Lion lost their ability to signal back to Jellicoe…" For a moment, she shrunk a little further under Fisher's gaze, but after a moment of silence and a quiet gulp, she sat up straighter. "Our missing of the turn signal half past two. Elizabeth disobeying Evan-Thomas's order to leave Warspite." Malaya frowned. "Our turn to follow, afterward. We… should have checked with Evan-Thomas."

"Did you have reason to think Elizabeth was disobeying orders?"

"... No."

It was hard to blame Valiant, Barham, and Malaya for following Evan-Thomas' ship. There was no reason to think his ship wouldn't turn the way he wanted it to go until a few months ago. Some part of him almost shuddered to think of a woman with Beresford's attitude permanently attached to a ship. Hopefully, that would be counterweighed by an immunity to foolish politicking for the competent ones.

Even if word of shipgirls hadn't made it to London yet – because he was certain the news would spread, slipping into the papers some way or another – petty scheming by officers couldn't free a ship from a shipgirl. They had no precedent for such a thing, even if it seemed like Elizabeth's recent behavior might obligate such a thing being drafted.

For what it was worth, Malaya didn't seem like some tremendous thorn in the flesh. Perhaps she'd go on to ruin some officer, but for now… she, like her sisters, seemed to have potential. It would have to be nurtured, but Fisher knew that education was a key part of the formation of an officer. There was no reason to think shipgirls wouldn't need that sort of education to unlock their true value.

(And he suspected that their true value was great indeed, especially when it came to the girl in front of him. She could be great for the navy. If one son of a Cingalese princess had guided her true, perhaps a Malayan related to royalty…?)

"Based on your experience, do you suspect the presence of shipgirls on German craft?"

For a moment, Malaya was silent. "Absolutely, sir."

"Your evidence?"

"Indefatigable, to start with. It could be luck – it might have been, in part – but that sort of accuracy, from that range… feels like something we could be capable of. That is, I think it's the gunnery equivalent to a shipgirl managing to maintain her design speed, if that makes sense? I think we do our best near the edge of what's actually physically possible…"

If you can make one heap of all your winnings

And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,

And lose, and start again at your beginnings

And never breathe a word about your loss;

If anyone had doubts about German shipgirls, they were gone now. With enough effort, you could convince yourself their previous performance was just a matter of exceedingly skilled German gunnery and command, but those justifications all failed before the imperious sneer currently locked up in a cell.

After some discussion, it was decided it would be best to keep her near Scapa, where most of the Navy's shipgirls lurked. Transporting her secretly required no small amount of work, considering the woman's features – and her absolute unwillingness to cooperate – but they managed it. Now there was just the problem of actually getting information from the light cruiser Regensburg.

They tried to inform themselves as best they could before they talked to her. She had been recovered along with some of her crew, and while none of them went blabbing, they knew her. That was not to say that they were all terribly fond of her, but they were smart enough to realize they shouldn't go talking about her to the enemy.

If they learned anything from that and their first attempts at communicating with her, it was that she thought quite highly of herself. Any officer they sent her, regardless of rank, was ignored at best or actively prodded out with the tail at worst. They were fortunate she had mostly blunted the thing on her bedframe, which now sported more divots than a golf course.

Still, she could have useful information, so it was decided to send a 'peer' her way. She might condescend to 'mere humans' but to a shipgirl of the navy that had captured her…?

The door creaked open, and a head of long, blonde hair poked through. "Good evening, Regensburg." She didn't get a response, but she came inside anyway. Regensburg's eyes drifted to the tray she was carrying, and the woman grinned. "Hungry?"

Regensburg scowled at her, but the Briton wasn't discouraged. She sat the tray down on a table and beckoned Regensburg over. She kept sitting on her bed and tried to stop her tail from corkscrewing into the leg of her bed. She wasn't…

The woman frowned. "Is my cooking that bad?"

Regensburg blinked. "Your cooking?"

"My cooking," the woman confirmed. "And I suppose, if you're not interested, then it will be my meal…"

This… this was fine, wasn't it? Having a meal with this Briton wouldn't be conceding anything, because Regensburg was being served. She had the upper hand, didn't she? Slowly, she rose to her feet and took a seat before the woman.

She was, Regensburg supposed, rather handsome. Nothing she hadn't seen before in her comrades – red eyes were shockingly common in shipgirls, and her sister, Graudenz, had blonde hair that would shame anyone – but she supposed it made sense that British shipgirls weren't so different. … In looks! Surely, they had the same wicked, perfidious hearts the rest of their countrymen had.

