Read The Curse of the Ice Serpent Online
Authors: Jon Mayhew
The Curse of the Ice Serpent
‘The names of those bold sailors thronged into his memory, and it seemed to him that beneath the frozen arches of the ice he could see the pale ghosts of those who never returned.’
Jules Verne,
The Adventures of Captain Hatteras
Contents
FIRE IN THE SKIES
‘It’s a flying machine,’ Dakkar said, his voice low with wonder. ‘It has to be!’
A distant, shadowy ball floated towards him and wings fanned the air on either side of the shape but, even from his vantage point at the top of the castle, Dakkar found it hard to pick out any detail. A faint crackling, like the spitting of fat on a hot frying pan, drifted from the shape.
‘Gunfire too!’ Dakkar murmured. He crouched beside the castle wall. It was called ‘the castle’ but Dakkar’s home was more like a fortified tower on the top of a cliff. Below him, seagulls wheeled and screamed over the waves that lashed against the rocks. ‘
Two
flying machines!’
Little puffs of black smoke erupted from one of the outlines in the sky. Two red-and-yellow-striped balloons floated closer. Dakkar could see baskets dangling below the balloons now. The ‘wings’ were made of material stretched between wooden poles that flapped back and forth, propelling the balloons towards the castle. The balloon nearest him appeared unarmed – or at least made no attempt to fire back. He snatched up a telescope that lay at his feet and peered through it with a gasp.
The attacker bore a black flag emblazoned with a letter C, encircled by a snake, a trident poking up behind it.
‘Cryptos!’ Dakkar hissed under his breath. ‘I should’ve known!’
Cryptos! The evil organisation run by Count Oginski’s brothers. They were hell-bent on ruling the world. Count Oginski, Dakkar’s mentor, had been part of the group once but had turned his back on them, sickened by their increasingly terrible deeds.
Now Dakkar could make out a figure huddled low in the basket of the nearest balloon. Bullets buzzed close to the wickerwork, sending fragments spinning off. The marksmen in the other craft were finding their range and would soon pepper the basket with lead.
Dakkar sprinted across the flat roof of the tower and into the doorway that led down to the top floor of the building. There by the door stood a rack of rifles – he grabbed one, plus some powder and shot. He hurried back to the roof, trying to pour powder down the rifle barrel as he ran.
By the time he reached the battlements, the balloons were overhead, drifting round the castle towards the sea. Dakkar fired at the Cryptos balloon, piercing it at the top. He grinned as the material ripped, letting hot air out through the rent.
The Cryptos Guard leaned out of their basket, trying to locate the culprit. Strong-looking men with fierce faces. Dakkar ducked behind the wall to reload. He popped out again and took a shot at the ropes holding the basket to the balloon. His bullet flew wide but clipped one of the men in the shoulder. A guard turned his rifle on Dakkar, the bullet pinging off the stonework close to Dakkar’s cheek.
Another shot rang out and Dakkar saw one of the Cryptos guards clutch his hand.
Dakkar grinned.
Georgia must have heard the shots and grabbed a rifle
, he thought. Georgia was Dakkar’s only friend apart from Oginski. She was the niece of Robert Fulton, the famous American inventor, and had saved Dakkar’s skin on two adventures now. The gun smoke from the ground suggested that she’d taken cover in one of the outhouses that nestled at the foot of the castle.
The Cryptos balloon swung and jerked on its ropes, sending it veering into the castle walls with a crunch. It floated away again and, as it did so, a rifle barrel poked out of the basket and a final shot cracked into the other balloon. The Cryptos balloon drifted further away and Dakkar sent a warning shot across its path. Georgia followed suit.
‘They’re getting away!’ Dakkar yelled down to Georgia, but horror replaced his excitement as he saw a flicker of flame lick up the fabric of the other balloon. This balloon began to fall, gradually crumpling in on itself.
Dropping his rifle, Dakkar hurried into the building and down the stairs. Leaping steps two and three at a time, he threw himself into the hall and outside.
The balloon lay on the open, grassy cliff top in a blaze of flames. Some distance away, the basket lay on its side. A figure scrambled out, dragging several heavy bags and sacks.
Georgia gripped her rifle, her red hair glowing in the light of the fire. She wore a simple cotton gown but didn’t seem to notice the chill wind blowing off the sea.
‘Good shootin’, Dax,’ she said, giving him a wink. She nodded at the man staggering towards them. ‘Looks like we got company.’
Dakkar felt his cheeks redden. ‘I wish you wouldn’t call me that,’ he muttered.
Georgia raised her rifle. ‘That’s far enough, mister,’ she said. ‘Now suppose you tell us who you are and I’ll decide whether or not to shoot you as a trespasser.’
