Monsters (29 page)

The rise and fall of the horse’s legs, its powerful stride, its muscular frame, they all fought to shake him loose.

James grabbed at the strapping, desperately trying not to fall beneath the thundering hooves of the massive beast. A giant wasp landed on his back as he grabbed at the saddle. James could feel its spindly legs tearing through his coat. The beat of its wings cast a cool downdraft upon him. Its bite tore flesh from the back of his neck, causing pain to surge through his shoulders. He struggled, trying to avoid the monster’s poisonous sting. Swinging the bow over his head and behind his back, he struck at the hornet, knocking the insect to one side, but it didn’t release him.

Another wasp came down from above, harassing him as he wedged one foot beneath a strap and struggled to get the other in a stirrup. James turned as a fine mist washed over his neck and hair. The wasp on his back fell, an arrow having passed through its side, puncturing its abdomen and sending its body fluids spraying over the back of his head.

James could see one of the soldiers smiling, reloading his crossbow as he crouched at the back of the saddle.

“Look out,” James cried, but the soldier couldn’t hear him over the drone filling the air.

A wasp came in from the side, striking the soldier with its stinger, catching him on the side of the neck.

The soldier lost his balance. Although his legs were spread wide, riding with the rise and fall of the horse’s back, the soldier seemed to drift to one side. What would have been fractions of a second unfolded in slow motion as the soldier keeled over. His face and neck turned blue and then purple with the shock of the poison pumping through his body. James reached out, trying to grab him as he fell. Their hands touched, but James couldn’t get a grip, and the soldier’s lifeless body fell beneath the hooves of the horse.

Thick, dark smoke surrounded them. James coughed, finding it hard to breathe amidst the acrid fumes.

McIntyre pulled hard on the reins, bringing the panicked horse to a reluctant stop.

The remaining hornets pulled away, fleeing the smoke. James could no longer hold on. Although the horse was still rearing, thumping its hooves and fighting against McIntyre’s efforts to keep it still, James let go, falling to the ground. He landed flat on his back with the wind knocked out of him, leaving him stunned for a moment. The horse trotted to one side, mercifully stepping away from him, and several soldiers dragged him into an alleyway.

James reached around behind his neck, feeling blood seeping from the raw wound. Someone brought Lisa over, leaving her with him. Looking around, he could see an outer perimeter of soldiers kneeling with their crossbows at the ready. High above, hornets buzzed through the air. McIntyre staggered over. It was only then James realized these were the reinforcements sent to support them. They were consolidating the survivors.

Peering down the street, James could see soldiers on foot, running hard in toward the smokescreen thrown up by the burning tires.

“Are you OK?” McIntyre asked, his hands running over Lisa’s arms and shoulders. She grimaced with pain, holding her leg in the wooden brace.

McIntyre rested his hand on James’ shoulder, looking him in the eye.

“Stay here.”

With that, McIntyre hobbled out, looking for his men. Blood dripped from his uniform. From what James could tell, he’d been bitten multiple times on the arms and upper chest but had avoided being stung.

The reinforcements tried to recover the injured. James learned several of the soldiers had cut away from the main group on foot, circling around the buildings, avoiding the attention of the hornets. In all, they lost fourteen men and a horse.

It was dark when the troop arrived at the gates of the Richmond compound. James wasn’t sure what he expected, but a little over four miles from where they had been attacked, they approached the high-walls of an old prison.

Fires burned in barrels, warding off the cold.

People milled around everywhere, intensely curious about the incoming soldiers. Their clothes were torn and tattered. There was a surprising number of children under the age of ten.

McIntyre, James and Lisa all rode the lead horse. As they entered the courtyard, James leaned forward and asked Lisa, “Why so many children?”

“Orphans,” was all she could say in reply.

James felt a knot form in his throat.

General Gainsborough was standing on the concrete steps of the entrance hall. He called out, yelling at the soldiers.

“Hah! Well done. You have succeeded. You have returned my little girl to me.”