The woman smiled. "You don't have to eat just to save my feelings."

"No self-respecting ship should be so invested in such a worthless hobby anyway," Regensburg scoffed, before quickly shoving a roll down her throat. Sweet and butter and soft… her tail tightened around a leg of her chair as she fought to school her expression. So good, without butter…? And look at that! Butter!

(Fat cats who worshipped business before virtue…)

"You don't waste your time with this sort of thing?" The Briton asked.

"Why would I? There are staff for that." She swallowed a portion of sausage. Marvelous. "What's your name, anyway? I might send for your talents again."

The Briton's eyebrow rose. "I'm His Majesty's battleship, King George V."

"And that name's supposed to impress me?"
"You're not impressed by a battleship?" George asked.

"Why would I be?" Regensburg asked. "We've a score of girls like you."

"A score?" George asked.

Regensburg swallowed another bit of sausage and smiled. "Well, discounting the Ösi."

George started eating at long last, perhaps a bit too swiftly. She didn't have the excuse of being half-starved. Regensburg smiled. She was certain this wouldn't be the last of their talks.

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,

Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch,

If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,

If all men count with you, but none too much;

Hood hadn't really believed in good air, she didn't think. Certainly, she was aware enough to recognize the negative impact of London on her breathing, and she didn't dispute the idea of bad air (in a non-miasma sense) but she didn't think that things could get much better than a gentle breeze and the sea air.

Marienbad proved her wrong. The mountain air was… something else. She breathed easier, she coughed less. She understood that concerns of geography and industry meant the whole world couldn't be filled with charming little towns like these, but a few more spa towns wouldn't hurt the world, she thought.

She was here due to a certain retired admiral's recommendation – she had to visit him in his sickness, right? She was a battlecruiser, and he was Fisher – although her condition seemed to be respiratory, not digestive. Hood was glad that she wasn't coming here for a case of dysentery. Fisher was an incredible man, but that was one thing she'd do best not to mimic.

Perhaps there was some silver lining for her condition in the soothing waters and clean air of this little Bohemian town. Bohemian land and a town full of German speakers… a few years ago, this would have been enemy territory, where an Englishwoman such as her herself would suffer tremendous suspicion, at the very least. She still received significant looks, but the heart of Europe was open to the English yet again – tourism from France and Italy was poor, for obvious reasons. Englishmen, Germans, and Austrians could all agree on condemning the madness going on in France and Italy.

That was part of why she was here, actually. Hood had come down to the Mediterranean along with several boatfuls of supplies, to express Britain's support for the Italian monarchy. The gallant fighters in Tuscany received arms and ammunition, and the Admiralty could see if a warmer clime helped her condition. Everybody won. (Except the British taxpayer who was funding her health trips…?)

Shaking her head, she continued to head to the spa they had booked. There was no use in wallowing in self-pity or wasting a trip that had already been paid for. Her responsibility now was to recuperate as best as possible and to make a good showing if anyone realized she was, in fact, the mighty Hood. She hadn't received the same press treatment Renown and Repulse had, so it was possible she might go undetected…

She squinted into the mass of people ahead of her. A few figures seemed to be bending over canes of their own, shocks of white hair floating above darkly varnished wood. Salt and pepper hair over there, a headful of magnificent red braids, and then brilliantly white hair, silver like a crone's but with the luster of a young woman's. The head of hair turned to reveal a streak of red – dyed? – and a pair of brown eyes.

Hood froze. She wasn't sure what it was, precisely. Animal magnetism? Some je nai se quoi born from the cube that made her? Their gazes met and Hood couldn't look away. Even if her vision turned the girl's features into soup, she knew that she was staring at a shipgirl. And she knew too.

Pushing through the crowd, the other shipgirl approached her. Silver hair with a streak of red, a… how do you say… generously filled k.u.k. Kriegsmarine uniform, and a retinue of escorts like Hood's. One of the Austrian battleships, almost certainly. She smiled broadly and took Hood's free hand in both of hers. "Guten tag! I hadn't been informed that we were having guests, much less British ones."

Her guards shifted uncomfortably, but Hood smiled regardless. "There was no plan to impose on your generosity, miss…?"

"Seiner Majestät Schiff Prinz Eugen, at your service." She laid a kiss on Hood's hand before releasing it. Not that Hood felt she could up and leave now. It would be rather unladylike to cut and run… not to mention vain, in all likelihood.

Hood planted her cane on the ground in front of her and leaned on it with both hands. "His Majesty's Ship Hood. It's an honor to meet you."

