Fortress of Lost Worlds (34 page)

“That’s good,
neh
?”

“
Non, au contraire—
it’s very dangerous. You see, the Beast—it—I—seemed to lose control of it. Not in a savage way. Not so that it would climb the rope and rip your filthy little yellow heart out. It’s just that I couldn’t make it speak. I could only growl.”

“And howl,” Gonji reminded archly.

“
Oui
,” Simon allowed sheepishly.

“One cup of rum—very poor control,
neh
?”
Gonji needled. “No samurai would lose his faculties so eas—”

“I seem to remember a samurai in Vedun who got so drunk he had to be rolled down the street in a pickle barrel to save his heathen ass—uhh…so they
said
.”

Gonji was about to take up the gauntlet when Orozco hobbled halfway down the ladder, calling as he clambered. “Gonji—get up here. Hurry.”

“What?”

They followed the sergeant up to the deck to find the entire ship’s complement at the port rail.

“
Cholera
,”
Gonji breathed. “The little ship from last night?”

“Not unless it sprouted one helluva hull—”

“That’s a
galleass
,”
a mercenary declared. “A goddamned
galleass
!”

The huge warship was unmistakably tacking in their direction.

“Six—seven hundred men on a ship like that?” Orozco was speculating with awe.

“The Golden Fleece Knights—catching up with us so soon?” Gonji wondered aloud.

Panic began to spread through the ship.

“Well, what now?” Cardenas asked as he moved up to them, his face lined with fear.

“Big cannon balls, I’d imagine,” Gonji ventured quietly.

“We’re going to take them, no?” Corsini asked, eyes aflame with the flicker of anticipated conflict. “We tack around and take them.”

“Are you crazy?” someone was shouting. “Our five guns against—what? Eighty?”

“We’re fighting a righteous battle, aren’t we?” Corsini challenged. “Look what God’s seen us through so far.”

“We’re not fighting it like lunatics,” Gonji cautioned. “That’s why we’re still alive. Simon?”

“What?” He looked as if he’d just been accused.

“Isn’t there something you can do?”

Simon’s angular face warped as if he’d been addressed by a lunatic. “We outrun them, that’s what we do,” he said.

“Impossible,” Orozco said, shaking his head and scowling. He began charging his pistols.

Simon was backing away, eyes flickering as the samurai approached him imploringly.

“Orozco’s right,” Gonji said. “We can’t outrun them.”

“So we put our backs into the oars. That plus the sails will—”

“
Think
,
man, think what you’re saying,” Gonji argued, his voice rising.

“Three-hundred-fifty rowers on that vessel,” Orozco observed, gazing across the waves.

“Get our rowers to their stations,” Gonji told Orozco. “Every man to an oar. Don’t—let them—panic. Simon—”

“I’ll take my place at the oars like the others—”

“Simon—”

“What else can I do?
Tell me what you want.”

People began looking toward them fretfully now. The undermanned rowers put their backs into the hopeless task, the women taking up places alongside the men.

“Will you help me control these people?” Gonji said through clenched teeth.

“What is it you want of me? That I should swim out there and kill as many of them as I can until they destroy me? What do you think I am, some kind of murdering monster?” When he realized what he’d said, he turned his back on Gonji and stalked to an unattended oar. Its shaft creaked in the oarlock as he began to row.

Gonji took up the oar behind him.

“Simon—the
storm
,”
he whispered as they rowed.

The first booming of the pursuing ship’s mighty guns tore shrieks of terror from the rowers. One ball crashed into the sea off the port bow, sending water cascading over the rails and scuppers.

“Remember when you raised that wind over Vedun,” Gonji went on, “when you first came to the militia in the catacombs? You frightened our enemies
then—
”

“I told you I have no control over that. It’s the will of God, or more likely His whim.”

“Maybe it’s his will, but it’s still your
mood
that inspires it—your anger, your pride—
something
.”

“Leave me be!”

Another cannonade. More heavy balls whistled by. The sea erupted before and behind them with the plunging shot. Then there was an explosion over their heads. The mizzen-mast boom split and shattered into kindling over the stern cabin, sail and rigging crashing down over the shouting rowers.

“
Sancta mierda
!
Holy Shit!” Buey was roaring. “Turn this vessel about and let’s give them a taste of our own guns. Let’s die like soldiers, not rabbits!”

“
Simon—
” Gonji leapt up from where he had been thrown back by the impact. “What is it, Simon?” he yelled, grabbing the lycanthrope by one sinewy arm that felt like threaded cable. “Are you afraid you’ll harm your precious Golden Fleece Knights? What’s going to happen to all these people? If you can raise a storm, you’ll imperil us just as surely as them, but at least we’ll have an even chance to survive. They can’t attack us in a storm. For God’s sake—do what I’ve seen you do—call on the storm
kami—
raise the
kamikaze
, the Divine Wind!”