The soldiers, peasants and children cheered as though they were welcoming them home from some victorious battle. It didn’t feel like a victory to James, but he knew Gainsborough was talking more broadly than of the encounter with the hornets. For him, the focus was the return of his daughter, not the loss of his men.

Several soldiers helped Lisa from the horse, carrying her gently. Gainsborough kissed her on both cheeks. He whispered something in her ear, but Lisa didn't reply. The last James saw of her was as several servants carried her inside on a stretcher.

McIntyre reported to Gainsborough as James climbed gingerly from the horse, blood soaking through the bandage on his neck. The general stepped up to James as he alighted from the rope ladder.

“Thank you,” he said, grasping James’ right hand with both of his hands. “Thank you for all you have done for my daughter. There is much we must talk about, much I need to learn, but you are weary from your journey. I will have my doctors attend to your wounds.”

James was silent. He felt intimidated in the general’s presence.

Gainsborough walked among the troops, picking out those that had been with McIntyre and greeting them individually. He patted them on the shoulder, shook their hands, asked about their injuries and showed concern, but he never stayed with any one soldier for more than a few minutes. McIntyre remained by the general’s side the whole time, talking to him, telling him about each of the men and what they’d endured.

A nurse escorted James up the crumbling stairs and into the prison hospital.

After having his neck wound cleaned with alcohol and stitched, James found himself in a dark ward, lying on a hard, straw mattress.

There must have been at least twenty or thirty other people in the ward, but they were deathly quiet.

Moonlight streamed in through the rusting bars of the windows lining the far wall, casting a soft light in the long room.

Minutes felt like hours.

His neck stung more now than it did when he was bitten. Lying there, his mind raced, thinking of escape. Part of him wanted to run, while it was still early in his captivity, before they suspected him of being a flight risk, but his rational thinking won the day, and he considered how he needed to plan his route. Getting out of the prison compound would be difficult enough. Surviving beyond the walls was another matter entirely. Besides, as much as he chided himself for it, he was intensely curious about Lisa and her father. James had felt something for her during those days on the farm with Winters. She might be able to switch that off, but he couldn’t.

It was late in the morning when a nurse woke him. Startled, James sat up, taking a moment to recognize where he was.

“You slept well,” the nurse said, touching the back of her hand against his forehead, checking for a fever. “General Gainsborough has sent for you.”

James was still coming to grips with the bright sunlight streaming in through the windows, surprised he hadn’t woken earlier. From the steep angle of the shadows, he figured it must be close to noon.

“I’ve brought you a fresh change of clothes. There’s a shower at the end of the hall.”

The nurse stared at him for a moment, waiting for a reply. James blinked and said, “Thanks.”

A soldier followed him to the shower room, but waited outside while he enjoyed warm water for the first time in days. The soap was gritty, but seemed to work well, and after soaking for a few minutes he felt renewed. James dressed and accompanied the soldier through the prison to meet Gainsborough.

Walking past row upon row of cells, stacked four stories high, James was surprised by the number of people living in the prison.

Clothing had been hung over the railings to dry.

Children scurried about, playing with each other.

Vats of what he assumed were communal soups or stews bubbled away over an open fire. Smoke drifted lazily to the blackened ceiling above before wafting out through broken windows.

The noise was overwhelming, as though everyone was talking at once over the top of someone else, each person vying to be heard. An elderly man squatted in the corner, defecating into a rough hole in the floor. Most of the people look malnourished, sickly and weak.

As they turned into another wing, James got a glimpse of several cells being used as metallurgy workshops. There was a forge of some kind, larger than the one his grandfather had in Amersham, and the sounds of industry drowned out the talking.

Metal resounded against metal.

The wall on one side of the prison had been broken open to allow the engine compartment of a train to fit half in the corridor. Steam hissed. Pistons pumped with rhythmic monotony. Pipes clattered, shaking as the steam passed through them.

Blacksmiths worked on glowing red metal.

They walked into what must have once been a gymnasium. The floorboards were buckled. Soldiers milled around, prepping arrows, repairing armor, stitching up leather jackets.

