A Children's Tale (12 page)

Hunter limped closer. "I may have had the 'snot kicked out of me' but from this distance, Sirrah, I shan't miss any part of you I wish to put a large hole through before you raise that rifle. How dearly do you wish to suffer pain today? I'm in a right royal mood to assist."

With a sigh, the lookout tossed the rifle a good six feet from him into the snow. Captain Hunter smiled to the man.

"That's much better. Now, if you two gentlemen will excuse us, we'll be on our way."

Once aboard, Captain Hunter limped behind the wheel and throttle controls for the boiler. Moira looked over the steam engine, turbine, boiler and all the fittings. 

"Lines be lookin' fair and fit. We can be castin' off. Just let me at the wheel and ah'll take her up."

"I've the wheel. See if this thing has an opti-telegraphic or something close aboard."

Moira hesitated a moment. Hunter raised an eyebrow. 

"Problem, Ms Wycliffe?"

Moira stepped back and shook her head. "None at'all Cap'n. Checkin' for that Opti now."

She turned to look while the longskiff lifted abruptly from the ground. Angela joined Moira in searching. 

"Isn't he too hurt to do that?" Angela asked in a whisper.

Moira nodded slightly. "Quite likely so. But he's got that look in his eye."

"What look?"

Moira looked cautiously at Captain Hunter, who did not notice, then shook her head just slightly. "Oh sweet peach, it be a look o' fire and brimstone in his eye. He set himself ta guardin' the two o' you and that RiBeld went and spit all over his honor by takin' ya brother among whatever else he said. Now he'd be chasin' RiBeld across Purgatory with a wet stick and a bucket o' sand till he be gettin' yer brother back." She gave Angela a reassuring smile. "Ah've seen him take four bullets and keep goin' till his job be done. If'n anyone can be gettin' yer brother back, it'd be him. Now, lets be findin' that Opti."

The pair searched what few components and controls that surrounded the boiler and steam engine itself. Finally, Moira pointed at an inset panel on a box that seemed out of place next to the boiler steam gauge. "Here, turn that knob." 

Angela did so and suddenly the air was filled with Miles' panic-stricken voice. 

"Hello? Hello? I know this works. I made it work. Someone's gotta hear me."

"Miles!" Angela screamed at the wooden and brass box. 

"Angela? Angela!" Was the immediate sobbing reply.

Suddenly, both siblings were talking, sobbing and shouting over each other. Neither one was calm enough to wait for the other to speak. Finally, Moira interrupted. 

"That'll be enough from both of ya. Miles, where'd they'd put you?"

"I dunno. They tossed me aboard a small boat. Then I tried to run after I kicked the man in the long coat in the shins." Miles repressed a nervous sniffle.

"Stout lad." Hunter commented tersely from behind the wheel.

Moira ignored Hunter. "Then what?"

"They grabbed me again and threw me in a box. I'm on the little boat. Kinda. Maybe. I dunno." His voice cracked, as if he was on the edge of sobbing again.

Moira leaned toward the opti-telegraphic mounted on the longskiff. "Ah, now, none o' that. Anyone who'd be able to get that wreck o' an Opti workin' with barely anything at all save what he be havin' on him shouldn't be sobbin'. Now did they say where they be headed?"

"The big ship. I heard 'em say it."

"Right then, you stay put as best as ya can. We're comin' for ya now."

"Ok. I gotta go. I didn't wind this up that much."

Moira nodded, even though there was no way Miles could see her. "All right, we'll be there soon."

There was no response however, save static.

Moira looked at Captain Hunter. He spared a glance over at Moira, then back to the skies where the bloody, explosive battle between the airships was taking place.

"They had ta know what he had with him." Moira commented. 

"Of that I've no doubt." Hunter replied flatly.

"So they wanted us to talk to Miles?" Angela asked, a touch of confusion in her voice.

Hunter nodded. "That they did, my dear."

"But ..."

Moira answered her question before she spoke it. "A trap. They're plannin' on a trap o' some kind. Lettin' Miles natter his head off at us be the bait."

Angela looked between Moira and Captain Hunter. "So what do we do?"

The hint of a dark, mischievous nature touched Captain Hunter's face. "We spring it. And then burn it down around his noble ears."