Simon pushed him down and ran back to help the people clear the heavy tangle of debris at the stern. Another volley raked the air all about them—chain shot, intended to shred their sails. A cannonball slammed into the portside hull above the water line, but at an acute angle, glancing off the boards and rocking the galley violently. Most of the ship’s complement were knocked off their feet, amid screams and prayers for deliverance.

Gonji descended on Simon in fury. “All right, all right, forget that you’re a man, then. Be a scurrying beast. Run to your dinghy and hide under your canopy so that no mere mortal eyes can see your terror and cowardice!”

“I’ll kill you for that!” Simon stalked him, fists balled for mayhem. The lupine silver eyes that bore into Gonji’s soul flashed with fervent emotion.

Gonji pulled the Sagami from its scabbard. “Come on, then,
friend.
Rip me to shreds. Show them what a
monster
you truly are.”

“
I’m not a monster
!”

Simon wrenched a saber from the belted scabbard of a mercenary and lashed out at Gonji, their blades sparking and shrieking in metallic wrath in the lashing sea spray. The samurai fended and parried on the shifting deck, fighting only defensively as he backed against the entrapping fo’c’sle. The shroud of the topsail was split by a cannonball that sailed on into the sea as they fought, tattered canvas fanning about the hole. Their shipmates roared from the oars, bellowing at the two to stop this madness.

An angry wind began to lash the sea, rocking the galley with its gale force. Icy rain swept across the deck, then whipped into a roiling column as bodies were strewn across the boards, some injured and bleeding, scrabbling for the relative safety of the hatches.

Simon raised his saber high overhead, his mouth a great silently crying rictus as he stood above the samurai. Gonji knelt on one knee in a corner,
katana
angled defensively overhead. The lycanthrope slowly lowered his sword and wiped the slashing rain from his obscured vision. He looked around him, out to sea, chest heaving as he grimaced.

More than one voice chimed out:

“Look—!”

Gonji rose at his side. The others began to quit the oars and join them at the rail, clinging to the rigging and gunwales for purchase on the tossing deck. They stared incredulously at the massive enemy galleass. She was caught in a tempestuous sea, her sails’ faces full to bursting with the sudden colossal gale, as if battered from mighty crosswinds.

Tempest-tossed and storm-battered though they were, the refugees soon realized that the worst of the storm’s fury had mystically spared them. The Venetian galley now began to make slow but inexorable headway, separating from the galleass, which seemed cupped in a maelstrom.

“
Yoi
,”
Gonji breathed, eyes shining as if at a revelation. “Now—
now—
we’ve been granted a reprieve. Get to the oars. Everyone. Row till your backs break!”

They took up their places, pulling at the oars for fair. They rowed throughout the day, taking food and water as they bent to their endlessly agonizing task. Yet not a complaint was heard, but only the occasional yelp of death-confounding glee to see the galleass slowly diminish in the eerie storm they left behind, far to the north.

* * * *

A heavy gloom descended before the setting of the sun. When Simon took up his place in the skimming dinghy that trailed the galley by its long lanyard, a deep fog overtook them from astern. The rowers continued well into the night, small crews breaking off in shifts—not a man of them able to stand straight without groaning against their aches—to snatch at a brief respite and lend a hand with the repair of the sails and mizzenmast boom.

They chattered nervously to smother the sound of Simon’s dreadful transformation, all of them understanding by this time the agony attendant on the werewolf’s erupting out of the body of the man.

Del Gaudio was the first to spot the small boat nestled in the fog.

“The one from last night?” Gonji inquired. Several grunts came in affirmation. “Who are they? How’d she make it through the storm?”

“Their sails are furled, yet they keep pace.”

“Pretty close now,” Orozco observed. “She bears no guns. What’s her intent? Should we try to hail her?”

“No,” Gonji spat, swallowing back the unbidden tremor in his voice. He scratched at the back of his head nervously. A vague alarm had begun to sound inside him.

“It’s a felucca,” Corsini identified, just as the first
thunk
of a crossbow quarrel broke the whispering silence. It had plunked through the hull above the waterline.

“What the hell? They must be
mad
.”

Another shot lanced into the water off the starboard bow. Two
clacked
into the deck boards.

“Yiiiii!”

