Greenbeard (9781935259220) (45 page)

Mars now loomed large in front of the frigate
Ark de Triomphe
. The red planet was no longer a blurred circle, it was now a rust-coloured sphere showing surface
features; smudgy dark patches, meandering valleys, the pock-marks of craters and white frost at its polar regions. The crew kept glancing incredulously at it while they went about their tasks. There was a growing air of tension on the frigate as Mars grew larger in front of the bowsprit.

“Soon the inhabitants of Mars will realise we are here,” said Captain Greybagges. “Then things will become interesting quite quickly.”

“The guns and crews are ready,” said Blue Peter. “The guns are loaded single-shotted and primed, but the main switch for the electrical fluid is not closed, to avoid mishaps. I have set Torvald Coalbiter to stand by it, as a precaution.”

“The squad of marksmen are ready, too” said Israel Feet. “The rifled muskets loaded and half-cocked, two to each shooter, with two assistants to load for each. They are well-drilled and know what they are to do. I have set Jack Nastyface over them. He is much changed from the giddy fool that he once was, and will not let us down, I lay to that … ‘
wi a wannion!
” The last words added as the first mate recalled his piratical nature.

“There be no signs of anything yet, Cap'n,” said a pirate - formerly a Lincolnshire poacher, chosen for his sharp eyes – who squinted through the large tripod-mounted telescope at Mars, moving it slightly this-way-and-that as he scanned the surface of the planet. Another hawk-eyed pirate grunted agreement from the for'ard quarterdeck rail, upon which he had rested the Captain's Dolland spyglass.

Bulbous Bill Bucephalus said nothing, concentrating on manipulating the levers on the binnacle. Mr Benjamin and his assistants leant or squatted against the stern rail, leather bags of tools in front of them, in case any last-minute adjustments or repairs were necessary.

Time passed. Nobody said anything, the only noises were the “pop-hiss” of a cylinder of air being opened and the creak of the deck-planking and hanging-knees as each slight change of course put a stress on the hull.

“Aye-oop, Cap'n!” the Lincolnshire poacher called, his eye fixed to the large telescope. “Somethin's a-moving! Two
things
a-moving! By the small mountain, going down and to starboard!”

“Got 'em!” confirmed the pirate with the Dolland spyglass. “Two dark things! Glinting now with the sun. Picking up speed to the starboard and down!”

“Good work! Keep your eyes on 'em! Don't lose the buggers!” roared Captain
Greybagges, and, even louder to the whole crew, “The buggers be a-coming now! Remember your orders an' we shall have 'em presently! Steady, lads, steady!” and in a lower voice to Blue Peter, “Do you go below now and take command of your guns, Peter, and be ready upon my mark!” And, under his breath, “By all that be holy, grant me good fortune this day …”

Time passed. The only voices were the two pirates watching through telescopes, reporting the movements of the two ‘things' as they approached, until they went out of sight under the hull.

“Peter! Hold yourself ready! You too, Bill! On my mark!” ordered Captain Greybagges in a firm voice.

The two ‘things' slid up from below into view, one on either side of the frigate, and revealed themselves to be long sausage-shaped objects of a dull metallic green, with irregular patches here and there of shining gold and silver. They were perhaps twice the length of the frigate. They had odd lumps and sharp projections on their surfaces, and dark circles which appeared to be port-holes. They slowly moved closer to the sides of the
Ark de Triomphe
, as though to bracket her between them.

“Bill, reduce the bubble's strength … NOW! … Peter! Both broadsides … NOW!”

There was a stunning concussion as the frigate unleashed full broadsides from both port and starboard, and the ‘bubble o' protection' was instantly filled with sulphurous smoke.

“Bill! Bring the bubble back up to full strength! Peter! Reload! Quick as you can, but wait upon my order! You, down there in the waist! Spray with the fire-hoses! Pump now! Pump NOW! Pump, you swabs, har-har-har!”

The spray of seawater from the fire-hoses slowly doused and cleared the eye-stinging brimstone-stinking smoke from inside the bubble. Outside the bubble the two alien craft were rolling away and falling down towards Mars, great rents and holes in their metallic-green hulls, shedding fragments and spinning shards of wreckage, spewing out streamers of gas and gouts of liquid which bloomed eerily into glittering clouds of crystals in the vacuum of space.

“Har-har! Take that you little grey buggers!” roared Captain Sylvestre de Greybagges. “Not so bloody clever now, are yuz, ye swabs! Har-har-har!”