Hunter spun the wheel sharply. The longskiff banked hard to starboard until its bow pointed directly for the mercenaries' burning airship.

N
ot far above Captain Hunter's borrowed longskiff, a chaos of gunfire and swordplay echoed across the
Brass Griffin
's deck. With the tethers firmly attached, the
Griffin
had been drawn close enough to the mercenaries' airship for two boarding parties of sailors to swing over and board her. Blasts of orange fire erupted from the bow, followed by deadly showers of bullets that peppered men and ship alike. Some of the crew fell in the volley of gunfire, but many stood their ground. Smoke burned eyes, smudged skin. Small fires burned in different places on the deck and rigging. Everywhere the faces of both crews took on the ghastly pallor of desperate men fighting for their ships, and therefore, their lives.

Close to one of the tether lines, Krumer lashed out with his cutlass. His intended target, a younger man in tight black cotton trousers, boots, white shirt and an elegant blue vest laughed and danced aside. The man was an elf, as was evident due to the slight graceful point of his ears and the distinctive arch of his eyebrows over his amber eyes. He spun like a well-trained dancer, his long, braided pony tail flowing behind him. Despite the air of grace and poise about the elf, the light in his eyes was wild and insane. Krumer's look, in contrast, was one of mild amusement mixed with irritation at the insulting fop in front of him.

"Come Orc! Surely someone taught you to use that blade better than one uses a butter knife!"

The elven fop completed his spin, only to find the point of Krumer's sword stuck through the fabric of his expensive vest, and into the wood behind him. Krumer grinned, then hammered a massive, well-tanned right fist into the fop's face once, twice, then a final time. Punch-drunk, the elven fop swung his rapier in a wild slice. Krumer let go of his own sword and neatly sidestepped the poor attack.

Then, he raised his fists and adopted a pugilist's stance. "Why no. But I did manage to learn a little when I took to boxing for a year in London." The fop started to reply and raise his sword, but Krumer interrupted that conversation with two fast jabs from his left, followed by his right, which hit the elven fop like a sledgehammer. Lips split, the elf's head rocked back and forth twice before he slowly oozed down the wood to the deck. With a chuckle, Krumer yanked his cutlass from the wood and turned away from his unconscious opponent.

Across the deck, the pitched battle had taken its toll on both sides. However, with a third of the mercenaries' crew on ground and a third having to man the guns and ship, that only left a third to try and cram themselves aboard a vessel half the size of their own. They simply could not get enough numbers past the
Brass Griffin
's crew to subdue the smaller vessel. 

"Push 'em back, lads! We're taking the fight out of them!" Krumer shouted.

The first mate waded into the mass of blades and chaos. Eventually, Krumer made his way to one of the tethers at the railing. With a quick succession of slices, the first mate frayed the braided leather and let the pull of the
Griffin
do the rest. The first tether snapped with a loud pop and fell away. The ship shuddered, as if relieved to be free off one of her burdens. On deck, with raw, bloody determination, the crew finally pushed the mercenaries back to their own vessel. 

From the bow, a shout rose over the fighting. "It's the Cap'n!"

Tonks and Krumer, both looked around in the direction the crewman had indicated. Krumer's grin broadened. "Ah, it's good to see him alive and breathing."

Tonks shook his head with a dark look, then pointed higher above Captain Hunter's longskiff. "Look above. He'll not be that for long."

From the far side of the larger airship, three steambats arced up, then banked hard. It was obvious that their target was not the partially tethered
Griffin
, but the longskiff!

Immediately, Krumer sheathed his cutlass in his belt and strode across the deck to recover a fallen rifle. "Not if we give them something more interesting to chew upon." 

The first mate checked his load, aimed and then fired. However, the three steam-powered biplanes continued to arc and dive on the longskiff. Krumer reloaded and fired again, then again.

"Don't waste the ammo!" Tonks shouted. "They're outta range!"

"I'll not just stand by and do nothing!" Krumer shouted back angrily.

Tonks glanced at the trio of steambats, then back at the longskiff. Already the steambats had opened fire. Bullets and electrified jets of salt water reached angrily for the slower-moving longskiff. Bits of wood peppered and flaked off its hull. While his eyes measured the distance, a smile grew on the pilot's face as inspiration dawned on him. He grinned at Krumer. "Ya want your shot? I've got an idea that'll give it to ya!"