At the front of the gym sat a large table. Several men worked on turning a suckling pig over a bed of hot coals just outside the double doors leading to the farm.

“There he is,” cried Gainsborough, marching over toward James with his arms out wide, greeting him like an old friend. “Our hero. The man who rescued my daughter.”

McIntyre was less than impressed. He sat on the edge of the table, stone-faced. James got the distinct impression Gainsborough was overacting, baiting McIntyre, while McIntyre was still undecided about James.

Gainsborough shook James’ hand, holding on for a few seconds longer than James would have liked, making him feel uncomfortable. Perhaps that was the point. There was a dynamic at play within the room, of that James was sure, but he was struggling to read it properly. Gainsborough smiled warmly, but James was wary. The old general must have sensed his uneasiness.

“How are you feeling? Did you sleep well?”

James never had the chance to reply, not that he wanted to.

“We have set a feast in your honor. To welcome you to the clan and to celebrate your victories.”

Slowly, James found himself warming to the old man. Perhaps he’d been too cynical. But then again, perhaps he hadn’t been cynical enough. Either way, he felt swept up in the moment.

“There is much we want to tell you. So many things to talk about. Please, come and dine with us.”

Lisa was there. James hadn’t recognized her at first. Her hair was up and she was wearing make-up, which surprised him. The jewels on her dress sparkled in the sunlight streaming in through the windows high overhead.

“Sit here, with my daughter and me.”

“Thank you,” James managed, his eyes overwhelmed with the spread of food before him.

Servants laid out platters of meats, plates of vegetables and delicacies the likes of which he’d never seen. The smell of mushrooms wafted through the air, followed by the sweet scent of braised pork, and James found himself salivating.

Gainsborough had him sit on his right, between him and Lisa, while McIntyre sat on the left. There was so much food. The general used his knife to spear a slice of meat and dragged it on his plate, while servants busied themselves around them, dishing up sides of vegetables.

“Eat. Eat,” the general said. “My men wait for us to finish. It would be impolite for us to keep them too long from their sustenance.”

McIntyre didn’t waste any time.

Lisa helped herself to some dark meat, but James settled on the pork. To his surprise, he saw Lisa’s leg had been set in a plaster cast. Gainsborough must have noticed his curiosity.

“My physicians tell me you and your friends did a good job with Lisa’s leg, saving her from amputation. They tell me the brace was strong, keeping her leg well aligned. For that, I thank you.”

James nodded, still somewhat overwhelmed by the feast.

“Lisa tells me you defeated a bear and a wolf to rescue her. McIntyre doesn’t believe it. But I, myself, I think it is true. Huh?”

James looked at the general, resplendent in his military dress.

“Yes, it is true,” James replied, talking with his mouth full.

“McIntyre doesn’t believe one man could take on a bear and survive, but I believe. And do you know why? Because my daughter hates me. She hates what I have done here. She would do anything to undermine my rule. She would not do anything to help me, not so much as to lift a finger in support of all I have built. And so I believe her because she gains nothing from this being a lie.”

Instinctively, James turned toward Lisa, wanting to see the look on her face. Under her breath, she whispered to James, saying, “Don’t fall for this. Don’t drink of my father’s wine.”

James was confused.

“You must regale us with your stories of bravery,” Gainsborough continued, missing what Lisa had said. James looked at the bronze cup before him. He picked it up, sniffing it before sipping the cold water within. Wine? He wondered what she meant, and realized she was speaking figuratively.

Gainsborough rested his hand on James’ shoulder. “I feel like I know you. Your face looks familiar. Have we met before?”

“No, sir,” James replied.

“You look like someone I knew once, a long time ago, but I can’t quite place where. You’ve never been to the north?”

“No, sir.”

Gainsborough seemed lost in thought for a second, but he quickly got back on track.

“You must see what we are doing here. We are reclaiming the land. Fighting back the monsters. Ours is a humble start, but we progress a little further every day.”