Cloud Walker, All Fools' Day, Far Sunset (20 page)

It was a beautiful day; a day for strolling among the downs and marvelling at the secrets of nature. It was a day for riding, or for painting, or for grinding corn, or for beating a ploughshare in a forge. It was a day for creation, not for destruction. And yet … And yet there were times when it was necessary to destroy before one could create …

‘How do you feel, Aylwin? Are you warm enough?’ Kieron had made him put on a sheepskin coat, realising that it would be cold work when they rose a hundred or more metres into the sky.

‘I am warm, Kieron. And you?’

‘I also. This day we shall strike a great blow.’

Aylwin shivered. ‘It is that thought which makes my heart cold, though my flesh be warm. Shall we succeed?’

‘You have my word. If Kentigern and Isidor can get us to true windward, you have my word.’

‘And if they can not?’

‘We shall strike another day.’

But things went well. Things went well until they came within two
kilometres of Little Hampton. It was there that they encountered the first of Admiral Death’s outposts. It was not greatly manned – a dozen men, no more.

The foot soldiers advanced and attacked the outpost. Bows and crossbows against muskets and crossbows. Seventeen men of Arundel fell in destroying twelve of the freebooters. And they could not destroy them before a fire signal was sent.

Kieron called down to Kentigern. ‘We have not much time. Leave the road and strike west. We must be to true windward.’

‘We must attend to our wounded,’ called Kentigern.

‘No time. Leave the road. Leave a few men if you must, but ride west.’

‘Damn you, Kieron. You do not have a bolt in your body. Can you hear their cries?’

‘I can. Ride west. Waste no time.’

‘I will not.’

‘Then you are a fool,’ said Kieron. ‘If you do not ride west, I will rain the fire on you that I hoped to rain upon the freebooters.’ He lighted a torch from a brazier and held it close to one of the oil-soaked bales that hung from the side of
Mistress Fitzalan’s Revenge.
‘Do you hear me?’

‘I hear you. Damn you for ever, there will be a reckoning.’

‘There will indeed,’ said Kieron tranquilly. ‘Ride west.’

Kentigern shouted a command. The remainder of the foot soldiers – no more than seven or eight – stayed with their fallen comrades. Kentigern and Isidor turned their horses and cantered across a field of burnt stubble. There was a high hedge at the end of it.

‘Leap it!’ called Kieron. ‘The balloon will give you lift!’ He signalled to Aylwin to pump bellows at number one while he pumped bellows at number four. The charcoals glowed, the balloon strained. The horses that Isidor and Kentigern rode took a leap of nearly two metres height almost simultaneously. Both landed fair.

Aylwin and Kieron had braced themselves. The balloon, and the boat suspended under it, had begun to sway rhythmically as Kentigern and Isidor took to the fields; but the movement was not jerky, the ropes tightening and then slacking somewhat to accommodate the motion of the horses. Even when they took the two-metre leap, the only sensation experienced by the aeronauts was one of smooth rise and smooth fall.

Kieron kept his eyes on the vessels at Little Hampton, now plainly in view but still about two kilometres away, since Kentigern and Isidor were riding parallel with the coast. He saw also that a group of horsemen were already coming at speed towards the outpost that had been destroyed.

‘Hurry,’ he called down. ‘The freebooters send horsemen. Hurry and take us to true windward.’

Kentigern, red-faced and angry, looked up. ‘How much farther, madman?’

‘Stop about the middle of the next field. I will test the wind.’

The next hedge was not so high. The horses took it easily.

It must be, thought Kieron with elation, the strangest sight ever seen in Britain: two horsemen drawing a hot-air balloon above and behind them like a monstrous kite. Two horsemen drawing a hot-air balloon from which was suspended a boat containing two young men and their weaponry – all that the seigneurie of Arundel could put against the might of Admiral Death.

He laughed aloud.

Aylwin regarded him anxiously. ‘What is it, Kieron? If there is something at which I may laugh, tell me. I would greatly value the ability to laugh now.’

‘Look at those ships.’

‘I have looked. They are formidable.’

‘Now look at us.’

Aylwin looked. At the balloon, at Kieron, at the boat and its contents, at the horsemen below. Miraculously, he, too, began to laugh.

‘Kieron, my friend, you were insane for conceiving this venture, and I for consenting to it. You are right to laugh. We are absurd.’

‘Not absurd, sublime.’

Aylwin sighed. ‘It is a great day for dying.’

‘No, my friend, not for us. It is a great day for destroying.’

‘I read death.’