Dakkar frowned at the portly man. Quite elderly, short and well fed, he looked the most unlikely aeronaut. His dark, curly hair and thin, waxed moustache suggested a city gentleman, used to comfort and fine living.
The man gave a short bow. ‘Forgive me, my dear,’ he began. ‘I did not mean to drop in on you so unexpectedly.’
‘Well, you did. So who are you?’ Georgia said, not softening her tone.
‘My name is Borys,’ said the man, giving another bow. ‘May I thank you for saving my life!’
‘You can thank me,’ Georgia said, her rifle poised. ‘Then you can tell us what you were up to in that balloon.’
‘The last time we saw a contraption like that,’ Dakkar said, stepping forward, ‘it carried a villain with poorer manners!’
‘Prince Dakkar,’ Borys said, bowing again with a flourish of his hand that made Dakkar feel he was being mocked. ‘It’s such an honour to meet you!’
‘How do you know who I am?’ Dakkar said, the blood draining from his face.
‘He knows you because he knows me,’ said a voice from behind Dakkar.
He turned and saw Count Oginski filling the doorway of the castle. The big man looked stern. He leaned on his walking stick and glared at the visitor.
‘Who is he, Oginski?’ Dakkar said, glancing from his mentor to the man.
‘He didn’t give you his full name,’ Oginski said, narrowing his eyes. ‘Dakkar, Georgia, meet Borys Oginski, another of my wicked brothers.’
RUMOURS FROM THE NORTH
Borys Oginski didn’t look as though he’d leapt from a burning hot-air balloon only a few hours ago. With growing confusion, Dakkar watched this portly, self-satisfied gentleman who was now sitting in Oginski’s lounge dressed as if he were attending a state ball. Wearing a rich woollen jacket and contrasting silk scarf wrapped around his thick neck, his hair was slicked with oil and his moustache waxed to sharp points. Unlike the tall, brooding Oginski, Borys was plump and jovial. His eyes twinkled and he looked as if he were laughing at some untold joke that only he knew.
How can he be related to Count Oginski?
Dakkar wondered.
Borys poked his finger through the bars of the cage that stood near the fire. ‘This is a strange pet,’ he said. The creature inside resembled a small featherless bird with leathery wings for arms and a long face split by a grinning mouth full of needle-sharp teeth.
‘It’s called Gweek,’ Dakkar said, reddening. ‘It doesn’t like the cold so we keep it in here. I acquired it on my last … expedition …’
‘It comes from the world below this one,’ Borys said, whipping his finger away from the snapping little beast. ‘The world that was ruled by our brother Stefan.’
Dakkar swallowed and stared hard at Gweek, who squawked and worried at the bars of the cage. Although Dakkar had been responsible for Stefan Oginski’s downfall, the ruler of the underworld was a cruel tyrant set on conquering the surface world with his monsters. Dakkar had been right to stop him but now Borys’s stare made him feel guilty.
‘You have a cosy hideaway here, Franciszek,’ Borys said, breaking the awkward silence.
Oginski’s face hardened. ‘Don’t get too comfortable. You aren’t stopping long.’
‘Franciszek, Franciszek, my brother,’ Borys said, shaking his head and making his curly, black hair wobble. ‘Is that the warmest welcome you can find in your heart?’
Yes, why
is
Oginski so set against this brother?
Dakkar wondered. How could this man be a threat? He was a stark contrast to the other two brothers Dakkar had met. Borys seemed soft, more concerned with comfort than anything else.
‘Yes – given that the last time we met in Paris you tried to poison me,’ Oginski growled. ‘You’ll forgive me if I’m a little guarded this time.’
Poison?
Dakkar had never heard this story. He knew that the Brothers Oginski had become villains of the worst kind after the Russians had invaded their land, killed their parents and burned their castle and estates. He’d heard the story of how they all vied for the affection of the beautiful Celina, leaving their beloved land on a quest in her name. They returned to find smouldering ruins and Celina gone. From that day on, they became pirates, mercenaries, killers and thieves, using their talents and knowledge to hit back at Russia wherever they could. This life hardened them and they began to lust for power themselves. And so the organisation known as Cryptos was formed, each brother calling himself Count Cryptos and all seven of them plotting to conquer the ruling nations of the world.
‘Ah, Paris,’ Borys said with a sad smile. ‘How glad I am now that we weren’t successful. I regret my old ways, Frank. I want to put the past behind us.’
‘A likely story.’ Oginski snorted, pouring himself a glass of port from the bottle Borys had helped himself to a moment earlier. ‘You and Tomasz would sell our grandmother to keep yourselves in the lap of luxury.’