The first mate gave the pilot a curious look. "What would that be?"

Without warning, Tonks spun the wheel hard, turning the
Griffin
away from the mercenaries' airship. Unprepared, Krumer flew off his feet, then onto his backside. Before he could right himself, Krumer, along with several of the crew, slid wildly across the deck and slammed into the starboard rail, crashed into barrels, and smashed through crates that lay within their path. The
Griffin
strained and pulled at the single tether, which stretched so taught that the
Griffin
's port side hull buckled outward from the tension. Tonks struggled with the wheel and trim controls. Slowly, amid the
Griffin
's creaks and groans of stressed rigging and damaged structure, she turned her bow in the direction of the steambats and the longskiff.

The muscles on Tonks' arms bulged and his face turned red while he struggled to keep the
Griffin
aimed where he wanted. From the port side, the creaking rose in intensity to nearly a panic-filled shriek of strained wood and brass fittings. The winch at the other end of the tether pulled mercilessly, stretching the braided leather leash until it visibly grew thinner. 

Krumer got to his knees and rubbed his head where he had collided with a barrel. "Tonks! What in all the spirits are you about? Have you completely slipped your cog?"

Tonks squeezed his eyes shut and replied through clenched teeth. "Don't have time ta explain. Just cut the bloody tether afore we rip in two!" 

Krumer had known Tonks for many a year. His tribal instincts screamed at him to run away, that his own life was in danger from whatever Tonks had in mind. However, Krumer trusted Tonks. He had known him too long to believe the man would needlessly put their lives in danger. Scrambling to his feet, Krumer raced as best he could across the slanted deck to grab a forgotten axe embedded in the mast. The orc jerked that free, then at the port railing swung the blade over his head. For a moment, the sunlight glinted off the metal of the weapon before Krumer bellowed an ancient war cry of his people. With one powerful slice, the axe severed the braided leather line that was, even stretched, nearly as thick as a man's arm. 

The tether cracked like a whip in the air and snapped backwards towards the winch on the other ship. Released from the leather leash, the
Griffin
shot forward with a shriek from strained planks and wind tossed rigging. On deck, the crew clung to the rail, rigging, tied down barrels, anything stable. When she launched forward, Krumer had been thrown clear across the deck again, this time against the steps to the quarterdeck. Slowly, he righted himself and ascended the ladder.

"I trust you know what you're about!" Krumer shouted over the high winds.

Tonks had stood again, but his eyes were riveted on their new course heading - right between the steambats and the longskiff. "Aye, that makes the both o' us! We'll only get one shot here! Make that broadside a' good one!" The pilot took a deep breath to steady a brief twinge in his nerves. "Comin' in fast. Steambats on the port side! Gunners better get ready!"

On the quarterdeck now, Krumer clutched rail next to the ladder and took a deep breath before he bellowed to the main deck. "Goggles down! To your cannons! I want those 'bats out of our sky!"

The main deck came alive like an anthill with his orders. Crew members - both the lightly wounded and the lucky few still unharmed - raced or limped to the left side of the
Griffin
and muscled cannon into place. 

"Comin' in steep!" Tonks called out. "Arrivin' in ten, nine ..." 

Shouts echoed the call on the main deck. Gunners braced for the moment while the hum of lightning cannons filled the air like a swarm of enraged bees. 

"... three, two, one!"

Krumer slammed his right fist against the railing. "Fire broadside! Fire! Fire!"

At the first mate's command, each cannon shook, then spit fire and lightning. The left side of the ship erupted with a bright, intense light as the thunderous roll of cannon vibrated the very air. White-hot scrap metal and streams of salt water, overcharged with electricity, reached out to clutch at the fast moving steambats with a hungry intensity. For the trio of steambat pilots, realization came to them at the last moment when the
Griffin
shoved across their path, much faster than she should have been able to. Frantically, they tried to bank, to turn. To be anywhere but where they were right at that moment. However, the
Griffin
was bent on protecting her missing crew in the longskiff. She was not to be denied. The steambats erupted in balls of canvas, steam, wood and brass. Their debris rained down around and on the
Griffin
.