“Good lord!” said Mr Benjamin, his ears ringing from the cannon-blast in the
confining bubble. “How did the cannon-balls go through the bubble?”

“Har-har!” chortled the Captain. “They just pop through, iffen the bubble be at its weakest! Har-har-har! Those war-vessels o' the little grey buggers be impervious to death-rays, heat-beams, quantum disruptors and all that sort o' clever stuff, but they cannot withstand a good honest broadside o' iron cannonballs! Har-har-har-har!” Captain Greybagges tried to compose himself, but he was dancing a jig of joy, a hornpipe of happiness. “T'were a
calculated
risk, but I have pulled it off! Har-har-har! I knew they would a-come alongside us like that, for ‘tis their
standard operating procedure
. They would have seized us with
tractor-fields
, which be akin to grapplin'-irons, d'ye see? But I got me blow in first! Har-har-har! Arrogant an' proud they be, them little grey buggers, an' just as well for us, or they might a-been a trifle more
circumspect
. Har-har-har!”

“Shall I takes us down, Cap'n?” asked Bulbous Bill, interrupting the Captain's victory dance.

“Why, yes, Bill! With all despatch, now! There was just the two war-vessels here at the moment – I had intelligence o' that! Har-har! – but it be best not to let ‘em have time to compose theyselves! Let us go down and finish this off as quick as we may!”

 

Bulbous Bill worked the levers on the binnacle and the frigate
Ark de Triomphe
corkscrewed abruptly and accelerated at a shocking rate towards the rusty-red surface of Mars. Nothing was felt inside the bubble, and the crew did not appear to notice the violence of the manoeuvre. They were assembling in the waist of the ship and on the foredeck, arming themselves with cutlasses, boarding axes, muskets and pistols. The marksmen were taking their positions along the rails, cradling their long-barrelled rifled muskets, their loaders standing by them with powder horns and pouches of bullets.

“Er, Bill?” said the Captain carefully.

“I be getting the knack o' this, I reckons, Cap'n!” said Bill, his jowly face creased with concentration and his lips drawn back in a snarl. He brought the frigate near to the surface without slowing down at all, and changed direction sharply so it was following the ground very fast at a very low altitude. The frigate whizzed over the red sands, the shock-wave of its passing kicking up a swirling rooster-tail of red dust behind it, despite the thin atmosphere.

“I reckons it be best if we a-come at ‘em low, so we just pops up from over the horizon, belike,” said Bulbous Bill. “This way they be confused, mebbe. Thinks we crashed or summat.”

“That is a good idea! A very fine idea, indeed!” said the Captain. The red land of Mars unrolled under the frigate in a crazy blur. “But slow down before we hit their bubble, as we must slip ourselves through it quite slowly, d'ye see?” The Captain's voice was a little quavery, as he watched Bill's hands precisely moving the levers, and as saw how close they were to the ground, and how immensely fast they were moving.

“Aye-aye, Cap'n!” said Bill, through a gritted-teeth grin, and, under his breath, “Wheee-ooo! Har-har-har!”

 

“Arrh-har!” said Captain Greybagges, pointing ahead. A complex of buildings rose swiftly over the horizon. The huge bubble-field which covered the town was made mistily visible by the pink dust-haze of Mars. As Bulbous Bill slowed the frigate from its scorching velocity the buildings came closer, and were seen more clearly. Golden domes and palaces of brass, gleaming in the reddish sunlight. Spires, steeples, columns, needles, towers and minarets sticking up like stalagmites. Ziggurats and pyramids (quite small ones, but nicely made). Bartizans, bulwarks, bastions and barbicans, crenellated, with grey stone walls and ravelins. Nondescript multi-storied edifices of red-brown and orange stone. Flat-roofed metal warehouses, sheds and workshops. Ornamental parks and gardens, with fountains and statuary. The small town under the bubble formed a crescent around a large open red-dirt plaza, pock-marked with meteorite craters,

“Just kiss our bubble against their bubble, then just push on it,” said Captain Greybagges. “It's the same sort of bubble, so it will squidge through.”

“Aye-aye, Cap'n!” said Bill, and did just that.

“Put her down in that crater there, Bill! Near the edge o' the plaza, by that copper dome. It looks to be about the right size,” said the Captain, pointing.

“Aye-aye, Cap'n!”

Bill wiggled the levers and the frigate
Ark de Triomphe
swooped down and settled into the crater, the ‘bubble o' protection' fitting as neatly into the crater as an egg into an egg-cup.

“Switch off the bubble!”

