A Children's Tale (10 page)

The sailor snarled and got to his feet with a murderous look at O'Fallon. The badly wounded quartermaster spit at the mercenary then limped forward. He swung his stool but his wounds betrayed him as he missed. He fell hard from two sound punches on his bullet wounds that immediately started to bleed. The sailor then grabbed a broken shard of wood as long as a man's arm, and walked over. He stood over the quartermaster, a nasty sneer on his face, and raised the shard of wood for a killing blow. 

Before he could stake O'Fallon into the ground, an ear-splitting roar made the sailor look up. The next moment, a brownish-black wiry, snarling mass of fur, teeth and claws shaped remarkably like Angela Von Patterson slammed the villain from his feet. He fell hard into the dirt, his makeshift weapon skittering across the dirt far beyond his grasp. The man screamed in terror and tried to run, but it was little use. Angela landed in a crouch, cast a quick concerned look towards O'Fallon, then an ugly one back to her prey. She roared again, leaped forward, bounced off the wall of a building and landed in the path of the escaping sailor. He skid to a stop and swung a savage, terror-driven punch at her head, which missed. She grinned and threw herself at him, pummeling the sailor and venting days upon days of pent-up terror and rage.

At the clearing, Hunter struggled to his feet, hissing in pain at the burn from his wounds. He had taken one step towards Angela and O'Fallon when something heavy immediately slammed into his back, nearly bending him backwards in two. The captain fell hard to the ground, devoid of air. He coughed, wheezed, then gasped, but could not get his breath. Rough hands jerked him onto his back. Suddenly, RiBeld was kneeling over him, punching him in the face.

Each punch slammed Hunter's head against the hard, packed ground. Once Hunter was dazed, RiBeld eased up and reached over for his knife that lay on the ground. 

"You were supposed to find the children and then have the good grace to be too stupid to defend yourself when we attacked, then die!" RiBeld growled, his temper far outstripping his aloof, cold veneer. 

Hunter tried to blink through the fog in his mind before he grinned ghoulishly through cracked and bloodied lips. "Or perhaps ... you are just that inept?"

Seething with rage, RiBeld backhanded the captain of the
Brass Griffin 
and shifted his weight to pin Hunter's arms down. Because of the poor angle and the wounds both men suffered, he was only partially successful in trapping Hunter's right arm, but not his left. The mercenary captain jabbed down with the blade. Hunter managed to catch the cloth of the man's sleeve with his clockwork hand inches before the sharpened tip of RiBeld's knife could pierce skin. Gears protested at the abuse, but nonetheless held firm. 

RiBeld glanced at Hunter, then Hunter's clockwork hand. "I'll dare say you'll lose more than a hand this day. You have been a right proper boil on my backside! One that I intend to lance!"

"Since ... you've already failed to do so ... why would you be ... competent enough ... to do it now ... Sirrah?" Hunter wheezed between gasps for air, struggling against the slowly descending knife.

"Your crew is lost. Your ship has been sent burning in the aether. You're just delaying the inevitable! Children and Heroes ... they die all the same! Alone!" 

Explosions filled the air with fire and noise. The ground shook and buildings trembled while a screaming, tangible terror raced like a wild animal through the dirt streets of the village and into everyone there. Two buildings at the outer edge of the village had collapsed in on themselves as steaming grapeshot rained hot deadly metal on mercenaries and Yeti alike. Overhead, RiBeld's airship moved closer, her gunnery crews already preparing for another volley.

"Your people!" Hunter exclaimed incredulously while he struggled to keep the knife from his throat.

"Are... expendable! Any that are intelligent enough to find a way to survive I'll promote immediately." RiBeld answer him coldly. "You're lost. There's nothing left! Now why won't you and your cheap heroics die!"

The second volley fired upon the village. Immediately, that explosion of fire was followed by a second, then a sharp crack of lightning. Above, a bloom of fire erupted on one side of the massive airship. In shock, RiBeld and Hunter looked upwards, their own fight forgotten for the moment. There, rising behind and to the side of the mercenaries now-burning airship, the glint of the waning sunlight shone on brass and steel as the
Brass Griffin
 soared up and around. Her lightning cannons fired, and high pressure salt water - powered from an airship's pump and charged by her store of batteries - tore huge gouts in the larger vessel's dark, nearly black hull. What the deadly lightning spared, the smaller cannon, filled with hot scrap metal shards, did not.