‘I read destruction.’

‘Well, babblers,’ called Kentigern, bringing the horses to a halt. ‘Are we to windward?’

Kieron let a fragment of paper fall from the boat. It drifted towards Little Hampton as it fell. It drifted towards the cluster of vessels, but not to dead centre.

‘To the edge of the field, Kentigern.’

Kentigern swore and spurred his horse. Isidor kept perfect pace with him.

Again Kieron let a fragment of paper fall. It drifted true before it reached the ground. Only let the wind hold, he prayed. Only let it hold steady for a half-hour, no more.

He called down to Kentigern: ‘We have arrived at the spot, Kentigern. Thank you. Thank you for giving me this day.’

Kentigern looked up, shielding his eyes against the sun. ‘You are a fool, Kieron, but a brave one. I know not if you are touched with greatness or with madness. Farewell.’

‘See to Petrina, if—’

Kentigern held up a hand. ‘Fear not, boy.’ Then he said with a strange formality: ‘She shall be as my daughter, and I will spill blood in her defence. This I swear.’

‘Then I am in your debt for ever.’ Kieron signalled to Aylwin. Together they unhooked the rope. The balloon rose.

Isidor put his hands to his mouth. ‘Good hunting, shark of the sky. Eat many freebooters this day.’

The balloon rose, stretching and straining almost like a living thing. For the last time, Kieron looked at the horsemen below and waved. They seemed tiny men sitting upon tiny animals. They seemed like strange insects, earthbound.

Then he gave his attention to the vessels at Little Hampton. The vessels towards which
Mistress Fitzalan’s Revenge
slowly drifted, in an eerie, windwashed silence.

For a moment or two, it seemed as if the entire world was a frozen tableau, the only movement being that of the hot-air balloon as it continued to drift and rise slowly. Toy ships lay ahead, toy horsemen were held to the earth below. Kieron experienced a great surge of confidence and power, rejoicing in the silence, the smooth and beautiful movement, rejoicing that he was now free in the element for which he had been born.

Aylwin broke the spell. ‘More charcoals, Kieron?’ he called anxiously.

Kieron’s mind returned to matters practical. The balloon, he calculated, was already at topsail height and still rising, the drift was slow – no more than a fast walking pace. If the breeze did not stiffen, the balloon would reach Admiral Death’s flotilla in ten or fifteen minutes.

‘No, Aylwin. The heat balance is good. Let us put our main set of grapnel ropes overboard. Pay out about twenty metres of rope and make fast. Then check that your fire-bales are ready for casting off.’

Four grapnels, two from the stem and two from the stern, were lowered. The ropes swayed in the breeze. The iron claws of the grapnels glinted in the sunlight. Kieron hoped to engage the grapnels in the rigging of the ships, using them as a temporary anchor.

‘My fire-bales are ready, Kieron.’

‘Mine also: Is your torch to hand?’

‘It lies at my feet … Are you afraid?’

‘Yes, I am afraid. But I am also happy. No, happy is not the right word. Eager – perhaps that is the word.’

‘I am greatly afraid. You should have chosen a braver man.’

Kieron smiled. ‘I chose well … They cut off your hand, Aylwin. They did unspeakable things to those we love. Remember that.’

‘You give me strength.’

‘You have your own strength. This day we two shall give a great accounting. Does that make you feel better?’

‘It makes me feel like a god.’

Kieron laughed. ‘Truly, then, we are as gods. Only men strike from the land or the sea. We strike from the air.’

The balloon drifted inexorably closer to the vessels at Little Hampton. Kieron saw much activity upon their decks. Puffs of smoke appeared at their
gun ports; but the guns could not be elevated high enough for their cannon balls to come near the balloon.

‘See,’ said Kieron, ‘they panic, they waste black powder.’

‘Soon we shall be in musket range.’

‘Then let us have more height. Let us see their musketeers shoot into the sun.’

More charcoals were fed into the braziers. Kieron and Aylwin used their bellows. The balloon climbed.

Now the cluster of vessels was no more than a hundred metres away. Again, Kieron estimated the rate of rise, the the rate of drift.

‘Lower the grapnel ropes another fifteen metres.’

‘Ay, ay.’

‘Make ready to engage.’

‘Kieron?’

‘Yes, Aylwin?’

‘Ludd bless you for giving me this chance.’

‘Say no more. Act only on my command. We are about to burn vermin.’

Two of the grapnels caught in the rigging of a vessel lying close between two others. But the pull of the wind took
Mistress Fitzalan’s Revenge
away from the vertical, so that directly beneath Kieron there was nothing but water.