"An honor indeed," Prinz Eugen smiled. "It really is a shame you didn't tell of your arrival. We could have arranged something. A parade, perhaps? The people would have crowded to see you, surely."

"Oh, I wouldn't wish to make such a show of myself. People come to Marienbad for their health, not our sort of agitation."

Prinz Eugen gave her a once over, eyes lingering on the cane. "I understand the sentiment, even if it might be a bit of a lost cause now." Prinz Eugen caught the eyes of the crowd, and then their gazes drifted to Hood… "Perhaps we should find someplace more private?"

"If it wouldn't be an imposition…"

"You need to stop worrying about imposing, Hood. I don't think there are many men who would regret your imposition." She turned to one of her guards. "Karl, perhaps you can speak with the Lady Hood's guards? Get her bags to my hotel, if you would."

"Yes, ma'am." At the very least he knew English, so the matter was simpler…

Prinz Eugen turned away from the ensuing conversation, certain that the men would figure it out, and offered Hood her arm with a grin. "It would be my privilege to introduce you to Marienbad."

Hood clasped her cane. The public still didn't know much about her, and there was a non-zero chance that this Marienbad trip would be her 'debut'. Renown and Repulse needed weeks of coaching before theirs, but Prinz Eugen chanced upon her and complicated things. Still, it was her obligation, as a lady, to do her level best.

"Thank you." She took Prinz Eugen's arm and found that she too was possessed of that unusual strength many shipgirls had. More than strong enough to lean against, not that the thought appealed to Hood.

The two of them attracted… quite a lot of attention. (A lady should be modest, but she should also be honest when it came to simple facts. She and Eugen together drew far more attention then when they were apart.) Of course, both of them could go through the simple motions of smiling and waving. It wasn't supposed to happen… but she supposed the people could be permitted to bask in the glory of two warships today.

Eugen pointed out spas for treatment and salons where patients whiled away their time between them and guided Hood past glorious flowerbeds that bloomed in Habsburg (or Bohemian?) red and white, but she never actually introduced Hood to anyone. A small mercy there, and another when she leaned in to whisper "Do you need a rest, fraulein?" when Hood's speed began to flag.

Hood didn't particularly like the tone of that 'fraulein', but she did really need a rest. Eugen lowered her onto a bench and watched a fountain bubble as Hood struggled to catch her breath. Eugen made no comment, and Hood wasn't sure if the silence was necessarily better. She was capable of taking jokes.

"They were quite desperate to have me here, you know," Prinz Eugen said. "Shipgirl fever, and whatnot."

Hood caught an unfortunately wet cough in her handkerchief before responding. "And what, another showing up is your lucky break?"

"I just thought you'd like to know how much you can cajole out of the men here. A shipgirl's endorsement is worth more than you might think."

"But that would make me a rather poor guest, wouldn't it?"

Eugen chuckled. "My darling Hood, they'll bleed you dry if you don't."

"But I know all they want is money. I can't say the same for you." Hood responded.

"Is enjoying the presence of a refined lady not reason enough?"

"I wasn't aware I was such a commodity. Surely, you have ladies in Austria?"

"Millions of them, actually. But you must agree a Briton in Bohemia is a bit out of the ordinary."

"I'm here for health, Miss Prinz, not to be your curio."

She laughed.

If you can fill the unforgiving minute

With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,

Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,

And—which is more—you'll be a Man, my son!

This was inspired by reading the Fisher portions of Dreadnought. Originally, my thought was that Fisher would have direct involvement in each third but I toned it down to chatting with his fellow Malayan and being the person who recommended Marienbad to Hood.

I struggled to think of a good epigraph for this chapter, considering it was basically three separate stories, but I thought of Kipling and that brought me to if. It's a very stoic, stiff-upper-lip sort of poem which seems very fitting for Britain in Kaiser Lane. The Regensburg section was the roughest fit, but I eventually decided on the winnings-loss portion. Really, Regensburg is more likely to not talk about her losses due to ego than some great stoicism, but we also see the British (thru George) wondering how much of a risk they should take with their 'winnings'. Will George or the others manage to tease good information out of Regensburg before they play a lethal game of pitch and toss with the Kriegsmarine?

Malaya is a little milder than usual but that's due to A) being like one month old and B) being interrogated by Fisher, a person who she would probably have a lot of respect for. I think parallels between her and Fisher could be interesting – impassioned reformers (in two different senses ha) with a bone to pick with the traditional, stuck-in-the-past structures of the Admiralty.