Using the momentary distraction, Hunter shifted to the right and let RiBeld's knife fall just beside his neck. He then changed his grip and latched onto RiBeld's wrist with his clockwork hand. The artificial fingers tightened, then locked into place with a dull grinding of tiny, protesting gears. Somewhere, deep within it, a spring popped angrily free with a sharp twang.

"Because Sirrah ..." 

The captain squeezed his metal fingers and twisted. A series of pops, like wet sticks being broken, echoed in the air while arm bones just above the right wrist snapped cleanly in two. RiBeld's eyes and mouth went wide and his face ashen. He wanted to scream, to cry out. Pain clutched at his throat and refused him a single sound. The man struggled frantically, which allowed Hunter enough room to get a leg free. He savagely rammed a knee into RiBeld's groin with a angry growl.

"We're not nearly done!"

M
ushrooms of fire vomited from the mercenary's airship with each new cannon blast from the
Brass Griffin
. Hot, bitter smoke burned the air as explosions reached out with fingers of flame. They brushed - but never quite touched - the swift
Griffin
that screamed alongside its larger prey. Aboard her the crew cheered like madmen at each successful volley, exuberant at being able to pay back the mercenaries for just a little of the pain they had caused.

Krumer leaned on the railing to peer out at the larger craft after another explosion rocked both ships. "Damage report!"

A gunner raised his goggles and ran an appraising look over their large target. "She's burning hard, Mr Whitehorse! We surely caught'em wit' their trousers about their ankles!"

Krumer nodded in agreement. A savage grin brushed across his face, accented only by the wild spark that danced behind his eyes. Despite his usually calm demeanor, it was at moments such as this he felt the encouragement of ancestral war drums in his ears, calling him to battle. "Very good! Any other sign?"

"Aye! Fightin' below! These buggers are still trying ta butcher and barrage the village! Men, women, they're sparin' nothing!"

"Damnable monsters," Krumer growled. "They'll pay for each pain they give!"

Unaware of Krumer's comment, the gunner continued, "They're at it tooth and nail... and... Ah see the Cap'n! He's givin' some 'ristocrat what for!"

"It'll be RiBeld! Its gotta be who the Cap'n has got his hands about!" Tonks shouted.

Cheers deafened Krumer's attempt to reply, and eventually he gave up and let the crew have their moment. Fortunately, the impromptu celebration lasted only briefly. He moved to where he could face most of the main deck from the stairs that raced up towards the quarterdeck.

"Right then! If the Captain's below in the mix of this, we'll need to lend him a hand!" The first mate looked over his shoulder towards the wheel where Tonks stood. The pilot was like a statue. He stood, legs braced and hands firmly on the wheel, with a look of hard stone.

"Mr Wilkerson!" Krumer shouted.

"Aye!"

"Make for another pass!" Krumer ordered, and looked down the line of cannons and crew. For the non-lightning cannon, the two person crew rushed to pour more scrap metal into warm, copper bound iron cannon barrels. Once loaded, the tethers for each were pulled to drag the cannon back into place. On the lightning cannon, while similar in outline, the process went much more differently. Their 'ammunition' was a hose and a set of insulated wires. The hose snaked off to a modest sized storage tank and the wires to a set of barrel-shaped batteries. The only delay was to wait for the charge to build up in the capacitors between each discharge of lightning.

Krumer shouted again, "Goggles down! Ready the cannons to fire at will! Find me the neck of that bloated beast! I want her taken to ground!"

The cheers and shouts of encouragement drowned out any further orders from the first mate. Not that they were needed - the crew knew their job well. On the quarterdeck, Tonks grinned and spun the wheel hard to the right. As if in answer, the
Griffin
's bow rose and an angry howl of wind rushed through her rigging while she turned, ready for another slice at her prey.

The
Griffin
turned to face the rear of the mercenaries' craft and leveled out for another pass. A hum quickly rippled through the air along the main deck while the lightning cannon powered up. Rapidly, gunners loaded the normal cannon while a shout rose above the din. What with the noise it was a wordless cry, but the tone was understood. The cannon were ready to fire. 