A mercenary clutched at the bolt that sprouted from his clavicle, eyes straining at their sockets. He emitted a gurgled outcry as he wrenched at the invading missile, then twisted down onto the deck, lashing out in his death pangs. His mates looked on, paralyzed with shock, to see the spreading pool of blood emerge beneath his twitching form.

Two more near misses before they hit the deck, eyeing one another wildly.

“Sons o’ bitches,” Buey swore. “We turn and send them to the bottom.”

“No,” Gonji countered, “we can outrun them. They can’t keep pace. We haven’t time to waste. By the time we come about and deal with them, that galleass could be back on our behinds. Do you want that?”

They stared at him a moment, something in his tone that they’d not heard before raising wary looks. Then they were back to the oars, pulling and craning their necks to starboard at the same time.

Bolts continued to plunk into the ship from time to time, almost lazily. Whoever they were, their arrogance was insufferable. Their lack of concerted fire testified to their contempt for the firepower and valor of the galley’s crew. But there was something else troubling the renegades: At this distance, their accuracy was incredible. Pushing the arbalest’s firing range to the limit, they were nonetheless striking their target with fearsome regularity.

Makeshift shielding was raised along the starboard side of the ship. The intimidating impacts of bolts continued sporadically through the night. When dawn broke, the fog lifted, and the felucca receded from view.

Forty-seven bolts dotted the protecting shields and hatch covers. The dead mercenary was consigned to the sea.

* * * *

A change came over Gonji the next day.

He sat at the tiller hour after hour, staring beyond the ship’s wake at the distant northern horizon. He was tormented by baleful memories, for he knew now who his pursuers must be, and he
feared
them. Feared them more than he had the galleass; more than any nemesis in a long time.

Grim recollection of the reanimated dead man who had testified against Gonji at the Burning Court fortified his certainty:

The Dark Company had been set on his trail again. And he knew that his hated enemy, Balaerik, must be the power behind this vile necromancy, as well.

Gonji’s nightmares were still crowded with the images of death and loneliness their unearthly pursuit had visited on him over a year ago. He had lost many close friends to their uncanny skills, and it had been his fault, for he had found no way to deal with this threat that seemed to regard him so lightly, as it tormented him.

At midday Valentina brought him a light repast of smoked fish and ale. He turned down the ale and drank water instead. Already their drinking water had gone stale.

“It’s a relief to see, you know,” she said to him.

He cast the woman a wondering glance. “What’s that?”

“That you can be afraid of something, like everyone else.”

“Does it show that obviously?” he sighed, squaring his shoulders and turning back to the sea.

“Who are they, that they bother you so much?”

His brow furrowed. “An old enemy. Killers of those I hold dear.” He was surprised to hear his own frankness.

But she had chosen to interpret his words figuratively. She moved close beside him, resting her chin on his uninjured shoulder. “I know your pain, Gonji
-chan.
Once I had a baby boy, can you believe that? The whore became a mother… He died,” she appended simply, though the mournful eloquence of her admission caused Gonji to be moved by sympathy.

Valentina broke the silent sharing after a time. “It’s God’s will, I suppose. We just have to deal with it.”

“We call it karma.”

“I know. I’ve heard.” She reached around and kissed him, her lips perking impishly afterward, as she peered back along the deck. “Don’t worry. No one saw.” She wrinkled her nose at him and hurried back to the deck to rejoin a group mending a sail.

Moments later, Sergeant Orozco enjoined the crew to step lively about their business, affecting a mock-military tone. Then he climbed up to speak with Gonji at the tiller.

“Helluva lady, isn’t she?”

“Mmm?”

“Your Tina-
chan
.”

“
Hai
,” Gonji replied, a tad defensive toward the sergeant’s implication.

“You could do better by her,” Orozco observed, spitting into the sea and wiping his mouth on a sleeve. “This business about Fracastoro’s disease and all that—shit! Who
doesn’t
have it these days? We’re all gonna die anyway…”

“What are you trying to say, Orozco-
san
?”

“Orozco-
san
,” he mimicked scornfully. “Don’t go getting stiff and formal on me,
senor
sa-moo-rai. What’s the difference whether you die by disease or these devil archers skewer you in your sleep? I’ll tell you what the difference is, the first way you get to enjoy the pleasures of a—”

“Carlos, have I ever presumed to get so personal with you?”

Orozco snorted. “I don’t know about this Jappo code business. Christ, have you only slept with virgins in all your years in Europe? That’s a far greater sin, you know, than—than—
mierda
, why am I wasting my time trying to explain?”

“
Si
,
why
are
you?”

“Ahh—like talking to a goddamned quintain on the practice field.” He waved an arm and turned away.

“Why don’t you court her yourself, old man, if your concern is for Valentina’s loneliness?”