Bill moved a lever and the bubble vanished with a ‘
tzzzzzing-pop!
' noise. The
Ark de Triomphe
dropped slightly, and wallowed and swashed in the slopping pool of sea-water, until Bill steadied it with a few deft twitches of the levers on the binnacle.

 

“Ready, marksmen!” roared Captain Greybagges from the front of the quarterdeck. “The toad-men will be first to attack. Don't shoot ‘til yuz sees the yellows o' their eyes! They do have big yellow peepers, so that'll be about two hundred paces. Aim between them peepers, remember, for they will be wearing breast-plates and helmets! Try not to shoot any o' them lizard-people. They are smaller, and do have four arms.”

“Aye-aye, Cap'n!” shouted the marksmen. Some of them knelt, or had kegs or chairs to sit on, so they could steady their guns on the rail. Some lay on the deck with their forearms pressed against sandbags, firing through the scuppers. Some stood and rested their guns on ratlines. A few were in the cross-trees. Jack Nastyface stood on the foredeck, where he could see all the marksmen and direct fire, if need be. He raised his left hand in a loose salute to the Captain; his right hand held a cutlass.

 

“Here they come! Here they come! Oh, lor' luvaduck! They be big bastards, too!” shouted the topmast lookout, who had a spyglass. The toad-men were coming out onto the red-dirt plaza from between the buildings, loping over the sand with a flat-footed gait. There was silence on the
Ark de Triomphe
, so the
flap -flap -flap
of the toad-men's green warty flat feet could be heard distinctly. They drew closer, waving bludgeons and clubs, until their wheezing croaky breath could be heard too. A marksman fired –
ba-bang!
– and a toad-man fell headlong onto the sand and lay still, his bludgeon rolling away. The marksman immediately swapped his discharged weapon for a loaded one and fired again. Now all the marksmen were firing – careful aimed shots – and their loaders worked in pairs; powder-patch-ball-ramrod-cock-prime, over and over again. The toad-men fell.

“Why do they not have firearms?” asked Mr Benjamin.

“Because they are too stupid, Frank” said the Captain. “They can obey simple commands, but a gun requires a modicum of nous and a minimum of force to set it off. They would shoot each other by accident, or look down the barrel and pull
the trigger to see how it worked, or some other foolishness.”

The corpses of the toad-men had now piled up on top of each over, forming a wall which the last of them were doggedly climbing over. Several of the more-agile toad-men had almost reached the rim of the crater before they were killed, forming a grisly high-water mark. The toad-men's blood drained out into the red dirt to form pools; it was purple and thick, and it steamed slightly.

“I am sorry I must have them all killed,” said Captain Greybagges, “but they are dangerous creatures and do not deviate from the orders that have been drilled into their thick skulls. One would have to kill savage guard dogs in a similar fashion, and I would regret that more, for even a rabid dog is a far more attractive animal than a toad-man.”

The marksmen had stopped firing, as no living toad-men could now be seen.

 

“The lizard-people will try and attack now,” said Captain Greybagges to Mr Benjamin. “They are much brainier than the toad-men, but have little talent for war, and even less liking for it. But they've been doin' just what they wuz told to do for a while, though, so we shall have to see which way they will go.” He roared out to the crew, “Don't shoot the lizard-people, shipmates! Not unless I tells ‘ee to!” He went to the quarterdeck rail, and waited.

 

“There be some creatures a-sneaking out from the alleyways, Cap'n!” the lookout shouted down.

“Thankee! Keep an eye on ‘em!” the Captain shouted back, then waited some more.

 

Almost shyly, creatures began to come onto the plaza. This was a slow process, as each one seemed to be trying to hide behind every other one, so they spent much time milling about rather than moving forward. They looked like tubby lizards with stumpy tails, except that they walked on their two back legs and had four arms. There was a fair amount of arm-waving going on, as there seemed to be several serious disagreements taking place among them at any one time, as well as a surplus of arms to wave about. Their voices were like loud birdsong. They all appeared to be carrying weapons, but a strange assortment of them. One was carrying a weapon in each of its four hands; an odd-shaped silvery
arquebus with a transparent red-crystal rod instead of a barrel, an engraved Spanish
miquelet
horse-pistol with a ball pommel, a Magdeburg crossbow (a heavy siege model with a
cranequin
built into its oak stock) and a long pike with a tattered
gonfalon
dangling limply from its cross-bar. Each of the lizard-people was similarly burdened, as though they had grabbed as many weapons as they could, so to appear intimidatingly warlike, but didn't feel very comfortable carrying them, or really know what to do with them.