In rapid succession, flashes of light as bright as the sun erupted from each cannon, capable of turning the blackest night to the brightest day. Peals of thunder, like the wordless roar of an angry lion, shook the air with a force that could be felt like a physical push from a giant hand. With each crack of thunder came the rush of water and creak of wood as the deck beneath each cannon protested at being bent just slightly out of shape. Directed by the salty stream, bolts of electricity - each powerful enough to illuminate the village below - reached out like electric claws from the starboard side of the 
Griffin
to rake another deep wound in RiBeld's ship. Explosions of wood and powder stores filled the air with heat and smoke. Undaunted, the
Griffin
sailed through, emerging from the other side like some angered phoenix rising from the flames. Behind her, a massive, burning gash had been savagely ripped in the mercenaries airship where a handful of cannon had been.

The
Griffin
's crew cheered again, but the cheer was cut short as a pair of harpoons pierced the hull and tethered her to the larger airship. Rigging and framework shrieked in protest just before the mercenaries turned their own cannon skyward. Suddenly, the
Griffin
was hammered once, then twice by volleys of grapeshot from the remaining cannon. The ship shuddered at the impact, scattering many of the crew from their feet and across the deck, battered and bloodied.

Despite wood splinters that flew through the air around him, Tonks held his stance at the wheel through the barrage. Near him at the stairs to the quarterdeck, Krumer likewise managed to keep his footing. The first mate looked down the twin lines of rope attached to the harpoons in horror as he saw a strong pair of steam-powered winches slowly drawing the
Griffin
closer. Beyond the winches, those of RiBeld's crew not operating the cannons brought up bundles from below. These were unwrapped so that swords, pistols, daggers or rifles could be handed out.

Krumer's own hand dropped instinctively to his waist to feel for his pistol while he shouted, "All hands! Cut those lines and repel all boarders!"

Far below, fires from the initial bombardment still burned angrily at ruined buildings and foliage. Smoke turned and swirled while Yeti and mercenaries fought for control of the village. Slowly, the Yeti had begun to gain ground. In the clearing, Hunter released his metal grip on RiBeld's ruined wrist and shoved him aside. The mercenary leader whimpered in pain, then slowly rolled toward a nearby pistol, insane anger and agony in his eyes. 

Hunter struggled to his knees, his vision slightly blurred from pain and sweat. There was movement a few feet away to his left. He wiped the sweat from his eyes in time to see RiBeld. Immediately, the captain reached for his pistol, but remembered too late that his holster was empty. He looked around and saw a pistol lying on the ground no more than four feet from him. As Captain Hunter started to lunge for it, he saw RiBeld raise his gun from the ground where he lay.

"No, oh no. You will not." RiBeld said in a pain-wracked, hoarse voice. "You will remain where you are, Sirrah. When I kill you, I shan't want to miss this time."

Hunter looked again at the pistol only four feet away. At that moment, it might have been four hundred for all the good it could do him. He tried to swallow but found his throat dry as sandpaper from the harsh mix of smoke, cold air and burning buildings. The captain sighed and kept his hands at his waist in plain view. "Answer a question for me then, Sirrah."

"Why should I bother?" RiBeld snarled.

"As you hold a gun on me, it would be the request of a condemned man. If that's not enough, then simply why not? You've nothing to gain or lose by answering one question." 

RiBeld considered that a moment then slowly, painfully slowly, shifted to kneel on one knee. A smug, superior smile slowly crept over his face. "For a condemned man, I would grant your request. I am willing to allow you at least that in your last few moments."

Hunter's jaw clenched slightly. "You're too kind. My question is simple. Why my crew? Why were we so important in all this?"

RiBeld shrugged. "Two reasons. First, you did come highly recommended as both reliable merchant marines and privateers. Von Patterson felt you and your lot could locate the children among these forsaken mountains. Once their bodies were returned, there would be an outcry. Inquiries would be made. The Royal Navy is not stupid, as you well know, Sirrah. So a villain would be needed. Someone the Royal Navy would have little trouble in suspecting of ill-doing. Who better than one who was once one of their own. Namely you."