‘Haul in the grapnel ropes,’ he shouted. ‘We must be above the deck.’

Aylwin tried to haul in. So did Kieron. But the lift was too strong.

‘Quench a fourth part of number one brazier, and I will quench a fourth part of number four.’

They took flasks of water and poured sparingly round the charcoals. Again, there was the temporary lift as the hot steam rose. But after a few seconds they were able to haul in the grapnel ropes. Meanwhile, freebooters had begun to climb the rigging, and musketeers on deck were shooting at the shark of the sky.

Kieron looked down and saw the men climbing the rigging to free the grapnels and the men on deck shooting with their muskets. He did not care.
Mistress Fitzalan’s Revenge
was now directly above the vessel she had attacked.

‘Two fire-bales!’ shouted Kieron hoarsely. ‘Two from me also.’

He and Aylwin lighted their torches from the braziers and put fire to two oil-soaked bales as they released them from their hooks.

In a great shower of sparks and flames and oil, the bales fell down to the deck, one of Aylwin’s fiery missiles carrying two freebooters from the rigging with it. Their screams died with two dull thuds as they hit the deck, one of them falling directly into the flames.

The binding of the bales broke upon impact and the burning remnants
scattered upon the deck. The smoke billowed high, and the freebooters drew back in panic; but there were those also who had already begun to organise a bucket chain to quench the flames. Kieron sent two goatskins of whale oil after the bales. His aim was good. One of the goatskins burst on top of an already substantial blaze, rivulets of fire running across the wooden deck. Two or three of the freebooters, caught by the fierce heat, jumped overboard. The other goatskin exploded upon an open hatchway, leading a trail of fire deep into the ship.

There was pandemonium below. No longer did any of the freebooters attempt to bring down the shark of the sky with musket fire. They were too busy trying to extinguish the raging flames, or trying to save themselves. More and more men jumped overboard.

Kieron, looking down, was satisfied that the vessel was doomed. Now was the time to see to the safety of
Mistress Fitzalan’s Revenge.
The heat was so intense that burning fragments of straw were whirled aloft in a fierce up-draught. It would be absurd if the hot-air balloon were destroyed by its own weapons.

‘Release the grapnel ropes!’ he shouted to Aylwin. ‘When we are free, lower the next set. The wind will give us one more vessel.’

The grapnel ropes were released, and the hot-air balloon rose suddenly. The lightening of the load in
Mistress Fitzalan’s Revenge
had given it great buoyancy. It soared up from the stricken vessel, like a bird set free. It was necessary for Kieron and Aylwin to completely extinguish two braziers to bring the balloon down to the level of the next vessel’s rigging.

They had only two grapnel ropes left. The next vessel was a hundred metres away, direct to windward. It was the largest vessel in the flotilla. It carried a flag on which was the gilded emblem of a death’s head. Kieron felt a brief surge of pleasure. This second vessel, the only other ship he could hope to attack, was the flag ship. He prayed that Admiral Death would be aboard.

The hot-air balloon drifted towards it, amid a hail of musket fire. Musket balls penetrated
Mistress Fitzalan’s Revenge
and the still taut fabric of the shark of the sky. But neither Aylwin nor Kieron was hit. The two grapnel ropes swayed ominously in the breeze. One of the grapnels caught in the rigging.
Mistress Fitzalan’s Revenge
swung crazily.

The crew of the flag ship had learned much from what had happened to the other vessel. Many armed men were already in the rigging. Some paused in their ascent to fire hand guns, but with little hope of hitting the two attackers swinging in their frail craft thirty metres higher than any freebooters could climb; while others, more intelligently, sought to reach the grapnel and cut it loose before any more could be attached.

Kieron saw that there was little time left. ‘The bales! Drop all the bales.’ He shouted. ‘Aim for the highest men.’

Aylwin saw the danger, and understood. He and Kieron put torch to the remaining six bales and sent them hurtling down. Aylwin’s aim was good. He seemed to have the knack of it. His first bale slithered and bounced down the rigging, leaving burning straw and burning rope in its path, causing two men to jump into the sea to avoid it. His second bale carried away a man who had almost reached the grapnel rope. Man and bale fell to the deck together in a starburst of death and fire. Kieron’s first two bales were less successful, one missing the vessel completely as
Mistress Fitzalan’s Revenge
swung in the wind. The other falling clear to the deck, but where it fell there was no fire to be seen, the flames, perhaps, having been extinguished in the manner of its descent.